March 28, 2024:

 

Seven months ago, I confessed to my best friend in the world and became her boyfriend. It was an amazing, whirlwind of experiences that had finally broken the unspoken dam that had been overcomplicating our relationship for years at that point. I’d always loved her, and for once in my life I hadn’t been afraid to say that.

 

Now, as I watched her in her element, mixing and matching new clothes at one of the few local big box stores that we hadn’t stolen from yet, I was able to relive those halcyon days once again. Only now, of course, our positions were a little reversed. 

 

“Ooh, ooh, this pink one would look amaze-balls on you, Jenni!” my wife gushed, pulling a pink cocktail dress out of the racks she was finger surfing through. The shopping cart that I had wisely elected to get was filling at an alarming rate.

 

“Rach, dear, I know that Paul told us to buy clothes and all, but don’t you think this is a bit…much?”

 

“Pfft,” Rachel nearly gagged, “We haven’t even cracked a thousand yet!”

 

“I mean, yeah, but, like…uh…he only gave us $5,000. I’d like to try and save some in case this whole thing doesn’t work out, y’know?”

 

Rachel rolled her eyes, “You’re such a worrier. Like, I know that Paul’s a skeevy guy, but worrying about what he might do is just going to stop us from having any control over, like, what we want to do now, right?”

 

Leaning over against the handle of the cart I motioned to rub my eyes, before realizing I was wearing eyeliner that Rachel had instructed me on how to apply. “I’m just…I mean, yeah, you’re right, Rachel. I guess…I’m just afraid of what’s going to happen. We just moved into that new place yesterday, and, like, I don’t exactly think it’s all that safe, y’know? And that landlord…”

 

“Here, try this on!”

 

Rachel handed me that same pink dress again, her body language and facial expression adamant. After staring at the dress for a moment I sighed, and accepted the dress. “You know Rach, I have plenty of casual clothes for outside of work already,” I said, hoping she would accept defeat.

 

“Yeah, but none of them you can, like, take to the club!” She grinned, almost as if she was convinced of her argument. 

 

Flabbergasted, I countered, “Rach…we’re eighteen, we can’t go to clubs.”

 

“Uh, that’s what blowjobs are for, Jenni. Gawd, you are such a bim—”

 

“—I am not sucking some guy off so I can sneak into a club, Rachel. Jesus Christ, I haven’t even sucked your dick yet!”

 

Rachel grew suspiciously silent at that. Afraid that I’d said something hurtful, I immediately walked to her side and tried to hold her, “Oh shoot, hon, I’m sorry, you’re not mad that I—”

 

Rach shook her head quickly, clearly having difficulty speaking, “I’m sorry, like, it’s just—could you not call it that?” 

 

Confusion struck, “I…I’m sorry? Not call wha—wait, you mean your" and then I mouthed the word "…penis?”

 

Rachel nodded in the affirmative, clearing her throat, “You’re going to think this is crazy of me, but, like…I don’t like calling it that. It just…reminds me too much of my deadname, you know?”

 

Oh, fuck.

 

Rachel sniffed, wiping faint tears from her eyes, “It’s stupid, I know, but—”

 

Before I knew it my head was already shaking back and forth furiously, “No, it’s not! I get it, I really do! Holy shit, I can’t believe—fuck, sweetie, I never meant to make you dysphoric!” I embraced Rachel and she began to melt into my frontside. 

 

Other women stayed cleared of us as we had our little moment. 

 

After a few minutes Rachel pulled her face off of my shoulder, hung the dress on the handle of the shopping cart and began checking her makeup, likely to give herself something to preoccupy herself. 

 

Determined to right my mistake anyway I could I grabbed the dress off of the cart’s handle and marched into the fitting room. I didn’t want to wear the dress. I knew it would look terrible on me. I knew that I’d just look like a man in a fucking dress, but if it made Rachel happy, then that was worth it. 

 

Once inside the dress and looking at the smiling woman in the wall-length mirror I couldn’t help but wonder why she was smiling so much.

 

I couldn’t help but wonder why she was rubbing the slight curves on her body that clung so snuggly to the dress. 

 

Nor could I help but wonder just why her vision began to blur the longer she looked in the mirror. After all, she was wearing her glasses! 

 

Glasses that seemed so boyish for such a cute girl.

 

I just had to take a closer look at her, bending closer towards the mirror, avoiding the bench that prevented her from walking closer to the mirror.

 

Then she saw the faint shadow beneath her concealer, and she stumbled back, feeling sick. Feeling like she was never, ever be feminine enough.

 

Feeling like she would never be a real woman. Not like the woman she looked up to so much.

 

Her vision just got blurrier and blurrier, no matter how hard she tried to clear its path with her hands.

 

Her vision got blurrier and blurrier, even while she tried to answer the knock at her changing room door.

 

Even as the concerned voice of her best friend faded into the background as she haphazardly scrambled for the right doorknob out of a thousand. 

 

Even as she pulled her best friend into the changing room, shut the door behind her, locked it, and sobbed with her in their shared embrace.

 

***

 

DECEMBER 12, 2024: 

 

I’d woken before Rachel later that morning to go for a run by myself. Anxiety gnawed at me, mostly that Rachel would blame herself for my trauma response to her gesture, and I needed some time alone to try and figure out how the hell I was going to apologize to her for my outburst and communicate clearly to her that I really did love her gift, and that she wasn’t to blame for what happened to me.

 

I think I could recall scratching at her hands in my rush to remove the collar before it was buckled, which only made me feel all the more guilty. 

 

Finishing my run I made my usual stop at the Gayly Bug for our morning drinks.

 

Goodness knows I was going to need it. My insomnia has been getting worse lately and last night had not helped. I kept trying to run early in the morning, hoping that it would let me fix my sleeping schedule for the next day, but things were turning out to be a lot more complex than that. 

 

Danny greeted me with a brighter than usual smile, which I just couldn’t say no to, so I returned it. “Name?” He asked, clearly playing into the idea that we weren’t at all now on flirting terms. I decided to be devious.

 

“Jenni.”

 

“Oh?” he chuckled, humoring me by writing the name on the order.

 

“Yeah, like, whatevs. I’ll be Jenni,” I giggled.

 

“Okay then, Jenni. The usual, coming right up!”

 

Taking the excuse of a slow morning to his advantage yet again, Danny brought me my order himself and slid into the chair opposite me for a quick chat.

 

“Rough night?” he asked, laying on the charm in just enough to be charming, but also sympathetic. 

 

“Uh...you can say that again,” I groaned, hoping that I wasn’t just making things worse by inviting his curiosity.

 

“You didn’t…have food poisoning, did you?” Danny asked, suddenly taking on a grave tone. 

 

Straightening up immediately, “What?! No, absolutely not!” I corrected, almost cracking a smile.

 

Danny just smiled, “Okay, good. I’m sorry if that offended you, I just wanted to make sure. You look, frankly, like you’ve been up puking and crying all night, so I was afraid that…y’know?”

 

I probably had been up crying all night, though, “No, I get it, but please…actually, let’s just drop it. It’s not important, I promise.”

 

And yet, I still needed to hold myself back from cracking that smile.

 

“So, tell me then, ‘Jenni’—if that is your real name—how was your day?” His goofy character voice stole a snicker out of me.

 

“It—was a lot, actually. Work stuff, Rach stuff, sleep stuff, y’know?” I couldn’t believe it, but that stupid little performance had cheered me up quite a bit.

 

That brilliant smile helped a lot, too.

 

“Well, I’m glad it’s the start of a new day, then!” Danny said, boisterously, “I bet you'll have a lot of fun today to make up for it!”

 

I took a sip from my tea to coyly hide my softening expression. After the whirlwind of the previous day it was nice to just sit back and reboot with someone who hadn’t been there. Who didn’t have preconceived notions or any idea about me, and treated me only as any other cute girl they were trying to…flirt with…

 

And there it was again. Was I flirting with Danny? Was I attracted to Danny? Why did he make me feel so…free? Refreshed? Special?

 

Like the only girl in the world who mattered?

 

But…I wasn’t actually a girl, I was just living as one. 

 

Was there really any difference? 

 

I mean, no—that’s not it. Rachel was forced to live as a boy, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t still a girl. Society had just failed to educate her about herself, her body and her gender. Rachel was always Rachel, even when she looked so sad trying to fit in with boys because the other kids in class would expect it of us. Rachel was still a girl then, and that was never more clear now that she just got to be herself and enjoy it. Me? I mean… 

 

“Hey Jen, you there?” Danny asked, snapping me back to reality.

 

He really did make great ‘concerned’ faces.

 

Remembering to put a smile back on, I replied: “Yeah, I’m fine, Danny-or-Daniel,” I added a goofy grin, trying to see if I could break him. “Just thinking about…girl stuff!” 

 

Returning my smile, Danny looked up just in time to greet three new customers. Turning back to me as he got out of his chair he smiled and asked: “Hey before I get back to work, just a quick question…”

 

“Shoot,” I replied, not even considering what he could be asking. 

 

“So, like, there’s this band playing’ this weekend and I was wondering if maybe you’d like to, uh—So! Like, I have an extra ticket and I was just wondering’ if—”

 

I locked up immediately upon realizing what Danny was trying to ask me. My heart felt like it was about to explode out of my chest and slap me across the face. Realizing that Danny was waiting on some sort of vocalization from me I quickly blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “Uh, I gotta check with Rach, first!”

 

Danny raised an eyebrow, “Your blonde friend? Did you two have something else planned for Saturday night? I’m sure we could, uh, y’know, get her anoth—”

 

“Aah, no, I mean, like,” I giggled nervously, hoping it would diffuse the situation, “So! Like! Ummm…” I’d been spending too much time around Rach if this was how I was starting to sound nervous, “Er…wait, that’s right! I’m, like, really sorry, but we had a thing. To go…see about checking out a different apartment?”

 

“At eight at night?” Danny asked, confused.

 

“Err…like, oh, jeez. Listen, Danny, I, like, really like you. Like, really-really. I just…I promise, I’ll text you. I just need to make sure I—” I picked up the tray with our drinks in a hurry, my fight-or-flight instinct kicking in, “—I promise that I’ll get back to you. Okay?” 

 

Danny nodded, mildly concerned by my behavior. I couldn’t blame him. 

 

And with that ridiculous performance, I was out the door and speed walking back to the apartment like I was about to die of embarrassment.

 

***

 

JUNE 10, 2024:

 

Laundry day was a hell of an experience as a girl. Well, when you were living as one…with your wife. It was like, one girl and twice the laundry, but it was actually, like ten-times the laundry, because girls got so many cute clothes to wear, so naturally we’d begun restocking our collection of clothes as best we could now that we had our own place. Unfortunately, laundry day also meant that the two of us were stuck in nothing but our underwear.

 

Laundry day was a lot less fun in April than it was in June.

 

We’d been living in the apartment for about two months now, only to discover ultimately, the apartment handled the summer as swimmingly as it did the winter. Shuffling around the creaky piece of shit—I don’t know what that smell was, but I could hardly complain about it considering the landlord agreed to house us without legal proof of who we were—I grabbed our various cheap space heaters to finally move them into a closet until we inevitably needed them again. Turning to Rach, who was goofing off on her new phone, I noticed that she was crying. “Rachel sweetie, are you…okay?”

 

Rachel sniffled, ‘Y-yeah, I am, Jenni, j-just…checking out socials.”

 

I wanted to frown at my wife’s digital self-harm, but I also honestly couldn’t blame her: if I had remembered what time of the year it was I would have probably done the same.

 

I abandoned my plan to pick clothes up off the floor and joined my wife by her side in the other camping chair. I didn’t know for sure, but I had my suspicions for what exactly she was looking at, so I took a peak and she angled her phone to make it easier for me to check: Senior Prom had been three days ago. Socials of all of our old classmates—even if we hadn’t been close to them—were blowing up with photos of the event. 

 

Rachel should have been able to go to Senior Prom. She should have been able to go dress shopping, and she should have been able to dance her silly little heart out on the dance floor, not giving a damn what anyone else thought of her dancing.

 

A teardrop hit the screen of Rach’s phone, and I wasn’t sure if it was hers or mine.

 

I had had that night stolen from me, just as much as Rachel had. I was always so wrapped up in Rachel and protecting her, I think I’d forgotten to cry for myself.

 

So I cried for myself.

 

Despite myself and my silly male pride, I let myself cry and make embarrassing noises in front of my wife, only for her to console me.

 

Her hugs were always the best.

 

And not just because of how big her boobs were getting, either.

 

“Hey, Jenni…?” Rachel whispered, her arms wrapped around me tightly. I don’t remember at what point we’d stood up to hug.

 

I gave her a groan of acknowledgement.

 

Rachel picked her phone back up, made a few taps while still holding me tight with her left arm, then set her phone down on the IKEA side table we’d assembled the other day. Suddenly, “Dancing Queen” by ABBA began blaring.

 

“...May I have this dance?”

 

And I got my Senior Prom, with the love of my life.