Toni’s weekend is over, which means it’s back to being boring old man Tony at work, right? She’s had a lot of fun from Friday to Sunday but doesn’t know if it’ll be enough to see her through to clocking out at the end of the week, when she gets to live her life again.

It really is a case of putting her head down and getting through the week, the same as it ever was, except now there’s something to look forward to at the end of that tunnel. Has Toni been changed, though? Is it possible for her to parcel away all that happened? Can man Tony simply get on with a normal five days of work when woman Toni is itching to get out? Or is Tony now more Toni than even they realise themselves?

---------------------

I wake bright and early, ready to face into the day. I’m back to being Tony with a y, today, at least until I get home from work. There’s nothing to it. This is what pays the bills, and I’m going to have a lot of them, so it’s a case of pushing aside my worries and just facing up.

I shower, finishing off my legs, my one gift to myself, clean up my pits and scrawl at my face with a different, blue razor, then I’m out of the shower, walking past the makeup sample bags I was given yesterday and staring down at my man clothes laid out in my bedroom.

It’s simple work gear, I never meet clients so just basic chinos, shirt and sweater. No tie. I do make an allowance to myself though. No, not the panties, that’d be far too risky, but the socks with ladybugs and butterflies on them. They’re just socks. Why would anyone care about socks? Except for me, I suppose.

Then it’s some toast and soon I’m getting off the bus and walking into my office building. I pass the security guards, wondering if anyone notices anything different about me but no-one says anything if they do.

My morning is basic, check my emails, nothing new, then it’s onto proofreading reports we’ll be sending out. I’ve read hundreds of them and made a few suggestions that have mostly been ignored. Mainly it’s been typos and grammar issues I’ve found that get corrected for the final document.

I wait until after most people take their morning break and are returning before I decide I can take mine. I’m locking my laptop when Greg, my immediate boss comes walking up to me with a face like thunder.

“Do you know Mr. Mayer?” Greg asks.

“Yeah, of course,” I say.

“Well, he wants to see you.”

“What for!?” I ask, nothing good has ever come from someone meeting him, not in my department.

“I don’t know. He asked to see you. And now, if you please!” Greg says, smirk on his face.

It feels like there’s a lead weight in my chest as I take the elevator two floors up, afraid to trust my legs on the stairs. I walk into his waiting area where his secretary says my name, which I confirm, then asks me to have a seat.

I wait for about fifteen minutes, with my tummy beginning to gurgle, from lack of food or nerves I don’t know, when the secretary says I can go in. Straight in.

I stand and straighten myself up, knock on Mr. Mayer’s door and go in with his secretary staring at me. Inside a formally dressed woman is sitting to the side and behind Mr. Mayer’s desk, with Mr. Mayer in an expensive grey and white striped shirt, with his salt and pepper beard and extremely maintained hair.

“Tony, have a seat,” he says. “I’ve asked Therese to join us from HR. We have a few concerns looking over your file and work history that we’d like to clear up.”

“Of course, whatever I can do...” I say, sitting down. It’s looking really bad for me with HR becoming involved.

“OK, straight to the point. Have you ever felt bullied or unsafe in the workplace?” Mr. Mayer asks.

“What, no?” I say.

“This is a zero tolerance workplace. Any harassment or bullying of staff is absolutely not condoned, and will be dealt with immediately.”

I think back to being made clean the kitchen, wash up after people, scour coffee cups and mugs, and generally sweep up, but if my job is at risk maybe now is not the best time to mention anything that could come off as sour grapes.

I shake my head. “Nothing, no...” I whisper.

“We’ll set that aside, then. I’ve reviewed some of your work, just a quick skim through, and it’s not terrible,” he says. And now I’m waiting for the But. “But it is not great. And after a conversation with Therese I’m wondering why that is...”

“I... I don’t...” I stammer out.

“But whatever about the long term, whether it takes a department switch to a new supervisor, maybe to some other work focus, or something else down the line to bring out what you can show us we’ll have to get to work on proving to people you can be as good as, if not better, than all the other employees here.” He pauses and looks towards the woman, Therese. “Now it’s your turn,” he says to her.

“OK, Tony,” she says with a big smile. “The business’s health insurance plan is coming up for review. It’s an opportunity for us to negotiate and add new parts, remove parts that don’t apply, and generally tailor it to what we need as a modern business, with a diversity of employees. As you know we have offices across the country so some elements are there to serve less, well, forward thinking administrations, even if they don’t quite apply here.”

“Sure, I understand,” I say.

“What me and Mr. Mayer want from you,” at this point she stands and hands me a large print out, “Is a review of this policy from someone in your position. I’m sure you know you’re in our lowest pay bracket, although that can change, you’re relatively young and you haven’t been here for too long a time, rather long enough a time you should feel comfortable and have all our benefits.”

“Yes, of course. I do,” I say, as I look at the cover page of the thick document and riffle through a few of the sheets of paper. “Is there anything in specific you want me to focus on?”

“We don’t want to direct you,” she says. “Whatever comes to mind when you read through. Whatever applies to you and people who’d have just joined the business or are on a low-ish salary is what we’re hoping for, but you’re not limited to that. If you notice anything else, or have heard anything from anyone else include it.”

Mr. Mayer shifts in his seat. “Tony, we make mistakes in hiring people, of course. But when I said your work hasn’t been terrible I read through your recent drafts on documents and some of the suggestions are quite good, in fact, but not in the final report. Hence the question about any mistreatment. As a business we need to value all our co-workers, for what they bring, no matter what we think of them.”

I’m not sure quite what all this is about, but I guess it’d make sense they want the opinion of someone on the lowest of low wages, they do take new graduates who’d be on near to the same wage as me. And I’m not essential to any project, so I can be spared at the moment. “When do you want this done by?” I ask.

“Today I just want you to read through the document. You’re to focus solely on this for the next few days. If anyone asks you to do anything else say you’re under my orders. If they push you further call me. Susan outside, my secretary, will sort them out. Tomorrow morning, 7am, I want you to meet with some people, an informal get together of people who I want you to ask their thoughts on the health plan. After that I’ll talk with you again and we’ll set out exactly what I’m expecting for the next few days.”

“Sure, of course,” I say.

“Now if there’s anything else?” he asks. “Therese?” She shakes her head and he looks at me. “Tony?” I shake my head too. “OK, get to work, please. This is an opportunity for you, Tony. A fresh start and your first time doing something directly for me.”

I nod, fully understanding the gravity of the situation if not every consequence. This could very well be a test to see if I keep my job. “Of course, I’ll do it as well as I can,” I say.

“That’s all I ask of anyone,” Mr. Mayer says.

As I’m walking towards the door, feeling light headed, he speaks up again, “And Tony, if you ever get me in an office gift exchange, Christmas, whatever... Socks, please! You can never have enough socks.” I laugh, but I’m not quite sure why, and soon I’m back at my desk.

I’m reading through the document, forcing myself to pay serious attention. This really is a big opportunity and perhaps my last opportunity. It’ll decide my future here, I know that. And I really don’t want to be looking for another job while my personal life is being entirely rearranged. In fact I don’t know if I could rearrange my personal life if I was struggling for a job.

The document has obviously been worked on before, just someone else reading through it with a pen. There’s careless swipes from when some absent-mindedly dotted at something, or ran their pen over it as they turned around. It’s a complex document, with a lot of referring to other sections, sub-paragraphs and clauses changing other elements. I’m incredibly focused on it, I have to be, when I notice my boss Greg standing above me.

“What time is it?” he asks.

I look at the clock on my laptop, “3pm?” I say.

“And have you been to lunch?” he asks.

“No. I’m fine, really. I need to get this—”

“Yes, I know, you’re reviewing something for Mr. Mayer, but if you don’t eat your work will be as poor as it usually is and that’ll look bad on me. Get something to eat. At the least a sandwich.”

I take the elevator to the cafeteria, with the health insurance document tucked under my arm, and get a coffee and ham salad sandwich. I sit down and take a bite of the sandwich, looking around the cafeteria, wondering what the people around me, or people like them, there’s workers from loads of different businesses in the building here, would make of trying to decipher a document like this. It is incredibly dense.

I finish my sandwich and start into my coffee when another pen dot catches my eye, right next to Gender Affirming Care. I look around to see if anyone’s watching me, cross my legs and hunch over, beginning to read.

I must have read the entire part, and all the subsections and referrals five times over when I realise I’ve been sitting here far too long with my coffee now ice cold. I rush back to my desk and it seems Greg was waiting for me. As soon as I’ve sat down he’s out of his office.

“You can just go home, Tony,” he says.

“I still need to read th—”

“You might need to read something but you’ve spent nearly two hours on a late lunch. Go home. You’re wasting your time here. My time now,” he says.

I try to protest but his look at me says he’s having none of it. I acquiesce, agree to his demands and pack up. When he leaves I shove the document from Mr Mayer and Therese in my bag, before leaving the building and getting the bus home.

Sitting on the bus I receive a notification. It’s a message from Jess, “How was work, hun? Everything go OK? Nothing to worry about?” And it’s like she’s read my mind.

I message her back, really needing someone to talk to. “I’ve been given a special project. I have to do a review of our health insurance. Reporting to one of the higher ups. I think they want to see if they can work with me or if I’d be better off somewhere else, you know? Not working there. It’s a big deal. I’ve been worrying all day.”

Jess messages me back immediately, either already at home herself or on her way there. “Try and give yourself time to be you, Toni, you need some space. If you can find that I’m sure you’ll do a good job.”

I think of the makeup samples at home, and getting changed into normal clothes, and maybe just going for a burger, but I push those thoughts aside knowing this really is my last chance. “Yeah, I will,” I message Jess, a little bit of a lie. “I need an early night, though. I’m wanted in first thing to meet with some people about the health document tomorrow. I really need to know what it says if I’m to talk with them and I’m nowhere near finished it.”

“OK. Get comfy, take some breaks, but just do your best. That’s all anyone can ask.”

I message Jess back a simple, “Thank you,” and then I’m right by my stop and making my way to my apartment.

My plan was to finish work as normal, switch on youtube and watch some makeup tutorials but that’s out the window now, although I do do something for me, sort of. I look up the care plan we have from work’s website, with the document next to me, and begin to search out all the medical systems and accesses provided by our insurers that involve trans healthcare.

It is a total pain to work through. Nothing is clear. Everything is hidden away and some of the web pages that are supposed to contain information don’t even exist, despite there being direct links. I did start this for information purely about trans care, but I’m quickly extending my search out to anything. It’s nigh on impossible to find what I need. Then I’m looking nationally, and it’s even worse again. Some things apply in some areas but not in others. Some of our offices could be on the border of two or three different insurance districts and depending on address, despite being in the one office, you might have access to some, all, and in one case I even found a situation where you could have access to no approved healthcare.

I don’t know if this is what Mr. Mayer wants from me. He asked for gaps in what’s provided, for renegotiations, but if people can’t even access what exists already, or don’t even know about what’s available, then what’s the point in demanding more? No-one gets it in the first place, unless they’re really forced by dire circumstances to navigate all this.

It’s getting really late and I realise my plans have been whacked out of line completely. Not only have I not dedicated my time to me, and then not just to looking up the trans healthcare my workplace provides, but now I’ve been wading through a document and website that looks like it’s purposefully made to keep things hidden.

I’m starting to develop a headache and I know I need to stop. I don’t know if the pain in my head is from all the reading and confusion, or because it’s late, or because I need to eat. I think of what’s in the fridge. I didn’t do any shopping at the weekend so go and check. There is some eggs and bacon, the items G bought.

I send G a message, just to say something to anyone, to hear from someone not trapped in health insurance documents. I tell him I’m planning on making the eggs he made, along with the bacon he bought that we didn’t eat, and ask if he has any expert cooking advice. I’m considering cracking open one of the beers Steph brought from Light Avenue on Saturday night when G texts back. “Butter! Very patient and slow with the eggs at first. Then as they’re getting solid a burst of quickness. They’re ready before you think they’re ready.” Simple, direct, and straight to the point.

Soon I’m sitting at my little table with some eggs and bacon on a plate, and one of the beers next to it. I take a picture of it and message G with a, “Thanks, Chef Ramsay.”

I’m halfway through it, and it’s actually pretty decent, by my standards if not G’s, when he messages me back with a picture of Gordon Ramsay with text over it of, “Eat your fucking dinner before it goes cold, you sausage!!!”

Finishing up, as I’m doing the washing I realise my eyes are drooping. It’s late, but not that late. I wonder what has me so tired as I’m rinsing a fork and then I smile to myself. I guess I have been busy lately. Then I laugh. I’ve been so fucking busy.

I dry everything and put it away, then I pack up my work stuff into my backpack before laying out my clothes for tomorrow and get changed into a nightdress, all the while smiling. I follow all the instructions the woman who gave me the makeup samples said about the skincare as I wash my face.

I walk into my living room, ready for bed, and laugh again. It quickly turns to proper hysterics and I can’t stop. Who am I? What the fuck is happening? What am I doing?

I feel great!

When Steph left the beers on Saturday night she also left a bottle of whiskey and told me to save it for a special occasion, or for with a special someone, as a birthday present. I can’t think of an occasion more special than this. Or a person I’m more happy to be with than me. Just me, all on my own. And comfortable with myself. Maybe for the first time in my life.

I take a glass from the kitchen and open the whiskey. I pour myself a small measure and sit on my couch, take out my phone and just randomly flick through the various sites I’d normally spend hours on, looking at funny videos and pictures, but never really laughing at them. Not out loud, certainly, but now everything feels so light and simple, and I’m laughing like I’m insane.

I finish my whiskey and think about pouring another but instead I go to bed, hugging the bedclothes around me. Sure, another drink might be nice, but I’m not worried about tomorrow. I’m not scared of tomorrow. It could be good or it could be bad. I don’t know. And that’s a joy of life. It wasn’t great for me before but a surprise night brought, well, me to me.

I’m wide awake early the next morning, completely forgetting how quickly or not I fell I asleep but it was easy, no tossing or turning. It’s not too early, but early enough that despite having a meeting before normal work hours I can just lie in bed and rest for a while. My mind feels like an ocean, waves of peace, sunshine and a gentle breeze. Stretching for thousands of miles.

After a few minutes of silence, both around me and in thought, I know what I have to do. I take my phone from the table at the head of my bed and message, Steve, “Hey, what’s up? How are you?” I don’t sign off with Toni. I think it’s because I want to leave the onus on him to say anything.

A little over an hour later I’m walking into work as the sun is just about shining fully. It’s the earliest I’ve been in the building in years but it’s not quiet at all. I find the room Mr. Mayer mentioned, knock on the door and let myself in. It’s a meeting room with a big oval conference table, open in the centre, different sections of table pushed together. There’s a few people already sitting around, chatting amongst themselves, and Mr. Mayer is standing with a coffee near some dispensers in the corner. He beckons me over.

“I’m in the right place?” I ask.

“You are,” he says. “Coffee?”

“Please,” I say, and he pours one out asking if I want anything in it. Normally in meetings I’d be the one handing out coffees and keeping invisible.

He hands it to me and begins to talk. “This is an informal group, nothing really official. LGBTQ employees who just want to get together and talk. It’s typically about any problems they might have, about news applicable to them, any grievances they don’t quite want to make official yet or just want advice on. Ninety percent of the time it’s just gossip. It’s a bit of stress relief, really. A place to unwind and talk shop with no pressures and no after work alcohol.”

Mr. Mayer keeps talking and seems not to have noticed me drop then barely catch my coffee again when he said LGBTQ employees, and I don’t think he can actually see the two very sharp knives currently stabbing me in the temples. “Anyway,” he continues. “With you looking at the healthcare plan I thought you’d be great to listen to any concerns or issues they might have.”

I take a deep breath. “Sure, yeah. OK. Of course,” I say. “I’m not sure if I have anything to say, yet, though.”

“Just listen. You don’t have to say anything,” he says.

I sit down on a free seat in front of the conference table, with my heart pounding. Why has he picked me for this? Surely it can’t be the sock comment from yesterday? No-one can figure out what I am purely from ladybug socks, right?

A woman seems to be talking to me, that I didn’t notice, and I apologise for not hearing. “I was just saying you’re new here, or I haven’t seen you before. Don’t worry, everyone’s friendly,” she says.

“Mr. Mayer asked me to hear some concerns from people, about the healthcare plan,” I say.

“Benjamin? He’s lovely. If he asked you to be here then you’re very welcome,” she pauses and seems to be sizing me up, almost retreating into herself before saying, “Have a nice weekend?”

“Yeah, I was out with some friends.”

“At your age I bet it was wild, it certainly was when I was in my twenties. Where’s everyone going to now? I don’t think I’m quite Mom enough yet to be totally out of touch.”

“A place called Light Avenue,” I say.

She seems to relax a little at that, then says, “Are they still running the minibus? Not that it was actually a minibus in my day. Just the biggest, ugliest looking mini-van thing with the most seats on the market.”

“Yeah, still the same,” I say. “It took me home. My first night in there, too.”

“Oh you did have a good weekend then. The minibus was great. I met my wife on it,” she says as she wiggles her fingers showing off a ring, looking lost in a thought. Then she smiles to herself.

“How was your weekend?” I ask.

“I’m glad to be in work,” she says, shaking her head. “Even with the early starts. Nothing here is as tiring as multiple birthday parties, every damn week, with a five year old. There must be hundreds of kids in his class. And the cost of gifts!”

“Everything is so expensive!” I say.

“You’re too young to be pointing that out. The price of things for you now is the most affordable it’ll ever be.”

I laugh, almost in dread, as Therese calls everyone’s attention. “Thanks for coming everyone,” she says. “Sorry to call the meeting forward a week but a couple of things came up. The big news is we’ve signed a deal with the LGBTQ gym chain. I thought people would want to know straight away.”

A few people clap their hands together and there’s one or two boisterous cheers.

“Now, we can’t keep this gym private knowledge. Everyone in the various offices we have around the city will know and have access to it. You could meet anyone there, but they do have a reputation so you shouldn’t run into anyone being an ass.”

“We’ve also got an agreement for a couple of classes, if the machines and weights aren’t your thing. It’s not everything we wanted but most classes they run are covered. If you’re planning on taking one or two a week you shouldn’t have any problems.”

A man from the other side of the room speaks up, “Did we get the pool?”

“You won’t let me build the suspense, will you Marcus?” Therese says. “Yes, we got the pool. And full family membership. Along with four guest passes a month if you apply through the company. You can buy up to 12 a month with the gym. The pool does have a few more rules. They’re not open generally at every hour, but most of them. There’s a few private hours for the kids, and nephews and nieces of members, swimming classes and the like, and a few hours set aside for trans members, but trans people are, of course, free to use it during general hours, not just during the special times. That’s simply an accommodation for people who might not feel comfortable and want a bit of privacy, which I’m sure we all understand.”

I look around as she says that and most people have no reaction beyond a few nods in acceptance, or agreement.

“When can we sign up?”

“Yeah, I never get any rest, or appreciation...” Therese says, and there’s some laughter. “I’ll take a list of names here and send the first email with our employees to the gym after lunch. You will need your company ID when you first see them, then they’ll issue their own membership ID which you need to get in. Make sure you look stunning for your photo. But, yes. You could be sitting in a steam room come 7pm this evening.”

This time there really is an outbreak of clapping around the room.

“The other reason for the meeting is Tony,” she says pointing to me. “They’re doing a review of some of the health insurance. If anyone has any concerns or issues they don’t want to or haven’t pointed out to me or someone else in HR they can message Tony. Just ask them for their email address once I stop droning on. Do you have anything to add, Tony?”

“No, not really,” I say, and pause for a second in thought. But all this is about proving my worth. “Except for the HR point. I’m sure you know the document very well, everyone in HR will, but if you want to research it on your own. Or just look things up on online it’s convoluted. Confusing even. Some of the links and webpages are dead. And I’m—”

“That’s a fair point,” Therese says. “But to start any new process, even if we don’t need precise details, you do have to go through HR and we have a good understanding of what’s available.” She turns away after saying that, changed just barely from her happy, open personality to more of what I’d encounter in a normal workday.

The woman next to me, with the kids’ birthday parties, speaks up. “No, Tony is right. Sometimes you don’t actually want anything. You just want to know. Maybe planning for something long term, or even just thinking. Me and Stacy weren’t planning on having a child, not really, not in the short term but we wanted to figure out options. We looked at the plan and couldn’t figure out anything about IVF, or pretty much any pregnancy options for two women. Going to someone in the company would have been a commitment, or at least felt like it, and too big a step. We spent months pulling our hair out looking at various sites and dead pages, downloading PDFs. I think it did actually discourage us for a while.”

“OK, that’s good to know and we’ll keep it in mind. Thanks Kris,” Therese says, but that’s seemed to open the floodgates. So many voices are talking about policies and healthcare plans, and their problems with it, that I’ll never remember all the points.

After a minute or two more of this Mr. Mayer speaks up, slightly loudly. “OK, thanks everyone. We can all email these concerns to Tony. That’s why I have them assigned to this task. So if everyone can quieten down Tony can call out their email address.”

That does seem to settle people down and I call out my my first and last name, enunciating the dot in the middle of the email address.

“Is that Tony with an i or a y?” someone asks, and I can’t help but laugh, and I spot Mr. Mayer smiling too.

“A y,” I say.

“OK, I think that’s that for today. As soon as you all finish off the coffees and pastries, and chats, you can do what you’re supposed to be doing here, which is working and not tormenting Therese, or Tony.”

He motions at me with a finger and I walk over to him, “OK, come with me Tony.”

I grab my things and we go to the café on the first floor with Mr. Mayer ordering another two coffees.

We sit down at a table, with people having morning snacks and light breakfasts all around us. “How much coffee do you drink?” I ask Mr. Mayer, then realise that could be taken as petulant, but he laughs.

“Most of my job is drinking coffee with people, sometimes something stronger. It’s rare I ever finish one. I’d never sleep at night if I did,” he says, then rotates the cardboard cup around in front of him. “You seem more relaxed today. I’m glad. Do you think you’ll be back to the group again? It’ll open a lot of doors for you.”

“You know, don’t you?” I say, feeling my face heat up and everyone in the café staring at me.

“In my position I only know what’s written in plain English, documented and signed, sitting before me. But because I’m good at what I do I know a lot more than that, unofficially, never to be spoken of. Including when some employees loan their friends the official work fleece and are out shopping with them.”

“Oh...” I say. “I didn’t think of that.”

“And don’t think of it again,” Mr. Mayer says. “You’ve done nothing wrong. At least not in this office. It could make things difficult in some of our other locations but I won’t let it here.”

“I guess, yes, then,” I say. “I probably should go back to the meeting.”

“I’ll tell Therese to add you to the mailing list. Don’t worry, no-one will say a word about anything you bring up there. At least not attached to a name. And you don’t have to say anything at the meetings. You’re in now.”

“Will you be there?” I ask.

He seems to know what I’m really asking when he says, “I’ve been with my husband so long he’s stopped finishing my sentences and instead just tells me to be quiet. He uses less business appropriate terms, however.”

“Was that rude? Asking that...” I ask, feeling like I’ve been intrusive.

“No,” Mr. Mayer says plainly. “It does give me an idea of where you’d fit into this business better. Everything I’ve seen so far is helping me on it.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Your style,” he says, but I’m just wearing chinos and a shirt, so he can’t mean that. Then he continues. “I’m not sure if you’re doing it completely deliberately yet but you’re pointing out things other people might not see. People talk a lot of mumbo-jumbo about blue sky thinking and thinking outside the box but that’s typically because they haven’t had an original idea in decades. Then they call us in.”

“Consulting?” I say.

“Yeah. There’s something holding them down, or dragging them back. Something they can’t kick off that’s stopping them from doing what they could have been very good at a few years before, or had the potential for but never quite reached.”

I stop and consider things. “I’ve never worked with anything raw, like direct documents, or processes or interviews. Not with an actual client,” I say.

“You’ll get there,” Mr. Mayer says. “You’re literally doing it for us now, internally.”

I think back to how I seemed to annoy Therese by bringing up a problem that’s under the HR department. “Did I make an enemy of Therese?” I ask.

“No. She’s professional. And she’ll appreciate it come a few hours or days. The people who don’t appreciate it, and I include our clients in that, typically go out of business or get fired.”

The talk stops and I sit, drinking my coffee, watching Mr. Mayer simply hold his paper cup, when something occurs to me. “I don’t want to complain...” I say, then pause. There’s no reaction on his face but he seems receptive. “But didn’t you just out me to a room full of people. When, I’m, you know, not out. Not at work.”

“If someone did that it would get them fired,” he says.

“But?”

“But first off, how senior am I in this business, nationally?” he asks.

“Quite?” I say.

“Try Very. I can get away with a lot. It is extremely unfair. Secondly, what did I actually tell people about you?”

“You said it was a group of LGBTQ people, straight to me.”

“And sometimes I bring non-LGBTQ people to the meeting, to speak on something. They’re always people I trust not to be prejudiced or loud mouths. But it’s good you’re thinking. You might have to make some decisions. Someone simply saw you in a department store because they recognised the company logo on a sweater and I genuinely don’t know any more than that. I can’t guarantee everything about that room or group, certainly not what people see around the city, never mind any potentially life-changing choices people could have before them. And I can’t stop gossip or anything like it, just try to deal with it when it comes up. But part of that group’s purpose is to discuss the intolerance people face and the barriers put up by simply being who you are, both in the wider world and in the workplace. There’s a lot of value in that but it doesn’t mean the barriers don’t exist. There’s few enough people who don’t face barriers of some kind. For a person who you could be they’re potentially even greater.”

I nod, feeling a reality I haven’t felt before. Not just since I put on a dress but ever.

“It’s something to keep in mind and think about if you haven’t before. There’s only a few people here who know anything about an employee in a department store buying a purse. I’ll still put you on the mailing list, unless you don’t want me to. Me and Therese are the only people who have access to names on it. If you want to come to the meeting again, when it’s next on, I’m sure you’ll learn a lot. If you don’t come no-one will know you’re getting the emails unless you tell them but you’ll be informed. Which is what I would like, but there’s no pressure either way. Is that OK?”

“Yes,” I say. “Put me on the list.”

“OK, anything else to add?” he asks.

“No. I’m fine, and thank you.”

“Alright, I have to go not drink coffee with some people far less pleasant to be around. Finish up when you’re ready and report upstairs.”

I nod and he leaves. I pick up the paper coffee cup he left, lid still on it, and yes, I find it completely full.

I finish up and take the elevator to my floor but when I get to my desk my laptop is missing, although nothing else. I go to Greg’s office door, which is open, and knock, feeling eyes from the other people in the area on me.

“Come in, Tony!” he shouts.

I walk in and stand opposite him. He looks at me expectantly, almost urging me on. “My laptop is missing. It was there—”

“It’s been updated for work-from-home,” he says, pointing to a brand new laptop bag that’s sitting on a cheap office chair sitting to the side of the room, on top of a stack of Harvard Business Reviews.

“Work from home?” I ask.

“Yes, you’re working from home for the next week, while you’re on the health insurance review for Mr. Mayer. We don’t want people finding out and bugging you with all their problems. I’ve been told you’ve consulted with one group already, and you should include their feedback, but we don’t want this spreading to everyone in the department who wants the Mayo Clinic for their athlete’s foot. This is about your work.”

I remain still, not really knowing what to say.

“You do have somewhere you can work at home, don’t you? Table, chair, wifi? Please tell me you have a home.”

“Yes, I do,” I say.

“That’s good. We won’t be giving you the full kit-out with desk and monitors and fancy seat made by some high-tech German rip-off artist that no-one actually needs. I don’t expect this to last longer than a week. What you need to know is that I will phone you every morning, before twelve, to get an update. No-one else will phone you, this is about giving you time to focus and do a proper job. Maybe the change will get some good work out of you.”

“There is something I should have brought up about the insurance,” I say, thinking of the work.

“Please don’t interrupt me, Tony,” Greg says, despite him seemingly having paused, then he continues. “Apart from my one call no-one else will be onto you. Not even I will phone you a second time, no video conferences, no Teams or Skype, not that I know which one we actually use. Unless the office burns down you will be largely uninterrupted to do what you should have been doing for years. But even if the office does burn down you’re so low on the priority list after literally everyone else you can expect a call next summer, long after your wages stop being paid. Answer emails first thing, emails later in the day can wait until the next day unless they’re from me or Mr. Mayer and you deem them urgent, although I’m not sure you’re quite capable of making that decision.”

“Are these rules in place for everyone working from home?” I ask, a little taken aback at the litany I’m receiving.

“Are you being smart with me?”

I shake my head rapidly.

“The reality is if you follow the few simple instructions set out no-one cares if you spend the rest of your time with your ass out the window talking to the local pigeons via butt cheek. Especially if you somehow manage to do good work. Monday you spend finalising the report. Next Tuesday, after lunch, you come back into the office and present it to me. Printed out. I want to check your work before it goes to Mr. Mayer. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“Now there was something you said you wanted to bring up, already. As if you actually got work done on your two hour lunch break yesterday.”

“It’s about the insurance coverage and by that I mean the physical locations, not procedures or doctors.”

“Go on,” Greg says.

“I was checking over—”

“I don’t care how you got there tell me where you are.”

I nod, and straighten myself, surprised that I’m actually in a man’s shirt and pants, and feeling a little weird about it. “There’s a part of the country, possibly more places, I don’t know, where there’s literally no coverage. The document says things like If not applicable then nearest in direct distance, but some of the locally contracted health groups I checked seem to exclude that on a strict address basis.”

“On a general website or in terms and conditions? PDFs, and the like?”

“In the actual, proper documentation, with the legalese,” I say.

“OK, Tony, sit down and explain it me, as best you can, this time in detail but not with your life story, just the coverage,” Greg says. As I sit he picks up the phone making a call and asking for a taxi to be pushed back by twenty minutes.

A taxi which I’m sitting in, thirty minutes later, on my way home after Greg saying That may be the first bit of exemplary work I’ve seen from you. But being Greg he had to add If it checks out.

I get home, with my new laptop bag and updated work laptop and check my emails. There’s a few from people who were obviously at the meeting this morning and I quickly begin checking into their concerns.

I take a few breaks, to eat a little and watch quick makeup videos on my own laptop, but I feel like I’m getting good work done.

It’s the early afternoon when my phone goes off, Steve’s number, direct to me. I don’t give myself time to think and just look at it. “Lads Night is cancelled, Sam and Alan broke up so I don’t think they want to see each other and Big-G says he has some work function. There is a good game on first thing in the bar we normally go to. If you want to come.”

I message back, without much thought, just thinking of the soccer, that I have to check with some other people first and I’ll let him know as soon as possible and he messages back, “I’ll be there either way. You can come if you want. I don’t care who you come as.”

I try to put his snippiness out of my mind and get back to work but it’s completely tilted me. I message Jess asking what time our pedicure will be and if I need anything special for it, trying to shake Steve’s text from my mind.

“We’ll meet at 11. You don’t need anything but if you want to show off your new toesies then some sandals.” And she includes a link to the nail shop’s website. I check the website and all the packages are more expensive than I would have thought, but I guess there’s a premium for having to deal with feet.

I try to go back to work but I still can’t get Steve’s message out of my mind so I figure I’ll try out a few of the makeup techniques I watched. I shave for the second time today and take out some of the products from the pharmacy bag. I’ll just go with some lip gloss, the BB cream and mascara. After cleaning random pokes from the mascara wand from around my eye, which is quite difficult and stubborn, I look in the mirror and it doesn’t seem super obvious. My lips are a little bit shinier and my eyelashes look thicker but I don’t notice much difference. Although that could be the low light in my bathroom.

I sit myself down in front of the laptop again, determined to get some work done but it’s just not coming. I can’t do this, and I’m not sure of any alternative. And just as I think of that I think of Light Avenue, and how I’d like to get dressed and go out. I have the makeup on so why not more? Maybe I’ll feel normal again.

My hand is shaking as I take my phone out and dial Greg’s number. He picks up after a few rings. “Yes, Tony,” he says.

“Sorry to bother you, Greg. Something’s come up. Is it OK if I finish a little early today?”

I hear what sounds like wind down the phone, and then nothing, and then Greg says, “Was my line about hanging your butt out the window for the pigeons not memorable?”

“Yes...” I say, unsure.

“Tony, please listen, no-one cares what you do as long as you take my morning phone call and get the work done. If you work all night and play video games all day, that’s fine. If you spend the next week redecorating your home I do not mind if you can produce a good report. If you outsource the report, and it’s good, I’ll know it’s not your work but I’ll be impressed with your moxie as I’m firing you. But the big question is do you deserve and-or absolutely, vitally need some time off and will you still be able to get the report to me next Tuesday? Now don’t answer that, just think about it. This is a chance for you.”

“Thanks, Greg,” I say, his point made clear, and my days filling up.

“No-one died they?” he asks, a little hesitantly

“No, not at all,” I say.

“That’s good. I don’t want to be unnecessarily insensitive.” I break out in a laugh at that, unable to keep it in. “Now hang up,” he says. Which I do.

I sit, staring at my laptop for a few minutes. It hadn’t fully dawned on me the freedom I’d been afforded. I didn’t even change into my clothes once I got home I was so focused on proving myself. I do have to do a good job. And I will. Steve’s message doesn’t even bother me any more but now I want to go out. I feel like it’s a big test, for myself. Whether I can live a freer life. Another test in days of tests.

I feel a sickness rise again as I realise that freedom is probably exactly what Mr. Mayer arranged for me. He knows I’ve just come out and is giving me a bit of space, for a few days. I’m being treated, I don’t know, gently. Like I’m delicate. It’s nice, and good, I suppose, but I don’t want all this just because of who I am. I don’t want to be different.

I pick up my phone and message Steve, after his shitty message. “If I come it’ll be as me, Toni.” Then I put down my phone, probably too hard, walk into my bedroom and get changed.

Once I’m dressed, with my hair done, I realise I have no floor length mirror in my apartment, which is definitely a pain in the ass. Every other time I’ve gotten dressed someone has either given me clothes or seen me in them before I go out. This time it’s all me.

I get my phone and turn on the front facing camera, angling the screen so I can try and get a good look at myself. All the parts I like individually, it’s a tight-ish white jersey top with a white cami beneath it, a knee length, light cotton skirt with an Indian style pattern on it and some elephants, black pantihose and the ankle high black studded boots I bought with G. It all looks wrong. Like I’m too square and the skirt is a mess, it’s just crumpled.

I take a picture and send a message to Jess, “How do I look? Be honest.”

She messages back within a few minutes of me angling the camera again trying to find a view of myself where I look OK. “You look like absolutely fine. No-one will give you a second glance apart from me when I’m meeting you later for a drink because it’s obvious you’re going out. I’ll meet you in Light Avenue after I finish work. Should I tell Sally? It might get her out of her funk.”

“Please, yes!” I message back, not feeling great about the Fine part but kind of OK that Jess wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with me. I don’t know why but my tension has ramped up. For a few reasons I guess, but Steve’s text is straight back in my mind. I try to push it out of my head and focus on the happiness from meeting Jess and maybe Sally this evening.

I grab my coat and am soon standing outside. I was planning on doing some shopping, mainly for sandals but really for anything else I could pick up, or that catches my eye, but now I just want to go somewhere with people I know I can trust.

A taxi pulls up in front of me and I climb in the back. “Light Avenue?” I say.

“Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir,” the driver says and I shake my head, close my eyes and feel like shit all over again. Even worse than feeling simply shit I soon notice he’s taking a convoluted way to get Light Avenue, even if it is the general direction.

We go past one corner and I say, “You can stop here.” Then I pay him, thinking I really want to kick him in the head as he smiles an overly cheerful, patronising smile at me. Getting out I double back on where we came from and walk to the a candle shop that’s painted in a way that definitely reminds me of Enya, somehow.

I walk through the door and an actual bell rings as I go in. There’s woman in a floaty, lush white dress with streaks of pink and purple through it standing behind the counter unboxing candles. I guess Natasha isn’t working today, but still I’ll browse. I look around, checking out the candles. Some of them have labels and plastic wrap around them. Others are in glass jars with metal lids and extremely high price tags on them. Others still are simple and plain, often with a few descriptions on the sticker but lots of reference to church candles, or religion, or ceremonies.

One grouping of candles catch my eye, sitting on a low tiered shelving unit, out at the front. Each is maybe four or five inches high, stout, with a white wick, and free-form, naturally wavy patterned rainbow colours.

“The ear plugs worked!” I hear.

I look around and Natasha is coming out from behind the counter, wearing the same style of floaty Enya-like dress as the last time I saw her but this time in peach, not purple. “I’m glad,” I say. “You’re getting sleep?”

“Not only am I getting sleep but I can actually focus on reading at home,” she says. “See anything you like?”

I shyly point at the stubby rainbow candles.

“Everyone likes them, one of our biggest sellers. We have some really fancy ones, big, pricey ones. Get one,” she says and reaches over and picks out one of the smaller candles I was looking at.

“Maybe...” I say.

She twists the price tag on the string around to show me the cost and smiles a proud smile.

“I do need some things in my apartment,” I say, thinking of it being bare apart from basic furniture and appliances.

“Twenty percent off, too.”

“Really?”

“Staff discount,” she says.

“I can’t ask you—”

“Why wouldn’t you take it? You want the candle and it’s cheaper because of me, just get it.”

I smile. “OK,” I say. “You’ve convinced me.”

“You would have bought it anyway,” she says as she walks back to the counter, clocks it into the till and swipes a loose laying staff card against the barcode scanner.

As I pay and Natasha places the candle into a little white paper bag I speak up. “Can I ask you a question?” I say.

“As long as it’s not about candles. I hate candles and I hate this shop,” she says.

“You make that abundantly clear every morning, Natasha,” the other woman, now taking more candles out of a box, says.

“I just don’t want you to forget,” Natasha says, then looks at me. “Shoot.”

“How do I look? Really? My clothes, I mean,” I say, squirming on the inside.

“Genuinely?” she asks. I nod. “OK, give me a look.”

I stand back and pull open my coat, before doing a very slow, very nervous spin.

“Hrrrm...” Natasha sighs.

“That’s not good. What is it?” I ask.

“I don’t know. It just doesn’t fit,” she says.

“It’s the wrong size?”

“No, not that kind of fit. I don’t know... First off the top isn’t very flattering, you’re... We’re...Rather square? You know?” she says, while making a straight up and down motion with her hands. “Unfortunately... And it’s plain, and white, and tight, and does nothing to give you any shape. And the skirt is too light.”

“Do you mind?” the other woman asks, putting the box she was unpacking down.

“No, sure,” I say, not quite understanding why I want to pile on the assault.

“It’s too summery,” she says. “It’s not that warm out any more, people are getting into bundle up mode. Next summer, or a warm spring day, try it again. No coat, bare legs, sandals, flip flops even. Feeling the sun. I can’t wait, personally.”

“It’s not terrible,” Natasha says. “You look better than all our lunatic customers, even the relatively normal ones.”

“Lunatic customers... Right...” I say.

“That’s a compliment. Everyone’s some kind of lunatic.”

“Yeah...”

“What about Susan, here?” Natasha says, waving at the other woman.

“Those are work clothes,” I protest. “For the Enya store.”

“I like Enya,” Susan says. “And stop being nasty about my style. I like what I’m wearing.”

“I’m so sor—”

The woman thrusts her thumb towards Natasha, “Not you, her. Every damn day she’s whine and moan. I will fire you some day, Natasha. I guarantee it.”

“Sweet release,” Natasha says.

“You gave her the staff discount?” Susan asks Natasha.

“I did,” Natasha says.

“Good, she obviously needs cheering up. Come back any time, browse candles, get fashion critique, insult my queen Enya.”

I laugh and Natasha asks me. “You going up the road?”

“Yeah, Light Avenue. Bunking off work.”

“Good woman!” Natasha says. “I might do the same.”

“You will not!” Susan says.

“Anyway, that’s my call to get back to it. I might be up there later. I can’t guarantee it though.”

“If you don’t I’ll be back some day,” I say. “Probably a weekend.”

“I’m looking forward to it. An actual normal person in here,” Natasha says, while Susan glares at her.

After a few minutes walk I’m back in Light Avenue and standing at the bar, waiting for a short, stocky man with scraggly black beard to finish up with the person before me’s order. He looks about the same age as me, and I don’t know, kind of eager. Bright? Happy? Fun, even?

He comes towards me with a smile and I say the name of the beer I like then he asks me if I’m Toni.

“Yeah?” I say.

“Who doesn’t like to drink much?” he asks.

“I don’t know if I can claim that as true any more,” I say, with a grimace.

“Everyone has a big night every so often, that doesn’t mean you’re stuck to it forever,” he says, with a hearty, deep laugh.

I wonder if he realises how close to reality that could be for me if I didn’t go home with Jess on my Friday night and I laugh too. “No. I suppose I don’t want to be drinking loads, but I do like coming in here, and I don’t want to drink water all night.”

“Good, that’s exactly what I was hoping to hear,” he says. “If you’re not meeting anyone would you mind chatting to me for a bit? Some advice?”

“No, not at all,” I say, and I move up a little on the front bar to where the few counter seats are, taking my coat off and placing my purse and candle bag down. “What’s up?”

He raises a hand, then pours me my low alcohol beer, placing it in front of me. “I’ve opened a tab for you but if you want to settle on the spot that’s not an issue. No pressure.”

“That’s fine,” I say. “Do you need my card.”

“No. Steph says you’re fine,” he says before darting down to the open area of the bar to take another order and serve the couple waiting.

Order finished he comes back up and just stands in front of me, smiling. A little cheekily even. “What?” I ask.

“Just looking at you,” he says.

“Why?” I ask, I want to add What have I done? but this isn’t an I’ve done anything situation, I think.

“I’m sizing you up,” he says.

“Ew, don’t be creepy,” I say, with a laugh.

“Are you creeped out?”

“A little,” I say, looking down at my beer but smiling. He knows full well I’m lying about that. He can practically see me wriggle.

“I’m trying to figure out what cocktail would look good in your hands,” he says. Then he goes to serve another few people, this time coffees, leaving me to think. But I can’t really think because my cheeks are distracting me. They’re actually hurting from smiling.

As he comes back I try to straighten out my face, and say, plainly, “So you make cocktails?”

“I do. And I’m good at it. Which is why I wanted your advice.”

“You don’t want to give me advice?” I ask.

“What advice could I possibly offer you?” he says.

I’m struggling to stop from smiling again. “OK. What do you want to know?”

“Fine, serious business. Tell me to go away if you want. What I’d like to know is why you don’t drink?”

I scratch my head and twist my face up a little as I think. “It’s not that I don’t like to drink, it’s more...” I tail off, still thinking.

“You don’t like feeling drunk?”

“No. I’m fine with being a bit drunk, even very drunk with the right people which I suppose is what it actually is; I don’t like where people get drunk. Busy bars and big bars filled with wild people aren’t really my thing. I can manage if I’m not out of my mind, but things go flashy if I’ve had a lot, like tunnel vision, and I feel the walls and the people closing in and I get panicky. If I’m relatively sober I can manage it, and manage myself. If I’m completely sober I wouldn’t even be in the place.”

“OK, that makes sense,” he says, nodding to himself and seemingly thinking. “I think I know what drink to make you, and what you say actually reminds me a lot of why I started making cocktails.”

“Go on,” I say, resting my elbows on the counter and crossing my hands as I rest my chin on them.

“OK, Jackson history. Hello, my name is Jackson, it’s lovely to meet you Toni,” he says. I smile but this time it’s an easy smile, no hurting cheeks. “When I was a teen all my friends were kind of wild, and they weren’t really friends. They tolerated me. I guess they liked me and I did like them, it was just weird. Like I was along for the ride. I’d get invited to all the parties, so many parties, but I’d just end up sitting in a chair somewhere being annoyed. I started mixing drinks for myself as a way to get away from people. Then I shared a few, and people liked them. So I did it more. And then I’d be invited to parties by older kids, then college kids, all to mix drinks, so my friends had even more parties to go to. Before anyone realised I’d become the unofficial bartender in my school.”

“Like a vocation,” I say.

“How do you mean?” he asks, quizzical look on his face.

“It was your calling to be a bartender,” I say.

“I’ll let you decide that, if you buy the cocktail I want to make for you.”

“You can put it on my tab already,” I say, banging my hand against the counter. “Are you going to put on a whole show for me?”

“The show is extra,” he says. “The cocktail is low alcohol, though.”

“Is it weird to order that in a bar?” I ask.

“For some people it would be. Steph’s been saying we need more zero alcohol drinks but I’m not sure that works. For some people, absolutely, but I don’t think many who sometimes drink actually want nothing with booze on an easy night. There’s not a huge cost difference between any of the various strengths, so there’s no attraction there and in fact some people feel they’re being ripped off, which puts them off.”

“I can understand that,” I say, nodding.

“Also, alcohol adds a little kick. People miss that if it’s not there. So, anyway, tell me about yourself while I gaze at you,” he says.

“Are you flirting?” I ask. I think he is but why would he be? Although all this is nice.

“Are you flirting?” he asks back, confidently. “I can understand why you would be. A man who mixes great drinks. Great conversation. Looks good in a shirt? A tuft of manly chest hair sticking out? I’m irresistible. You can feel it if you like.”

“I think I can resist a little while longer,” I say.

“As long as it’s only a little while,” he says with a grin. And this time I really am wriggling. My whole body. Everywhere.

“You’re thinking of me, aren’t you?” he asks. And now he has an even bigger grin.

I change the subject. “Work has been kind of weird,” I say, then I realise I’m not out at work. And I’m talking about boy Toni, as a girl, while, yes, I guess I am flirting, with a man. And I could just launch myself out of my chair and kiss every part of his body right now. But I don’t. “I don’t know if I’m being fired, or given a chance at bigger opportunities, or both.”

“What do you do?” he asks.

“The company handles everything business, and corporate, from tiny places to massive multinationals. Accounting, finance, IPOs, and on, and on, where I am it’s usually helping launch businesses into a new sector they’re looking at, rejiggering soft systems, or helping established companies that are flagging in certain areas.”

“This cocktail is going to be so right for you,” he says. “I want to see you drinking one of these in a high powered suit looking fierce and formidable.”

“You are flirting.”

“Do you want the cocktail?” he asks.

“Yes...” I say, feeling a little colour come to my cheeks. “I do.” And he does put on a show, not a huge one. But enough that I can watch him being very dapper.

Eventually he lays down a Martini style glass, bigger than what I’d normally see, with a napkin beneath it.

“What’s in it?” I ask.

“Something bubbly, to tickle your pretty nose. A little bit of gin and some non-alcoholic gin. Some fruit syrup I’ve made of my own concoction to add a little colour and flavour, but not too much. A little fizzy soft drink. A few dashes of magic, and love.”

“It’s a bit early to be talking about love, isn’t it?” I say, trying to act coy.

“Maybe? But I sense a hint of it in the air.”

I take up the glass not knowing what to expect, then have a small taste, not quite enough to fully experience it but I need to have more, so I do have some more. Then my eyes open up, “Oooh, this is very good,” I say. “And don’t tell Steph but I think I prefer it to her ones.”

He smiles a broad smile and cocks his head, and the day progresses, and I drink another beer then Jackson makes me another of the cocktails all the while he’s serving other people. Still he keeps coming back to chat with me. And I really do like him, in a lot of ways, including in a very nether-regions, dangerous way, but I’m allowed to enjoy things. Nothing’s going to actually happen.

Eventually the bar begins to fill with people coming in after work and more bartenders start appearing. Jackson gets busier so I spend my time just watching him as I slowly sip on the cocktail.

Suddenly I hear a voice over my shoulder, Sally’s voice. “I told you she’d be checking out men. You owe me a drink, Jess.”

I sigh, turn around and smile at Jess and Sally. “Yes, this time I was checking a man out, I guess,” I say, half hoping Jackson didn’t hear me but half hoping he did. I guess, I mean he’s just flirting. He wouldn’t really...

“Can we drag you away from your new friend to find a seat with us?” Jess asks.

“OK, give me a minute,” I say. And I wait a minute or two until Jackson is back to me again. “I’m sorry to leave you but my friends demand my attention.”

“Of course,” he says. “But I’d like to see you again.”

I feel flutters at the top of my tummy, grab my stuff and grab Jess and Sally by their arms and we go to find somewhere to sit.

We find a different set of couches from the one I was at on Saturday night and we all sit and settle ourselves, but no-one says anything.

No-one says anything for seemingly ages, until Sally finally says, “Well?”

“Yeah. Well? What are you going to say to him?” Jess asks.

“To who?” I ask.

“The small, cute bartender,” Jess says.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Sally tilts her head and one side of her mouth curls up. “Now this might be new to you but that adorable little guy asked you out.”

“No, he didn’t,” I say.

“I’d like to see you again? He definitely asked you.”

I look at Jess who has a comforting look on her face and nods in confirmation. “What do I do?” I ask. “What did I do?”

“What do you want to do? Although I already can see what you want to do. But I’d like to hear you admit it,” Sally says.

“Yeah what are you plans for tonight?” Jess asks. “Abandoning us?”

“Yeah, he’s nice,” I say.

“And you wouldn’t mind his hands all over you?”

I look around conspiratorially, then lean in. “It’s more about my hands all over him,” I whisper.

“OK,” Sally says. “I’ll have a red wine, Jess will have a white wine, you have whatever you want. And by that I mean whatever drink you want.” She looks at me with faux disapproval when she says that. “And ask if you can get him a drink too. Then just trust your instincts.”

“I have absolutely no instincts,” I say.

“You’ve got some fairly primal ones as I’m looking at you right now,” Jess says, and Sally pokes her in the ribs as they both laugh.

“OK, I can do this,” I say as I stand and make sure everything is where it’s supposed to be.

I turn away from the couch and begin to march up to the bar as I hear Sally call out, “Go get ‘em, Toni!”

As I arrive up the not-Jackson bartender is standing at the typical serving spot. He smiles at me, then steps back and calls out Jackson’s name, and Jackson is soon standing before me. “Can I get you some drinks, Ma’am?” he asks.

“Two red wines and one white,” I say. “House wine is fine, please, Jackson.” And I smile.

He stands, looking at me for a little while longer than is quite comfortable, but it’s not uncomfortable either. Thrilling, maybe?

“Coming right up,” he says, with a big smile.

My eyes are trained on him the whole time he’s preparing the drinks and as he sets them down in front of me.

“Can you manage with those?” he asks.

“Yes, thank you. And can I buy you a drink,” I ask, feeling my heart racing.

“A tip for exemplary service and being a good talker?” he asks.

“No, not quite,” I say, and now my heart really is pounding.

“Oh? Like that? I’m not unhappy with that,” he says. “But on one condition... I can drink it with you after my shift ends in thirty minutes or so.”

“I’d like that,” I say, picking up the glasses, deathly afraid I’m going to drop everything as I walk back to the table with Jess and Sally.

I place the glasses down, white for Jess, red for Sally and me and sit back, sinking into the couch.

“Well?” Sally asks.

“He’s coming down to join us in about thirty minutes,” I say, feeling very far away.

“Oh, no! He’s not coming down to us,” Sally says. “He’s coming down entirely for you.”

I stare off at nothing just feeling the whole world wrap around me. And a little like I could vomit. Jackson is coming down for me.