[- Exploring -]

It wasn’t as though I hadn’t already been overthinking my being attracted to Sara this past week. And even more so after the conversation with Jenny in the coffee shop after she met Sara and kept pressing me about her. Admittedly, I did devote a lot of brain cycle activity to what a relationship with Sara could be like—if I could get around her being a Trans woman.

I mean, who was she really? Was she really Trans? Was my attraction or what I might be feeling about her fucked up if she was in fact Trans? How did I not even pick up on that?!

I had barely slept Saturday or Sunday night, so when my alarm began blaring at 4:30 AM to start my work week, I was slow to jump into my normal morning routine.

I’m sure my mental state considering Sara would be comparable to a warm plate of Jell-O by now if it weren’t for my Jenny’s support and understanding about how I might be attracted to Sara. We had talked a lot about adult-related matters this weekend regarding my love life, or actually lack thereof. Jenny had absolutely held her own against my male ‘attack the problem head-on' attitude. Damn kid had me navigate many of my concerns with some concentrated thought given to ‘feelings’ rather than ‘logic’.

I was impressed with Jenny’s insights and thankful that at least one of us had a level head through some touchy topics during those conversations.

When we started talking I couldn’t help but come off maybe a little frustrated for what I assumed was Sara having purposely misled me in some way. Jenny was quick to point out that Sara brought nothing to the table but who she was. She said it didn’t look like Sara was fawning over me, hadn’t tried to be anything other than her true self, was just living her life, and our orbits had just happened to collide. Jen thought she was very ‘chill’ and a ‘confident’ woman considering how much society wanted nothing more than to erase her very existence. Jesus, when had my kid gotten wise beyond her years?!

The last thing Jenny had said to me Sunday before she headed home?

“Don’t throw away a chance at being happy, Dad... I kind of liked her, and I think you do too. Get to know her okay; don’t just erase her like others want to, that would be shitty.”

And of course I complained, “Augh! Language, Jen…”

I was nervous walking into Café Duro, nervous seeing Sara sitting at a different table, nervous about what the regulars thought about me right now since maybe they thought I was attracted to Sara. Did they know she was Trans? Did Megan? Would Megan look at me differently if she suspected I might be interested in Sara? FUCK!

After a quick pay and grab at the counter with Megan, I turned to head to my usual table. I caught the eyes of the two regulars and gave them a weak smile, but as I approached my table, I paused, looked over at Sara, and she looked up and smiled at me. God damn it! Okay, fine, I’m…

“Mind if I join you?” I asked.

She was still smiling and pushed the chair across from her with her foot under the table before saying, "Sure... Good morning.”

“Morning…”

“I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“What?”

“Push the chair out like that. I saw it in a movie, and you know it really does feel as cool as it looked just now,” she said, smiling, her eyes bright and alert.

“Oh, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen that before,” I replied, not sure what she’d meant exactly about that gesture of pushing a chair out. Was that a ‘pickup-line’ move or…

“You’ve got a beautiful daughter, Brad; I can tell she really loves her dad.”

I could feel my heart beating in my throat, my mouth desert dry all of a sudden, so I took a quick sip of my Americano. SLOW DOWN!

“I’m lucky to have her in my life,” I finally got out.

“How long have you been divorced?”

"Three… Wait, did Megan tell you I was divorced?” I asked confused, having answered her question without even thinking.

“I might have asked her about you.”

“Why would you do that?”

“You’re an attractive guy, and I was curious. I figured she knew at least a little about you since you were a regular. Megan and I have been friends since high school, so it wasn’t a stretch we’d talk girl things.”

I looked back at the counter and saw Megan handing a cup of coffee to a woman, and afterwards nodded my way. Had nodded at me or to the woman? So, Megan knows Sara and knows she’s Trans and she knows I’m sitting here with Sara because, well because I’m sitting here trying to decide what… Wait, I’m an attractive guy?

Do I want to say something about being checked out and her knowing any of my actual stories I’d shared with Megan? It wasn’t like any of that was classified or I’d told Megan anything in confidence. I have questions though, like am I’m some game to you, part of some deception, a...

Sara tilted her head ever so slightly, and it caught my attention.

“You look like you might want to ask me a few questions. Before you do, I want you to know I’ve got no tolerance for people with closed minds,” she began, paused to see that I was paying attention still and not lost in my own sound track before continuing. “I have a feeling Jenny might have figured out part of my story, and I want to assure you I’d have discussed who I am with you if I thought we were going to be friends. Guess what I’m trying to do here is give you a chance to get up and walk away if you’re considering being an ass in the next couple minutes.

“I don’t do drama, Brad; I’m not a fighter in the physical sense, I have vulnerabilities like everyone else does, and I’ve got a complex enough life that I don’t need to compound it with even more crazy or crazy people. So, I’ve just set the stage for you—step into the light or exit stage left, the choice is yours.”

Her smile was gone; my mind was moving faster than I could organize my thoughts into a coherent sentence, and she’d asked me to make a choice. Where was the organization I thought I had with everything I wanted to say?!

“Thank you for the ah, the warning... I’m not looking for, umm... You know, a drama or I’m not...,” I stopped speaking as she reached across the table and placed her hand on mine.

“Relax, alright? Just tell me what’s going on in your head; no matter what that is, I promise I’ll be fine. I’ve heard some pretty messed up things over the years, so nothing you have to tell me is going to ruin my life or be much of a surprise,” she said, smiling briefly before taking her hand back and appearing serious again.

"I… I’m confused as to how it is you weren’t born like... Well, like a woman, and all I see is a woman, but you’re Trans, right? How can that be?” I ask dumbfounded.

What I’d lead with, certainly garbled, was just one of fifty-plus different things I wanted to ask her or know about her. Why was this so hard? Am I making it harder than it needs to be? I need to relax! I think I’m actually blowing…

“I can assure you I’m a woman, though I didn’t start out that lucky. The short version of that story is that I knew something wasn’t right with my body matching who I felt I was inside. Those feelings probably started when I was four, maybe five years old—very very confusing, and trust me, it didn’t get easier as I got older. I couldn’t figure out why I hated my life until I found the answer on the internet to the question, ‘Am I in the wrong body?’

“That gave me a partial answer and put me on the right path to getting the real answer, which turned out to be I was Trans. Once I connected those initial dots, I knew I needed help or I was going to give up on living. So, I talked to my mom, which was scary and confusing for both of us in the beginning. Thankfully she got me appointments with a couple knowledgeable doctors. I began taking hormones, male puberty blockers, and had a few surgeries much later on. Yeah, that’s the short and quick version of how this woman is sitting here now. I’m complex, but not as complex as you might think. I want the same things you do: to be happy, be with someone who cares about me, and live my life to the fullest, without societal constraints that limit or block who I am.”

I didn’t know what the internal workings were or the true down to the science definition of being Trans, so there was a lot of mystery still there for me to get my head around. Did I really need to know what being Trans was to that degree? Likely not, but I worked best when there was order in my life, so I wanted to know these things.

I mean, with most women, I had a pretty good idea of what made them tick or what their wants or needs were—yet with Sara, I wondered if that was different somehow because she hadn’t necessarily started life as a woman. Yeah, I had looked up what being Trans meant on the internet after talking to Jenny Saturday night. Did that help me understand it better? Did it help me understand my attraction to Sara? Yes and No... I’d never wanted to be with another man, but she wasn’t one now as best I could tell, but was once a...

“What are you thinking?”

She’d startled me momentarily, and my brain wasn’t functioning in a way I had thought any of this conversation would go before having a chance to talk with her. And I did want to talk to her.

"Truthfully? I'm… I like… It feels complex, you know, like you said,” I stammered.

“Okay, so let’s start there. Are you attracted to me because I appear to be what you thought I was?”

“Yes, but…”

"But I didn’t begin my life this way, so that screws with the complexity to understand your attraction?”

“Sure, but that’s like expected, right?” I whined the question to completion.

“Hard truth: society says only males and females should go marching hand in hand together. But society has evolved a little and finally accepted it’s not the end of the world if males are with other males or females want to be with other females. A few religions don’t bend to those ideas, but thankfully they don’t govern large swaths of this country. There is no right answer to who we’re attracted to or who we want to be with.

“Let’s get past the biggest hurdle for most of the guys who have been interested in me or I have been interested in—whether or not being attracted to me makes them gay. Good grief, if I had a dollar for every time I’ve been asked that my student loans would be paid off. Yet, that’s a hang-up, and I totally get it because I’m not the societal norm. Would it help you any if I told you I wasn’t gay? I’ve got zero interest in women and haven’t ever considered being with one – not once. No Katy Perry ‘I kissed a girl and I liked it’ for me.”

Katy Perry? Had she come out as a lesbian and I hadn’t heard that? What? If you like men then…

“You like men though,” I squeaked softly.

"Yes, I do, and that puts me solidly in the camp with ninety percent of all the women you know out there who want to be partnered with or are attracted to men. Look, you thought I was a woman, and I can assure you, I’m a woman to my absolute core. I don’t need to sell you on that; you see and hear that from me or you don't. What you choose to do or be governed by is up to you,” she said confidently, picking up her mocha and taking a sip while studying me, maybe wondering what stupid thing I was going to say next.

I’m not even sure what stupid thing I was going to say next!

[- Alive -]

It was obvious, not only to me because I was living it, but to my two partners also, that I couldn’t focus and ended up going home right after lunch. I didn’t have any in-person client meetings today and was able to reschedule the few calls I did have this afternoon for later in the week—thankfully. I had to assure both partners I was fine; I just had some personal stuff going on that I needed to deal with. There had been questions as to whether that was why I was thirty minutes later than usual this morning, and I deferred them back to my original excuse—'personal stuff’ going on.

They, of course, were quick to assume my ex-wife had gone off the rails unexpectedly. I had to curb that blame because I didn’t need her getting wind of my business by accident, should they happen to say something snarky to her at some point in the future. They weren’t fans of her, and my feelings about her tended to make them think I was 'whipped'. Whatever!

Thankfully, they let me off easy after I promised to explain tomorrow what was going on. I knew when I left the office they were worried about me, and I hated not being forthcoming, but I wasn’t even sure where my head was at the moment.

Work aside, I was stressing to monumental levels and now standing dumbfounded in my kitchen trying to organize all those things I needed to get done in the next five hours! Like verge of a panic attack—heart wanting to explode—fear of decisions made or not made—sharks in the water—or worse, thinking I would absolutely freeze up later when Sara got here. What was I thinking inviting her over for dinner this morning?!

I wasn’t sure which shocked me more—that I’d asked her or that she had accepted my invitation!

Was this electric feeling coursing through my body, reminding me I was actually alive?! Is this what living could and should feel like?! Had my routine really been a rut, a prison sentence in some Matrix-like movie plot? Was Sara the red pill meant to shake my existence off its foundation of lies I’d been living, thinking that I was actually living a full and meaningful life?

STOP!! No more frick’n rabbit hole excursions right now! I’ve got shit to do!

I needed to clean, figure out some kind of meal to cook, and maybe more importantly, figure out what the hell I am even doing with this woman! Yeah, our conversation had gotten easier once I gave up worrying about what others thought and focused on my own wants. And really, fuck it! I could SEE her, and she was cute and playful and magnetic and confident and lippy and pushed back at me! She was all I could think about since I’d met her! Am I losing my mind?!

No, I’m fucking alive! I’m…

My phone vibrated twice in my pocket, and I pulled it out quickly to see who was texting me... When I saw who sent the text, I thought—this should be interesting.

Jenny: How did it go this morning? Did you talk to Sara?

Me: Yes, it went better than I thought it would. I asked her to come over for dinner.

Jenny: Wow! I’m surprised, but I like that move for you. You realize that relationships like driving are a responsibility. Lol (*two laughing face emojis*)

Me: Ha ha! Wish me luck, kiddo.

Jenny: You won’t need to; you got this. I’m happy for you. Love you, Dad! (*heart emoji*)

Me: Thanks, Jen; I love you too.

It felt like I’d barely put my phone away before the buzzing of the intercom at my door had me jumping up from the couch, and I was rushing to buzz Sara into my building. I wiped the sweat from my palms on the apron I was wearing and realized I was wearing a damn apron still! Quickly I pulled it off, set it on the kitchen counter neatly, looked over at the table, darted over to it to adjust a fork sitting on a napkin screwy, and wondered if it was even on the right side of the plate. Did I have time to Google the proper place setting for...

The tiny knock at the door answered that question for me. AUGH!!!

I tried to not rush to the door, got a hand on the handle, breathed... Just breathe… I opened the door, trying my best to smile confidently, and the cute woman from Café Duro I was expecting was now a stunning woman standing before me. She was wearing a floral-patterned dress that fell just above her knees, had heels on, bangles on her wrists, large hoop earrings, and, in a word, she was beautiful.

“Hey…”

I’m sure I blinked a few times and stumbled with inviting her in. She was carrying a sweater, and I took it, hanging it in the coat closet next to the front door while she set her clutch on a small table next to the closet. When I turned back towards her, I sensed something was off...

“Would you mind,” she began tentatively, “Giving me a tour?”

"Oh… Yeah, yes, of course, I... Are you alright?”

She was trying to smile, but it looked like it was taking some effort. I could feel she was uncomfortable, that something was definitely wrong, and blurted out, “If you’d rather not do this tonight, we...”

She didn’t let me finish.

“No, no, just a rough day at work," she said softly, surprising me by stepping over to me, wrapping her arms around me, and hugging me. “I’m sorry, I’ll be better in a minute... It’s not you, I promise.”

I returned the hug gently, afraid I would break her, but wanted so badly to take away whatever pain she was in right now. She smelled amazing, was warm, and soft, and I considered asking about her day but held off.

“You look amazing; thank you for coming over.” I finally got out.

"Thanks… Been a minute since I’ve dressed up,” she whispered.

“I’m sure any chance you get to be out of scrubs is a good thing. I feel that way about wearing a suit and tie daily.”

Her arms let loose, and she brought them around so she could put the palms of her hands on my chest.

“You didn’t mention you could cook. Whatever is cooking smells really good!”

She was smiling, maybe having shaken off for the moment whatever was bothering her. I had the undeniable urge to lean in and kiss her but couldn’t justify making such a bold move. I was looking deeply into her eyes for a sign she wouldn’t be offended or would want that, but the moment was lost when she stepped back.

I took one of her hands, replying, “Just lasagna; I hope you’re hungry because I made enough to feed us and like six others. Now, about that tour...”

I walked her through the sixteen hundred square feet of my condo, including spending a few minutes admiring the view from the balcony that had a view of the city of Boston proper twenty miles away. She seemed impressed with the condo, had asked questions about pictures of Jenny as a child in the hallway to the bedrooms, liked Jenny’s room, and seemed generally impressed—though confused with my collection of vinyl records.

“You’ve got these out here and some in your bedroom; how many records do you have?” she asked.

“About six hundred give or take. I know it’s not common, but there’s personality you don’t get to hear or experience if you’re listening to something digital because they strip out those sounds that add personality to sterilize it and make it sound clean. I do have about that many music CDs and subscribe to a couple music services—but vinyl is kind of my guilty pleasure, I guess.”

“There are worse things you could spend your money on.”

“Certainly… Something to drink? I’ve got pop, water, wine, something harder.”

“Beer?” she asked.

“Stella or Corona...”

“Surprise me…”

I pretended to study her, “Kind of a coin flip, but I’m going to say you’re a Corona and lime girl.”

“You’d probably be right,” she said, smiling, checking the table out while I grabbed her beer, and adding, “You need any help with anything?”

“No, have a seat; if you’re hungry, we can dig in or sit out on the balcony since it’s decent out.”

I’m not sure where I’d stuffed my nervousness about having Sara here tonight, but since she arrived, including through dinner, everything had gone better than I’d expected. Our conversations were mostly work-related—nothing much personal shared—and I learned that the patient she’d been in the OR with on Saturday for the heart stint surgery had passed this morning due to complications. She explained it wasn’t that she hadn’t seen any number of people die while working at the hospital, but this one felt personal for some reason.

“Maybe because he had a nineteen-year-old daughter,” she softly said.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I replied and took her hand for a moment to give it a squeeze.

After dinner, we ended up doing the dishes together, though I’d insisted I could do them later. I’d offered her another beer, but she turned it down—though the offer of a bowl of ice cream from Richardson’s creamery was accepted. When I asked her about it, she’d said she knew her priorities and might not have eaten the lasagna had I offered her the ice cream first.

To this point we’d still not talked about anything deeply personal until we were done with dessert and at the kitchen sink again doing dishes...

“Megan didn’t say anything much about you being divorced,” she mentioned as she was putting her bowl in the dishwasher, turning to take mine and doing the same. “She told me a little about Jenny, and I get the sense she’s an impressive kid given what you told me about your two’s conversations over the weekend this morning. Is the divorce a sore subject?”

“No, not really... We met in college, got married right afterwards, but had decided to wait on having kids because we were new to our careers. My work was brutal back then; you really didn’t have a life if you wanted a job, and she decided a child was something she needed; maybe figuring Jenny would bring me around to paying more attention to her after Jenny was born.

“I’m not above admitting I screwed that up, and I really did love her, and having it end was not an easy thing to accept. I didn’t know how to fix it without giving up everything I’d work for to provide for us, and I don’t think she could ever have buried the pain and moved on anyway. That’s all long gone and something that can’t be fixed. She remarried last year,” I offered, but I could feel some of that nervousness creeping in.

I figured honestly was the best approach this morning and was determined to keep that same mode running tonight—see me at my worst, decide if I’m worthy or not based on what I’ve done after the fact. Plus, no one is perfect, I figured.

“It’s been a few relationships for me where the guy couldn’t get past me not having taken the normal route to womanhood. I tend to make guys worry about their sexuality, and being with me will cause people you know to doubt it too. If I had to give someone advice about being with me, I’d tell them to just be themselves. Don’t overstress the Trans in me, and by that, I mean if you hang out with me enough, you’re going to see I’m exactly what I appear to be,” she stopped to look around, opened the frosted glass front cabinet with glassware in it, grabbed a glass, and filled it with water before coming over to take my hand and walking us to the sofa.

“I really appreciated our conversation this morning. I know that someone like me might be a little confusing, but you were incredibly kind with how you navigated getting to know a little more about me. You were patient, considered my feelings, and weren’t afraid to speak your mind or open up about some feeling you had about who I am. I liked that, when you’re not guarded about what you’re saying or were asking me a probing and challenging question.

“Dating for me is more often a horror show; guess what I’m trying to say is thank you for not being like that,” she finished, leaned over while carefully holding her glass of water, and kissed me on the cheek.

“I wasn’t thinking all that much this morning, to be honest. I had lots of questions, and you indulged my want to get to know you. I thought maybe I’d have scared you off.”

“So far you haven’t said or done anything that’s given me pause, but I’m not sure you won’t be scared off eventually, to be honest. It’ll happen when you have to deal with people who find out I’m Trans and they start to assume you’re into something freaky or you’ve lost your mind or turned your back on God or whatever,” she held up a hand to stop me from protesting what she’d just said. “Trust me, I’ve seen it happen enough to know it will be a challenge most men can’t overcome. It’ll hurt me when that happens, but you’ll land on your feet.”

“That’s a bold prediction,” I complained softly.

“You think so? What if your business partners question your masculinity or say that you don’t have it in you to attract a 'real woman'’? Would your ex-wife think you’ve sought out a fetish or,” she paused to lock eyes with me, “What’s more likely to happen is she finds out and is afraid to have me be anywhere near Jenny?”

Those questions had certainly crossed my mind, but I was more focused on wanting to know who she was and why there was this attraction I had to her. I hadn’t bothered worrying as much about any possible blowback from those people in my life. Jenny had repeatedly said, and I knew this from the media, that society wanted to erase women like Sara. She’d thought fear drove the hate, and I felt like she was seeing I wasn’t governed by either of those things and maybe was proud of her old dad for being open minded.

Rewinding the last couple statements Sara had made, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was trying to warn me away from pursuing her...

::: --- :::

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Rachel M. Moore