It was too early in the morning to have to think deeply about anything, much less the rest of my life. How did this happen to me? Two marriage proposals in the space of three days. Perhaps I should just write it off as pillow talk. After all, neither of the proposals came with a ring nor were they made on bended knee. Isn’t there some sort of decorum that goes with a proposal? What percentage of marriage proposals take place in bed après ski, as it were?

I struggled to keep my hair out of my face as I lifted the cup of coffee to my lips. Then I heard someone poking a key into the front door lock. It was only Saturday morning. Alastair wasn’t expected back until Sunday night. I looked around for a blunt object but all I could grab was a faux Louis Comfort Tiffany Art Deco lamp. At least I hope it’s a cheap reproduction. If it’s genuine, Alastair will forgive me. Would he want his putative bride-to-be killed by an early rising burglar for the want of a defensive weapon?

The door swung open, and I was about to wield the lamp like a Louisville Slugger when I saw it was an unarmed woman, who, seeing me, raised her hands to ward off my assault. We both screamed.

“Who are you?!!” we both shouted in unison.

I lowered the lamp. “You first. You’re the one picking the lock—”

“I’m Lulu Brooks. You know, Alastair’s ex? And this is my key…to my guest house.”

“Oh my god, I could’ve killed you. And with Alastair’s Louis Comfort lamp!”

“Oh, that thing? It’s a cheap reproduction. Alastair gave it to me when we were dating. He still won’t admit he got skunked by some antiques guy in New York. You must be Alastair’s new squeeze, umm, Joanne?”

“I’m working on a screenplay for GlobalNet. He’s letting me stay in the guest house for the duration. My normal habitat is New York—”

“Oh, come off it. I’ve seen all the cute photo opps. It’s all over social media. I never guessed Alastair would reach way back in his past for an old flame—”

“Alastair told you about me?”

“Everything, sweetheart. The goof couldn’t stop talking about you. How smart you were. How loyal a friend and colleague. How…pretty. Gag me with a spoon, I’m sure. Yeah, he had it bad for you, girl. Even though you flipped him off back then. So, he finally hooked you?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way. We’re friends—”

“With benefits, I’m sure.” I turned away. It’s not seemly for a near-60-year-old woman to blush beet red.

“Was that all Alastair told you about me?”

“What else is there? Are you a homicidal maniac? Don’t answer with that lamp in your hand—”
I put the lamp back on the end table and tried to put my hands in my pockets but there weren’t any in my kimono. So, I placed them on my hips, just to look like I was standing my ground and not the least bit intimidated by her.

“A master car thief? An undercover agent for a hostile foreign government? Do you know what quinoa really is? Are you a transwoman?”

“Never mind. I just don’t like the thought of Alastair just cavalierly discussing me or our relationship, however innocent it really was.”

“You must know Alastair well enough after thirty years being around him. He’s honest to a fault and he expects the same from everyone else. He got really angry at me when, days before the wedding, he took a good look at our marriage certificate and noticed my first name is actually Caroline. Lulu’s a name I chose to set me apart from your run-of-the-mill starlet. He played “Caroline, No” on the stereo until I took a pair of scissors and cut the cd up into pieces.”

“That would stop it, alright.”

“Nah, he had other copies. But I suppose his mania about honesty was what ended our marriage—”

“How do you mean?”

“He didn’t tell you? I cheated on him…multiple times. He once told me that he would forgive me anything, including adultery, as long as I didn’t lie to him about it. Go figure. What’s the point then?”

“I don’t think too many couples could survive that.”

“That’s not how your marriage ended?”

“I’m…I’m a widow. Emily died ten years ago. Leukemia.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know. You see, Alastair didn’t tell me everything about you. Or maybe I just stopped listening. So, is that why you fended off his advances? You’re a lesbian? Or bi?”

“I’d love to chat with you all day but is there a particular reason you’re here on a Saturday morning?”

“Oh, yeah, I came for a couple of canvasses I still have back in the studio.” She pointed in the direction of the back of the house. “I thought you’d be staying in the big house with Alastair. My plan was to get in, pick up the shit, and get out. Five minutes max. But here you are. The vestal virgin.”

“Be my guest,” I said, smirking. I waved her by and followed as she made her way to the small studio in the rear of the house. “You’re very talented. I see you’re into abstract expressionism.”

“That was what I was doing when Al and I were first married. That’s so 20th century. I’m working in photorealistic multi-media these days. I’ve decided to slow down on the acting tip and get back heavily into my art. I’ve got a gallery show coming up and, just for completeness, I want some examples of my earlier stuff. Shows my development, you know.”

I recalled my surprise when Alastair told me a quarter of a century ago that he was seriously considering asking Lulu to marry him. At the time, Lulu had just made her mark in films as the titular “Space Babe,” a summertime box office blockbuster that successfully exploited her gorgeous brunette looks and slim fashion model’s body. She gave those aliens forty whacks with her particle beam gun and teenage boys across the planet gave themselves, well, you get my drift. She was still a beauty now at 50, but the acting jobs, outside of the occasional TV mom roles, had pretty much dwindled.

With the canvasses under both arms, Lulu marched to the front door.

“Nice kimono, by the way. Alastair buy you that?”

“Well, yes, he did. We saw it in a shop on Fifth Avenue.”

“Sorry I barged in on you like this. As I said, I had no idea—”

“Are you in a hurry? I’m being such a bad host. How about a cup of coffee?”

“No, I want to drop these off at the gallery and then I’ve got a 10:30 call on set. I’m playing Billy Schechter’s last girlfriend—”

“You mean the one who—”

She nodded, a sad frown on her face. “Yeah, that one. Hey, it’s a living. Toodles. Oh, thanks.” I opened the door for her. “Tell Alastair to change the lock on the door. Better safe than sorry.”

At brunch later that morning, I was uncharacteristically quiet, sitting across from Joey, moving the burritos on my plate around aimlessly. We were at De Buena Planta on Sunset again. She had just seen her mother off at the airport. Now, she happily chattered on about mundane things. The only thing that I especially noted was her relief at her father ending his consultancy at the hospital two weeks earlier than expected.

“I was seriously considering quitting, as you can guess. He’s going back to Seattle. Good riddance.”

“He didn’t have anything to do with you getting the residency, you know.”

“Who really knows? I don’t believe in coincidences, though. But let’s talk about happier matters. Mom was mum about your “date’ last night. I know you went tango dancing. Now that’s got old school romantic all over it—”

“It was just dinner between two old, old friends. The tango element was merely tangential. The Argentines really know how to cook a steak.” Joey laughed. I kept a straight face.

“Mom didn’t get back until past midnight.”

“A cute reversal of things. The daughter waiting up for her mother. Were you sitting in the dark, impatiently watching the digital display on your phone move past her curfew time?”

“You went back to your place, didn’t you?”

“Who’s interviewing whom? I’m buying you brunch to put you in a good mood for spilling all the sordid little details of your time in Washington, D.C. You’ll have to wait until the movie comes out to find out my secrets.”

“I’ll get the truth out of my mom, you’ll see.”

“Eat! Your tortillas are getting soft.”

I handed Joey a cup of coffee as I sat down on the couch, angling ourselves to face each other as we drank and talked. We had come back to the guest house after brunch. As I had hoped, the food and relatively light traffic on the way back had put her in an expansive mood. So, I turned on my recorder to begin our session.

“Let’s pick up where we left off last time. What happened once you settled in with your grandparents?”

“Nothing much…well, actually everything.” My expression implored her to explain. “I fell in love for the first time…as a woman. Head over heels. I used to laugh at the silly metaphors they use to describe the state of falling in love, of being in love with that special person. Then it happened to me. All the bells and whistles. I felt my insides melting to the consistency of goo.”

“Wow. Do tell.”

At the time, I didn’t know which was the real reason for my mother exiling me to the outskirts of Washington, D.C. until Christmas. Was she just trying to hide the freak from everyone at home in Boston, weary of explaining repeatedly why her rather androgynous son Joey had suddenly become her daughter Jocelyn, still preferring to be called Joey? I had been allowed to begin my freshman year at Amherst in January due to my recovery from surgery so stowing me 400 miles away in Maryland made complete sense if that was the reason. Or was she just too busy with her career at the hospital to deal with an adolescent with special needs? The parents who devoted their professional lives to safeguarding the health and wellbeing of other people’s children failed miserably at doing that for their own child.

Feeling abandoned by both parents, I resigned myself to staying in my room, surfing the net, watching YouTube videos, and breaking out the occasional odd physical book to read. To get me out of my self-made prison, Grandpa dusted off Mom’s old bike in the back of the garage. He told me the least use I’d have of it was to go to the mini-mall or public library. In any event, it was good exercise. When Sally, my cousin, heard this, she laughed at the image of me riding around Takoma Park on a 40-year-old bicycle.

“I’ll pick you up Saturday morning. The gang thought you were a little on the quiet side, but you’re welcome to hang out with us.”

“What are you guys planning to do? Not more shopping—”

“It’s like Monty Python’s spam skit. There’s lots of things we can do but there’s always going to be a little bit of shopping involved. Get with the program, girl! You’re going to be looking at shoes and accessories for the rest of your natural life.”

On a Friday night late in September, Sally, her friends, and I were lining up at the Snack Bar of the E Street Cinema, eyeing the selection of refreshments. We were evenly divided between popcorn and Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Bites. So, we decided to share! That and a soda got us ready to watch “The Lion King.” A trio of boys walked up to us and started exchanging greetings. One in particular, a tall good-looking boy with wavy dark brown hair, seemed to be very familiar with Sally.

“Hey, Sally, ladies, don’t tell me you’re seeing that kiddie movie.”

“There’s nothing else that looks half-way interesting. Seven screens and six of them suck,” Sally’s friend Ginny declared.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” The boy looked straight at me while asking Sally.

“Oh, yeah, this is my cousin, Joey Petry. She’s visiting from Boston. Joey, this is Raffy Gonzalez, class valedictorian in training. No, really, he’s a genius.” In a stage whisper, “At least that’s what he tells everyone.” Raffy nodded at me.

“Nice to meet you, Joey. Is that short for Josephine?”

“It’s Jocelyn but everyone calls me Joey, which is fine with me.”

“Well, from where I’m standing, I don’t think anyone could mistake you for a boy, even if you like being called Joey.”

“Hey, Raffy, movie’s starting. You can continue your charm attack later at HalfSmoke. Treat her to a milkshake when we order a platter for the table. Let’s go!”

“See you girls later at the HalfSmoke.” He turned and trotted over to his buddies.

“What are you guys seeing?” I shouted as Raffy started to disappear down the corridor.

“Aliens 12: The Final Gross Out” he shouted back.

“That sounds more interesting than “The Lion King,” I whispered to Sally. She gave me a look of disgust.

“So, what do you think of Raffy?”

“He seems nice.”

“You sound underwhelmed. He’s cute, smart, and speaks three languages. And he’s single!”

“You’re so impressed, why don’t you go after him?”

“Oh, yeah, I never told you. My boyfriend Rick is at Princeton. Anyway, Raffy seems to be very interested in you.”

“Well, I think I’m attracted to girls not boys—”

“Shhhh. Don’t let the others hear you say that. They’re kind of conservative around here. And just how do you figure that? Have you fooled around with a girl recently?”

“Sally, let’s table this discussion for now. Oh, look, they’re seating for “Lion King.”

We didn’t go to HalfSmoke after the movie. We went to Sbarro’s instead and ordered a Veggie Supreme pizza. As we destroyed the pizza, the girls wouldn’t stop teasing me about Raffy. Sally said she could set us up. Just say the word. I was about to say that I wasn’t attracted to boys when Sally kicked me in the shin under the table.

“She’s really shy, guys. And she went to an all-girl school in Boston. Would you believe she’s never been on a date with a boy?” They looked at me with utter disbelief.

“But you’re so pretty. Wasn’t there like a boys’ school affiliated with your school? Isn’t that what they do? I mean they can’t possibly do without proms and stuff…” Ginny was incredulous.

“The nuns didn’t want us corrupted, if you know what I mean—”

“Oh, you went to Catholic School! Do the nuns actually rap your knuckles with a ruler?”

“Worse. They—”

“Oh, look at the time. I’ve got to get Joey back to Takoma Park or Gran’ll tan my hide. C’mon, Joey. Don’t forget your purse.”

Over the next several weeks, as the girls took me under their wings, I made a clean sweep of all the most interesting sections of the city. We started in Georgetown, all around the campus, through Adams Morgan, Dupont Circle, Foggy Bottom, Southwest Waterfront, H Street NE, Penn Quarter, Chinatown, and Logan Circle. Oddly enough, more than was statistically probable, we kept bumping into Raffy and his friends. Then it was Raffy by himself, strolling through town, just lucky to chance upon us. He would join us for some street food or, later, invite us to some cute place where they served non-alcoholic beverages. I could tell from Sally’s self-satisfied expression every time these chance meetings occurred that she was working overtime to set us up.

Finally, one evening, as he walked me to the Dupont Circle Metro station to catch the Red Line back home to Takoma Park, Raffy shyly asked me out on a date.

“Hey, there’s a movie coming out Friday that maybe you’d like to see…with me, possibly? If you don’t have any plans, that is.”

“What’s the movie?”

“Umm, “The Thing.” His next words ran together in a nervous burst. “It’s like the third remake they say it’s really good like the effects are next level you don’t mind scary movies I mean there’s some gore for sure girls usually—”

“Okay. I’d like to go.”

“What? Oh, yeah, great! I was afraid you wouldn’t…I mean, you and Sally saw “The Lion King.”

“I’d rather have seen “Aliens 12” really, but the other girls outvoted me.” I laughed.

“You’re special, Joey. There’s something about you. I saw it the first time we met. What is it about you? You’re fascinating.”

“I’m a wonderful conversationalist, doncha know.”

“Friday, 7PM, I’ll meet you here. We can take the bus to the theater.” I nodded my agreement and turned to take the escalator down to the Metro, waving as I descended. He stood there and watched me all the way down.

After the first couple of dates (movies, James McMurtry at the 9:30 Club), we started seeing each other several times a week. As October turned to November, most of the time we’d just pick up a pizza from Paisano’s and go back to his dorm room and listen to his vinyl records. He played them on the old stereo handed down to him by his dad, Horatio, owner and chef of the best Cuban restaurant in Maryland, Los Habaneros Cubanos in Burtonsville.

“So, what was this surgery that made you delay starting school at Amherst?”

“Just some female stuff. I’m all recovered now. I could have started on time. I guess Mom thought I needed more time—”

“You mom’s a doctor?”

“Both my parents are doctors.”

“And you’re set on pre-med?”

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted to follow in the “family” business.”

“Not me. I have no desire to own a restaurant. My dad wanted me to learn how to cook all his Cuban specialties, but mom always told me to follow my heart. Academically, I’m saying.”

I was sitting on Raffy’s bed (neatly made thankfully), watching him as he sorted through his collectable 45s, sprawled on the floor directly beneath my swinging feet.

“You’re a Physics major. Do you want to do theoretical work or lab experiments?”

“Theoretical. But my real interest lies in the philosophy of science. There’s so much to explore in the metaphysics of physics, so to speak. The fundamental nature of reality and if we can really know it. Do scientific results truly comprise a study of truth?”

“That’s heavy, man.”

“I see you’re a person of more practical concerns. Like my record collection. Some of these are my dad’s. He was really into music in his younger days…before opening the restaurant. He gave me this old stereo since I was moving into the dorm, and he doesn’t have the time to listen to music like he used to. There’re still some record stores in DC. I go crate-digging sometimes on a weekend. Here, this is a single I found in Crooked Beat on 18th Street. It’s got an autographed picture sleeve too.” He took the 45 out of the sleeve and passed the sleeve to me. It was an illustration of a mythical sorceress standing in a dense thicket, a white owl perched on her left shoulder. A signature done by a silver sharpie climbed the side of the picture.

“This was from the soundtrack to “Streets of Fire.” I shook my head. Never heard of it. “Before your…our time. It’s written by Stevie Nicks. She sings backup on it. The story goes that they first met each other when they were 17 and 18. They always wanted to do something together and they finally did, seventeen years later. Shuggie Brennan. “Sorcerer” Listen.”

“I’ve heard of Stevie Nicks. I don’t know Shuggie Brennan. Was she a big star?”

“Pretty big. She’s still recording and performing. Her husband does film scores. Won an Oscar or two. She’s like the first transwoman to ever win a Grammy too. They’re always talking about doing a movie of her life.”

“Guess I’ve been living in a cave all this time.”

“Nice way to describe Boston.”

“Raffy, do you think you’d ever be attracted to a transwoman?”

“Hypothetically, sure, but I think the likelihood of me meeting a transwoman is infinitesimal. Current estimates place the total number of transgender individuals in the U.S. at 1 million. The number who are college age is a small fraction of that. The number who are college age and live in the DMV area is an even smaller fraction of that. I’d have just as good a chance at winning the lottery.”

“But suppose you did.”

“Win the lottery?”

“No, silly, meet a transwoman here in DC.”

“I’d be intrigued. From a scientific point of view. If they enjoyed sci-fi movies and indie rock music, we could be friends. But they wouldn’t be as pretty and smart as you.” I leaned down and kissed Raffy long and deep. He responded and climbed onto the bed, moving us into the middle, our lips still locked.

That was the first of many times I stayed overnight in Raffy’s dorm room. We slept together. Kissing, holding each other tightly enough to breathe in each other’s sighs, fingers tracing each other’s bodies. But we never went all the way. The reticence was not on my part. As affectionate, even passionate, as he was, he never crossed that imaginary line. I was happy and just chalked it up to a heightened sense of chivalry. It was good to feel respected as well as desired.

Whenever I stayed overnight, I’d call Gran and tell her I felt safer not taking the subway late at night. She’d quickly approve of me bunking with Sally and wish me sweet dreams. Sally, of course, would back me up if asked. And she took every opportunity to needle me about not being attracted to boys.

“It’s like someone who claims they’re vegan and eats steak three times a week. Can’t get enough of that taste, eh?”

“You have a filthy mind, Sally.”

“You’re the one making the beast with two backs.”

“Sally, we’ve never actually, you know…”

“What the hell do you do in his dorm room? Hold hands and sing kumbaya?”

“He just likes kissing and hugging.”

“I went out with a boy like that.”

“In high school?”

“No, third grade.”

As Thanksgiving drew near, Raffy’s friends started calling me Mrs. Gonzalez, for all the time we seemed to spend together on campus and in the city. It rankled me but, deep down, I was proud of my total acceptance by everyone as a woman. The thought occurred to me that I was more feminine than I’d ever imagined even before my transition. My father had once said to mom that it would take more than a hormone regimen to turn me into a convincing woman. Half-jokingly, he considered shipping me off to an all-girl Catholic boarding school when Doctor Loughlin started my HRT. I was serious when I threatened to run away from home if he actually followed through.

I was excited when Raffy told me he wanted me to meet his parents on the day after Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving Day was an especially busy day for restaurants, so they scheduled our first face-to-face for the slower, casually paced day after. Gran was glad to get my help in preparing our family Thanksgiving feast in any event. I had to explain to them who Raffy was and how involved I was with him. I kept it light on the details of course. Gran wanted to see the photo Sally had taken of Raffy and me standing on Boulder Bridge in Rock Creek Park. Our windblown hair was entangled, and it made us laugh. We looked like a happy couple. I handed my cellphone to Gran, and I noticed the concerned expression on Grandpa’s face. It deepened further when Gran exclaimed, “He’s so handsome!”

“And he’s a physics major, Grandpa…” He smiled broadly.

“Well, I look forward to meeting this young man of yours tomorrow when he comes to pick you up. You say he’s a sophomore? I’d advise him to concentrate on plasma physics. It’s a wide-open field for a bright young mind.”

---

Olga Gonzalez sat smiling at me across the table in a corner of Los Habaneros Cubanos Restaurant. Raffy was in the kitchen talking to his father, Horatio, owner and chef of their restaurant, nestled in Burtonsville, Maryland, between Baltimore and Washington, D.C. Cuban music was playing on the sound system. “Descarga Cachao” punctuated the air with its insistent rhythms.

“Joey is a boy’s name. What is your true given name, cariño?”

“Jocelyn. But everyone calls me Joey.”

“You’re too pretty to have a boy’s name. Rafael talks about you non-stop. Now I can see why. Are you Catholic?”

“No, my parents are both Jewish but we’re not very observant. I haven’t been to temple since I was a…a little girl.”

“So, your parents would have no problem with you being married in a church?”

“Uhh…no, I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

“In matters of the heart, just like in the restaurant business, it’s always best to plan ahead.”

There was a long moment of silence between us. I shot a glance at the kitchen door, hoping Raffy would finally return.

“Do you love Rafael?”

“I’m very fond of him—”

“He is deeply, deeply infatuated with you, cariño. Rafael very rarely brings his girlfriends to meet his parents. In fact, I can’t remember the last time he did. Maybe he was in middle school then. He’s a good boy, a good son. The Gonzalez family has always stressed education. Rafael descends from a long line of scholars. Did Rafael tell you his grandfather was the Provost of the University of Havana before Castro? He translated Shakespeare’s sonnets into Spanish, the first Cuban to do that. And Horatio, my husband, was in the doctoral program at Harvard in Comparative Literature before he decided running a restaurant paid better.”

“He never mentioned that. We’ve only known each other a few weeks. I’m sure he would have told me given time.”

“Only a few weeks but Rafael has decided you are the woman he wants to marry.” I quickly took a big swallow of water and tried to control the blush that was spreading on my cheeks. “I have always reminded Rafael that his education must, must come first. No distractions. I want to see him one day win a Nobel Prize. He is too brilliant to throw it all away on a pretty trifle. But I want him to be happy. Because he deserves to be love and be loved. Like his mother and father. Like your mother and father, I’m sure.” I hiccupped and immediately drank the rest of the water in my glass. “So, if you truly love my son, I will not stand in the way. My only condition is that you wait to have the wedding after Rafael graduates. Can you agree to that?”

There was a long list of things I wanted to say in response. My mind was a whirlwind of mixed emotions. Proud that I had elicited such deep feeling from Raffy, which he had starkly communicated to his mother. Relieved that I had passed muster with Olga and that she had deemed me worthy of her super-genius son. Disturbed that Raffy and Olga had already planned out the next three years of my life, without informing me. Insulted that I had been set up like a rack of bowling pins ready to be knocked down. It would be a mouthful, but I decided to set a few things straight with Olga. Then, the kitchen door swung open and Raffy and his father walked over to our table, wide smiles all around as they sat down.

“Did I miss anything?” asked Horatio.

“Joey and I had a very nice chat. She agreed with everything I said.” She laughed. “To be honest, Rafael,” she paused. “You’ve found yourself quite a jewel of a girl here. I am impressed. And I approve.” Rafael leaned across the table and kissed Olga on the cheek.

“Thank you, mom.” He squeezed my hand when he sat back down. I tried not to smile but, oh hell, he’s so cute. He completes me. Acchhhh! I’m a walking cliché.

“Dinner will be served momentarily. You know, I rarely get a chance to sit down and have a quiet family meal in my own restaurant.” Horatio ruffled his napkin and spread it out over his lap.

Olga got up from the table and extended her hand to me.

“Come, cariño, to the kitchen with me. I want to show you how to make a caramel-vanilla flan. That’s Rafael’s favorite dessert.”

As headshaking as that encounter with Olga Gonzalez was, the weeks from Thanksgiving to Christmas weren’t much different from the weeks before for Raffy and me. I slept in Raffy’s bed at least twice a week. We went to the movies once a week and tried to catch a concert when we could get tickets. We even had dinner at Los Habaneros Cubanos two more times. All this time, the warring factions in my mind tossed petards at each other. The whole Gonzalez family was making plans that included me, but I didn’t appear to have any say in them. And there was the nagging feeling that they’d see me differently if they knew I was transgender. Would Raffy see me differently? Sally advised me to keep my mouth shut and part of me thought that was wise. But I didn’t want to live a lie. I loved Raffy. That much I knew. Did he love the real me? I decided to find out.

We were in bed, reading. Raffy was writing marginal notes in his copy of Nancy Cartwright’s “How the Laws of Physics Lie” while I was perusing “Feynman,” a biography of the great Nobel-winning physicist done as a graphic novel (Raffy had given it to me as a 3rd anniversary present, 3 months that is).

“Hey, babe, do you want to spend Christmas with the Gonzalez family?”

“My mom is coming to spend that week with my grands and me. I could get away for a couple of days but not Christmas Eve or Day. You understand.”

“It’s just that you’ll head off to Amherst after the New Year and we won’t see each other for a long while. And my mother would really like to see you too.”

I closed my book and reached across to hug Raffy. Looking up at him, I hesitated before I spoke.

“Baby, I’m going to tell you something I probably should have told you weeks ago. Promise you won’t get upset?”

“Okay, you’re serious, aren’t you? What’s the problem?”

“I was born a boy. The surgery I had this summer was the final step—” Raffy dropped his book. His mouth opened but words failed him.

“The final step in my transition. I’m anatomically a woman now. But I was always a woman. That’s what transgender means.”

“You’re putting me on, right? This isn’t funny, Joey. Please tell me you’re kidding.”

I jumped out of bed. I pulled down the t-shirt I was wearing to cover myself down to the tops of my knees. It was Raffy’s Georgetown phys. ed. shirt. He said I looked cute in it.

“Does this change everything, Raffy? I’m the person you fell in love with. The person your mother is already planning to marry you off to. Did the last 3 months mean nothing?”

Raffy came over to me and wrapped his arms around me from behind.

“Joey, this is…very difficult. My mother thinks you’re a real girl.”

“I am a real girl!”

“She wants grandchildren. She wants me to have a normal family. She’s…she’s very religious, Joey. I don’t know.”

“What do you want, Raffy?”

“It’s not that simple—”

“It’s very simple. It’s your life, Raffy. You decide. Not your mother.” I started to change clothes. “I’ll see if I can catch the last train.” Raffy stopped me.

“Come back to bed, Joey. We’ll see what the morning brings. It’s too late for you to take the train—”

“I know, it’s too dangerous alone…for a girl!”

Reluctantly, I got back under the covers, but Raffy had retreated to the far side of the bed. Small as it was, he managed to put almost two feet between us. I slept fitfully that night and got up very early. I debated leaving Raffy a note and, in the end, just left quietly. That was the last time I ever saw Raffy. He never bothered to get in touch with me either. For my part, I just wanted to forget the whole affair. No pun intended.

“You say that but does your mind ever wander to those days, to Raffy, to what might have been?” I took our coffee mugs and placed them in the sink. Joey was getting her things together to leave. It was past 1:30 in the afternoon and she needed to return her mom’s rental car.

“Sure, once in a while I think about him. He was my first love. But he couldn’t accept me for who I am. End of story. He was my yesterday. Today and tomorrow hold new surprises. You know, my mother’s lived a lot longer than me, but that’s something she could learn from me. The past deserves to remain in the past. Cherish the memories but don’t chase after ghosts.”

“You might be onto something there. I wish I’d had your wisdom when I was your age. Is next Tuesday good for you?” I opened the door and air kissed her as she walked through.

“See you then.” I went to the kitchen and made myself another strong cup of coffee.

---

The Lakers lost on Saturday night and their season ended. I texted Eliot and he replied within the hour, which was surprising. He told me to keep it under my hat but early next week the team would announce they had re-signed him to a 3-year contract. For the foreseeable future, he was an Angeleno. Well, that was settled. Now to consider my own future. As Sunday night approached, I had turned it over and over in my mind whether to tell Alastair about my night with Elizabeth. In his guest house, no less. Even as I parked his Audi in the airport lot, going to meet him as he came off the plane, I was conflicted. Walking through security, down the endless corridor to his gate, and finding a seat in the waiting area, I summoned up my courage. I would tell him. Maybe he’ll get angry. In that event, I’d just pack up and go home. It wasn’t my idea to write this screenplay. I don’t need the money. GlobalNet can have it back (minus expenses, of course).

When we reached home, I invited Alastair in for a cup of chamomile tea.

“Doesn’t that have caffeine in it? I’m dead tired, Jo. I want to sleep for twelve hours if I can.”

“People drink chamomile tea to treat insomnia because of its calming effects. Researchers believe that its effect on sleep comes from its flavonoid content. Apigenin is a flavonoid that binds to benzodiazepine receptors in the brain, which has a sedative effect.”

“You’re reading that, I hope.” I showed Alastair the paragraph I’d just read to him on my cellphone. “For a moment, I thought I’d walked into a parallel universe where my Joanne was a research scientist.” He started to sip the tea.

“Alastair, something happened while you were away that I think you should know about.”

“Oh, I know about that. Lulu called me yesterday and, you know, she’s sorry she barged into the house. She had no way of knowing you were staying here. But she should have given me some notice. And, yes, I’m changing the lock. So, don’t worry about any more unexpected guests. Besides, you’re moving into the main house, right?”

“It’s not that, Alastair.” I took his free hand in mine and lowered my eyes. “Elizabeth and I went out for dinner. It was an Argentine restaurant. There was a live band, and we danced the tango a bit.”

“I’m sure you had a good time. I know there’s so much history between you. I can even picture you two dancing a tango. So, who lead?”

“She drove me back here afterwards. I invited her in for a cup of coffee.”

“The El Pico, right? Her favorite. A last parting gesture. You’re a natural writer, Jo.”

“We kissed. I don’t how it happened, but we ended up in bed. We made love…I’m sorry, Alastair. So sorry.” Wearily, Alastair got up from the kitchen table, quietly put his cup of tea down and walked toward the front door.

“I’m really beat, Jo. We’ll talk about this tomorrow morning. Throw me the keys. I’ll pop the trunk and retrieve my bags.” I handed the keys to him. I couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. He sounded so forlorn. He gently shut the door behind him.