After a lot of fun Toni really knuckles down to work. She’s been given the freedom and opportunity to really show what she can do in her job, maybe the opportunity to keep her job. However the freedom comes in extraordinarily handy when she faces her first crisis, all alone and anxious for reasons she can’t understand.

The question is whether the nascent Toni is strong enough to handle this? And whether she can even begin to handle it? What she does could determine where she goes next. Is Toni ready for what Toni? Or is the warning Big-G gave her about setbacks coming true faster than she could ever have expected?

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

I hear my alarm go off but I don’t want to move. I will it to keep quiet. Which doesn’t work. So I reach out and hit the snooze button. Again, and again. And again. Eventually I see light coming through from under my door to the living room. Natural light. I hit snooze again. My phone’s alarm goes off for I don’t know what number time and I have to get up. I really have to.

I somehow drag myself out of bed. It’s a little bit cold but with my nightdress I don’t want to put on my ugly, man bathrobe to keep warm. I do put on my slippers and trudge into the kitchen making coffee.

On my way to the kitchen I flick various devices on, eyes falling shut on me. I switch on my laptop, and check my phone to see if I have any messages. I do not want to do anything today. Not a single thing. I don’t know why. I had an early night last night. One of my earliest since, well... Since me.

I sit before my work laptop staring at no new emails and too tired to even lift my coffee to my face. Knowing what time it is I should really be working, especially if I want to take an early afternoon tomorrow.

My phone rings, it has to be Greg. He knew exactly when I was exhausted and decided to call me then. I pick my phone up with a groan and instead I see it’s G calling.

“Hi, G,” I grumble.

“Oh, Ms. Sleepy-head today, are we?”

“I don’t know why. Last night was my earliest night since last week. I just watched soccer and had literally one beer.”

“Things are catching up with you,” he says.

“How do you mean?”

“Have you been more busy this week compared to other weeks?” he asks.

“Well, yeah. Obviously,” I say.

“Yes... Exactly.” G says.

“I suppose,” I say, annoyed at him again, for pointing it out.

“Have you checked your bank account?” he asks.

“No.”

“Do it now,” he says.

“I’ll do it later,” I say.

“No. Now. Come on.” And there’s no arguing with him, at least with him seemingly bright awake and me still dopey brained.

I go through the security questions on my personal laptop and into my account. “It’s not too bad,” I say, not saying any specific figure.

“Compared to other weeks?” he asks.

“Yeah, a bit more spent,” I say. G stays quiet. “A little bit more than a bit,” I admit. “But you know I wasn’t mad on going out before. I was really solitary, and boring. I have some money saved up. Enough to do this for a bit longer.” I brighten up, more awake, thinking of more fun for another couple of months.

“What big expenses did you have this week?”

“None, really. It was just drinks and some food. A few taxis. I bought one candle. I got those cheap bras and shoes.”

“And do you think you might have some big expenses coming up along with all those everyday normal expenses for a woman in her twenties?”

“Why are you like this, G!?”

“You’re welcome,” G says.

“Yeah... You’re right. Now go away.”

He laughs. “Have you spent any time alone?”

“How do you mean,” I ask.

“Just you, thinking, about everything.”

“I watched football alone, last night,” I say. “I told you that.”

“Just with your thoughts?” G asks.

“No...”

“Go for a walk today. A normal walk. You know those getting fresh air walks. No earphones or music. No chatting to people. No window shopping. No grocery shopping. Just you and your thoughts. Will you?”

“Yeah, OK,” I say, knowing a walk might be nice. I look out the high window in the living room and it looks dry out.

“Promise?”

“I promise. Come on, G, let me have fun. You’re being mean.”

“What have you been eating?”

“Like total shit!” I say, trying to put pride in my words.

“Yeah. I thought so. Do you have plans for Sunday?” he asks.

“Not yet. Pedicure on Saturday, and soccer before that,” I say.

“Can you really afford a pedicure? They’re expensive aren’t they?”

“STOP TORMENTING ME, G!”

“You know I’m right, though,” G says. And he is, so I make a grumpy noise down the phone. “Anyway, do you want to go shopping on Sunday? The afternoon, maybe?”

“Ooh, yes I do!”

“For food!” G says.

“Will you cook?” I ask him.

“Maybe. I’m sure we’ll have a meal after. I looked around your apartment when I was there, you have the basic pots and pans. You might need a knife or two.”

“If you keep acting like this around me, G, you do not want me with knives in my hands.”

“You’ll be giving my hugs, and kisses all over my face in thanks when the day is over,” G says.

“You’re so arrogant!” And he’s right. I hate him, and I love him. “My god!”

“Promise you’ll go for the walk?” G asks.

“Yes...”

“And I’ll see you Sunday?”

“Yes!”

“OK. Have a fun day!” G says.

“Fuck you, G!” I say. And he hangs up.

And then my phone rings again, straight away. “Hi, Greg,” I say.

“Get some good rest?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say, and when he says Rest I can’t help but yawn.

“At least tell me you’re wearing pyjamas and you’re not naked.”

“I look cute, Greg. All the men would be drooling over me,” I say.

“I’m sure,” Greg says. Then I realise I was talking to him like he was Big-G, and I’m a little bit more awake. “Have you been keeping a draft of that six hundred word document I asked you to send me on Friday?”

“I have, Greg,” I say, trying to put a formal tone in my voice, maybe he’ll forget, or gloss over it. I can’t believe I talked to Greg about men. “It’s really loose though. My own notation, no structure, more than six hundred words.”

“OK. Do not change a thing about it unless you’ve admitted to a murder in it. I don’t want to receive that. Otherwise email it straight to me, as soon as you can. I’ll give it a look over and give you some advance warning on what people will think.”

“People?” I ask. I thought it would only be Mr. Mayer and Therese and maybe Greg who saw this, but I don’t want to complain about that to Greg.

“Yes. Of course. Reports get sent everywhere. Why do you think we’re asking you to write this?”

“I thought it was kind of a test,” I say.

“It is,” Greg says. “Most things, at your level, are a test in some way. It doesn’t mean they’re not valuable, and they’re certainly not meaningless. If your report is good it’ll be shared around.”

“OK, I didn’t know,” I say.

“Now you do,” Greg says. “Does that mean you’ll be working harder on it?”

“I was already working pretty damn hard!” I say.

“Good! Email me the draft. I’ll be back to you within an hour presuming I’m not telling HR to fire you. Now hang up.”

So I do. And I email Greg my draft straight away. Then I put on another coffee. I really need coffee today.

I’m just finishing my second coffee when Greg phones back. “Yeah, that’s fine,” he says. No greeting or hello.

“It’s more than fine, Greg! That’s good work!” I say.

“You’re far more fiery when you’re work from home,” Greg says. “Keep it up. It’s what we want from you.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“A bit more confidence. You’ve been lacking it. Stand up for yourself, and your work.”

“Is this professional advice?” I ask.

“Everything I say to you is professional advice, Tony. It is for everyone in my department. OK?”

“OK...”

“What were you going to look at today?”

“I’ve checked out the questions from the group I met. I’ve thought about the people around my age in the office, men and women. I’ve thought about things that apply to me... I’m not too sure, if being completely honest.”

“If you were back in school what would they tell you to do?”

“Start writing it up, check to make sure everything is referenced, check some academic works for new developments, compare it to other businesses, make sure there’s no mistakes.”

“Do you think that applies?” Greg asks.

“I suppose?” I say.

“Do you have some idea?” he asks.

“I can compare it to other offerings from healthcare companies, compare similar businesses with a profile like ours. I can check some of the job review websites where people talk about what a place is like to work, and what they use there.”

“So you have a plan for today?”

“I do. Then tomorrow I email you the real six hundred work document. Spend the rest of Friday integrating any feedback into it. I start to write up the final document, just the outline, headings, bullet points. I don’t think I need any graphics. If I have enough time I can finish up a little early?”

“That’s sounds like a plan,” Greg says.

“OK, I’ll hang up,” I say. And move the phone away from my face while just about hearing Greg say They’re learning.

I get to work on what Greg said, taking a quick lunch break to eat some instant ramen while I watch some more makeup tutorials. After lunch I take a look at some of the job review websites, specifically our business. I even look at our location. There’s a few mentions of Greg, words like Asshole, Evil, Arrogant, Rude, but there’s also a few quite heart-warming messages. One person says they left our company ten years ago and she still calls him when she’s having issues in her new workplace. I wonder if he wrote that one himself. It seems like something he’d laugh about.

It’s getting later in the day, and I am doing good work, and I remember I promised Big-G I’d go for a walk to just think. I know I could actually do with one. I have no plans for tonight, and no plans to make any plans. I’m still even in my nightdress since this morning.

I quickly change into a pair of jeans, my new skate shoes and a sweater. I don’t do my makeup but try and brush my hair into the shape I’m familiar with by now, a little at least, with no mousse or washing. I put my keys and some emergency money in my purse but not my phone. No distractions, no window shopping, no sneaking earbuds into my ears to listen to music. I just want some peace with the tension I can feel building in my head.

I walk out.

I begin my way up the street, wanting to feel the setting sun on my face but it doesn’t feel right. No-one’s smiling at me any more. Certainly not like weeks ago. Then I think on that again, it wasn’t weeks ago people were smiling at me, it was only Saturday. My first proper day as me. That was only a few days ago. It seems so long ago. Like so much has happened.

Is it that I haven’t done my makeup? Do I feel naked that way? Is it my hair not being done properly, but that doesn’t feel wrong. It’s just not right, in some way. I’m not right. I feel my pace picking up and have to tell myself to slow down but I can’t.

Everything has been so fun. I’ve enjoyed myself, but now I’m alone it feels wrong. It’s just me! I’m just out for a walk with me and it all feels wrong! I feel like I’m shaking.

Can I really not be alone with myself? Is that what the problem is? Is it that I’m fine when I’m being fun with people, and having fun with people, and don’t have to think about who I am but when it stops, and I’m confronted with what I am, it’s telling me to stop.

I turn back on my walk. I want to sit down. I want to curl up. I have to get home! But what if I get home and I still feel this way? What if it doesn’t leave me? What if I always feel like this?

I cut into a store on the way and pick up a six pack, going through all the motions of paying and not even knowing what I did pay. I take big, trembling breaths as I get closer and closer to my apartment, clutching onto the beer.

Dropping onto my couch I know something is wrong with me. There is something wrong with me! I’ve never felt like this in my life. I have to talk to someone.

I pick up my phone and there’s two missed calls from the work number. Fuck!

I phone Greg. “Sorry,” I say. “I missed some calls.”

“Bathroom break?”

“I went for a walk. To clear my head, no phone, no distractions, just me and the fresh air.”

“Good idea. Did you?” Greg says, and I don’t say anything. “Clear your head?” he goes on.

“Not really, if anything it’s worse,” I say.

“Is it about the report?” Greg asks.

“No, the report is going well,” I say.

“It is, actually. We want to change some things.”

“In the document?” I ask, trying to contain myself.

“No. That’s fine. There’s no need to email me the update tomorrow. I’ve seen enough. Mr. Mayer has seen enough. We said Tuesday, after lunch, I wanted a print-out of the final report. Do you think you can have it first thing Tuesday, instead?”

“Yes, I can,” I say.

“Don’t agree to it if you can’t,” Greg says. “If you need the time you can have the time. It just suits me better to get it first thing. If our original plan works better for you now is the time to speak up.”

“No. Definitely. I can get it to you first thing Tuesday,” I say.

“OK. And did you check out the gyms we have available?” Greg asks.

“How do you mean, for the report? Yeah. It was in what I emailed you.”

“For yourself. Maybe an hour in the morning or evening kicking a dummy to get out all your anger, or whatever’s clouding your head, could work better than a walk?”

I laugh. “I have been thinking about it,” I say.

“It’s there to be used. A lot of our facilities are intended to be used, so do use them. They’ll get even better work out of you. Personally I prefer a walk in the fresh air with a smoke.”

“So not quite fresh air?”

“Don’t you start on me,” Greg says. “You can finish up today if you have nothing pressing. Start finishing the report first thing tomorrow. And have a loose draft done before you clock out early, which is the plan, right?”

“Thank you, Greg.”

“OK, hang up. Close your work laptop. Go back to Minecraft or League of Legends or whatever it is you people do.” And I do hang up on him with that comment.

I sit still, for a few moments, thinking maybe simple social contact was enough to set me at ease. Enough to quell whatever it was that happened to me. But I feel a little nugget at the back of my mind, slowly growing, and then a constriction on my chest.

I look down at myself. I rub my hands down my sides, and tummy and thighs. I’m just me, right? This is me? But why do I feel this way if it’s not wrong?

I pick up my phone and go to my contacts but I can’t burden anyone with this. I can’t call someone with this. It’s a little before work would be finishing for most people and I can’t run for people whenever I feel shitty. If this is so wrong I have to figure out what exactly is wrong.

Without really thinking I send G a message, “Can you call me, when you get a chance. Soon if possible?” Then put my phone down.

I stand, take a few steps and turn in a circle. Do I want to take these clothes off? Do I want to go back to being boy Tony? Would that stop this? Would that stop this pressure in mind?

But that’s wrong. I’ve been happy as me. I feel happy meeting people, and talking to people. Hell, I even felt happy when I stupidly said men would think I’m cute to Greg. But now I’m alone it’s wrong. What the fuck is happening? Why is this happening?

I look towards the beers and want to drink one but just like I can’t demand people be at my beck and call whenever I feel bad I can’t reach for a drink whenever I feel bad. I just need to escape somehow. I just need to be different. I need to be a woman. A proper woman. Without this dumb, shit cock and balls between my legs. With ovaries. And boobs. And a man in my life. And a childhood I enjoyed and I want so much but it’s not for me. It’s not who I am? Why couldn’t it...

My phone goes off. G is calling. I take a deep breath. “Hi, G,” I say.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me what happened?” he says.

“Nothing happened. No-one said anything to me.”

“What were you doing?” he asks.

I sigh. “I went for a walk... It felt wrong? I don’t know.”

“What felt wrong?”

“Me!?”

“In what way?” he asks.

“I don’t know. I’ve been so occupied this past week. Doing everything, meeting people, being me, as soon as I had time alone it just hit me. This isn’t right. I’m not right.”

“OK...” G says. “What’s not right?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t deserve this. It’s wrong.”

“Don’t deserve what?” he asks, sounding stern.

“Having fun,” I whine.

“Why not?”

“It’s too much fun. It’s not right. And the second it stopped it felt all wrong. The second I had to be with myself...”

“It hit you?”

“Yeah... But I don’t know what. I’m wrong. My body is wrong. I’m not...”

“You’re not what?”

“A woman... I’m a boy pretending. I’m tricking people. I shouldn’t have any of this.”

“Have you done anything wrong? Like, have you hurt someone?”

“I don’t know...”

“No. Answer me, please. Have you hurt anyone?”

“No... Me..? Have I hurt me?”

“Ninety-nine percent of the time, how do you feel?”

“Good? I guess. But I shouldn’t.”

“So you feel good and you feel guilty about it?”

“I don’t deserve this!!”

“You don’t deserve to feel bad. But it’s natural. You had a bit of a crash. That’s fine. You messaged me. I called you.”

“You shouldn’t have called me...”

“Be serious, Toni. Why shouldn’t I have called?”

“Because I’m being stupid. This is nothing compared to what people go through. I’m lucky.”

“First off, you feel bad and you’re my friend so of course I’m going to care. Secondly, other people do go through worse, that doesn’t invalidate what you’re feeling. And it sounds like you’re feeling like this is too good to be true.”

“A little...”

“Is it? Too good be to true? Are you lying to yourself?”

“I don’t think so, no. Maybe...”

“But it’s new, and it’s suddenly hit you. That’s fine. You’re worried. Do you want it to stop?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t. But the second I was all alone I felt wrong. The second I just had to be me it was wrong.”

“So you felt bad and messaged me. I’m not seeing the problem.”

“I don’t know. I feel so vulnerable. So exposed.”

“You are,” G says.

“What?”

“You are vulnerable. You’re new at this. This is all new to you. You’ve made a big change in your life. Of course you’re vulnerable. And you’ll be a little old lady in sixty years time in the retirement home and there’ll still be times you feel vulnerable. People feel like this.”

“I’ve never felt this way before...”

“I bet you have but you ignored it. You just went by it in a fog. You’re feeling things now. Experiencing things now because you’re who you’re meant to be. You can’t just ignore yourself any more.”

“Maybe.”

“Probably... I’m not saying I’m right but it happens to me. I feel like you sometimes.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Because my parents are old. I’ll probably lose one, or both of them, soon. Could even be today. The people who raised me. And I don’t know how I’ll handle that. I don’t want to lose them.”

“I’m sorry, G. I didn’t mean to actually ask what upsets you. I shouldn’t have. I just...”

“You just what?”

“I can’t imagine you feeling like this. You’re so strong.”

“Thank you,” G says. “But I’m not always. So I talk to people. Often my parents. And that’s why I’m worried about it.”

There’s a pause on the phone for a few moments. “Are you worried or scared?” I ask.

There’s another pause. Then G speaks up. “Yeah. I’m scared. Some moments I’m terrified. Usually when I’m lying in bed.”

“I’m sorry, G.”

“It’s normal, Toni. It’s normal.” And I feel a tear in my eye thinking of Big-G losing his parents.

“I think I’m crying a bit,” I say.

“Still scared?” he asks.

“No. Thinking of what you’re going through. With your family.”

“They could live another twenty years. It’s just worries, and stresses, care for the people we care about. I’ll say it again, it’s normal. It’s what makes us who we are.” I wipe the tear from my eye and sniff. “Are you still scared? Really? Be truthful.” he asks.

“Of what happens when we hang up,” I say.

“Well, I’m sitting in a hotel room, day’s meetings done. More tomorrow. I fly back late in the evening and I have hours yet to use the expense account in the hotel bar. What are you up to for the night?”

Then we talk, for longer. I don’t know how much longer. About work, and bosses, sports we’ve watched. G gives me a few clues about the shopping we’ll do on Sunday. We just chat.

“I should leave you to that expense account,” I say.

“Do you want to talk longer?” he asks.

“I think I’m OK,” I say. “Thank you, G.”

“Any time.”

I place my phone down and wait for the feeling I had to return but it doesn’t. Instead I feel drained. Empty, and a little cold. Like I’ve just spent an hour crying. I rub at my face and then rub at my arms.

Before I know it I’ve taken a selfie of myself where I’ve forced myself to put on a smile. I message it to my sister, with the word Hi!

A few minutes later I get a message. “You look different. What’s different?”

“I’m trans now. I guess... I’m a woman. Sort of...”

I don’t know what I’m thinking over the next minutes but I’m onto the message when it comes back as quick as a flash. “Oh thank you! You’re not boring! I’m busy now. I’ll phone over the weekend. Work on being exciting. I want an exciting little sister, not a boring little brother. Have fun, lil’ sis!”

And I sit back on my couch, not knowing what to do, or who to message, or anything really. Except probably my sister is messaging her gaggle of friends who’d torment me when I was a kid, and they’ll be screeching like witches. Why did I do that? Why did I message her?

Before I know it I’ve stood and dragged myself into bed, fully clothed. I lie down and pull the covers over me. I feel like I should cry. Like I want to cry, but no tears are coming. They’re just not there. I’m upset, and confused, but I’m empty.

I wake, and roll over, and feel weird. Sweaty. I look at the clock at the side of my bed and it’s 5am. What time did I fall asleep? When did I fall asleep?

I pull my legs up and I think I’m wearing jeans. And I’ve sweated right through them. All my clothes. I messaged my sister!

I groan and roll over again, trying to get back to sleep but I’m really uncomfortable and I’m so out of sorts, so on edge, I know sleep won’t be coming.

I do a few laps around the apartment, not knowing what I’m looking for, feeling my clothes weigh me down then realise I should probably just shower.

It’s a long shower, cleaning up my legs, pits, my crotch again, the few stray hairs that sprouted up on my chest. I’m going out later so I won’t do my makeup straight away but I will be shaving twice today. Then I let the water pour over me. I wash my hair, and again it’s time for more water to cover me.

As I stand beneath the shower head I think I could really do with a bath. Just soaking. Would it be weird to ask Steve if I could bathe at his place? It would, definitely, I tell myself. It’s probably filthy anyway. Although thinking back to my time in his apartment he does do the basics of cleaning. Which reminds me I should probably do some cleaning myself. And I should really have done it before I showered. And now my day is set out before me.

I dry off, get dressed. The looser, darker jeans today and I don’t know why but I want a sparkly top. This one is purple and has a gold pattern printed on it. It goes down to mid forearm where it’s cuffed in little ties. I feel normal in it. Relatively normal. I’m kind of getting sick of these breast forms though. I want my own. I want my own boobs so bad. I try to think of what it’d be like, what kind of breasts I want. But I don’t know. I suppose that’s for the fates to decide.

I check the fridge and it’s extremely bare. I have more instant noodles, I always have instant noodles, but I’m not having those for breakfast. Instead I do the last two slices of bacon from when G cooked. It’ll have to do.

Then it’s sitting down to work. I’m a few hours into getting the first draft of the final report done when I realise Greg hasn’t called. I check my phone to see if I missed him but there’s nothing missed. There is a message from my sister. “Did you change your name? As your older sibling I should have some say with a new name.”

“Toni, with an i. You can help me pick a middle name, maybe.”

I push my sister’s text from my mind. Why would I pick a different name? And she’s messaged me more times now than ever. I really have to get this draft done. And I do. A rough outline, or a little bit more than a rough outline. All the words are there, whether they’re in the right order, without mistakes and making sense is a different matter. If you looked at the document from ten feet away, on the screen, it’d look like any other normal report, but up close?

For lunch I do make some noodles. Then I shave again and do my makeup. I stuff the samples of the BB cream into my purse, I’m going to have to actually buy some of this, and then I sit back down to read the report. Just give it a once over. A simple read through to make sure it’s in proper English. Instead I find I’m catching mistake after mistake.

I go through it yet another time. There’s nothing obvious I can see apart from tightening language. But it’s only really what I can see. I know this document is fresh to me so I won’t be able to make it out with the clarity I should. And I don’t really have the time to gain that clarity.

I pull up the office number on my phone and dial Greg’s number. He picks up, “Hi, Tony.”

“Greg, is it possible for me to get someone to read through my report before I finalise it?”

“You’ve got a draft done?”

“I have, but it’s all fresh to me. I’m not sure if I can see the mistakes that are still in there.”

Greg gives a hrrmm down the phone and then says, “OK, let me check the office.” He pauses. “Do you know Mallory?”

“Short girl? Blonde?”

“Dumpy! Yeah, that’s her. Do you have her email address?” he asks, while I’m thinking he really shouldn’t be calling anyone dumpy.

I check through my address book and find what looks like her email address. I call it out to Greg.

“Yeah, that’s her. Send it through to her. She’ll have until, let’s say 11am Monday morning to get back to you. Is that good for you?”

“Yeah, that’s great Greg. And will you thank her for me?”

“Wait until you see her work, first. Don’t you think?”

I wait a few minutes, run a spellcheck a final time then send the document through to Mallory, hitting all the points I agreed with Greg in my explanation to her. There’s nothing else to do. Someone else has my report now and I just need to wait and see what they make of it.

I think I really should get some shopping done, for the sandals at least, for my pedicure, and maybe some more ramen for the kitchen. Before I leave the apartment I message Jess and Sally asking if we’re going out tonight, then I get to walking.

I go back the supermarket that’s done me well the whole time and dig around everywhere. Even into their out-of-season bins, but there’s no sandals that I can find. Nothing I imagined anyway. I go around the store twice but there’s not even a sniff of something suitable. I suppose Fall isn’t really a put your toes on display season. At least not unless it’s a fancy party.

I’m not sure what to do when I leave the store, so I begin to walk towards Light Avenue. There’s a few places I check along the way, mainly small thrift stores and one or two tiny places that don’t look that fancy but when I get in I see their prices and make a very quick exit.

The final place I check is a little overstock place. I think they buy up what other stores can’t shift, at least at the local level. There’s everything in there, but no damn sandals. There is a couple of very nice, very luxurious bathrobes, a little on the pricey side so I can’t really justify it. Who’s going to see me in a bathrobe? My red and black man one is fine.

I finally make it to Light Avenue and plonk myself up on one of the stools at the front of the bar. A bartender serves me my now usual low-alcohol beer and I take out my phone. There’s a few messages waiting for me in the group chat.

“Sorry, Toni. I need to study tonight. Especially if we’re going out tomorrow,” Jess says. Then a few moments later another message from her. “And Sally has big plans. Ask her about them.”

Sally has messaged, “Big plans? Who told you that? Anyway, I don’t want to defile innocent Toni’s mind with we’ll be getting up to.”

“See, biiiig plans,” Jess says.

They seem all gossipy from work so I just leave them to it and drink my beer. Then I remember the sandals situation. “I couldn’t find any sandals. Do you think the nail shop would mind if I cancelled?”

“You’re not cancelling!” Sally says.

“What about something else?” I ask.

“Like what?” Jess says.

“Fingernails?” I message. “I could at least show them off. And I don’t need to be in work until Tuesday.”

“That could work. Get your eyebrows done too and I don’t think they’ll mind a change of plans.”

“I can’t get my eyebrows done. Everyone will see that.”

“That’s the point, dummy. Anyway, no-one really notices eyebrows unless they’re horrific. Just get them tidied up and a little shape on them and you’ll notice but others will just get a general impression. They won’t know what it is.”

“Are you making this up?” I ask Jess.

“Would Jess lie about fashion?” Sally asks. And I don’t say anything. Normally she wouldn’t, but I feel kind of at sea for some reason.

A few minutes go by and my phone goes off again. “OK. Appointment changed. You’re getting your fingernails and eyebrows done. No backing out now.”

“Fine!” I message back.

“The correct response is Thanks for changing my booking last minute, Jess.”

“Thank you, Jess.”

“You’re very welcome, start thinking about colours.”

I go back to my drink wondering what I’ll do today, or for the rest of my evening. This time last week I was finishing up at work and getting ready to go to Steve’s, and then everything changed. I changed. I can’t imagine myself there tonight, just a regular Lads Night In. It was cancelled, but I don’t know, being out with people is more fun. Most of the time, anyway, I think, as I look around the bar with no-one I know here.

I take out my phone again and message Alan. “Steve said you and Sam broke up? Were you dating?”

A couple of minutes go by and I get a message back. “God no! We had a fun night, and morning after. A hot lunch and an energetic afternoon. Then we went our ways. That’s all it was. We were never dating. Try it sometime. You might enjoy it.”

I put my phone down and look around the bar again. There are some cute guys here but how do you even talk to them? I couldn’t just walk up to them and say So yeah, I was a boy until a week ago but now I’m a woman and I’ve been thinking of going to town on men, any man, pretty much every moment I have to myself. Will you do things to me? They’d think I was insane, at the least, and probably knock my teeth out.

“Checking out boys, are we?” someone says. I look behind the bar and Steph is standing there, but not in uniform. She’s wearing a simple, faded, denim mini-skirt, sporty 80s trainers, and a kind of retro team top. “You’re looking at me strangely.”

I shake my head out. “I’m just... Your legs! My god, I’d kill for them.” They’re perfect, and lightly tanned, and with not a single blemish.

“Thank you!” Steph says. “What about the rest of me?”

“I’ll be honest, one of the first times I saw you I thought you were the most attractive woman I’d seen in my life.”

“Now I have to have a drink with you,” Steph says. And she begins to mix herself up a cocktail. “Want one?”

“If you’re joining me, sure. Why not?”

“Anyone you like around here?”

“How do you mean?” I ask.

“Really? You ask me that? I know a few of these guys, their names at least. I could introduce you to someone.”

“More honesty?” I ask.

“Always!”

“Literally every one of them. Every single one. Any of them. I wouldn’t care which one. Since last weekend it’s been non-stop. The thoughts...”

She strains the cocktail through something and pours two smaller than normal, but still big enough glasses. “Drag one into one of the accessible bathrooms. Get sloppy with him.”

“I couldn’t do that!”

“Everyone else is doing it.”

“What if someone actually needs to use the toilet? I can’t.”

“We have five accessible toilets. Do you really think we don’t know what’s going on in them. Do you really think we need five of them!? After the Pride Parade we practically need to hose them down.”

“That’s disgusting!” I say.

“It’s natural. You’re young, you’re horny, sometimes you’re in love. Or so you think.”

“You’re not that much older than me!”

“How old do you think I am?” Steph asks, looking kind of serious now.

“Really?” I ask. She nods. “Thirty-five, thirty-six-ish?”

She twists her mouth up a little. “Close, I’m thirty-seven. People seem to think I’m older though. I guess it’s just being behind the bar, being the manager. The word’s gotten around I’m mid-forties and just extremely young looking for my age, which I don’t argue with. It makes it easier to get troublemakers in a headlock and throw them out the door.”

“Yeah, the other time I saw you that night I thought you looked formidable.”

Steph does a pose like a bodybuilder, flexing her muscles. “I think I remember that, the bartender? Tell me...”

“I’m not going to get him in trouble, am I?”

“Nope. You do not have such powers in your weak and feeble body.”

“OK... He kind of creeped me out,” I say.

“Asking for ID?” Steph asks.

“No... He looked me up and down. And smiled as he was doing it. I don’t know. I didn’t feel comfortable.” I stop and consider the look Steph is giving me, not sure I’m able to decipher it. “He is in trouble isn’t he?”

“Who says he works here any more?”

“Because of that!?”

“Not just you,” Steph says, and looks me in the eyes. “Really!! It was a few people. Even staff members. He was always well behaved with supervisors, security, managers. But people I believe said some things to me.”

“Just because—”

“Because of a lot of reasons. He made people uncomfortable. If he was uncomfortable and just not used to this type of bar we’d have given him time. To get to know people. To get to know what it’s like here. It he was useless at bar work we’d teach him. We don’t just dismiss people.”

“OK...”

“Anyway, you were talking about how hot and formidable I am. More of that please.”

I gather myself together. “I can’t really say much more. You’re not my type.”

“Hot?” Steph says.

“Female.”

“You certain on that?”

“I think so. I’ve never been with a guy but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking... Imagining... These past few days.”

“What else have you been thinking?” Steph asks, as she laughs.

“Don’t laugh! And I don’t know... I felt weird last night. Talking to G he said I was saying I’m vulnerable.”

“Big-G?”

“Yeah. I was feeling kinda shitty and I didn’t know who to call so I called him. He made me feel a bit better.”

Steph takes a sip of her cocktail through a straw. “That’s cute.”

“What’s cute?” I ask, wondering how simply calling Big-G could be cute.

“You’re lonely. You want a man in your life. To hold you. To listen to you. To comfort you.”

“Yeah...” I say, then I think for a moment. “I mean Yeah!! What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, it’s what we all want. But they’re not going to land in your lap. It takes two to—”

“Tango. Yes, I know. I’ve just never tango’ed, with anyone. Not really.”

Steph presses her fingers to her lips and leans in towards me. “I’ll let you in on a secret...”

“Yeah?” I say.

“The tango is a lot of fun. There’s a reason so many people do it. And then there’s a load of other dances to learn. And you’re young, and sexy, and have no excuse not to be inventing new dances.”

“Do you dance?” a man asks. He’s about my age, just wearing a normal brown t-shirt and kind of nondescript pants, and he’s sitting a couple of chairs up from us. He’s kind of built, not overly but he’s athletic. Mostly I want to know was he listening in on us?

“Do you want to dance with Toni?” Steph asks.

“Is there dancing here? Later tonight?” he asks.

“Toni, based on our conversation, would you dance with our new friend? Be honest!”

I feel an absolute fire begin to rise up my face as I look at his arms in his t-shirt. I can see the pecs on his chest through the material.

“Why are you blushing?” he asks me, and I can’t imagine blushing harder than this but I think I already am.

“Come on, move up on the bar. You should talk to Toni before you spend the night dancing.”

“Jesus, Steph. I’m not—”

“Introduce yourself,” she says to this guy. “And you should, Toni. I would if I was you.”

“Do you mind?” the kind of hot, no... Actually quite, really hot guy asks me, pointing towards the seat next to me.

“No. Please do,” I say and shuffle the seat a little to make it more accommodating.

He grabs a jacket, and his drink from the counter, then sits himself up to me.

“I’m Tim, by the way,” he says.

Steph shakes her head. “Sorry, Toni. Not gonna work out. Tim and Toni. Sounds weird.”

“What’s she talking about?” Tim asks.

“She’s imagining us dating,” I say, scowling at Steph.

“I mean, I was too,” Tim says. And I blush again.

“Where would you take her on a first date?” Steph asks. “And you’d better get this right.”

“Ooh, I don’t know,” Tim says.

“Not a good start,” Steph says.

“It depends on what she wants to do.”

“It’s getting worse.”

“What do you want to do, Toni?” he asks me.

“Well, I need to pick up some makeup. And there’s a bathrobe that looked really soft I’ve been thinking about since I saw it.”

“OK, let’s go get them,” Tim says.

“Oh, wow. Settled couple territory already,” Steph says. “What happened to dancing?”

“Shut up, Steph!” I say. I turn to look at Tim. “It’s really boring. Literally just going in and out of stores. You don’t want to do that.”

“I just want to spend some more time with you,” he says. “Maybe get to know you. See if there’s anything there.”

“Where?” I ask. We’re in a bar, what more does he want?

“Between us,” he says, with a hint of doubt in his voice. “Are you two playing with me?” He gestures back and forth between me and Steph.

“I think she’s playing with us,” I say, flicking my hand at Steph.

“Oh! It’s Us now. I’d better leave you be then.”

And she does. And me and Tim talk. He asks about me, and my family, my friends. I learn he’s a graphic designer, starting out his own studio. Really it’s just him on his own. He seemed kind of like a jock when I first saw him, which wasn’t far wrong. He was into sports as a teen, even got a scholarship to a small university, but he’d spent all his life drawing and when nothing came of swimming he decided to do what he had a passion for.

We’re just talking normally when he says, “Right, come on. Let’s get the bits you need.”

“What?”

“Your drink is gone. You said you need to get some bits and pieces. Let’s get them.”

“If I leave I’m not coming back here,” I say.

“That’s fine,” he says.

“I’m not going anywhere with you either. I’m getting what I need and going home.”

“I’ll walk you home.”

“You’re not coming into my apartment!”

“I never expected to,” he says.

“What do you expect?” I ask, not knowing how to read this guy.

“If you had fun? A kiss on the cheek...”

“And?”

“And we meet again,” he says.

“That’s it?” I ask.

“That’s it,” he says, standing. “Let me get your coat.”

He takes my coat from the back of my chair and holds it up for me. I don’t know quite how I feel as I slip it on, with him helping, but it feels good. I feel smaller than him. Like he should be holding me. And when he moves his hands away I feel him trail a finger across the back of my neck and it’s like I could explode on the spot.

In the pharmacy I pick up my BB cream, and some nail polish remover, then I, or we, I guess, make our way to the overstock store. I take the bathrobe down from the rack and hold it out to Tim, “See how soft it is?”

“Yeah, you need that,” he says.

“Why?” I ask, not knowing why exactly I need it.

“Because you’re soft, and adorable, and delicate, and pretty,” he says. “Pretty hot, I mean.”

“You’re going to make me throw up,” I say.

“You are those things!”

“Shut up!”

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he says.

“What am I doing to you?”

“If I told you you’d slap me.”

“Oh, wow. I thought you were smooth until that,” I say. But I kind of want to slap him. He’s too hot right now. He’s offensively hot. And cute. More hot though. Fuck!

“There’s a place I make posters for around here, you might like it. After you get the bathrobe,” he says.

“Should I get it? Really?”

“Yes, of course.”

I scrunch my face up as though I’m thinking but I’ve already made my mind up. “OK, you’ve convinced me. And what’s this place you want to show me?”

He explains as I pay that it’s a little thrift store, run by someone really good that’s finally found a decent rent. They’ve been running the business out of markets for a few years, travelling to build up their stock.

As I walk in a woman looks at me and smiles. Then smiles at Tim, “Hi, Tim,” she says, in a kind of flirty tone.

“Hey! How are things?” Tim says. “You happy with those posters?”

“Yeah, they’re perfect. Is it you or your friend shopping?”

“She’ll leave with half the store,” he says. “So let’s get going.” He takes me by the elbow and drags me deeper into a store with random old stuff all over the place, or at least in between the various racks, and shelves. There’s everything in here, from quite expensive looking jeans, to extremely glamorous gowns, to regular every day dresses. There’s lots of retro dresses too. Sweaters, hoodies, cardigans, tops, pants. On some mannequins there’s tiaras and extremely fancy, silk nightdresses, and pearl necklaces. Fake, I hope.

“Where do I start?” I ask.

“Just go wild!” Tim says.

And I kind of do. I’m pulling out item after item, and sweaters, and cardigans, and shorts, even though it’s the wrong season for them, and so many dresses.

“Having fun?” Tim asks.

“I am, I think,” I say.

“Why only Think?”

“I don’t know how all this will look on me,” I say.

“Try them on!”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. I’ll hold them, you try them on...” he says as he pushes me towards the back where there’s some curtained off areas. “... and if you want to be told you looking smoking hot in any of them come out and put on a fashion show.” Then he’s pulling some curtains closed on me with a pile of clothes in his hands, and another pile in front of me on a chair.

I strip down to my underwear, highly aware I have extra parts that shouldn’t really be in these clothes, but it’s just me and Tim here, and the woman who was flirting with Tim, which is kind of annoying.

I start with the shorts. They’re grey, not booty shorts or anything, appropriate length, I suppose. Kind of professional. I could imagine them with dark pantihose, heels, and a white blouse on a girl at work. Which is good enough for me. I have no plans to come out at work but these are about five bucks so I can’t go wrong.

I go through the rest of the items, a few sweaters, another pair of jeans, a few cardigans, I have no cardigans, some midi-skirts, and I’m starting to dread my bill.

I ask Tim to hand me through the rest of the clothes, which he does. Thankfully it’s a smaller pile than what I have in here.

I try on a light denim dress, with obvious stitching on it, for show, as a style. There’s a belt attached around the waist that I think gives me a little shape. I pull the curtains back without thinking and Tim turns around. “Oh my god!” he says.

“What?” I ask. “Bad?”

“Those legs. Wowzers! The things I would do...”

“Shut up!” I say, but it feels kind of good. He’s not quite leering at me but he’s definitely thinking of me and that makes me feel not bad. “OK. Do I look like I have a shape in this?” I make a kind of curving pattern with my hands but equally I’m wiggling around trying to look a bit sexy.

“Yes, definitely. Into the buy pile,” he says.

“OK...” I say, a little suspiciously, then go back in and close the curtains again.

I don’t know why, other than I’d seen them on other women, but I picked up a pair of leather style leggings when I was browsing. Shiny. Wet-look I guess is the term. I put them on and I feel incredibly sexy in them, and I think they’ll go with my last item. Which is like the sweater dress Jess showed me last weekend.

It’s white wool, a little less fluffy than hers but still fluffy, coming down to your wrists and mid-calf length. I put it on and give myself a look in the mirror. I guess I look good. I feel great in it.

I pull back the curtains. “How about this?” I ask.

“Yeah, I can’t do this...” Tim says.

“Can’t do what!?” I ask, panicking. It’s ending. It feels like someone’s dropped a cannonball in my stomach. He’s joking. Insulting me. A story for his weird jock friends.

“If you keep coming out of their looking like a model from the 70s the police will arrest me for what I end up doing to you. Right here.”

My mind kind of stops when he says that, and I just stare at him, but he’s looking me up and down, smiling. “You can’t say that! Tim! You can’t!”

“I’m sorry, we’re going to have to leave. I can’t take this any more.” And then I think of what we could do, right here on the floor. I don’t even care if the woman at the front of the store watches. I don’t care if she records it!

“OK...” I say. I suppose we can keep our hands to ourselves. And he just smiles at me, rather confidently. I go back in and get changed into my regular clothes. “Let’s go.”

“That’ll happen...” he says.

I wonder what he means, with my eyes darting around the store as we leave, and he’s right. “Yeah, OK. I spotted the shoes. Let me just take a quick check. This’ll be easy. I won’t be long,” I say. And there’s really only two pairs I like the look of. One is a pair of black heels, a boot, ankle length, kind of suede but not real suede, zip at the side. I fit one of my feet in and it fits. I look at Tim and he’s kind of circling around, away in his own world.

Next are the pair I really want, some black leather Doc Marten Mary Janes with a small platform and heel. They look in great condition and trying them on they fit perfectly. “Can you help me carry all this?”

“I said I’d walk you home, didn’t I?”

“Thank you,” I say. And I’m standing at the till with the woman checking prices into a manual cash register. There’s no front display on it so I can’t see how much all this is coming to. I’m going to hate myself.

“The total is $350 but we can do $320,” she says, looking at me slyly. “If you’ll come back and buy more.”

“Yes. I will definitely be back. This place is amazing.”

“Tell your friends,” she says.

“Absolutely no way. Some of my friends are the same size as me.” She laughs at that but I’m not sure I’m joking when I say it. Jess would absolutely loot this store.

“OK, I’ll put some of Tim’s work in the bag, be sure to give them to your friends. Our location is on it. We don’t do anything online.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I say, as I pay with my credit card and she loads up some plain paper bags.

As we leave I’m weighed down with shopping, and Tim with some more. “Did you have fun?” he asks.

“I did,” I say.

“Then you owe me a kiss. That was the deal. And after that you can decide if we meet up again.”

Then he walks me home, with just casual chat, and me wanting to just stop and look at him. Observe him. And me too. I want to see the two of us together. If yesterday I felt like total shit, now I feel perfectly at ease. Even a little toasty, somehow.

“OK, this is me,” I say as we reach my apartment block.

“Can you carry all this up?” he asks.

“I can,” I say. “And I suppose I owe you something.”

“You do,” he says, with a big smile on his face as he proffers me his cheek. I lean my head in to give him his kiss on the cheek, arms laden down with bags, and I do. And he smells nice.

I pull a little away from him but he’s turned around quickly, looking at me. And gives me another, soft kiss on my lips. Just a normal, regular kiss but so much more. “Are we going to meet up again?” he asks.

“You planned that!”

“What?”

“That kiss!”

“From the moment I saw you,” he says.

“OK. I’ll see you again. I’ll be in Light Avenue tomorrow afternoon. My friends will probably be there too. You can meet them and me.”

“I can’t wait,” he says, and this time he’s the one giving me a kiss on the cheek, turning around, and walking away. And I don’t know how long I spend standing on the spot. Wanting more.