DECEMBER 12, 2024: 

 

I let myself into our apartment, taking care not to make any sudden noises should I wake Rach up. I hoped desperately that she was still getting some sleep so that I could figure out what the hell I was going to say to her, but to my surprise she was already awake. 

 

And, oddly enough, making breakfast. 

 

“Oh, hey,” I said softly, watching her scramble eggs. Truthfully, the eggs from the supermarket had tasted pretty bad lately, but I was just impressed to see Rach fighting through her executive dysfunction so early in the morning. 

 

“Hey Jen,” Rach said with a smile before turning back to focus on the stove before her. Normally she’d have sung her hello to me.

 

“Are you okay?” I asked, “I-I’m sorry about last night, Rach.”

 

Rachel turned back to me and smiled softly again, “No, I get it, hon. I know exactly why you…why you did what you did. It’s fine, sweetie.”  

 

“Rach, please, lis—”

 

“Like, I’d have done the same thing if my retarded tranny wife’s chaser bitch monster kidnapped me and castrated me in a fuckin’ unfinished house’s dark and creepy basement,” Rachel’s voice grew faster and higher-pitched with every syllable. She shrieked the last four words.

 

I just barely made it in time to catch her before she hit the ground, sobbing. 

 

“Rach—Rachel, honey, please! Listen to me!”

 

She was sobbing pretty loudly, but at least she wasn’t trying to break free of my grasp.

 

“I-I’m so, so, so, so sorry, Jae! I-it’s all my fault!”

 

“Ra—”

 

“JAE,” she sobbed, looking me in the eyes, “I’m—I RUINED your life, Jae!”

 

I couldn’t slow my breathing, blood was rushing to my head. The more she spoke, the more it hurt. The more she spoke, the more I had to think.

 

I needed to stop Rach.

 

I needed to stop Rach from hurting herself like this.

 

I needed to stop Rach from saying that fucking name.

 

I needed Rach to know how happy I was, for the first time in my life. 

 

I needed Rach to know how much she meant to me.

 

I needed Rach to know that I was attracted to Danny.

 

I needed Rach to know, “I want to stay a woman!”

 

That did the trick.

 

***

 

MARCH 16, 2024:

 

Half an hour after dodging a walking case of sexual harassment in a suit I met up with Rachel at a gay bar that didn’t charge cover or check IDs at the door. The bar was designed as something between an Elk Lodge and a sports bar, so the general clientele were usually cis gay men of the more masculine variety, but Rach and I were thankfully not the only women or femme-presenting people there this time. Rachel yet again had her hair skillfully tucked into a beanie to keep it looking nice. Rach was sensitive about her appearance, and while I found myself sharing her anxieties about my own, I’d grown to just keep those to myself so that Rachel could have some sort of rock in her life.

 

It also just seemed silly for a cisgender man to complain to his transgender wife who actually had gender dysphoria that he was afraid that he didn’t look feminine and pretty enough to pass as a girl. 

 

And I knew how hard it was on Rachel not being able to regularly take care of her appearance. She’d learned to put on a brave face, but I could see how frustrated she was taking care of her prized hair without the ability to get a regular wash and conditioning. We had to start making more money and find a way off of the streets somehow. 

 

Spotting me from her table in the middle of the bar, Rachel invited me to join her by patting a seat next to her. I’d learned—then later explained to Rachel—that being a single woman in the corner of a bar was a terrible idea for avoiding unsolicited horny men. It was not a fun experience to have first-hand. In fact, it was awful and fucking violating.

 

Joining Rach, I took her hand and gave it a “I missed you” squeeze.

 

Over the past seven months we’d spent nearly every waking—and sleeping—moment together and I’d come to find that we both developed a separation anxiety—in our own ways—when apart. Unfortunately, it made sense for us to separate at times, so we did, but only in the most careful of ways. Sometimes it was nice to get a little space away, to not always be up in each other’s business.

 

And then, there were times that those feelings just seemed so stupid.

 

“How did it go?” Rachel asked, resting her head on her hand as she looked me in the eyes. The look in her eyes and the smile on her face was so content—it was hard not to think that Rachel was probably wanting to kiss me right about now, so I leaned forward and she took what she wanted.

 

“Fine,” I said after we broke off. The sour memories of my earlier encounter were now sugarcoated by Rachel’s strawberry lip balm, stolen from some big box retailer. “A creep followed after me, but I managed to ditch him.” Rachel squeezed my hand, which contrasted with that same blissed-out look on her face. She was concerned for me, obviously, but didn’t want to make it seem like she was panicking. Sharp girl. “How about you?”

 

“Well, nobody’s tried to offer anything I didn’t want today, if that’s what you’re asking,” Rach chuckled darkly. “Managed to win a few bucks in billy-ards while I was waiting for you, though.”

 

“You know, you can just say ‘pool’, right?” I giggled. It was always amusing when Rach tried to sound smooth and cool, just to charm me.

 

“But then you wouldn’t, like, know how hashtag-cool I am, sweetie,” she whispered into my left ear, her voice almost cracking like she was laughing at her own joke.

 

“Nobody ‘cool’ says ‘hashtag-cool’, sweetie,” my straight face crumbling immediately as my response dissolved into a giggle half-way through.

 

Rachel pouted, finally breaking character, and I couldn’t help but let myself lean to my left to bury my face into her right shoulder. “You’re such a bimbo!” my muffled voice said, close enough to carry just to her ear.

 

Playing up her pouting, Rach replied: “Hmph, takes one to, like, know one!” 

 

Pulling my head up to try and look at Rach’s eyes as directly as I could without making her uncomfortable I countered: “Okay, fine. I’m a bimbo, too, just like, like, my big silly wifey!”

 

“Hey! Like, don’t, like, make fun of my ‘likes’!” Rach said, pulling back in faux-insult. “I happen to, like, be very inta-luh-lec-umal!”

 

I couldn’t help myself and grabbed Rachel’s head on both sides to pull her in for a deep kiss, “I know, Rachy-Rach, I know.”

 

Rachel broke into a smile, opened her mouth to say something else, then was cut off by an unpleasantly familiar voice.

 

“Well, looky what we have here! My two newest favorite gals! Come to the ol’ gay bar so men won’t hit on ya, I see?”

 

Turning, a chill ran down my spine: it was the same creep from the convenience store. Had he followed me here somehow?

 

“Oh, hey Paul!” Rachel replied.

 

I immediately snapped back to look at Rachel in disbelief. She knew this creep? On a first name basis?

 

“Jenni, this is Paul. Paul, this is my friend I told you about, Jenni!” Rachel said, introducing us.

 

Paul extended a hand for a shake, accompanied by a creepy grin. Not wanting to alarm Rachel I reluctantly returned Paul’s gesture, as much as I hated it. 

 

“You’ve already met Paul?” Rach asked, confused.

 

It was hard to speak with so many thousands of thoughts rushing through my head, so Paul spoke before I could even register what Rachel had even asked: “Oh my, yes. I met Jenni at the convenience store today, actually. I was in line behind her and couldn’t help but admire her wonderful figure. She reminds me a lot of you, my dear.”

 

I wanted to vomit, but Rach seemed to be buying the smooth guy act. 

 

“Oh my goodness, I’m, like, so glad! This should be easier to explain, then!” Rachel gushed, immediately setting off new alarms in my mind.

 

“What do you mean, Rach?” I asked, trepidation in my voice apparent only to me.

 

Sitting up straight, happier than can be, Rach clapped her hands excitedly, “Paul wants us to work for his club!”

 

Wait, what? “I’m sorry…what do you mean?” I asked, cautiously.

 

“He knows about us,” Rach said, cautiously speaking in a quieter voice, “Like, he knows that we’re looking for off the books employment! And, like, yeah!”

 

“One moment, please,” I said, hurriedly grabbing my wife’s hand and dragging her to the women’s restroom for privacy. Once inside, I continued with as much quiet panic as I could manage: “Rachel! Is this guy some sort of pimp?!”

 

Taken aback, Rachel retorted, “What?! No, he said we’re not going to be, like, explicit hookers—”

 

“—sex workers—”

 

“—er, sex workers—or something, just that we need to look pretty and be charming!”

 

“What the fuck kind of club is that?” I asked, stunned by the sudden surreal turn that my life was taking.

 

“I think, like, he called it a ‘hostess club’ or something? I’unno, I think I’ve see stuff like that before in, like, anime or something?”

 

“Rachel, I seriously doubt it’s just like it is an anime or what-the-fuck-ever. Fuck, Rachel! This guy just exudes creeper energy!”

 

“Yeah, I know, but, like, we need to get off the streets, hon. I don’t want to see you go through another winter again! Who the hell knows how bad summer will get this year, too!”

 

Rachel was technically right. The weather was killing the both of us, even if we still put on strong fronts. How much longer would we be able to do that, though? 

 

“Like, listen, Jenni—he’s offering us a place to stay and a way to make money, too!”

 

“Wait a sec,” I said, my eyes snapping wide, “A place to stay?”

 

“Yeah, he said he knows a guy who, like, turns eyes blind or somethin’?”

 

Despite my instincts, I mulled the deal over. It was so damned risky, but on the other hand, surely we could just quit if the club didn’t work out?

 

But…be hostesses? Rach and I were beginning to pass, yeah, but with our noses having never properly healed I couldn’t imagine how either of us would pass ourselves off as attractive-to-strangers unless we used a ton of makeup at all times. We’d have to get facial feminization surgery—which Rachel already wanted, anyway.

 

“Rach, I’ll go along with it, but only if he agrees to one more condition…” 

 

***

 

DECEMBER 12, 2024: 

 

“You…want to stay a woman?” Rachel asked, brow furrowed.

 

The shock of what I had told Rachel was beginning to settle in now and I found it difficult to answer her question. Hell, what had I even meant by what I had said. Grabbing an unopened water bottle out of the refrigerator I downed it quickly—perhaps not the wisest decision—and got a brain freeze.

 

“Ouch, fucking hell!” I shouted, grabbing my head. Rach steadied herself and immediately grabbed me to hug me.

 

“Are you okay, Jae?” she asked, whimpering still in her voice.

 

“Y-yeah, like, jus—just call me Jenni,” I said as the pressure began to wane.

 

“Jae, come on, you don’t have to keep—listen, I’m sorry—”

 

“I’m literally telling you to, like, just keep calling me Jenni, Rach! Fuck, that hurts!” Hearing my previous name was just giving me anxiety, but I didn’t know why.

 

“O-okay, Jenni,” Rach replied, looking down at her feet.

 

Letting go of my head, I closed the gap between Rach and I and took her by the shoulders, “Listen, I’m…I’m sorry, please don’t feel bad. I didn’t mean to hurt you or scream, I just—I don’t want to go back.”

 

Rach couldn’t look up, but asked: “Why? Don’t you ever, like, get gender dysphoria?”

 

I forced a giggle, hoping it would brighten her mood: “Weren’t you the one implying that I might be a straight trans woman yesterday?” I asked.

 

Still looking down, Rachel countered: “Well, yeah, but I’m just tryna respect your gender identity. You said you’re a cis man yesterday, right?”

 

I hesitated for a moment before replying, wracking my brain to figure out how to respond to that little kernel of truth. Finally, with a deep breath, I replied: “I…did say that, yeah. Like, listen, I don’t—I know what you went through to get here, Rach. I watched you every single day for thirteen years. You’ve always been a woman, Rach. But me? I don’t know what I am. I never have. I just did what—” my voice caught; for some reason my eyes were welling up with tears. “—I’ve just done what people expected from me. You stopped giving a shit about that in middle school. That’s the Rachel I know and admire.”

 

Rachel looked up a little, trepidation in her body language. “You admire me?”

 

I couldn’t help but smile through the tears, “Of course I do!” A giggle that I felt a little guilty for letting out followed.

 

“Why?” Despite how hard she was trying not to return my giggle with one of her own Rachel’s body betrayed her mood and she giggled right back, with a simultaneous smile.

 

Taking my wife by her hands and crossing her fingers with my own, I brought our two hands up, leaned forward, and kissed my wife, our tears likely mixing on our faces. Breaking from the passionate moment, I kept my eyes closed so that they wouldn’t look at Rachel’s and rested my forehead on hers. “Because you’re my hero, Rach. You’ve always been so strong, known what you wanted so clearly, even if you didn’t have the words for it. You fought so hard to get where you are now, leading the way for anyone that would follow you…”

 

Rachel began sobbing again, this time for a much better reason.

 

“...I’d follow you into Hell, Rachel,” I announced, not quite a yell but louder than a conversation.

 

“You, like, did follow me into Hell, Jenni,” Rach countered playfully, snot-smeared face be damned.

 

“No wonder it’s always so fucking hot in this apartment,” I cracked.

 

My wife and I returned to our bed where we embraced each other for a little over an hour.

 

***

 

OCTOBER 31, 2018:

 

“Rach, you’ve been acting…kind of weird, lately. Well, okay, not weird for Rach Penn, just…I’m worried for you, y’know? You already get bullied enough as it is for saying weird stuff in class, or laughing like a ret—a person with a mental handicap? Well, either way, just…why the hell did you come to school like that?”

 

She stared at me, blankly, as she ate her austerity school lunch in silence. Not a thought was apparent on her face as she chewed on the rectangular slice (?) of pizza in her hand. She took exacting nibbles, obsessively trying to bite off cleanly cut pieces of her rectangle, as if an apparent bite would have been the worst thing possible. Finally, life came back to her eyes and she adjusted her field of vision to look at my mouth, instead of through me—or into my eyes.

 

“Huh?”

 

“What’s with the school girl uniform, Rach?”

 

“Oh, it was cute, so I decided to try it out, that's all.”

 

“Rach, I know you’re tall and all—”

 

“SIX FEET!” she shouted, like she was announcing the winning answer to a game show.

 

“Yeah, so, like, what I’m trying to say is: I know you’re tall, but people might still…you know…?”

 

All she did was stare at me blankly.

 

“People might still try to bully you, I mean.”

 

“Well, hey, they call me faggot anyway, might as well call me a tranny—not that I’m trans, of course. Wait, is that stolen valor?” She concluded with the same laugh that got her called a different kind of slur.

 

“Pfft, yeah, I’m sure you’re just a regular straight guy,” I laughed, trying not to sound disappointed.

 

“Of course, dude!” She laughed again. As scared as I was for her, it was still an infectious laugh.

 

“Ugh,” she grunted, “I hate laughing like a retard.”

 

Instinctively, I grabbed her hand as it laid flat over the table, “Please don’t call yourself that, Rach.” It worried me when she sounded so depressed and self-loathing.

 

“I mean, it’s like they always say, I’m a re—” I squeezed her hand before she could finish saying the word, causing her to look down at just where all that pain was coming from. “Ouch, shit, Jenni, why’re you—?!”

 

“Stop being mean to my best friend,” I said with a mischievous grin.

 

“Ouch! B-but—?!”

 

“Stop, Rach!” I’d pulled her so much closer across the lunch table as I’d leaned in. A few more inches and we could ki—

 

“Hey, look at the retard and the faggot about to kiss,” Larry Crocker laughed from a few tables down. Noticing the entire lunch room staring at us I immediately withdrew my hand and shrank back into my chair, hiding my hands while my legs danced in embarrassment. I glued my eyes to the lunch table in embarrassment and tried to pretend that hadn’t just happened.

 

“Hey,” she shouted, stepping away from our table, “Who’re you calling a faggot, you crock of shit?!”

 

Panic settled in. She was doing that thing again, where she’d stand up for me any time I was implicated in the things that set her apart from any of the other kids. 

 

“I said your boyfriend over there’s a fuckin’ faggot, retard. What, can’t understand Engli—”

 

Thanks to her long legs Rach was at Larry Crocker’s friend group immediately, taking the entire group’s expensive home-made lunches and pouring them all over him. 

 

“Suck my dick, asshole!”

 

I didn’t understand what I was feeling at that moment. I could only remember thinking ‘She’s so cool’, as I jumped up to prevent a boy from hitting her from the back.

 

Being the two tallest kids in the eighth grade had their advantages. 

 

Being able to watch Rachel’s back as she cut bullies down was the best one.