Mom is still “staying with a friend.” I feel so many ways about that. I’m sad because I miss her. It’s so strange not having her here. I feel guilty because it’s my fault. If I weren’t going to transition, she’d still be here. Everything would be fine between her and Dad. I feel relieved because I don’t know how I can face her after what she said and did. And I feel guilty, again, because I feel relieved. There’s probably more in there, but that’s all I’ve been able to figure out at the moment.

Madison listens to all of that and thinks for a moment before commenting.

“How do you know that everything was fine between your mom and dad?”

“I never heard them yell at each other before.”

“Not all conflict between couples leads to yelling.”

“They were fine, okay? I would have known if they weren’t.”

“Okay. You know your parents better than I do.”

I hmmph at that.

“Do you think that your mom leaving is a reasonable response to your decision to transition?”

“No.”

“And did you know that would happen?”

“No.”

“Then how can it be your fault?”

We spend most of the session on that. The main message I’m getting from Madison is that my parents’ relationship is not my responsibility, which, when she puts it like that, seems sort of obviously true.

I still feel guilty, though.

📎 📎 📎

This is not shaping up to be my best school year ever, not academically, anyway. Being distracted by a god alone was enough to interfere with my grades. Now add to that the impending start of my transition, my mom freaking out, and whatever it is that’s happening with Gina, and, well, it’s a lot.

I drive straight to the shelter after class and spend the entire time until the beginning of my shift sitting in the back room playing catch up. Gina texts me once to check on our plans for tomorrow night, but otherwise, I manage to actually focus. By the time I need to start cleaning cages, I’m only slightly behind.

Halfway through my shift, I notice that Alex is there. They’re sitting on a chair in the corner, reading a book.

“Gina suggested it,” they say. “It’s pretty good.”

I once again have that feeling that something isn’t quite right, but I can’t figure out what. It’s a good book; Gina and I had talked about it at lunch today. I wonder when she recommended it to Alex.

I finish with the cages, and when I get back from washing my hands, Alex is still sitting in the corner reading. I take a moment to look at them. For the first time, I realize that I’m not seeing them as a boy or as a girl anymore. They’re just Alex. They look up.

“What?” they ask.

I shake my head. “Want a lift?” I ask.

“Yes, please.”

I check out, then we walk in silence out to my car.

I start to talk once, while we’re on the way, but immediately get distracted by traffic. I decide to wait until we’re safely parked in front of the store.

“I don’t mind you hanging around,” I say.

“Thanks.”

They unbuckle their seatbelt.

“I’ve sort of missed you being around as much.”

“Oh. I thought I was annoying you.”

That’s not completely true, I can tell, but it’s not a lie either.

“You definitely were, for a while. I got over it, though. And I’m pretty sure I was annoying to you, too.”

“I should go. Thanks for the ride.”

They’re out of the car and gone before I can say anything else. I sit there stunned. I have no idea what just happened. I want to run after them and find out what’s going on, but if they wanted to talk about it, they would have stayed.

I sit for a few more minutes, then start the drive home.

📎 📎 📎

“Hello, Maggie. How was your day?” Dad greets me when I walk in the front door.

The little burst of happiness I get from him calling me that manages to push aside my anxiety over whatever is going on with Alex, for a moment.

“Mostly okay,” I reply. “I’m having a little trouble focusing at school lately, though.”

“I can’t imagine why.” He grins at me. “Are you excited about Friday?”

Friday is the big day. Our trip to the clinic to get a prescription for HRT.

“I am, and that’s definitely part of it.”

He gestures at the chair across from him. I take a seat.

“Anything else you care to tell me about?”

“Well, I’m going out with Gina tomorrow night.”

“Like a date?”

“Like a date.”

“You don’t seem as happy as I’d think you would be. Didn’t you have a crush on her a couple of years ago?”

“Oh, I’m really happy. But, Alex is being weird, and I don’t know what’s going on.”

Dad thinks about this.

“Isn’t being weird sort of Alex’s thing?”

“Okay, yeah, they’re weird. That’s built in with them. But they’re being weird in a non-Alex sort of way.”

“They?”

That was a slip. I figure Dad has been pretty amazing about me, though.

“Yeah. They’re not really a boy or a girl.”

Dad nods. “They’re non-binary? Should I be using ‘they’, too?”

“They are, and they said that they don’t care which pronouns you use for them. I just decided to use ‘they/them’ for them because it’s a little less confusing for me.”

He nods.

“What sort of non-Alex weird is he—are they acting?”

“It’s complicated, and I think I’d rather not say.”

“You don’t have to.. But you know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know Dad. I didn’t always know, but I do now. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Maggie.”

📎 📎 📎

I see Alex and Gina both in English. Alex seems fine, but I don’t approach them, and they don’t approach me. I do say high to Gina, though, and confirm that we’re still on for tonight. She seems a little excited about it. Tonight is going to be great!

Tonight is going to suck. 

I have no idea what to wear. A month ago I would have known. I’d have put on my nicest slacks, a button down shirt, and my nice shoes. I would have looked like a decent looking guy. Done.

But I’m not a decent looking guy. I’m not a guy. And Gina knows that. So I don’t want to wear that, pretending that I am. But, even if I had girl clothes (Dad has offered), I’m not ready for that. I look in the mirror and all I see is guy, and dressing like a girl won’t change that. Not yet.

I’ve been standing here for twenty minutes. I’m supposed to pick up Gina at six thirty, and it’s already six fifteen. I should call and cancel. I should—

There’s a knock on my bedroom door.

“Yeah?” I say.

“May I come in,” Alex says from the other side of the door.

I have no idea why they’re here. Could they possibly have picked a worse time. Well, it’s Aex, so, probably. And it’s not like they’re going to make things worse.

“Yeah.”

Alex walks in and plops down on my bed.

“You should breathe,” they say.

I don’t answer that. I don’t have anything useful to say.

“Gina isn’t going to judge you,” they continue. “Wear something comfortable.”

“I’m not comfortable in anything!”

“Physically comfortable, then.”

Their presence is calming. It usually is, when they’re not actively stressing me out.

“Okay,” I say, “How about this?” I hold up a v-neck t-shirt. It’s a boys’ shirt, but not terribly masc. And it’s lavender, so that’s nice.

“It’s a good color for you. And the jeans you’re wearing are fine.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

They reassure me a few more times, and, eventually, I’m dressed.

“Thanks, Alex.”

“You’re welcome, Maggie.”

Luckily, I shaved as soon as I got home, so I’m good to head out the door.

“Do you need me to drop you somewhere?” I ask.

“Nah. Your Dad invited me to stay for dinner.”

That sounds like it could be dangerous, but I don’t have time to worry about that.

“See you later, and thanks again.” And I’m out the door.

📎 📎 📎

Driving was a mistake.

I am too nervous for this. I don’t cause any accidents on the way to Gina’s, but that’s only a mile away, on mostly residential streets. We’re going to an art exhibition downtown, though, and I don’t know if I can get us there in one piece. Each. One piece each.

Also, probably not great to terrify a girl on the first date. She’s gripping the edge of her seat so tightly that I can hear the vinyl protesting. We’re sitting at a red light, so I take a moment to collect myself. I hear Alex’s voice in my head ‘Breathe, Maggie.’ It’s not like telepathy or anything like that. It’s a sense of presence, and knowing what they’d say.

I take a deep breath. I assume there’s a god of driving. I close my eyes for a second and open myself to the possibility. A second after I open my eyes, the light turns green. I drive.

It’s pretty trafficky, but I’ve driven in worse and survived. Every one of these cars is being driven by someone trying to get where they’re going. No one is trying to make things difficult for me. Like, that car changing into my lane ahead. They’re not trying to get in my way. They even gave their turn signal. I don’t need to hit my brakes, I can keep a safe distance by letting up on the accelerator a bit.

Before I know it, I’m looking for a parking place near the gallery. I turn a block early, and there’s a car pulling out of a space half a block away. I stop a little behind it and smoothly pull into the space once it’s gone.

Gina is staring at me. She doesn’t look scared any more, so that’s good.

“What?” I ask her.

“Nothing.” She looks away.

The exhibition is interesting. It’s a collection of modern sculptures by three artists with very different styles. My favorite of the three makes her sculptures from household items. One of her pieces is a collection of kitchen sponges, brushes, and scouring pads that, when viewed from the right angle, are a woman leaning over a sink, dish in hand. I’m fascinated both by the result, and by its construction. There has to be a metal armature in there to support everything, but I can’t make it out.

I realize that I’m geeking out a little.

“Sorry,” I tell Gina, “I get a little enthusiastic.”

“Don’t apologize for liking things! It’s fun to watch you get so into it.”

My cheeks get a little warm.

There are hors d'oeuvres being served, but I get hungry for some real food, and we’ve looked at all of the interesting stuff.

“Ready for dinner?” I ask.

“I am.”

We start the walk to a banh mi shop a few blocks away.

“That was fun,” Gina says.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“Did you have a favorite piece?”

I talk too much about the pieces the rest of the way to the restaurant. Gina doesn’t seem to mind, though. She asks occasional questions that let me know she’s really listening, which is nice.

“Do you still draw?” she asks.

When we were sort of friends before I was really into drawing. I never got great at it, but I wasn’t bad.

“A little bit. Mainly to plan out my sculptures.”

“Oh, you sculpt. That’s why you’re so into this. Can I see any?”

I realize that, although we’ve talked quite a bit lately, it’s almost all been about Alex, or Alex-related topics.

“Um, I haven’t really finished any yet. That’s what my welding class is for.”

“That is so cool.”

“I’ve mocked some of them up, though, with, uh paperclips.”

She looks at me and giggles. “Of course.”