Emily Berrigan is a 23 year old transwoman, who hasn't seen her twin Jordan in six years. Not since she told her parents the truth about herself and they threw her out. Her older sister is getting married and wants Emily there - as a bridesmaid. Will sparks fly?
----
Stef reconciles with her mother (sort of). Jordan tells Kira about Emily. Duncan moves away for a new job. Oh, and Emily gets The Operation.

---
Emily checked her savings account, and her eyes widened. Enough, enough, enough, she began singing to herself, I have enough. Between insurance and this, she could have the surgery and stay out of the office for a week or so.

She called insurance, just to be sure, then, satisfied, called her endocrinologist to get the name of the surgeon (‘it’s the same as the last three times,’ his assistant teased). Then, she called the surgeon (‘hi, my name is Emily Berrigan and I would like to schedule a gender confirmation consult,’ she said brightly) and made an appointment for next Tuesday. Next Tuesday, when I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel, she thought, then giggled at the metaphor.

She went to call Duncan, then paused. It's not like he didn't know, obviously he did, not that he ever touched it, but he obviously knew. But this was something else. She put down the phone.

---
“Four weeks,” she told Marissa and Shaye. “The doctor said that he can do it in four weeks, maybe sooner if he gets a cancellation.”

“That's amazing,” Marissa said, as she gave her a hug. “Emily’s finally getting a chooch,” she joked.

Shaye laughed, “Does he get cancellations? Like, I came this far but I decided, never mind?”

Emily laughed, “Shut UP! I don't know, maybe someone gets cold feet or their insurance says no or I don't know. Four weeks and I'm…” She paused, “I'm not freaking you guys out, am I?”

They both groaned, then Shaye touched her arm. “Emily, as far as we're concerned, this is cosmetic surgery for you, like Botox or something.”

Marissa smiled. “Exactly. It's like that surgery we saw on Discovery, where they tightened up that woman's vagina.” Emily remembered the two of them watching, horrified, Marissa asking whether guys were falling in. She smiled, “We're just fixing yours.” Emily teared up, touched. “Do not get all hormonal on me.”

“It's just... I can't believe it's finally here and you guys are just so,” and she started crying in gratitude.

Shaye hugged her close, then teased her about cramps.

---

“We watched the commercial online,” Aunt Jeannie said.

“And?” Emily waited expectantly.

Jeannie laughed, “You were awful. You'll probably never work again,” and Emily laughed. “You were amazing.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” then, “you really think so?”

“Yes,” she smiled, “I totally believed it. I totally believed you were a waitress. So, when we saw you in the restaurant, was that preparing for your role?”

Emily laughed and played with her hair. “Totally. An actor prepares,” she said, in a haughty tone. “Did Uncle Rob watch it? What did he think?”

Jeannie laughed. “He showed it to people. He's really proud of you.”

She felt herself tear up. “Really?”

A mock sigh. “You're not tearing up again?”

Emily laughed. “Stupid hormones,” which got a laugh, “how's Liam? How's the college search going?”

A pause. Then, “Funny you should ask. We are coming there next month to look at schools.”

Teasing, “USC is a top tier school.”

“That's what I said,” Jeannie laughed, “and the lawyer said the divorce won't take long at all. Nah, UCLA, Chapman and Pepperdine. Can we see you?”

Emily smiled, “Of course! I can't believe you'd even ask that,” then, “will Liam be ok with it?”

A confused tone, “Why wouldn't he be?”

“I just…”

“He's a very chill kid. When I told him we saw you, he just said ‘cool’ and has called you ‘she’ and ‘her’ ever since,” then, pausing, “I assume that's not an issue, that we told him.”

“No, why would it be?”

“I just, when I read about it on-line, they talked about your journey and all that…”

Emily smiled, touched. “Nah, it's cool,” then, in a lighter tone, “it would be kind of a big surprise to drop on him when he got here.” She looked down at her legs, peeking from her dress and wondered what he'd say when he actually saw her. “Seriously though, he's ok with it?”

“First, it's not for him or us or anyone to be ok with, just you, sweetie,” and Em smiled. “Second, he's not a big fan of the Nehlens either,” she laughed. “Calls them knuckle-draggers. He said he's looking forward to meeting a normal one...so I lied for you.”

Em laughed and thanked her. They talked for a while about work and Duncan and the wedding, filling a hole Em had forgotten was there. She debated telling her about the surgery, repeatedly stopping and starting, and ultimately deciding TMI.

After twenty minutes, Jeannie said, “I'll let you go. I love you.”

“I love you too. Tell Uncle Rob I love him too.”

She hung up the phone and looked at the selfie from the construction site and smiled.

Then, she called her back. “Hey, sweetie,” Aunt Jeannie said, “long time, no speak. What’s up?”

She paused. “I meant to tell you I’m, uh, having surgery next month.”

Jeannie sounded worried, “Everything OK?”

Emily paused, “Yeah, it’s the, uh, elective,” not really, not if she wanted to do more than survive, “surgery.”

“Oh,” Jeannie said, “will you be OK to go around with us?”

“Um, yeah?”

“OK. That’s great news then. When?”

Emily paused, “Four weeks.”

Jeannie, “How long is recovery time?”

Emily stammered, “They said like ten days.”

“Oh, OK. We’re coming, hang on, let me check, in six weeks, so you’ll be all healed hopefully.”

Emily looked at herself in the mirror, shocked, “I hope so. Really, this isn’t TMI?”

Jeannie laughed, “Do I want to see pictures of the surgery? No, I can’t handle blood, but other than that, no.” Then, a sigh, “one more time, Emmy. You are my niece. This is something you want, sorry, need, right?”

Emily, smiling nervously, “Yeah.”

“Then, that’s it. I mean, I’m not telling Rob everything...because men are such wusses,” she laughed. “Emmy, I am so happy and proud of you for doing this. You are an incredible young woman, and this is just one step,” then, an exasperated sigh, “you had better not be crying.”

“No,” she whimpered. “I'm not. I love you.”

“I love you too, Emmy.”

“And I want you to know how happy I am that you came into the restaurant that night and that you said something…”

“OK, stop…”

“No, I mean I can't imagine my life now without you two…”

Now, with crying, “Dammit, Emmy. It wasn't enough for you to cry, you had to make me cry too…”

“Sorry,” and she smiled, wiping away tears.

“Don't be,” she said. “We love you, Emily. Unconditionally. Now, I'm going before you cry again.”

--
Jordan and Kira were in Jordan's place, watching TV. Jordan turned off the TV. “We need to talk.”

Kira looked at them, concerned, “What's wrong? Are you ok?”

Jordan looked at her. “I'm fine.”

Kira played with her hair, pulling on a lock of it. “You're not breaking up with me, are you? Because…” And they could see her getting agitated.

Jordan looked at her. “No no no. Definitely not,” then, “although who knows what'll happen when I say what I need to say.”

Kira smiled. “You're going to jail?”

Jordan smiled, “No, not that. But, let me speak…”

“You want an open relationship? Because I don't share…”

“Two of you? One's enough, thanks,” and she hit them, “but seriously, let me just say this.” Kira smiled. God, they loved her smile, the warmth suffusing them. They hoped this wasn't it. Emmy told them they were being crazy, that there was no way that she wouldn't be cool with it, but she was there, not here. They took a deep breath. “So here goes, Emily is trans.”

Kira looked at them. “She wants to be a boy? But you said she's super-girly. Ok, well, whatever works for her. Or him.”

“No, Emmy used to be Chris,” and they laughed a little, “that sounds weird to me. Well, she really wasn’t ever Chris, as far as I’m concerned, but anyway she’s trans.”

Kira looked at them. “OK.”

They looked. “What does OK mean?”

Kira turned to face them, knees tucked under her, “It means OK. So your sister is trans. It makes no difference whatsoever to me.” Then, she looked upset. “Why did you think it would?”

Jordan tensed, “I didn't think you would. I just thought that you should, y’know, know. And now you do.”

Kira smiled. “Do you have a picture of her?”

“Why?” Jordan imagined the worst, then realized how that sounded. “Let me check my phone,” and they flicked through, landing on one of her in a green short-sleeved dress, hair down and smiling.

They held out the phone and Kira looked at Emily appraisingly. “She's really cute,” then grinning, “you look nothing alike.”

Jordan laughed, “Not at all. She takes after my mom's family.”

Kira took their hand, “Why didn't you want to tell me?”

Jordan hemmed and hawed, “I dunno. It's just, I don't know…”

Kira looked into their eyes, radiating compassion, “Were you not supposed to? You know I won't say anything, right?”

Jordan looked down, then willed themself to look into her eyes. “It's not a secret, I mean Emmy doesn't publicize it, but it's not a secret and she said it was OK…”

Kira leaned forward, hands on Jordan's knees, “Then what?”

“I like you a lot,” they blurted out.

Kira smiled, “I like you a lot too, Jor.”

Jordan felt knocked back onto their heels. “I just didn't want you to realize how screwed up,” I am, “my family is.”

Kira pulled herself into their lap. “You're not screwed up. So, your sister is trans. So what? I'm one to judge?” And she kissed them lightly on the lips.

Jordan wondered how they got so lucky and prayed that they wouldn't say anything stupid. “I guess.”

“Jor, stop,” then, “I guess that's why they don't speak with her, huh?” Jordan nodded, feeling no need to state the obvious. “That's too bad.” Another nod. “Do you not want to talk about it?”

Jordan looked at her. “I hate that they don't, but I can't do too much, y'know?”

“She's lucky to have you.”

They smiled. “Yeah, she is.”

Kira smiled and started tickling them. “Yeah, she is? You're horrible.”

Jordan, squirming. “I am. And I'm not ticklish,” they laughed.

Kira, now on top of them, “Yes, you are. And take back what you said.”

Jordan, stifling laughs. “Why?”

Kira, now climbing all over them.”It's mean.”

Jordan, now tickling her and feeling her squirm, “Actually, it's median.”

Kira, now kissing them, “You're weird.”

“And you're here. What does that say?” Their hands now under her shirt, unclasping their bra.

“I have low self-esteem,” she laughed. They were still amazed at how comfortable she was in her own skin.

“You really do,” they smiled, kissing her collarbone. And, to be clear, they thought, I'm lucky to have Em and Stef, but they weren't going to say that now.

---
Saturday morning, Stephanie sat on the Green Line, as it pulled out from Lake Street, looking out at the empty office buildings. You could stare into the windows of some of the older ones. On someone’s monitor, she could make out a picture of what looked like a man and a woman on a boat.

She should’ve been asleep, the week having been incredibly long, five fourteen hour days, or at least in bed with Jared. Except she wasn’t. She was on a train to Oak Park to see her father, at his demand or at least pleading. She thought about it and couldn’t remember the last time they had spent any time alone together, maybe a drive to Ann Arbor sophomore year, when mom had to deal with Em and Jordan. She remembered the frustrated phone calls about soccer practice, the exasperation and loathing palpable.

She stared out the window as the stations rolled past, the old station house at the Conservatory stop. Cicero, where Al Capone was from, and so on, until they pulled into Harlem station. She had always liked Oak Park, all of the Frank Lloyd Wright buildings, supposedly the most in one place anywhere in the world, all uncluttered and clean. She remembered that party when she was a summer associate, the one at the Rookery Building, the way the light flowed in. She wondered how much it would cost to rent for the wedding and then shook her head. That was for the kids of Jared’s bosses, not her and Jared.

She got off at Harlem/Lake - the end of the line - and began walking up Marion to the restaurant. She had no idea of this place was any good, she never came out here and no one she knew lived here, but it was a compromise with her father, so he didn’t have to drive through the city. She had found this place on-line and it looked good although it seemed difficult to fuck up an omelette.

As she got to the restaurant, she saw the neon sign saying ‘restaurant’ in old-time script over the awning. She wondered whether it was a legit old sign or just some affectation. The awning looked pretty beat up, so that was a good sign, she decided. She saw her dad standing there, looking around. “Hey, daddy,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, Steffie.” Then, concerned, “Why wouldn’t you let me pick you up at the station?”

“Because,” she smiled, “it is literally over there, like a five minute walk,” and she pointed. “I was fine.”

He smiled, “I worry about you.”

“Don’t,” she said indulgently. “You wanna go in?” They walked in and were led to their table, dad always sitting with his back to the door.

They were studying the menus, when her father said, “This needs to stop, Steffie.”

She looked around the restaurant, at the other diners, laughing and talking. She almost said, ‘what,’ but that wasn’t fair. She and her mother hadn’t spoken for over two weeks. “I didn’t start it.”

He took a sip of his water, and looked around for the waitress for coffee. “That’s not what I heard…”

Reverting to 15, “That’s not true and you know it...sorry,” and she looked down, “but…”

He smiled, “What I was going to say before I was interrupted,” and she smiled, taking him in. He was definitely over 50, but the gray at his temples made him look distinguished. She remembered that weird father-daughter dance in seventh grade, how much better looking he was than the other dads, “is that she is making me miserable and I am asking you to make me less miserable.”

She sighed, “I would love to, but we’re at an impasse here, daddy.” The waitress came over and took their coffee orders, ‘just coffee’ for him, vanilla latte for her, and she continued, “What do you want me to do?”

He drank his coffee. How he could drink it black was beyond her, even now after years of drinking coffee, but he did. “You’re really going to have Chris as a bridesmaid?”

Her jaw clenched and she took a sharp breath, then exhaled. “Her name is Emily, daddy. Don’t you start with me too.”

He took a breath, and she watched his chest expand on the intake and contract on the breath out. He repeated this three times before he spoke. “Sorry. Emily.”

“Thank you.”

The waitress came and took their orders, pancakes with bacon cooked inside for him (‘can you eat that?’) and a poblano omelette for her. After the waitress walked away, he continued, “But it doesn’t change the question. You’re really going to have Emily as a bridesmaid?”

Steffie drank her latte. “Of course I am. She’s my sister. You wouldn’t be asking me if it was Jordan.”

He laughed loudly, and people looked. “Um, yeah, I would. You would have an easier time getting Kev or Petey,” her cousins, “into a dress. And they’d probably look better.” She laughed and he continued, “I know that you think of him, her, them like your sister.”

Stef stared at him. “Are you trying to get me not to talk to you too?”

“No. I mean, I am sure that you think of them like a sister. And that they think of you like a sister, I mean, like they’re your sister, but not everyone is going to be so kind.”

Stef glared at him. “That’s what she said. Do you want to see Emily get beaten up too?”

He looked at her and sharply, “No, Stephanie, I don’t. And neither your mother or I would let that happen, despite what you think. But guess what? I can’t stop anyone from being an asshole, from saying things and neither can you, despite what you think.”

She looked at him. “Then they don’t have to come. And despite what you and she think, I don’t want to hurt either one of you and I know that not having them would hurt you a lot. But it would hurt me and Emily more if she wasn’t in the wedding…”

She watched him look around the room, the way he took in all the construction details and she imagined him cataloging all the mistakes the contractor made. “Have you asked her what she thinks?”

The question threw her, but to regroup, “Excuse me?”

He looked at her. “You heard me,” and he took a sip of his coffee, “did you ask her what she thinks about it?”

She took a sip of her latte. “She’s excited.”

“I’m sure,” and he paused, “she is. That doesn’t surprise me. But did you ask her about the other stuff, about how you’re not talking to your mother?” When she said nothing, he smiled, “Why not?”

“Because,” and the waitress came with a basket of cinnamon bread. She watched him take a piece and butter it, and she debated how devoted she was to cutting out carbs, “it’s irrelevant.”

He smiled, “What did Arden have to say about it?”

“What does that have to do with anything,” pausing, “assuming I said anything?”

He laughed, “I know how stupid you and your mother think I am,” and she felt herself flush, “but I have learned some things over the years. What does Arden say about it?”

She sighed, “She thinks mom is wrong for what she said…”

He kept smiling, “Mmm, this is good bread. And?”

“And she thinks I should talk this out with her.”

He smiled, “I always thought she was smart. What about Chr...Emily?”

“She thinks she has the right to know,” and she took a piece of bread, and buttered it. “I miss bread,” she sighed, and then, “I know what Emily will do and I don’t want her to. I know neither of you wants to deal with it, but you didn’t hear how happy she sounded.” She watched his face contort. “What?”

“This,” he sighed, “is a lot for me to take in, Stephanie. I understand that you have and that’s great, but this, Jordan, all of it is a lot for me.”

Stephanie smiled, “They’re both really happy.”

He shrugged, then, “You’re really hurting your mother, you know that.”

“You weren’t there. I know you’ll take her side but she said some really nasty things to me.”

He laughed, “And you said nothing whatsoever, Dori,” her grandmother’s name.

She rolled her eyes. “No need to get nasty. And, god, that’s your mom. Jeez, you’re a terrible son,” a running family joke. “Fine, I may not have been perfect but she was just...hateful.”

“Like I said, it’s a lot to process for us, whether you like it or not. But I’m asking you, for me, to call her.”

The waitress put their food down and her father took a bite and smiled. “Try this.”

She remembered going to breakfast with her father when the twins were born. The way after he’d take her with him to the store and ask her to help him pick stuff out because ‘mom needs you to help me.’ She took a bite, “Oh, you shouldn’t have made me.”

He smiled, “Why?”

“Because now I want these and I can’t have them because of the carbs.”

He laughed, “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t. Think I can get your mom to make these for me?”

She smiled, “Good luck. Tell her I’ll call her if she does.”

He touched her hand and smiled, “That’s my girl.”

----
Emily and Duncan were lying in bed, her head resting on his shoulder. They had been rehashing the day’s events, the crabby partner who wanted Emily to work through lunch, the busboy who quit, screaming, when Emily, looking at the ceiling, said, “So I scheduled my surgery.”

He turned to look at her, concerned. “You need surgery? For what?”

She looked at the ceiling, at the little stucco stalactites hanging down, “My...surgery.”

“Oh...Oh...your surgery.” She watched as his legs clenched involuntarily.

“Sorry,” she said, snuggling up closer. “I didn’t mean to just throw it on you like that.”

He relaxed his legs a little. “You didn’t. I guess I had just stopped thinking about that,” and his legs clenched again.

She smiled. “That’s the nicest thing you could have said.”

He stared at her, confused, “Huh?”

She went to explain and then, staring at the picture of Wrigley Field on his wall, stopped. “Never mind,” and she kissed his cheek.

He rolled her towards him. “So when?”

She looked at him. “Four weeks from this past Tuesday.”

“Cool,” then grinning, “so how long before…”

She laughed. “I knew it would come to that,” because it was the question she couldn’t wait to ask the surgeon, “three months.”

He looked at her, with sad eyes, “Really? Three months?” His face was a blank mask, “That sucks.”

She grinned devilishly. “There are things we can do while we wait.”

He looked at her. “Oh really?”

“Yeah,” she said, “we can watch TV or play XBox…” He shook his head. “Duncan Connell, what sort of girl do you take me for? Do you think I’m the sort of girl...well, I never,” she harrumphed. Then, grinning, she started kissing his chest, “Maybe I should…”

He grinned and began pushing her head south, “Maybe. Who knows, you might like being that sort of girl?”

She started kissing down his chest, headed towards his groin, taking him in her mouth. She listened to him groan in pleasure, as she licked the shaft and played with his balls. Then, she felt him tense up and the cum hit her throat.

She actually didn’t mind giving head, liking the control it gave her. She looked up at him grinning, and she swallowed. She took a gulp of water from her water bottle and smiled. “So that’s the one of things we can do while we wait.”

Contentedly, he said, “Definitely more fun than XBox,” then, “are you scared?”

She stared at Wrigley Field, the picture reminding her of home, the twice a year trips to a game, trying and failing to keep score, waiting for ‘Take Me Out to the Ball Game’ so she could sing. “Not really. I mean, if there was a non-surgical way to do it, I’d do that, but I’ve been wai...you sure that this isn’t too much for you?”

He pulled her in close, and she nestled happily. “I mean, I don’t want to know all the details or probably most of them, but I can be all supportive and shit,” he grinned.

She looked at him, and ran her left hand through his hair, “The ‘and shit’ makes it work. But, to finish, no I’m not scared.” She chose her next words carefully. “I’m ready, y’know?”

He smiled and kissed her.

---
Emily sat in the coffee shop, one of those fake mid-century designs that apparently sprung up after ‘Pulp Fiction,’ most of which had become banks or hookah bars or whatever. A cup of tea and an English muffin with grape jelly sat in front of her. Across from her was the kid from the commercial, the P.A., wearing a blue pocket t-shirt and jeans. Emily had worn her blue floral print dress, not too short, and flats, her hair down.

“So, what did you think of the script?” He asked this just as she took a bite of her muffin.

She swallowed. “It was good. Very interesting. Kayla,” her character, “is really complex.”

He smiled, “That’s what we’re going for. Everyone always thinks of cheerleaders as these airheads, which they are,” and she almost interrupted him, “but the whole idea with Kayla is that she’s this Type A genius too, trying to get out. Do you understand?”

She smiled. “Vaguely.” He stared, “That was a joke. Yes, I understand her.” She almost went off on Susan Sontag and the male gaze, to give him the film school BS she was sure he spouted all the time at parties. “She’s the kid in a family with an older sister who’s making all these bad choices and these parents who should never have had kids. It’s almost like her form of rebellion is to strive to get out, but she’s got all of these countervailing forces that work against her.”

He nodded and smiled. “You’ve really got it down,” then, “have you ever done cheerleading before?”

She sighed, “Yeah.” And then she took a sip of her tea and a bite of her English muffin.

A week later, a package arrived in the mail from Stef. She read the note on top - ‘You should have had this nine years ago.’ Inside was her old cheerleading uniform, a faded ‘DHS Cheer’ t-shirt that she remembered Stef wearing whenever she practiced in the backyard and her old jacket with ‘captain’ on the top left over the black and orange old English D, and ‘Barbs Cheer’ on the back. She put on the t-shirt and a pair of shorts, and began practicing, remembering the cheers Stef had taught her when no one was home.

---
Two weeks later, Duncan came over. She met him at the door with a big hug and kiss, but felt a tension in him when he reciprocated. She pulled back and looked up, “What’s wrong?”

“I had a long day at work,” he looked over her head, and just stood there.

“Are you coming in?”

He smiled, “It was really long,” and walked in. “Where did you get that shirt?”

She was wearing the DHS Cheer shirt. “Stef sent it, to help me get in character,” and she did a couple of the old cheer moves that she remembered from the backyard. She finished and he smiled. “How was I?”

“Good, really good.”

She looked at his face, at his eyes. “What's wrong, Dunky?”

He shook his head and smiled, “It was mad busy today.”

She put her lower lip over her top one. “Poor Dunky. You want a back rub?” Without waiting, she moved behind him. “Sit down, and let Nurse Emmy give you a back rub.” She started rubbing his shoulders, “Wow, you're really tense. What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, “But keep doing this.”

“You were just trying to get a back rub, weren't you?” Then, she kissed his neck and bit his ear.

“Excuse me,” he laughed, “I didn't say anything about that.”

“Oh well,” she teased, “I can stop. Just a back rub it is,” and she kept massaging. “You know this works better if you try and relax.”

“Sorry,” he joked. “How was work?”

“Hella busy. I had that brief to work on,” and she went off about one of the associates, who did everything at the last second and made it so she had to stay late. After five more minutes, she stopped and moved next to him. “OK, what's going on?”

“Nothing.”

She looked into his eyes. “Stop. Whatever it is, it can't be that bad.”

He looked down. “So, they offered me a sous chef job, I’ll be a real second in command…”

She grinned, “Ohmigosh, that’s so amazing. Where? Century City?” He shook his head. “Santa Monica?” He shook his head again. “Where?”

“Santa Barbara.” 90 miles and two hours away, if you were lucky.

“Oh,” and she looked at him. “Oh. I mean, of course, you’re taking it.”

He took her hand. “I don’t want to leave you.”

Her heart was in her throat, sharing space with her lunch. “You can’t not take this, Duncan. This is huge.”

“I know,” and now he looked over her shoulder. “But I hate that it’s in Santa Barbara.”

She bit her tongue to stop herself. “It’s not that far…”

He smiled and lied, “We can see each other on weekends and stuff. You can come up, I can come down.”

“Definitely,” she lied. “That’s definitely what we’ll,” won’t, “do. It’s nice up there. We can go to the wineries and stuff.” She stood up and he sat there, both feet planted on the floor. “Are you coming in?”

He looked down. “Do you want me to?”

Well, how am I supposed to chain you to the bed otherwise? “Of course I do.”

“I just thought,” and he started walking in, “that you’d be upset with me.”

“How could I be upset with you?” She willed back tears. “This is a huge deal. Would you be upset if I got a movie or a series or something?”

He kissed her. “Of course not! That’s your dream.”

She smiled, “Well, this is yours, so I’m behind you 100%. When does it start?”

He sat on the bed and took a deep breath, “Two weeks.”

And she felt like she’d been punched. “Oh.”

“I can see if I can move it back. I mean I wanna be…”

She held up her hand, and tried not to cry. “No, this is big. I will be fine. Besides,” and she tried to smile devilishly, “I need you here three months,” now an eternity “after that more.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, that’s definitely more important.”

She smiled weakly. “You’re not backing out on me, are you?”

He laughed, “No, of course not.”

“Good,” and she buried her head in his chest, crying.

“I’m sorry, Emmy.”

From deep in his shirt, she sniffled, “No. Don’t be. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t be crying.” She looked up at him, her eyes red, “this is a big deal and you should be happy. Because I’m happy for you.”

He smiled, “I just hate that…”

She smiled and kissed him, “Don’t hate anything. You are going to become the hottest chef in Santa Barbara and then they’ll move you back here and then everything will be,” totally shitty, “great.” She kissed him again, as hard as she could, and could feel their tongues twisted together. She felt him put his hands under her shirt, as he began playing with her nipples. “Mmm, keep doing that…” And she sat in his lap and started pulling his shirt off, feeling his erection. Which made her think again. Which made her resolve to focus on anything else.

She faced away from the mirror, as he stood behind her, pumping away. For the first time in their relationship, she felt absent, like she was watching someone else.

She felt the shudder and then him pulling out. She went to the bathroom, cleaned up, then came back and curled into his waiting bulk. She fell asleep with his arm draped over her.

---
“You sure you don’t want me there?” Jared asked, as Stephanie got dressed to go to her mother.

She pulled on her jeans and white t-shirt, and walked over, kissing him on the cheek. “My big, strong man,” she teased, “I’ll be fine, baby.”

He grabbed her ass and she jumped. “I know you’ll be fine. I just meant for, y’know, moral support or whatever.”

She laughed. “It’ll be fine. Enjoy the day. Besides, you have plans,” to go to the park and then watch a baseball game at the bar, but plans nevertheless.

He smiled. “You’ll call if you need me?”

She finished putting on lip gloss and kissed him on the lips. “Yes. It’ll be fine,” she said, as she began moving her keys and wallet from one bag to another, not wanting to hear her mother’s comments again about the Louis Vuitton purse Jared’s mom had bought her in Paris for Hanukkah/Christmas, despite the fact that it was no big deal because of the exchange rate and everything.

She took the car keys off the table by the door and went down to the garage to get the car.

Ninety minutes later, and a stop at Dunkin’ Donuts for an iced coffee, she pulled up. She took a deep breath and walked in. “Anyone here?” Her mother came downstairs, and gave her a hug. “Hi, ma,” and she kissed her cheek.

“I’ve missed you.” It had been three weeks since they had last spoken.

Stef smiled, “I’ve missed you too,” then, remembering Macy’s, “but that doesn’t change things.”

Her mom smiled, “Well, I see we’ve decided to pick up where we left off…”

Stef took a deep breath and looked around the room, eyes alighting on the TV, running CNN like it was the airport. “I’m not picking up from where we left off, but I’m not playing some stupid game,” hearing her 16 year old self and cringing, “but I don’t see a point to ignoring what brought this all about in the first place.”

“Stephanie, I’m sorry that I don’t understand why you’re doing this. It’s your wedding…”

Stephanie looked at her. “You’re right, it is. It’s my wedding and Emily is going to be a bridesmaid.”

“Why would you subject,” a pause, “her to that abuse?”

Stephanie had spent the past three weeks thinking of her response, having written it out on legal pads and testing it on Jared and Arden. “Mom,” she said, “would you agree that there’s no circumstance under which I’m not having her at the wedding?” Her mother laughed. “Yes or no, would you agree?”

Her mother rolled her eyes. “Yes. I would agree.”

“And would you further agree that, given those circumstances, if the family was there, that they would have a negative reaction to her, upon seeing her?”

Her mother laughed again and, before Stef could say anything, “Yes, counselor, I would agree that they would have a ‘negative reaction,’ to put it mildly. Which is why...”

Stef held up her hand and continued, “Would you further agree that their negative reaction would not be appreciably worse whether she was in the wedding or merely a guest?”

Her mother looked at her. “No.”

Stef stopped, not having prepared for this. “No what?”

Her mother looked at her. “No, I wouldn’t agree.”

16 year old Stef, returning, “How can you say that?”

Her mom looked at her. “I can tell you’ve prepared this speech. Well, so have I.” To Stef’s open mouth, she said, “I know you think you sprang fully formed, sweetie. You didn’t. But to continue, they are going to be pieces of shit, no matter what and you know that. But, if she walks down the aisle, they are going to be even bigger pieces of shit and they are going to laugh and make comments and it won’t stop, not when you walk down the aisle, not when the priest or the rabbi or whoever is talking, they won’t stop…”

“But…”

“But nothing. Stef, you’re smarter than that and you know it and you know however bad you think they are, they can be much, much worse. And I know you care for them…”

“Her,” Stef mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

“Jordan’s them. Emily’s her.”

Her mother rolled her eyes. “Are you still a ‘her?’”

Eye roll back. “Yes.”

“Good. I need to keep track. Anyway, I know you care for her but do you really think she’s going to be OK with that? Really?”

“Yes. You don’t know her. She’s not the same person you knew. She’s tougher than that.”

Her mother looked at her. “We were all at the same holidays and I know what went on when all you kids were downstairs.”

Stef looked around. “What does Aunt Jackie have to say about this?” Her mother looked down and she took the opportunity. “What does she have to say?”

Her mother shook her head. “She thinks we’re both being ridiculous.”

Grinning triumphantly. “That means she thinks I’m right and you’re wrong!” Now, she was 14. Her mother picked up her phone off the coffee table. “What are you doing?”

“Calling Jackie,” she grinned. “You can ask her yourself.”

Stef sighed and looked at the President on CNN, answering questions in front of Marine One. “What did she say?”

Her mother moved over and patted her knee. “Well, to be fair, I’ll tell you what she said about me first. She said that I am acting like a jackass, that Chr...Emily is my...child and that this has gone on long enough…” Stef grinned and her mom continued, “but she also said that you are pigheaded…”

Stef laughed. “She called me pigheaded? Ouch.”

Her mother laughed, “Oh, it’s worse than that, sweetie. What she said was that you are your grandma Dori filtered through me and then again through law school. I think she said, exactly, ‘you’re a bitch, Dori’s a bitch and you’ve created superbitch…”

Laughing, “Oh, fuck her.”

Her mother, laughing, “Don’t curse. It’s obnoxious. She also said that you need to talk to your sister and ask her. Not tell her, ask her.”

“I don’t tell her things,” she harrumphed half-heartedly.

“I’m a younger sister,” she laughed. “Save it for someone who doesn’t know better.”

Walking into the kitchen to get a glass of water. “I’m not not having her in my wedding.”

Her mother followed her in. “I will make you a deal…”

“This isn’t a negotiation, mom,” she said, as she let the water run to get cold.

“No, it isn’t, I guess. I will make you a deal though. If you talk to...Emily, I will.”

She choked on her water. “What?”

Her mother looked at her. “If you talk to her, I’ll talk to her. If, after you really talk to her, she still wants to be in the wedding, I won’t say anything.” Stef looked at her, dubiously. “I mean it. I think, and will continue to think, that it’s a huge mistake, but it’s your mistake to make and I’ll support you in it.”

Stef tried to read her face, and found nothing. If she was lying, she was better than she gave her credit for. Tentatively, “Do you want to see a picture of her?”

Her mother, head in the refrigerator, said, “I’m not there yet.”

“Seriously?”

She stood up, wheel of brie in hand. “Stephanie, I’m willing to do this if you are. But, on my schedule, not yours.”

She took a breath. “Fine, I think you’re being ridiculous.”

Her mother, now taking crackers out of the pantry. “I’m sure you do.”

“What would you have done if Grandma Linda did this to you?”

Her mother, fanning the crackers out even though it was just the two of them, “If your uncle decided he was a girl and I decided that I wanted a hideous looking bridesmaid…”

“Emmy’s not hideous, she’s really cute…”

Cutting off a piece of brie and making a little sandwich, and then handing it to Stef, “I’m not talking about that, I’m talking about your uncle who would not be cute, but if I wanted him or some other person who wasn’t a,” pause, “traditional bridesmaid and your grandmother fought me on it, well, I don’t know what I would have done. I will be honest. I don’t know. It wasn’t an option, I had Jackie, Karen,” her best friend, “and them,” her aunts.

“Sorry.”

Her mother smiled and nodded. “Not as much as I was. Can we talk about the wedding? Have you looked anywhere yet? Places book up.”

“We’ve looked at a few places. The Botanic Garden looked nice.”

“That is very nice,” her mother said, “so you’re thinking outdoors.”

Cutting off another piece of cheese, “Maybe. I don’t know. I know I don’t want some boring hotel ballroom.”

Her mother smiled, “I’ll let you in on a secret. When it’s all said and done, you won’t remember all of that. You’ll remember your family and friends.”

---------
“Nope,” Emily said, in response to the question.

“What do you mean, ‘nope?’” Stef was driving home.

“You heard me, Stef. I don’t want to talk to her.”

Stef sighed, then laughed, “Do you know how much I did to get her to talk to you?” She looked for a parking lot to pull into, not having expected this outcome.

Emily laughed, “I’m sure, but that doesn’t mean I want to talk to her.”

Stef pulled into the parking lot at Walgreens, watching the old people go in and out, wondering if that’s what aging was. Trips to the drugstore. “Come on. Really? You’re gonna have to talk to her at the wedding.” She could hear Emily breathing. “Emmy? Are you still there?”

Another ten seconds, “Yeah. I am. I was thinking.”

She watched a mother unload one kid out of a car seat, while yelling at her other one not to run in the parking lot. “Why not? I mean, why don’t you want to talk to her?”

“She cut me off. Six years ago, she cut me off.” She could hear the anger and pain, remembering how Emily went away to school and never came back.

“She’s trying to make amends,” she lied.

Emmy’s voice got hard. “No, she isn’t and you know it. You’re forcing her to do it.”

Stef looked up through the moonroof of the car, at a plane heading to O’Hare. “But she’s willing.”

“Yeah, well, what brought this on?”

“Jeez, am I talking to Jordy?” She tried to joke.

“Jordy wouldn’t put up with this shit and neither am I. What is it she wants?”

Stef paused, “She wants me to talk to you about being a bridesmaid.”

Emmy’s voice caught. “What? What does that mean? You don’t want me?” She heard her start sniffling.

“No! Absolutely 100% not. If you’re not part of the wedding, there is no wedding, as far as I’m concerned.”

Crying, “Then what?”

Stef paused, trying to think about how to say it, then decided on bluntness. “She thinks that they are going to lose their shit when you walk down the aisle and make it a total shitshow.”

Now, the edge back, “Do you think that?”

“I don’t care.”

“I didn’t ask if you cared. Do you think that?”

Pausing, “Where did this Emmy come from?”

No laughter, just, “I asked if you think that.”

“Yeah, probably, to be honest,” she took a sip of her now watery formerly iced coffee and grimaced.

She could hear Emily think. “What do you want?”

“I told you. It’s my wedding. You and Arden and Brooke and Jamie.”

“Even if they make a total scene and ruin it? Really?”

“Do you want out?”

She floored her with, “Do you think I don’t know what those mouth-breathing trash think of me?”

She laughed, “Excuse me, there’s only room for one bitch in this family. Two, if you count mom.”

“I don’t,” she said, without affect. “But I know exactly what they think of me and I’m pretty sure of what they’ll do. But, you know what, it won’t be worse than what they did to me before.”

“For real, Emmy?” She watched as someone pushed a cart with a wheel that kept spinning in a circle. Lock the wheel, she thought.

“Yeah. I wanna do this,” then the regular Emmy poked through, “but if you tell me you don’t want them to ruin the ceremony, I won’t be part of it.”

“No,” Stef said, “absolutely no effing way. You’re in. If they start, they’re out.”

“Are you really sure?” Emmy’s sweetness returning. “I really mean it.”

“Me too, Ems. You really won’t talk to her?”

Sighing, “I really don’t want to. What’s she going to say to me?”

Pausing, “Yeah, I don’t know. Sorry I even asked.”

Emmy, “No, it’s OK. I get why you did. If you want me to, I will.”

She wished she was here, or she was there, so that she could hug her. “No. I’m not gonna force you,” knowing how awkward it would be. “What else is going on?”

A laugh, then, “ten days to V-Day.”

“Yay!” She paused, thinking about how absurd it sounded. Then again, she couldn’t wait for a training bra. “What’s up with Duncan?”

She heard Emily sigh. “I miss him already, and he’s not even gone.”

She pictured Emily on her bed, lying on her stomach, face in the pillow, the way that she always did when she was sad. “I know, sweetie. I wish I was there to hug you.”

“Thanks. This is what’s best for him, I know that.”

She watched as someone came out, balancing a case of water on top of the cart, slowly edging the cart down the ramp. Then, watching as the case fell off and split, bottles rolling away. She debated getting out to help. “It doesn’t mean you’re not entitled to hate it happening.”

“I know,” she sighed. “And he keeps trying but it’s not the same. Part of me just wants to break up with him so it’s done.”

Her heart was breaking. Emmy was in love for the first time and she was 2,000 miles away. At least when it happened to her - at 16 - she had her mother. “Can I tell you what mom told me when Brent broke up with me?”

Sighing, “Why not? I’m already in a bad mood.”

“You can’t have rainbows without rain.”

Emily laughed. “That may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Stef laughed. “See? You feel better already! I’m going to Venmo you some money to go shopping.”

“No,” Emily laughed. “That’s silly.”

Stef put her on speaker. “I wanna. Come on. Go with Marissa and Shaye and get something,” and she started typing. “Something really cute.”

“Stef, no. Thanks but no.”

Stef stopped typing. “I’m gonna when you get snip-snip.” She winced thinking about it.

“Fine,” Emily laughed, wondering how much she would send.
---
Two days before the surgery, Emily came home and opened the door.

“Surprise!” Marissa and Shaye yelled. Hanging from the wall was a picture of Ted Allen, with the caption, ‘Emily has been chopped, she must leave the kitchen.’

She held her hands to her face, “Ohmigosh, you guys. What is this?”

Marissa came over and gave her a hug. “We can’t do this tomorrow because of the prep, so we figured we’d get you good and drunk AF tonight to celebrate.”

From the counter, she saw Marissa’s phone. “Stef?” And she started crying.

“Hey, Emmy! Sorry I can’t be there to get drunk with you, but I wanted to be here as much as I could.”

Emily smiled and hugged Shaye and Marissa. “You guys are the best!”

Shaye took her hand. “OK, Ems, so before we get too far gone, we wanted to give you our presents.”

“OK, stop, no,” she crossed her arms in front of her. “You did not.”

Shaye looked at the phone, “You were right, Stef.”

Emily smiled as she protested, “It’s not necessary.”

Stef laughed, “That’s why they’re called gifts, Ems.”

“Shut up,” she smiled, and then clapped her hands. “So what did you get me?”

Shaye handed her a small jewelry box. Emily opened it and took out a pair of earrings. Shaye smiled, “I know you’re trying to get rid of dangly things, but...oh look, Emmy is blushing,” which got a swat.

Then, Marissa handed her a bigger box. “Open it, open it.” Emily opened it and inside was a green bikini, and held it up so Stef could see. “I know how much you’ve always wanted to wear one, well now you can, I mean, if it fits right. If not, I left the receipt.”

“You guys are the best!”

From the phone, “Give her mine! Give her mine!”

Emily opened it and took out…”Oh my god, Stef,” which got a laugh from everyone. “You are disgusting.”

Stef grinned from ear to ear. “For those times when you’re between boyfriends.”

Marissa sighed, “Or when you’re not between them,” which got matching sighs from Shaye and Stef.

Stef laughed. “Do you remember when we found…” Emily stuck her fingers in her ears, closed her eyes and started singing, ‘la la la,’ then smiled, tearing up. “I love all of you.”

Shaye, “Oh god, she’s going to start crying again.”

“Shut UP!”

Marissa opened a bottle of champagne, and poured three glasses. On screen, Stef held one up. “To the best friend in the world on finally getting what she always wanted.” And they clinked glasses, then drank it down.

Stef poured another glass. “OK, my turn. To the best little sister I could have ever had, who I didn’t deserve, and of whom I am so, so, so proud and who better not be crying again…this is the beginning of the beginning.”

Several glasses and some edibles later, she passed out on her bed, wearing the bikini and a pair of denim shorts.

---
She woke up in her hospital room, still groggy from the anesthesia. She would have sworn she smelled roses and decided it must just be a mix of cleaning supplies and a brain fog.

Claire, a woman from her old support group, was sitting in a chair. “Hiya, sleepyhead.” Claire was in her 40s, about 5’11”, 175 pounds, with a strong jawline. She was wearing a blue and black bodycon dress that gave her a decent figure.

Emily yawned. “Sorry, I’m still kinda out of it.”

Claire, standing up, walked over and touched her shoulder. “Of course, you are. It’s to be expected. You are quite the popular young woman.”

Emily, woozy, “Huh?” She looked over at a table and saw two bouquets of roses, one pink, one red. “What are those?”

Claire, smiling, “They appear to be flowers.”

Emily, smiling weakly, “Ha ha. Where did they come from?”

Claire walked over and took the cards from the bouquets. “Let’s see.”

The card with the red roses read, “To the greatest girl in the world, three months,’ followed by what she assumed were eggplants and devils,’ “Love, Duncan.”

Claire looked at her and smiled as Emily hid the card behind her. “Well, that must be one interesting card.”

Then, she looked at the other card. “To our niece Emily, we could not have asked for a better niece. You are a brave, beautiful young woman and we love you. Love, Aunt Jeannie, Uncle Rob and Cousin Liam,” followed by several hearts and xxxxoooo.

Emily felt herself tearing up and Claire put her hand on her shoulder. She handed the card to her and Claire said, wistfully, “You are a very lucky girl, Emily.”

“I know.” She wiped a tear and said, “I keep crying.”

Claire smiled, “It’s to be expected, Emily,” and then went through everything she could expect, from recovery time to hormone swings. She explained dilation and what she’d need to do ‘although the nurse will explain this too.’

After an hour, she stood up and straightened her skirt. “You have my number, if you need me.”

“Thanks, Claire. You’re the best.”

Claire kissed her on the forehead. “Just make sure you do it for the next girl,” and then she picked up her purse and left.
---
Pain. What Emily felt was excruciating pain. She knew about the catheter. She knew that it would be miserable, it was surgery after all and everyone, from the websites to the group to her doctor, told her to expect pain.

She sat in bed with the hand mirror they had given her and she looked at it. It was red and raw and you could see the stitches. It wasn’t pretty - but it was hers. You couldn't tell it wasn't the real thing.

She tried to sit up and got dizzy. The nurse came in. “How are you doing today, Miss Berrigan?”

“It hurts,” and she tried to smile, then winced.

“That's to be expected. You had surgery.”

“When can I get out of bed?”

“Not today. A couple of days. The doctor will discuss it with you when he does rounds,” and she put down a cup of pills. “Take these. They’re pain medication and antibiotics.”

“Why do I need antibiotics?” Visions of her body rejecting the surgery ran through her mind.

“It’s prophylactic,” and Emily tried not to giggle, “just to be sure.” Emily nodded and took the pills.

She texted Jordan. “Hey”

“Ur awake”

“No im texting from sleep”

“How r u feelin”

“Hurts”

“That sux but u did right thing”

She smiled. “Thx I know how r u hows Kira”

“All good she sez hi and congrats”

She thought about how ridiculous that sounded. ‘Congrats on your new vagina.’ “tell her thx tell her Duncan sent roses”

“No”

“Y”

“Cuz then shell expect them”

“Ur stupid” followed by the tongue out emoji

Five Smileys. “How long again in” followed by the hospital emoji

“7 days”

“Sux can u do anything”

“Rest n recover” She also had her laptop here to do typing for work.

“Good gotta go”

Heart emojis.

Tongue out emojis.

On her last day in the hospital, one of the residents came in carrying a box. “Good morning, Emily,” Dr. Vuong said cheerily.

“Hi, Dr. Vuong. Did you bring me a present?” She joked.

The doctor, a slight Asian woman, smiled, “In a manner of speaking, you’re getting discharged today so you know what that means,” and she opened the box. Inside were four silicone dilators.

“Oh boy,” Emily smiled.

The doctor laughed. “You need to do this to keep your new vagina open.” Emily imagined she looked at takeout menus and her iPhone manual with the same enthusiasm. “OK, so please spread your legs and pay attention.”

The doctor took the smallest dilator and put it in Emily’s new vagina, and Emily winced, offering a token, ‘eep,’ then, “that hurts.”

The doctor smiled at her. “It will take time.”

“How long do I do this for? What are the other ones?” She had read about this on-line and Claire had explained it to her but her mind went blank.

“As you progress, you’ll use the bigger ones. And you’ll be doing this your whole life. You’ll start three times a day, fifteen minutes each, but, over time, you’ll do it less.”

Emily said, giggling, “What about when I have sex?”

The doctor looked at her. “Even once you start having sex, you’ll still have to do it.” Then, a sly grin, “Besides, if you think he’s going to be able to do it for fifteen minutes at a time, I suggest you calibrate your expectations.” Emily groaned. “The important thing is that you dilate, and that you find a position that works for you. If it hurts, try a different position,” then, handing her the dilator, “you try.”

Emily felt herself turn red, “What about a vibrator?”

The doctor said, “Everyone asks that. Not until you’re cleared for sex. Sorry.”

Emily shrugged and took the orange dilator and began inserting it in and out, wincing each time. “It gets better, right?”

“You get used to it.” Then, matter of factly, “I know this isn’t what you expected, I’m sure, but this is what you need to do.” And then she went into the process of douching - ‘the care and feeding of your vagina,’ Emily pictured the announcer intoning. ‘If you take care of her, she’ll take care of you.’

After she finished and was cleared, she left the hospital wearing her shortest dress and grinning from ear to ear.