Tony had a wild night at Lads’ Night and by the end he didn’t want it to finish. So much so that Tony, when invited, slept at Jess’s place as Toni. Now it’s a new day, and the only clothes Tony has is a fancy date night dress and killer heels. How the hell is Tony going to get home? Maybe, just for now, it has to be Toni going home...

That’s up to Tony, though. But does this newfound fun really have to end? Can Toni continue, at least in the privacy of Tony’s home; at least once he gets there? Whatever happens Tony seems to have found two new friends in Jess and Sally, the problem is they don’t know Tony. Sure, Jess and Sally know he technically exists, but Toni is their friend. And what happens when they want to see her again? These are questions for another day, though, right?

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

A new, updated version of 'Toni With An i is' available on swolle.eu with the name of The Pattern In My Chest. There's also some fun stuff like very silly promo images and some pop banger playlists, do check it out!

The Toni With An I story is improved in many ways. All the parts I have ready for an imminent release will be released on that site in the coming weeks, then as an ePub. All of the story remains free on that site, my personal site, and the plans are for the ePub to be available for free, too. Later parts not yet edited for a soon-to-come release will remain on BCTS. You can get two goes at Toni, the early version and the later version.

Thanks for the support, here, staff and readers! New writing from me will continue to appear on BCTS. This place is too valuable to trans fiction to ever ignore the impact it's had on so many people!

Friday night at Lads Night In was explosive, in a variety of ways, with Tony discovering the Toni part of himself, or more now herself, along with two new, female friends, Jess and Sally. The day after was an emotional roller-coaster, where people actually smile at the new Toni—no-one ever smiled at boy Toni—and she discovered a wonderland bar where everything ended in tears. But tears for Sally, not Toni! Before Big-G took Toni home to be held and simply rest.

With Toni’s life finally filled with joy and fun, NO BORING!!! is it all going to stop when the big man, Big-G, says it’s time to take things seriously? Or is Big-G correct and will treating things properly as the new Toni be as fun, fun, fun as the partying and drinks? And will Toni end up back in Light Avenue?

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

A new, updated version of 'Toni With An i is' available on swolle.eu with the name of The Pattern In My Chest. There's also some fun stuff like very silly promo images and some pop banger playlists, do check it out!

The Toni With An I story is improved in many ways. All the parts I have ready for an imminent release will be released on that site in the coming weeks, then as an ePub. All of the story remains free on that site, my personal site, and the plans are for the ePub to be available for free, too. Later parts not yet edited for a soon-to-come release will remain on BCTS. You can get two goes at Toni, the early version and the later version.

Thanks for the support, here, staff and readers! New writing from me will continue to appear on BCTS. This place is too valuable to trans fiction to ever ignore the impact it's had on so many people!

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

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

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

A new, updated version of 'Toni With An i is' available on swolle.eu with the name of The Pattern In My Chest. There's also some fun stuff like very silly promo images and some pop banger playlists, do check it out!

The Toni With An I story is improved in many ways. All the parts I have ready for an imminent release will be released on that site in the coming weeks, then as an ePub. All of the story remains free on that site, my personal site, and the plans are for the ePub to be available for free, too. Later parts not yet edited for a soon-to-come release will remain on BCTS. You can get two goes at Toni, the early version and the later version.

Thanks for the support, here, staff and readers! New writing from me will continue to appear on BCTS. This place is too valuable to trans fiction to ever ignore the impact it's had on so many people!

Toni is in Light Avenue, yes! on a worknight, and what has she agreed to? Worse, what has she done to herself? Nothing other than invite the barman who was flirting with her to join her for a drink. What he wants from her she can’t even begin to fathom but considering the flirting it must involve man and woman things. What’s she going to do?

And worse, how does she continue her life after that? If she doesn’t drop dead from shame on the spot she’ll have to continue working on the healthcare report from work. She’ll have to continue having actual guys as friends knowing she, well... maybe likes doing things with them. Depending on how her drink with Jackson goes... If it’s not a joke... It’s all in Toni’s future, and all of her own making.

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

A new, updated version of 'Toni With An i is' available on swolle.eu with the name of The Pattern In My Chest. There's also some fun stuff like very silly promo images and some pop banger playlists, do check it out!

The Toni With An I story is improved in many ways. All the parts I have ready for an imminent release will be released on that site in the coming weeks, then as an ePub. All of the story remains free on that site, my personal site, and the plans are for the ePub to be available for free, too. Later parts not yet edited for a soon-to-come release will remain on BCTS. You can get two goes at Toni, the early version and the later version.

Thanks for the support, here, staff and readers! New writing from me will continue to appear on BCTS. This place is too valuable to trans fiction to ever ignore the impact it's had on so many people!

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?

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

A new, updated version of 'Toni With An i is' available on swolle.eu with the name of The Pattern In My Chest. There's also some fun stuff like very silly promo images and some pop banger playlists, do check it out!

The Toni With An I story is improved in many ways. All the parts I have ready for an imminent release will be released on that site in the coming weeks, then as an ePub. All of the story remains free on that site, my personal site, and the plans are for the ePub to be available for free, too. Later parts not yet edited for a soon-to-come release will remain on BCTS. You can get two goes at Toni, the early version and the later version.

Thanks for the support, here, staff and readers! New writing from me will continue to appear on BCTS. This place is too valuable to trans fiction to ever ignore the impact it's had on so many people!

Toni met Steve during the week, even mothered him in his worry over her, but now it’s time for her and Steve to get back to the routine of being friends. Except with Toni as a woman.

They’re meeting early in the morning to watch a football match in the same bar they always watch football matches in. Whether it’s weird for her, or Steve, or the same it as it always was is a different matter. Toni certainly isn't making predictions of what might happen.

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

I don’t know how long I’ve been doing this. Being me. Being Toni. It’s been a week, I guess, and not even a full week with a couple of days at work, but looking around my bedroom the evidence I’m not old Tony any more seems to be mounting.

There’s dresses thrown over a chair, pantihose bundled on the floor, there’s even a bra resting on a seat. And it’s not a bra from a girl I’ve had over. It’s my bra! Why am I doing this? But I’m thinking that to myself as I lay out my clothes for the day. Laying out a denim dress. Which is the answer, I suppose. I want to do this. People know me as Toni. Jess and Sally only know Toni. I kissed Jackson during the week. I’m meeting up with Tim today and he sneaked a kiss last night, after walking me home. I’ve kissed more boys in one week than women in the past year. And that woman was Sally kissing Toni, which did nothing for either of us.

I guess I just have to accept this. Apart from one panic moment I’ve been good. It makes sense, not that I’ve really pulled apart my thoughts. I have so much going on I don’t have time to stop and think. I’ve gone from going out one night a week, a quiet night at that, to constantly having things to do.

Is that it? Am I just occupied now? If I got really into pottery making would I feel the same? I should probably talk to someone about everything. But again, I don’t have the time.

I shower, and shave pretty much everywhere, while trying to slow my thoughts down. It doesn’t really work, I’m just looking forward. It’s early in the day, still dark outside, and I’m meeting Steve to watch a soccer game as soon as the bar opens, then I’m getting my nails done, then I’m meeting Tim, maybe. If he shows up. If I don’t chicken out.

I make myself a coffee and sit myself down in my new fluffy bathrobe. I’m not wearing makeup, my hair isn’t done, and sure, I have no body hair, really, but under the robe I’m still all boy. I just don’t feel it. I don’t know what I feel. What does it feel like to feel like a boy? Or a girl? There’s moments I don’t feel anything about myself, I’m just operating as normal, and that’s most of the time. And then there are moments where everything feels so alive. And then there are times I’m terrified but it doesn’t seem like I have any real choice but to push through them.

I message Steve a “You awake?” And he’s back to me quickly with “Yeah, leaving soon. Everything OK?”

I don’t know why I messaged him. I know he’ll be at the bar. He said he was going no matter what. I just want to touch someone, figuratively. To reach out and be acknowledged. “Yeah, fine. See you soon.”

I do my makeup in my bathroom mirror, then tease my hair into shape. This whole morning sort of feels out-of-body. Like I’m watching me, or even watching someone else go through their routine. I try and shake the thought from my head and go back into the bedroom looking at the clothes I laid out. I’m still feeling separated from myself. For some reason I pull out the sexy, black thong Steve got me the night this all started and put it on. Maybe feeling hot will get me more into myself? Then it’s on with the opaque pantihose, my new denim dress, short-ish sleeves, dark stitching and belt snugged in around the middle. I’m into my new Doc Marten Mary Janes which I honestly can’t believe I’ve found and then I’m filling out my purse and putting on my coat to leave.

Walking down the street I still feel disconnected from myself but it’s not a physical thing. I feel the cold wind whip around my legs, and I tug my coat in on me. I can feel the bite on my exposed hands. There’s very few people around this early on a weekend, and I’m kind of away from myself as I walk down the lit street. Really it’s that I feel more disconnected, mentally, like my thoughts aren’t quite mine or they’re distant.

I walk into the soccer bar in a stupor. A bar where it’s not that quiet for just after 7am. There’s plenty of people in jerseys and plenty of people drinking. I glance around trying to find Steve and become aware I’m pretty much the only woman in here. Well, sort-of woman. But there’s still time before the game.

Peter is standing at the bar and I go over to him. “Hey,” I say.

“Hello, Toni. Are we indulging with the Full English this morning?”

I smile thinking of how great the burger I had here was the last time. “I will be. Not straight away, a little later. Have you seen Steve?”

Peter points towards the back of the bar, at the bench opposite the main wall of TVs where Steve is sitting in front of a low, round, polished wooden table with a beer on top of it. “Do you want a drink?” he asks.

“A shandy?” I say, knowing it’s been added to their drinks list after I asked for something low alcohol the other day.

“Do you want to use your free shandy with your breakfast for this one? Or will you save that?”

“I’ll save it, thanks,” I say, as Peter tops up the beer with the Sprite from the dispenser.

He hands over the large glass, “So? Who do you want to win? Liverpool or Everton?”

“I just want a good game,” I say, laughing. “Honestly. I don’t really follow anyone, I just like a good game.”

“That’s far too diplomatic for a soccer game. You might as well have said as long as they all have fun and no-one gets hurt. I should take your drink back. Fire you up a bit.”

I scowl at him. “If you do that I’ll turn into a proper hooligan and throw a chair through your window!”

“That’s the spirit!” Peter bellows, then he rotates the glass around in front of me so the logo is facing me. “I’m glad you’re back. And I want you in here more often, if that’s not too presumptuous.”

“It depends on how good the breakfast is. But yes...” I say, then I pick up the glass and make a face at him, while he looks faux hurt, before I go towards the back to join up with Steve.

I’m walking towards him when he stands, and kind of twists his arms. I look at him confusedly but he just sits back down again. “Sorry,” he says.

“What?” I ask, knowing that wasn’t him being weird with me, it was just him being generally, all around weird.

“I didn’t know if I should give you hug. We didn’t... You know? When you were...”

“Well a hug would be strange after that comment,” I say.

Steve rubs at his forehead. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he says.

“Do what?” I ask.

“I mean, you’re a girl now. And I dragged you out to watch football.”

“And?”

“Do girls watch football?” he asks.

“You’re a fucking moron, Steve,” I say. “I knew you were a bit dim before, but you’re reaching new depths here.”

“Sorry...” he says. “I’m just...”

“For fuck sake, Steve. It’s too early for this. I haven’t even taken a drink yet.”

He tilts my glass of shandy on the table. “What is it? It looks odd.”

“Try it.”

“What is it?”

“A shandy. I asked for low alcohol beer, they didn’t have any so Aaron came up with this.”

He twists the glass around on the table. “You haven’t actually said what it is.”

“Just fucking taste it, Steve. It’s nice. Stop being a fourteen year old.”

He lifts the glass to his lips and takes a sip. “It is nice.”

“See. Sprite and beer. And I won’t be rolling around the floor by the end of the match. Now can I drink my drink?” I ask.

“Sorry,” Steve says, and I feel a growl escaping my throat as his words register with me. He really is acting like a teenager, isn’t he?

I decide to take this back towards normal territory, where Steve isn’t being a giant idiot, at least until the game begins and he starts roaring at TVs. “How have you been since the other day?” I ask.

“I took Friday off. Too much partying, you know.”

“You weren’t partying,” I say, knowing full well he was in here complaining to Peter about me and my new situation.

“What makes you think that?” he asks.

“Peter told me you were in here, crying in your beer, and stronger I assume. About me.”

“You think a lot of yourself, don’t you?” Steve asks.

“Well? Am I wrong?”

“How have you been?” Steve asks.

“The week was good. I got to work from home a bit. I went out. I got a few kisses. I’m meeting someone later today. This morning was a bit weird, though.”

“Kisses? Good for you!” Steve says, and he seems to have genuinely brightened up at that. “Who’s the lucky lady? Or ladies?”

“The lucky lady was me, Steve. And the men I kissed were very sexy and attractive. And I’m meeting Tim again later today.”

“OK. Wow! I didn’t know...” he says. “So you think men are attractive?”

“I’m not sure but kissing them is a lot of fun.”

“As long as it’s only kissing,” Steve says.

“Don’t be rude, Steve! What I do with the men in my life is up to me.” Not that I’ve actually done anything, not really. I suppose I did let my hands take over with Jackson.

“So you have thought about it?” Steve asks, wide eyed.

“Shouldn’t you be asking me out or buying me a drink before you’re coming out with those questions? Tim and Jackson were much better at flirting.”

“We’re not flirting!!” Steve gasps, looking like his eyes could fall out of his head.

“Oh please, you couldn’t resist me if I tried,” I say.

Steve takes a long drink from his beer, before nodding to himself, then going back for another go on his glass. “OK, that was different but this can work.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I was worried you and I would change. Things were always comfortable with us.”

“I was boring, you mean?”

“No! You were not boring. But you were funny, and calm, and seemingly unflappable, which annoyed me. You didn’t care about much. But things were easy with you, and I don’t want to lose that. And those few seconds of conversation were easy, if a little different.”

“You’re afraid of losing me?” I ask, slightly confused.

“Yeah! Of course. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and this is all so new from you. Such a big change. There could be other changes? I don’t know...”

It goes quiet, as more people are filling out the bar, and I realise I hadn’t thought about that. I have changed, fairly hugely, I suppose. I don’t know if I am different, but, like, objectively... To anyone looking in... “I didn’t think about that,” I say. “I don’t feel different. I’m still just me.”

Steve grimaces a little and speaks up. “But you are different, and I don’t just mean your name or your clothes, or kissing men. You’re more confident. You’re taking control of things. You’re even a bit sassy, which is something I can’t believe I’m saying. Why wouldn’t other things change?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I say. I’m still doing things I did before. It has only been a week of Toni.

“You said you felt weird this morning, was that about coming here?” Steve asks.

“I don’t know. I’ve wanted to talk to someone about that, actually,” I say, thinking about how everything was so confused this morning.

“So talk.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Why not?”

“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know. I felt disconnected from myself. Like I was watching myself.”

“An out of body thing?”

I think about that, and it was something I was thinking earlier but it’s not quite right. “Kind of?” I say. “It was like I was on autopilot. You know when you’re driving, and you’re zoned out going down the highway. You’re still aware of things. You’re paying attention to the road and possible dangers, but you’re kind of distant. You’re not really there but you’re ready to be if you have to be.”

“Yeah. Autopilot,” Steve says. “You’re just doing things naturally with nothing worrying you. You have to get somewhere, and if there’s no-one driving like a maniac around you, or there’s no heavy traffic you don’t have to do anything. You don’t even have to think about anything. You can’t really do anything else, so if you have nothing to worry about your mind goes blank”

I’m not quite sure I get what he’s saying. “So I am on autopilot? When my mind goes blank?”

“It’s a good thing. Have you never felt that way?”

I squint a little at him. “Not like this I haven’t,” I say.

“Was it bad?”

“No...” It was just weird.

“Were you thinking about anything? Was there anything annoying you?”

“I mean I couldn’t figure out how I was feeling.”

“Apart from that. What were you doing?”

I think back to my morning, I showered and got dressed feeling like I did. I walked here feeling like I did. “I was just getting ready then walking here.”

“And you were distant and your mind was far away, not thinking about anything.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“You felt at peace. Not to get Buddhist on things but people need that. It’s natural. You’ve really never felt that way?”

“No...” I say, shaking my head. “Actually it wasn’t all morning. It was after I texted you. Well, after you texted back.”

“That’s sweet,” Steve says. “You’re cute.”

“What?” I ask.

“You wanted to see if our date was going ahead. And when it was you felt calm.”

“It’s not a date, you moron. We’re just watching soccer.”

“You couldn’t resist me if I tried,” Steve says.

“Oh, you’re awful! Using my own words against me!” I laugh at him and take a sip of my shandy.

“I mean, you are kinda cute,” he says. “For someone who’s been a girl a week.”

“I’m cute?” I ask.

“Yeah, kinda pretty. No comment on attraction or anything, I think of you as a little sibling. It’d be weird. But for a guy who doesn’t object to the trans thing I could see why they’d like you.”

I feel my insides tighten, or, I don’t know, get warmer? Get a little wriggly, maybe, at all this. “Is this how you get women?” I ask.

Steve nods. “Yep.”

“Well I should feel privileged you’re turning it on for me.”

“Could you resist me?” he asks.

“No. Of course I couldn’t resist you. And my panties are soaking now so how about a quickie in the toilet?”

“See. This is fun now. This is you being more confident. And why I wanted to apologise,” he says, as he reaches to his side and brings up a bag from a sports retailer. “I felt like shit for reacting like I did, and then you looked after me the other evening, and forced me to eat, and made me go home and get some sleep.”

“It was a really good burger, wasn’t it?”

“I had no idea!” Steve says.

“I’m getting the Full English for breakfast in a minute.”

“Let me continue you ditzy little blonde!” he says, and I wonder what I’d look like as a blonde. Or if I had a proper hairstyle. “As I was saying, I wanted to apologise, and I didn’t know if you’d come but knew if you did I had to say sorry, properly, and support you. And I knew it was the Liverpool v Everton game we’d be watching so I got you this,” he says as he takes something in red material out of the bag. “It’s the women’s Liverpool home jersey, in what should be your size.”

I’m shocked at this, Steve being thoughtful, but I kind of remember there were always times he’d pull off something like this. “Thank you, Steve! You shouldn’t have! I’m just happy things are normal now.”

“Yeah, it’s not just that,” he says. “The store workers spotted a sucker. A very tired and hungover sucker.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“I asked the woman there about the female jerseys, and I happened to let slip it was an apology gift. She kind of questioned me. Was a jersey an apology gift for me, or for the woman? Like, were you sporty, and would you maybe prefer some workout clothes, and...” He pulls another two bags up from beside him. “So yeah, they spotted a complete sucker,” he says as he slides up the seat a little and places the two bags he’s grabbed and the first one he had between us.

“What’s this? What did you do, Steve?”

“Just look,” he says.

In the bags, completely full bags, are leggings, yoga pants, running shorts, athletic tops, athletic hoodies, more, there’s even a couple of sports bras. There’s a swimsuit! Sandal like flip flops for around changing rooms and pools, and what looks like a towel.

“Why did you do this? You utter, complete idiot?” I say.

“The jersey is an apology, the rest is punishment for me getting into the state I did. Like I said, that store worker saw me coming. She took advantage of my delicate condition, really.”

“You have to take these back, Steve. I can’t keep these.”

“I’m not taking them back. The receipt is in there and I paid cash, so if you want to take them back you’re getting that cash into your hand, or a gift card, and I will refuse to take either of those things off you. So keep the workout gear.”

“I really can’t, Steve. This is way too much. I’ll keep the jersey but this is hundreds of dollars worth of clothes. It’s not fair on you,” I say. “This is really good quality stuff.”

Steve pulls a flier out from where it was resting at the bottom of one of the bags. “I thought you’d say that so how about we make a deal?”

“That quickie in the bathroom thing was a joke,” I say.

“I would hope so! No, look at this,” he says, handing me a flier of an enclosed urban astroturfed area with floodlights above it. “There’s a few of these groups, running 5-aside, 6-aside and 7-aside football. Once you’re ready will you sign up to one with me? And we can play football. It’s something I’ve wanted to do, and these are mixed gender, so it shouldn’t be an issue. All casual and for fun.”

I think about it for a few seconds before speaking up. “Yes? OK,” I say. “But we’re both rubbish at soccer though, you know that.”

“We can be rubbish together. It might be fun. And after you dragged me home the other night it occurred to me I want to stay close to you, and this could be a way.”

I draw a deep breath and think about it again for a few seconds. “OK. Deal. But I want to give you a hug now.”

“I’d quite like a hug. Might make some of the women in here take an interest in me.”

I laugh. “That’s bullshit. You just want a hug.”

“True,” he says.

I wrap my arms around him and give him the strongest hug I can manage. Then as I pull away he seems more peaceful than before. Like he’s watching something far away. At which I point I notice he is. He’s watching the game. I didn’t even realise it had started.

“OK. I’m ordering breakfast. And I’m getting you your breakfast, as a thank you. OK?”

“They do wings and sweet potato fries don’t they? At this hour?”

I growl at him again. “You know full well they do. It’s what you get every time we’re here.”

I walk up to the bar counter, where most people are turned to face a TV, and wait to catch Peter’s attention. Eventually he looks at me. “Breakfast?” I ask.

“Shoot,” Peter says.

“Yeah, the Full English, some wings, whatever kind really, Steve will eat anything, and some sweet potato fries. I’ll take the shandy and one of Steve’s beers now as well, please.”

He puts the order into the till then as he’s making my drinks asks me, “How has Steve been?”

“Better, I suppose. He’s still done some dumb things,” I say.

“Like what?” Peter asks, look of disapproval on his face.

“Well, it seems like he’s bought me half an athletics store as some kind of apology. Which he didn’t need to do. He just needs to stop being a moron.”

“Half an athletics store?” Peter asks.

“Yeah, he says he was suckered, but I think he just wants to make sure I’ll still be into sports and that. He’s talking about us playing 5-aside soccer.”

Peter nods. “Would you be interested in that? The soccer?”

“I mean, sure. I’m terrible at kicking a ball though. There was no-one really playing when we were kids, and if they did play they were always way better than us after starting with proper teams when they were six years old.”

“Yeah... I’m not saying you’re old, but some of the guys here are. Of course some turn into thugs on the pitch, lovable thugs, but thugs nonetheless, but most of them are decrepit. It’s mostly about getting the heart rate up and making an attempt at being fit. If you’re really thinking about this then give me a few days? Don’t sign up to any leagues or anything yet.”

“Yeah, we hadn’t planned. I’m so busy these days I don’t know how I make time for it.”

Peter places the glasses in front of me. “That’s pretty common. Either you’re so busy, whether it’s with kids or life in general, or you’re doing nothing so doing anything seems difficult. Like I said, give me a few days. And watch the group chat. Steve is better than the last time he was in here, right, though?”

“He is. A bit judgy, but he’s also kind of flirting with me. It’s weird. I think he took it strangely that I’m kind of seeing guys now.”

Peter looks a little confused at that. Like even he’s surprised that I’m trying to date men. But that’s not actually it, I realise. “You told him that on Wednesday.”

“I did?”

“Yeah, Brandon? Or Jackson or something? Both of you need to pull it together if you can’t even remember three days ago. So be sure to eat all of your breakfast. Including the mushrooms. Get some nutrition in you. Have you been eating?”

“Badly,” I say.

Peter shakes his head. “That’s not good. It’ll come back to haunt you as you age. Now, I love the breakfasts here, and the burgers and the fries and wings, but if you start eating right, healthily, I mean, at your age, things will get a lot easier as you’re older. You don’t want to turn thirty and realise you can’t demolish a plate of pork and carbs with no consequences, rather immediate consequence.”

“What about beer?” I ask, knowing this is a man running a bar with a kitchen who’s suddenly pushing health.

He laughs. “Oh! Beer is fine. It’s a liquid. Nothing wrong with liquids. They keep you hydrated.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, giving him a look as I take the glasses back to the table.

Then it’s just watching the match, complaining about bad ref decisions, about VAR messing up video calls, and generally thinking Liverpool should really be doing better than they are doing.

As our food arrives I say to Steve, “Maybe you jinxed Liverpool by getting me the jersey? Maybe I’m the curse?” And I see my plate is absolutely crammed with food.

There’s bacon, sausage, black pudding, two fried eggs, beans, mushrooms, fries, toast on the side in a basket and there’s even some fried tomatoes.

Steve looks at my plate with what looks like lust on his face. “Damn, that looks good. And like a coronary. But no, you’ve not jinxed anything. You’re probably the luckiest person I know at the moment.”

“Me? Lucky? Why?” I ask. My life has been turmoil this past week.

“Dude, you’re figuring yourself out. Some people never manage that. And you’re more confident. You said you kissed two dudes this week. You’re getting more dick than I’m getting tits to look at. And there’s two tits to every one dick.”

This takes me aback. “I am not getting dick!” I screech.

“Yeah, sure thing. You’ll be getting pounded before halloween comes. I know girls like you. You’re all little hotties.”

“Where the fuck is this coming from, Steve?” I ask, this has all taken a rapid turn towards Steve being an ignoramus.

“Not working?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t know. I wanted to try out dude talk with you, I suppose. Like we’d do when we were all, you know...”

“I’ve never talked like that,” I protest. “Like, literally never.”

“I don’t know...” Steve says.

“Come on, just eat your food, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he says, as he picks up a wing and tears into it with his teeth.

I begin on my Full English, starting with the sausage, which is nice. In fact the whole thing is nice, maybe not the beans though. They’re too sweet, like sugar has been poured into the sauce.

After a few minutes the server comes down to us. “Do you need more toast?” he asks me.

“Oh, no. Please. I don’t think I’ll even be able to finish this,” I say.

“Yeah?” Steve says. “Can I help?”

I push the plate towards him and say, “Dig in,” when he wraps and an arm around my shoulder and pulls me in in a squeeze. Then he’s destroying what’s left of my food.

“These beans are good,” he says. “Why didn’t you eat them?”

“They’re pure sugar!” I say.

“Yeah. Like I said, they’re good. Really good.”

“And now you’re fed are you less grumpy? And less weird?” I ask as the second half kicks off, with it still being a goalless tie.

“I don’t know, what would we normally talk about?” he asks.

“We’d just watch the game,” I say. And it’s true. We’d eat, and have a few beers, and watch the game, and I’d go home after and look at funny websites and waste my weekend. “I don’t know, Steve. Is this hard for you?”

“No!” Steve says, but I’m not sure I believe him. “I mean you’re different.”

“In what way?” I ask.

Steve turns around from his straight on view of the TV. “Dude, you’re a girl. That’s pretty different.”

“I’m not really. For all your talk of getting pounded that’s not really possible. I’m not an actual girl,” I say, and I’m thinking to myself Unfortunately.

Steve laughs. “I’m not going to explain that one to you.”

“What?” I ask, confused.

“You’re so innocent,” he says with a laugh.

And I’m still confused. Then it dawns on me. I’ve joked about it, and teased Steve with it, but I haven’t actually considered it. “Ew! Jesus, Steve. No! I can’t believe I’m talking to you about that. You’re not talking to me about that.”

“Your boyfriend will want to do it. You’re not going to be chaste the whole time.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend!” I say. I’ve just kissed a few, and yeah, thought about some things. But I haven’t actually done anything.

“You actually don’t know how cute you are now,” Steve says.

I’m not cute! Then I say it aloud. “I’m not cute! Steve!!”

“Oh wow, now you’re getting pouty! You’re fucking adorable. Every predator within a hundred yards has his defilement sensors going off.” Steve is enjoying this too much. He’s completely stopped watching the match and is looking at me, broad smile on his face and laughter in his eyes. “Go on, stomp your feet.”

And the bar erupts in a cheer. We both look up at the TV and Liverpool have finally scored. “Come on!” Steve yells. Then he turns back to me after the replays. “You know, be careful,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“You probably don’t get this, seeing as you were never really a dude, but some of us can be really, well... Eh... I don’t know...”

“What are you saying, Steve?” I ask.

“Not everyone will be kind to you. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

I nod, not really knowing what to say to that but some words somehow slip out. “OK, then look after me.”

“You wouldn’t mind that?” he says. “Me protecting you?”

“Would you want to?” I ask. “Would it not be weird?”

This time Steve does fully tear his attention away from the screen. “I’m terrified for you. I know what guys can be like. I know what some would do to you. And this is my fault. I put you in a dress. I have to look after you. It’s my responsibility. That’s kind of part of why I got you the sports clothes as well. Just normal stuff. Because you’re normal. And I wanted to dress you slutty last weekend. I didn’t know what you were. Who you were.”

“It’s not your responsibility, but I don’t mind you looking out for me,” I say, realising this has taken a turn towards the serious.

“I would go to prison for life if someone hurt you, Toni. I mean that. I really do. If they’re alive after I get through with them they’d be lucky.”

“I don’t need that, Steve. I don’t need you getting aggro.” And the thought of Steve being a rampaging barbarian destroying anyone who even looks at me flashes through my mind.

“No. You’ve already agreed to this. And anyway, you can do this for me. I’ll feel better if you let me look after you. This isn’t all about you.”

I think about that for a few seconds, not knowing what it’d actually mean. Not in reality. “OK. You can look out for me. But now I have to use the bathroom and you can’t look out for me in there.”

And soon I’m in one of the three women’s stalls sitting down to pee. I hear someone else in here and my heart rate raises. I try to assure myself that Peter said this was all OK. It’s his bar, and he seems fine with me.

I fix up my dress and leave the stall and there’s a woman looking in the mirror as she stands in front of a sink.

I go to wash my hands. She looks at me in the reflection and says, “I’m so happy for you!”

“What?” I ask, aware of my man voice in here, of all places.

“I’ve seen you in the bar a few times before. It’s good to see you being you. Are you happier?”

“Yeah. I am,” I say, a little confused.

“It’s a good sign for here as well. It means people feel safe here,” she says as she dries her hands with a paper towel. “You look amazing.” Then she’s gone. And I don’t know what happened.

I sit back down, next to Steve, still confused. “You’re not staying for the next game, are you?” he asks.

“No. I’m meeting Jess and Sally.”

“Good,” he says.

“What!? Do you not want me here?” I ask, still confused from my bathroom encounter but now getting indignant at Steve.

“When you were in the toilet I realised we’ve talked more than we normally do. And I haven’t been able to pay as much attention to the match. While you were doing lady things—”

“Peeing, Steve.”

“Yeah, lady things, I realised I could actually focus on the game.”

This has come as a bit of a shock, but I suppose we have talked more than usual. “It’s a good thing I’m leaving then.”

“Yeah, I love you, but you just talk and talk...”

“You love me?” I ask, with a smile.

“Like a sister!” Steve says.

I take out my phone and check to see if there’s any messages from Jess and Sally, or anyone else. There’s not, but there is something in the bar’s group chat. Peter has been talking to some people and it seems he’s thinking about setting up another 6-aside tournament, or league or something. There’s people in here interested, at least me and Steve, I guess, and he’s seeing if anyone else would be. And whether people would want a multi-week thing running on a week night, or a full day long tournament on the weekend.

From the reaction he’s gotten, already, at just 9am, it seems people are interested, and he’s run events like this before.

I turn to Steve. “That football thing you said, it might be happening sooner than you think.”

“How do you mean?” he asks.

“Peter was talking about running a tournament or league, or something, from the bar.”

Steve pulls me in in a one armed hug and grasps onto me. “Oh yes!” he says. “We’ll be banging in goals like nobodies business!”

As he’s holding me in in exuberance, I don’t know why, but I lean in closer to him. I kind of relax into him. Then his arm stays around me. For the rest of the match. Where we don’t talk but I feel him holding me. It feels good. And weirdly I’m a little turned on. Am I turned on by my best friend? Would I?!

I chase that thought from my mind and just think it’s because I’m close to him. It’s nothing weird, and I’m allowed enjoy this. He is a guy. And he said he’d protect me. And that’s kind of how I feel in his arms.

As the final whistle blows he releases me and turns to smile at me. “That was a good game,” he says. “At least after the first half.”

“Yeah, I had fun. And I’m stuffed. I won’t need to eat again today.”

“I didn’t mean that about it being good that you’re leaving. If you want to stay all day with me I’m one hundred percent fine with it. And Alan is coming later.”

A thought runs through my mind about how I’d be happy staying here with him. Even just in his arms, all day long. “No. I’ve got a nail appointment. I should leave soon.”

“No claws, please,” Steve says. “And don’t forget your stuff. It did cost me a fortune.”

“You shouldn’t have, really.”

“But I did. And now we’re going to be playing soccer.”

I stand and adjust my clothes, tugging out the wrinkles. “You can finish my shandy if you want,” I say.

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“And how about we actually do that hug this time? I enjoyed my morning.”

Steve stands and there’s a look of kindness in his eyes, a look of compassion almost. He takes me in a bear hug, almost lifting me off my feet. “This was good,” he says into my ear. “We can do this.”

And then I’m walking out of the bar towards my nail appointment, knowing things are different with Steve but it could be OK. We can do this.

Toni’s left Steve as he continues to watch soccer, and now it’s onto getting her nails and eyebrows done with Jess and Sally. After that the plan is to meet the man from yesterday in Light Avenue. Tim, the man who stole a kiss—not that Toni was objecting—at least if he shows up.

There are important questions such as Why? Will he make Toni’s heart beat faster? Is he as handsome as she remembers? And, most importantly, does he have any friends for Sally? There are other important things like having fun, and a few drinks, and just catching up with friends, but Toni’s mostly in a whirlwind continuing her busy morning.

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

I’m sitting on a couch in a nail parlour, or more a beautician’s, that’s really friendly. I expected it to be intimidating, I don’t know why, or maybe overtly feminine in a way I wasn’t ready for, but everyone’s relaxed and professional. The decor is modern but welcoming, slate and exposed stone, a little bit of dark hardwood, nice lighting, low music. The couch is leather and my nails are pink.

I lift the fingers on my right hand to admire them. They’re not fake, I didn’t get any extensions, they’re my own nails but filed and shaped. I didn’t know what colour I wanted so just asked for something like my nail bed that’s already there. Basically I didn’t want them red, and couldn’t think. It was silly. I could have gone for literally any other colour and I pretty much ended up with girly pink. Not Barbie pink, but, I don’t know... I could have gone for anything!

I look around for Sally and Jess but there’s no sign of them. There’s been no sign of them since we were lead our separate ways. Them for a pedicure and me for my nails, and now I’m waiting for an eyebrow shaping thinking I can’t let that develop like my nails. I don’t know what I’d end up with.

There’s women, and a few men, flitting about. Eventually a woman approaches me with seeming purpose and says, “Toni?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Come with me,” she says. “Stairs not a problem?”

“No.”

“OK, just checking.”

She leads me into a spotlessly clean room, small, not quite clinical but it looks like it has the same style of examination bed you’d find in a doctor’s office. She closes the door behind me and instructs me to sit up on the bed, which I do.

“What can I do for your eyebrows?” she asks, smiling. It’s not a teeth-filled smile, just pleasant and warm.

I think for a second or two and finally pipe up, “I’m not sure how to describe it? Subtle. I suppose. Tidy. Nothing obvious. Clean. Professional.”

“Stuffy office?” she asks.

“How do you mean?” I say.

“Like your nails? For a stuffy, well, conservative office... Your nails are beautiful, don’t get me wrong, I’d wear them myself, but the women I’ve seen with that shade asking for ‘professional’ eyebrows usually have really conservative jobs or workplaces. Places that just about tolerate painted nails. Places that hate to be reminded women exist as women, especially talented, working women.”

“Yeah, like that,” I say. “I mean I’m not out at the office and have to go back to boy mode so I don’t want anything that’d be...”

She nods and clicks her tongue. “Do you have polish remover? I’m guessing the colour is coming off Sunday night if that’s the case. If you need it I can give you some little packaged pre-soaked pads that’ll take the polish right off.”

I’m not too sure what to think of this, or this woman. She’s just so incredibly professional. She hasn’t missed a beat in anything I’ve said, hasn’t seemed worried about anything I’ve said, and genuinely seems to care, at least quietly. “I have some already, but thank you very much.”

“OK, let me get a look at your face,” she says. I’m not sure how she would do that any more than what she’s already done, but I look her in the eye and she nods at seemingly the exact same moment. “Have you been drinking?”

“Two shandies,” I say. “Is that bad?”

“Shandies are Radler’s, right?” I nod. “We can mange. Try not to drink before any waxing or electrolysis or anything like that. And no painkillers unless you’ve had some sessions before, in here, and asked us about it. Your friends are having some prosecco while they get their pedicures and if they’re not finished by the time we are, and they won’t be, you can have a glass too. OK, lie back.”

I do lie back, keeping my legs together as she busies herself at a little table by my head. She soon has a small wooden stick and is applying a hot liquid to my eyebrow in what seems an extremely casual manner.

“Will this hurt?” I ask.

She presses something on top of the wax and rips it off, and repeating it all again. “You tell me,” she says.

“Yeah, OK,” I say, acquiescing, as she’s pressing more wax on the other eyebrow and has it ripped it off in flash.

A few movements later it’s, “All done. Did it hurt?”

“I don’t think it matters any more,” I say, reaching up, then stopping myself from touching my eyebrows, or what’s left of them.

“It might feel and be a little puffy for a while. No makeup there when it’s like that, gentle washing if it’s tender. If you have a reaction to the wax or the process of waxing give us a phone call or email. That is extremely unlikely. Literally no-one I’ve personally waxed since I’ve been here has had a reaction. We’ll tell you what to do if the really unlikely does happen, but even if that happens it’s even more unlikely again to have serious, long lasting effects.”

I’m sitting up again, surprised this is all done with already, when she asks,“All happy?” I nod. “Want to see?” I nod again. And she holds a mirror up for me to look at myself.

I can’t be fully sure what she’s done but my eyebrows suit my face more now, somehow, my female face, without looking any different. Not that I can see. Like they were designed for me rather than simply growing on me. But the only reason I really notice is because they’re a little tender now, or kind of damp-feeling around them. “That’s perfect,” I say.

“I like you,” the woman says. “Right, do you want to ask questions here in private or do you want to do it downstairs on one of the couches with something to drink?”

“Downstairs is fine, but I’d don’t know if I want to drink,” I say, my mind back on the empty, distant feeling I had before I met Steve this morning. Thinking of how this means I feel normal, with nothing to worry about.

I stand and fix my dress, then she holds the door open for me and we’re both walking down the stairs to the area at the front of the salon. It’s barely taken minutes to get this done.

She pauses for a few seconds to talk to one of the receptionists as I hover around the couches then she’s walking back with a tall champagne flute filled with what I assume is prosecco. “You don’t have to drink and I can get you a coffee or orange juice if you’d prefer, but it’ll do the image of this place good for some of the old dipsos to see other people with a glass. Go, on sit down.”

I do sit down, when she hands me the glass and sits down next to me. “I think one of my friends is a young dipso,” I admit.

“There’s no judgment here. As long as you had a pleasant, relaxing time. And to be honest if I wasn’t working I’d be drinking. It is the weekend.”

I take a tiny sip of the prosecco, which is nice, uncross my legs and lean forward to place it on the table. “It was pleasant,” I say. “Not what I expected.”

“In what way?” she asks.

“I guess because it was so calm.”

She smiles a big smile and says, “I’m glad. If you ever walk into anything beauty treatment related and you don’t feel calm immediately turn around and walk out. They’re no good at what they do and could actually cause damage, especially if they’re doing more than nails. Now... Questions...”

I didn’t think I had questions, but now I know I do. I’m quickly asking this woman about all manner of procedures, and especially about electrolysis. It’s easy and she explains it all simply but not without detail. I even notice I have the glass of prosecco in my hand, and it’s actually half gone without me being seemingly aware of it.

We’re talking about classic pop music, literally nothing beauty related, when she stands and says, “Your friends are back.”

I stand too and the woman asks Sally and Jess, “Enjoy yourself, ladies?”

Sally says, “As always, Althea. It was a joy.”

“Thanks for bringing Toni here,” she says, before turning to me. “Please ask for me when you’re booking in the future. I’ll get us one of the rooms with its own speakers and we’ll have a party.”

I smile and nod. Althea asks if we’re paying individually, which we do with the receptionist and I add what I hope is a very nice tip to what I pay, which really isn’t that huge a price. Not compared to the pedicures Sally and Jess had.

The receptionist gives us our coats and purses, and me my bags from the athletics store filled with the clothes Steve brought me this morning, and we’re soon walking outside, on the way to Light Avenue in the sunlight.

“What was that about?” Sally asks.

“What was what about?” I say.

“The party and speakers thing with Althea?” Sally asks, as we amble down the street, me feeling a little cosy with the prosecco.

“Oh! We were talking about classic pop and I mentioned some girl-bands from the 90s from Britain she might like. I think Althea was talking about putting them on when I get my beard electrocuted,” I say, rubbing at what is my shaved but still obviously male—by the stubble to the touch—face.

Sally rolls her eyes and raises her palms to the sky, as we keep walking. “I fucking hate you, Toni. I really do. You are absolutely disgusting. Everyone loves you the instant they set eyes on you. It’s ridiculous.”

I shake my head at Sally’s outburst, which I know is mostly joking. Mostly. “It’s just because I’m getting my beard zapped, which will be in a private room. And I’ll be spending money. I’m sure she’d do the same for you if you had a goatee and wanted to spend a lot to get rid of it.”

“You’re both idiots,” Jess says. “Toni is adorable and cute, and yet to discover her inner bitch—”

“Except with us,” Sally says.

“Except with us,” Jess says. “And she will, eventually... And Toni, you barely have any beard, no-one’s making their riches off you. People just like you.”

“I can be a bitch!” I say, and I swear I feel what feels like my boobs—which I don’t have, just fake plastic things in my bra—bounce as I say it. Both Sally and Jess break into little evil laughs.

My freshly shaped eyebrows furrow and I bump into Jess’s shoulder, stumbling a little from annoyance. “Alright! Fine! Where the fuck are your toes!? Neither of you are wearing sandals and I can’t see your toes. I didn’t know you could just wear regular shoes.”

Sally laughs again and says, “You’re right, sorry Jess. She is adorable. Now come on, fill us in on this man you’re meeting in Light Avenue, and any friends he might have.”

“You two really do do everything in your power to bring out my bitch,” I say. They nod small nods and smile small smiles, then I describe Tim, and what we did, without going into too much detail about how ridiculously hot he is.

We arrive to Light Avenue with me filled with nerves after Sally and Jess asked me non-stop questions about Tim, especially with my trying to avoid precise details about the thrift store he brought me to, something I think I actually got away with. Jess is showing no interest in it. All the clothes for me, I guess!

“Right!” Sally says, standing inside the Light Avenue front doors. “It’s no longer your birthday weekend. You’re not a new woman needing special treatment and welcoming to the feminine world any more, you’re a regular old boring woman who can get us drinks as a thank you for being so kind to you when you were Bambi.”

Jess slaps Sally on the arm and says, “That’s it! Like a little fawn!”

“Yeah, disgusting,” Sally says, before telling me what drinks to get them as they go find seats.

Jackson is standing behind the bar as I move up to place my order. “Hello, gorgeous!” he says, with the smile I remember from when he first started chatting me up during the week. It does nothing for my nerves over meeting Tim but I force a smile back. “What can I get you?”

I tell him Sally’s cocktail and Jess’s white wine and then hum and haw about what I want for myself before finally asking for a whiskey.

“Gut-rot or good?” Jackson asks. “Not that anything we serve is actually gut-rot, you just look nervous about something. Cowboy settling their nerves before the shoot-out kind of thing.”

“Both?” I say. “One of each.”

“OK, what is it? Is it me?” he asks.

“No,” I say, but I feel the tremors in my voice.

“Is it the boy you’re meeting?” he asks, smiling again.

“How did you know?”.

“Steph said you met some guy and if you ended up dating your names would sound goofy.” And Jackson is laughing now, seemingly taking joy in my doubt.

“Tim...” I say. And he laughs again, as he’s mixing Sally’s cocktail.

“Why are you worried?” Jackson asks.

“Yeah...” I sigh. “I suppose... He might not even show. He’s really hot. Like, extremely hot. He’ll have come to his senses after he left me last night.”

Jackson is shaking a shaker when he says, “Yeah, only ugly men want to date you, or have kissed you.”

It dawns on me what he means. Jackson, my first kiss. “I’m sorry, Jackson. You’re really hot, I mean that. But, you know... He seems, well, not...”

Jackson places the filled cocktail glass on the counter and begins preparing the wine. “Yes. I do know what you mean, unfortunately for us. But you really are quite attractive if you have no issue with the whole...”

“Yeah...”

“It won’t always be like that,” Jackson says. “Just enjoy someone liking you. Have fun. Don’t worry.” I nod, still nervous but now not feeling my mind vibrating out of my head. “So... gut-rot or good?”

“Still both,” I say.

“Wow, I’ll have to see him for myself. He must be exceptionally hot.” As he says that my eyes open wide remembering Tim as an absolute Adonis. Maybe I’m just building him up in my memory? He’s hot but not catwalk hot. Just hot for someone like me. Real women will have had way better looking men all the time.

Jackson places the cheap whiskey in front of me and I knock it back. Wiping my mouth I say,“I don’t even know what a good whiskey is, or how much it costs, I just know the stuff I had with Trevor was lovely.”

“If Trevor was drinking it it costs more than you want to spend, believe me. In fact we might not even sell it, it could be from him and Steph’s personal stash. But for you? Is $20-ish OK? It’ll get you something really good.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say, and soon Jackson is back down with a nice glass with a brown liquid in it. “What is it?”

“Scottish. You won’t remember the name. If you like it message me later and I’ll let you know. But either way message me with how Toni and Tim got on.”

I frown at him. “You gossip more than me.”

“Do you want help carrying the drinks down? I see you have bags. And I want to say Hi to Sally and Jess.”

“And you want to see where we’re sitting so you can watch if Tim arrives,” I say.

“You’re almost as smart as you are pretty,” Jackson says.

After he gets out from behind the counter, picks up the drinks, and begins to help me find where Sally and Jess are sitting I walk with him wondering why everyone but me is such a bitch. Even the men.

Eventually we find Sally and Jess in one of the recessed areas on the opposite side to where the long bar is, and Jackson sets the drinks down and helps me settle as he says hello to the two of them.

“Are you going to go look if he’s here?” Jess asks.

“No!” I say. “I don’t know if he’s even coming. And if he wants to find me he can look for me.”

“Determined woman,” Jackson says. “Let me know how it goes, Toni.” Then he’s gone and I’m taking a sip on the very, very nice whisky.

“So you met Steve for a soccer match,” Jess says. “And got your nails and eyebrows done. Now you’re waiting on a man, in the middle of all that you went shopping, and it’s not even lunch time. Did you take up meth during the week?”

I look towards the athletics store bags set beside me and get ready to tell the story. “Well...” I say. “Steve is a moron. He wanted to apologise for last Friday and getting me into this whole mess with me in dresses now, and he was drinking and hungover and was guilted into a big apology gift by some store workers.”

Sally nods and Jess picks up one of the bags, seemingly asking for permission, to which I shrug, then she’s pulling the athletic-wear out of the bags before passing the individual items to Sally. She gets to the bathing suit when Sally laughs and Jess says, “Do we tell her?”

“I think we did,” Sally says.

“Well, yeah. Last Friday. But I don’t think she actually took much in that night what with the whole, ‘Oh deary me, I am actually an interesting woman and not a boring old boy,’ thing going on front and center.”

“We’ve told her at other points. We have to have,” Sally says. “We definitely did!”

“I don’t think she knows, or accepts it, maybe,” Jess says.

“It might upset her,” Sally says.

“When have you worried about upsetting her if it’s actually a benefit in the long term?”

Sally shrugs and says to Jess, “You or me?” As I feel a headache coming on waiting for another of their torment sessions.

Jess leans forward, and says in a tone I haven’t really heard before, “Steve likes you.”

“I like him too,” I say, honestly.

“Yes...” Sally says.

“He really likes you,” Jess says, holding up the bathing suit.

“I believe the playground term is, ‘he like-likes you,’” Sally says. “And wouldn’t mind if you gave him cooties.”

“Oh please!” I say, with a scoff.

“OK, we’re dealing with Hollywood here, but the idea is the same. Two friends, male and female. Lifelong friends. The girl is kind of quiet and reserved but gets a makeover turning her into a hottie—”

“Stop saying stuff like,” I say. “I know you want me to be confident and to appreciate myself but I am far from a hottie.” I’m really getting annoyed at this now.

Jess, in the same serious voice says, “No. You’re not a hottie. You are not a drop dead gorgeous, California sun, butt-splitting bikini, big boobed babe. None of us are. But you are attractive in your own way, really. A woman some men and some women will find very appealing. Then they’ll get to know you and find out you’re a lovely, kind person and that attraction will grow. Add the Bambi thing you have going, for the moment at least, where they want to protect you, and they will be thinking thoughts about you. And some will approach you. You’re literally sitting here now with a high chance a man, who you kissed last night, will be coming here googly eyed wanting to see you again.”

I think about all this but my mind doesn’t seem to be telling me anything other than Steve did say he wanted to protect me. To stop that thought I blurt out, “Me and Steve are just friends and will always be friends, at least if he stops being a moron so often.”

Sally is halfway through her cocktail and says, “Was he being a moron this morning?”

“Yeah, of course. He’s been a moron ever since last Friday. It was just more comfortable and fun this morning.”

“Like last Friday when he was flirting with you and you were with him?”

“He was being mean to me then!”

“Because he’s confused and wide-eyed for you, you stupid woman!” Sally says.

“Don’t call me a stupid fucking woman, you bitch!” I half shout at Sally.

Sally looks shocked, blinks twice, leaning back, then says, “I’m sorry, that was wrong of me. I shouldn’t have said that.” And I feel myself calm down a little if not my thumping heart.

“As people with more experience in this can you accept we might be right?” Jess says.

“OK. Fine, but I’m not certain you are. I’ll simply leave the possibility open,” I say, and now I want another shot of Jackson’s gut-rot. “Can I have a taste of your cocktail, Sally?”

“Of course you can, my love,” Sally says, still with hesitancy in her voice, as she picks it up and places it front of me. I’m taking a sip of it when she says, “And did you and Steve flirt this morning?”

“You’re unreal, Sally,” Jess says. “Fucking hell, no wonder everyone hates you.”

“The right people love me,” Sally says. “Like Toni.”

I hold Sally’s glass in front of me and say, “Yes. I do love you. And I’m sorry I screamed, this is just weird. Steve doesn’t like-like me we just know each other a long time. And I’ll answer that question but if I answer you’re not getting your cocktail back. I’m finishing it myself.”

“Deal,” Sally says.

“Yes. We kind of flirted but only jokingly,” I say, as I take another sip of Sally’s, now my, cocktail.

“That’s the cheapest victory I ever got,” Sally says.

“And they were only wrestling like they did when they were kids, and it was only the steamiest moment of their lives together when Toni lay atop Steve, having beaten him in hand to hand combat, and felt the incredible sexual tension between them reach the edge of a crescendo impossible to forget before flying away to her room to look at pictures of them as children when they were best friends. Wondering if the two of them could ever recover from the realisation each other was the most attractive person they’ve ever known in their lives, and only one form of intimacy, never before considered, but now unable to be ignored, was left unexplored,” Jess says.

I sit back on the couch and take a deep breath.

“Sorry, Toni,” Jess says. “At least you know now.”

“I would never get away with something like that,” Sally says.

“Yeah, because you’re a bitch no-one likes.”

Sally purses her lips and says, “Well, yes, but aside from that...”

“I’m sorry, both of you. I’m sorry for calling you—”

“It’s fine, Toni. Really,” Sally says.

I nod and feel tiny while asking, “OK. What do I do now?”

“What do you want to do?” Sally asks.

“Well, if he likes me and it seems I like him. It just makes sense to—”

“No! Toni! You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. That’s what we’ve been saying all along. Just be aware of your thinking. Just because you’re attracted to someone doesn’t mean you have to get married. There’s no such thing as ‘soul-mates.’ If you want Steve as a friend who you have the hots for but don’t do anything with that’s fine. Just know that’s what it is. And know Steve might end up being a bit weird at points. Unless you’re Sally in which case you’ll use him up and then be rid of him as soon as the fun is over.”

Sally laughs. “You know me so well, Jess.”

“OK. I don’t have to do anything. I can just let it fester.”

“You can do anything you want, Toni, that’s the point. It’s your choice. What did you do last Saturday, your birthday?” Jess asks.

“I came here,” I say, confused.

“That morning. With me, I mean?” Jess asks.

“You gave me some clothes and I walked home. And I’m sorry, I forgot. I still have your yellow suitcase,” I say, feeling bad for not returning it yet. “I can get you the clothes back as well. I don’t really need them any more.”

“That’s my point,” Jess says. “What clothes did you pick out?”

“You picked out the clothes for me. They were your clothes!”

“Yes! On your instruction, it was your choice!”

I really don’t understand what Jess is trying to get at and I turn it over in my mind a few times looking for her angle. “Explain this to me, please. I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“You were in my apartment. You saw all my racks. Do you not think I have loads of jeans and trainers and hoodies?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask.

“She doesn’t even remember what she was two weeks ago. Her life and memories seem to start last weekend. This is some powerful stuff!” Sally says.

“What?” I ask. They’re talking like aliens.

“You could have asked for a normal pair of jeans, a hoodie, and some basic trainers. You could have walked home wearing some clothes that’d have 99% of people assuming you’re a dude with good taste in fashion. Instead you asked for one of my exquisite sweater dresses, and happily put on a pair of boots and pantihose to walk home as the woman you are.”

My mind is racing thinking I could have escaped all this. That I could still be a dude. “You spent the morning telling me how glad you were to have met me, and you only met the female me, Jess. You were on the phone saying we’d be doing this again soon, and then we did go out that night, Sally.”

“Yes, because both of us knew we’d met a wonderful, if somehow even still in denial despite all the evidence, woman, who we’d be friends with for a long time. At least if doctors don’t discover she doesn’t actually have a brain and whisk her away to a secret military base to be studied and tested on for the rest of her life,” Sally says.

“No!” I moan.

“Yes. And would you change it? I’m sure some dude is gonna turn up in the next hour or two and you’ll at the very least be kissing him before the night is out,” Sally continues.

“This isn’t my fault!” I say.

“No,” Jess says. “You are who you are. You didn’t choose that. And it’ll probably be very tough for you at various points. But you did choose to embrace who you are, once given the choice.”

“I want to cry,” I say, which I know is a lie.

“No you don’t, you’re having the time of your life. And even more importantly you’re hot. Which is quite literally the most important thing on the planet,” Sally says.

“I’m attractive to some people, not hot,” I say.

“That’s a bit of progress,” Jess says.

“Now be quiet and sip your girly cocktail you chose to try to con out of me which resulted in a wonderful realisation for you,” Sally says.

“Cocktails aren’t girly,” I say. “That’s an unfair stereotype.”

“Does the woman who pouted when she said that want to get into a debate about who’s the most girly person sitting at this table?”

I look at them wearing jeans and tops, and down at myself wearing a dress and clompy Mary Janes and decide not to push it, but quietly say, “Yeah, but I have a dick and neither of you do.”

“It’s a really girly dick, though,” Sally says.

“Yeah, it is. We’ve both seen it,” Jess says.

“Just say you hate us, again. You say it often. It only hurts our feelings a little and you’ll feel a bit better.”

“I’m gonna go find Trevor and see if I can store away these bags,” I say.

“And you can get us more drinks,” Sally says.

“Get your own!” I say, walking away with the bags.

I’m up at the bar again and Jackson looks at me. “Is Trevor around?” I ask.

“He is, but he’s busy. Said don’t interrupt him unless it’s important.”

“Steph? Head of security? Duty manager?” I say.

“If you want to go upstairs just go. Telling me is fine, what we me being allowed up there. Someone’s up there as well, I think,” he says.

And soon I’m walking into Trevor’s room, where I smell cigarette smoke. Natasha is sitting, reading as usual, this time in jeans and a strappy top, not a ridiculous candle shop outfit. “Are you allowed smoke in here?”

“Well hello, Toni. It’s nice to see you. How are you? Is a normal kind of greeting.”

“Sorry, Natasha. How are you?”

She puts her book down. “Good, yeah. Went for a walk. Wanted to read in a café. Ended up here, as is the way.”

“Will you come downstairs and join me with my friends?” I ask, as I store my bags in one of the curtained areas.

“And be social? You know me. Why would I do that?” she asks, face curled in disgust.

“Please!” I plead. “It’d mean a lot to me and I know you actually like me, or at least tolerate me. I need some support because my friends are being horrible bitches.”

“They’re not nice like you? How mean are they being to you?” she asks, interest in her tone.

“Awful! Like, they mean well but they torment me,” I say.

“Well yes, definitely then! I don’t want to make you cry but if I can learn how to torture you without you actually dying, then absolutely. Lead the way!”

“I knew you were nice!” I say, with a smile, while wondering who’s really playing who?

As I get back towards our table with Natasha I see Trevor is standing by the table talking to Jess. “I’m already being punished for this decision,” Natasha says.

“No going back now,” I say to Natasha.

Trevor steps back as he hears our footsteps and I introduce Natasha to Sally and Jess, while I blindly reach a hand back, which Trevor takes, and I give his a squeeze.

“I’ve heard you’re being mean to Toni,” Natasha says.

“Did she really tell you that?” Sally asks, her voice raised a few octaves.

“I want to learn from you!” Natasha says. “I’m afraid I’ll make her cry and then she’d be even more annoying.”

Sally nods assuredly, placated, and smiles. “I like Natasha more than you, Toni. You can go away now.”

“I’m already learning!” Natasha says, with a big smile, and it’s the first time I’ve really seen her, well, joyful.

“Sit down between us, Natasha,” Jess says. “Toni has some boy visiting her soon.”

“Oh for fuck... You didn’t tell me that, Toni. You really are the worst,” Natasha says, but she still sits down on the couch between Jess and Sally.

I sit myself down, solo, on my own big couch and say to Trevor, “Hi, Trevor. How are you?”

Trevor shuffles forward again and says to me, “You have a gentleman caller and his friend waiting for you. Would you like me to direct them here?” I see both Sally and Natasha roll their eyes and Trevor and Jess share a smile.

“What’s he like, in your opinion?” I ask.

“I couldn’t tell you. I simply overheard him speak to his friend about a beautiful woman named Toni, while I was making my rounds, and after a brief conversation to confirm who he meant I said I’d let him know if I saw you, and for him and his friend to sit and enjoy their coffees in the smoking area.”

“Is he polite?” I ask Trevor.

“He seems quite polite from what I could tell,” Trevor says with a smile. Natasha and Sally are whispering away to each other so don’t notice when Jess gives me a look of approval.

“If you’d tell him where we are I’d appreciate it,” I say to Trevor, and I mouth Thank you at him

As Trevor walks away I feel my stomach constrict, but it relaxes again when I looked towards Jess who seems to have shock on her face. “I have never, ever heard Trevor describe a man as ‘quite polite,’” she says.

“It could be because Trevor is a senile old bore who saw someone under the age of 60 use a handkerchief and he felt young and lively again,” Sally says. Which she and Natasha share a laugh over, but me and Jess share a different kind of laugh over it. Then I sit, and wait, for Tim.

Sally, Jess and Natasha are chatting away, getting along like a house on fire, which I’m glad of, but I still I sit feeling myself fold into a ball until I hear a voice say, “Hi, Toni.”

I quickly stand and rush out between the table and the couch towards Tim where I give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, feeling him hold me tight. As I pull away I feel myself blush, but it’s OK because Tim is blushing too.

Sally says, “Fuck!” and I hear both Jess and Natasha cough.

I ignore it and say to Tim, “I’m so glad you showed up,” and he’s said something too but I don’t hear it. “Sorry,” I say. And I actually hear him say Sorry too. And we laugh.

“Can you get me a beer now, please, Tim?” Tim’s friend asks.

“Yeah, of course. Sandwich too?” Tim’s friend checks his watch and nods, while Tim makes a circular stirring motion with his finger towards the table and his friend nods again. “Will you have a drink, Toni?”

“A shandy, please?”

“Anyone else?” Tim asks.

“House red,” Sally says.

Both Natasha and Jess shake their heads.

“If you’re being polite there’s really no need. I am more than happy to get drinks for you. And if you don’t want anything there’s no pressure, even if you want to come up and get your own drink yourself, with your own money, I won’t be offended.”

Natasha squints at Tim, as if to get a read on him, and says, “OK, thank you. Whiskey and coke, please.”

“I’m really fine,” Jess says. Tim gives me another look before he’s gone to the bar, while his friend is away dragging an armchair towards the end of our table.

I look around at my friends I see them all looking at me, in silence. “What!?”

“If you can’t see this...” Sally says.

“Is she always like this?” Natasha asks.

“This is a new depth, or height. It’s a new extreme, whatever it is,” Sally says.

“I think it’s nice,” Jess says. “It’s romantic.”

“What is?” I ask

“I want to smack her with a crowbar,” Natasha says. And there’s a round of Mmhmms.

Tim’s friend has the armchair in place and is sitting down, with the whole table quiet. He speaks up, “You were talking about how hot he is, weren’t you?”

Sally opens her eyes wide and turns to him, head tilted, “You’re no slouch yourself, my man.”

“Thanks, and you’re right, I try, but compared to Tim? You could compare literally anyone to him and they’d lose.”

I hear three Yeahs from the opposite couch. “What’s worse is he doesn’t know,” Tim’s friend says.

“How does he not know?” Sally asks.

“Because he’s an idiot,” Tim’s friend says.

“Toni is too, so they might be good for each other,” Natasha says. Sally and Jess both laugh, with Jess bumping her shoulder into Natasha who then laughs too.

“What do you mean?” Tim’s friend asks.

“She doesn’t know either,” Jess says.

“Know what?” I ask, but this time I’m not annoyed. I think I’m resigned to this.

“That explains it,” Tim’s friend says. “Why we were here from before the bar opened and would have been here until closing if she didn’t come, and then again tomorrow in case he mixed the days up. She treated him normally. And what’s worse is he’s not stupid, he’s just an idiot.”

“Toni’s the same.”

“Thanks for the help, Jackson,” Tim says, arriving back down with the drinks.

“No problem,” Jackson says, with a smile.

“You came down for a look too?” Jess asks.

“This is special moment,” Jackson says.

“You knew what a shandy is, Jackson?”

Jackson nods, “Of course. I knew it’d be for you too, Toni. And I understand why you were nervous earlier.” I smile at Jackson who turns to Tim and says, “We’ll have the sandwich down the second it’s ready, don’t worry. It won’t be kept on the counter.”

“Thanks, Jackson,” Tim says.

“And I hope it helps, Mouse,” Jackson says, turning to Tim’s friend, who thanks him too and passes some paper currency to him.

“Mouse?” Jess asks.

“Long story,” Tim’s friend, Mouse, says. “Keep it for the second date?”

“Sure,” Jess says.

“We haven’t done proper introductions,” I say, and go around the table letting everyone know who everyone else is.

Tim sits down next to me, and I see him smiling, and of course I’m smiling too but everyone else is quiet.

“What now?” Natasha asks.

“It’s never gotten this far,” Mouse says. “Literally never, just normal people sitting around. It’s weird, but this is a different flavour of weird to usual. Either way, the two idiots need to talk, sorry Toni. Well, my idiot wants to talk to her, at least.”

“Thanks, Mouse. That’s really helpful,” Tim says.

Mouse puts both hands to his temples and says, “You haven’t shut up about this since you got home last night. Please say what I know you’ve been practising over and over, because you’ve been practising on me.”

Natasha says, “This is getting spicy,” and Jess and Sally laugh before Mouse says, “As spicy as milk,” but Tim has turned to me and reached for my hands. I feel like I should turn to face him so I lift my legs half onto the couch cushion where we’re both looking straight at each other, square on each other.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, worried, but not that this is some trick. Unlike the other times I was worried since last Friday this time I’m worried for someone else, for someone who I really believe likes me and wouldn’t want to fool me.

“I really like you,” Tim says.

“I know,” I say. “I like you too. I was worried you wouldn’t turn up. Then you hugged me and it was OK.”

“Let me go on, please,” he says, so I nod. “I acted like an asshole yesterday. Like a teenage asshole. It was all bravado and macho, and not me at all.”

“You took me shopping, how is that macho? That’s the opposite of macho.”

“Talking about ‘the things I’d do to you’ it was wrong.”

“It made me feel sexy! I liked it. And I would have let you, if I’m being honest.”

“And that sneaking a kiss, after I walked you home? I haven’t done that since I was a desperate 15 year old no girl would touch. And it wasn’t some impulse thing. I thought about it and planned it.”

I hear someone snort but I’m not sure which of my three it is. “I enjoyed that,” I say. “I fell asleep to that kiss a few hours later.”

“It’s not who I am. I don’t want to be like that. It was cheap,” he says.

“I...” I begin to say, but I can’t really say what I’m feeling. So I move towards him, pulling his hands towards me. Despite his face not coming closer within a moment I’m kissing him. And I keep kissing him, and he’s kissing me. We’re not ‘wrestling tongues’ I simply feel his lips on mine and it’s perfect.

I don’t know how long we’re still for, or how long everything is still around me, and I don’t know which of us stop the kiss but at some point we are stopped. I don’t think either of us stopped it, it just ended. And everything is fine. And I am incredibly turned on but in no way horny.

“That was really boring until the end but she just about rescued it,” Natasha says.

“I like you much more than I like Toni,” Sally says to Natasha.

“You’re stuck with me now, Sally. Sorry,” I say, happy.

“Yeah, it’s my fault. I made the mistake in the first place,” Sally says.

I turn around to Tim and say, “Do you like my dress?”

“It’s the one you bought yesterday? It’s really nice on you,” he says, with a smile.

“You can say I look sexy!”

“I would do very polite things to you,” Tim says, and I laugh.

“Let’s keep that talk for the bedroom,” I say, and we both laugh.

“They’re two idiots perfect for each,” Mouse says, and he’s reaching for the rest of his sandwich. The sandwich I hadn’t seen arrive.

“How’s the food?” Tim asks, noticing it too.

“Yeah, good. Up there. I would return. Now let me finish it.”

“I have to pee,” I say. “Excuse me, Tim.”

“I’m going too,” Sally says. “Jess? Natasha?”

Jess shakes her head and Natasha says, “You could not pay me enough!”

“Tim?”

“I’m not too sure I’d be very welcome in the Ladies,” he says.

“Try it some time, Tim, you might be surprised... Mouse?” Sally asks.

“If I was finished my sandwich,” he says.

“We can wait, Mouse,” Sally says.

“I need to digest after I finish. I don’t want Toni to burst.”

“Another time?” Sally asks.

“With you? Yeah, definitely,” Mouse says.

“You’re such a sweetheart, Mouse,” Sally says. “Now c’mon Toni. You desperately need to pee.” And I do, so I speedwalk to the bathroom, and then I rush into the stall and close the door ripping down my underwear as I sit and let flow.

And while it flows Sally is talking to me. But I can’t answer. If someone else is in here they’ll hear a man voice and they won’t be able to see I’m not a man rather a man in a dress which is kind of more acceptable. After I wipe and put myself away, flush and leave the stall, I explain all this to Sally, who doesn’t seem to complain about my fretting.

She does say, “Turn around.” Which I do, and I feel her tug at the back of me. “Rookie error.”

“What?” I ask.

“Dress tucked into your pantihose. Or your panties. Or thong. Or very sexy thong that would get any man foaming at the mouth. I’m sorry,” she says. Then, “Oh my god, you’re such a sexy little whore!”

I’m wondering what she’s sorry about so less concerned about my ‘rookie error’ than I imagine I would be otherwise. “What are you sorry about?” I ask.

“For giving you a hard time earlier. I don’t think any of us realised how much you like Tim, or how nervous you were about him coming.”

“I’m not sure I realised how I nervous I was either,” I say. “I was too busy doing things this morning. Having fun. And yeah, I thought about our kiss a lot, at least last night. But when I finally saw him I almost exploded.”

“When you two hugged? After you jumped out of your seat like a NASA rocket?”

“Yeah,” I say, feeling small and actually really cute for once.

“Yeah, that was adorable,” Sally says, and I feel like she sees me. Then me and Sally are hugging, and the bathroom door opens.

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you two want a minute?” the woman asks.

“No, it’s OK,” Sally says. “Come in. All of us just didn’t realise how nervous Toni was about meeting a boy.”

“That boy?” the woman asks.

Sally nods.

“I wouldn’t blame any woman on the planet for being nervous about meeting that,” the woman says.

“She doesn’t realise quite how hot ‘that’ is. She knows he’s hot, but not how much,” Sally says to the woman. “She thinks he’s nice.”

“That’s a novel approach. Treating men like people? I’m not sure it’ll catch on,” the woman says.

“It’s working for Toni,” Sally says. “Maybe she’s figured something out?”

“Too revolutionary for me. I’m quite conservative in my outlook,” the woman says.

“Anyway, Toni, do you want make a bet about your new favourite man?”

“Tim, isn’t my favourite man,” I say. “I’d rate Big-G and Steve higher, for now. Tim just makes me feel good with myself.”

The woman who seemingly came here to pee, or something, seems to have forgotten about whatever need she had and is now saying, “How many men has she on the go?” Eyebrows raised and staring at me, aghast. At least I think it’s aghast.

“She considers them ‘friends!’” Sally says. “Possibly even equals!”

“Are you sure she’s a woman?” the woman asks. “Do we need to burn her at the stake?”

“We checked her panties and everything. A vagina that could make God weep,” Sally says, sneering.

“Perfect strange, the answer is always so simple,” the woman says. “Anyway, this bet?”

“Yeah... Bet? Toni?” Sally says.

“No! Betting got me into this mess. No bet. No way. Not a hope!” I say.

“It’s win/win. No matter what happens you win.”

“Then why would you make this bet?” I ask.

“Because I want you to acknowledge my insight and genius,” Sally says. I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, no. So just tell me, what’s the bet? You can still crow at me you won if you actually do get it right. A moral victory,” I say.

Sally cackles. And so does the other women. “That’s almost as good,” Sally says. “I was going to bet that you spend tonight in Tim’s bed.”

I laugh. “Yeah, not going to happen. What were the stakes?”

“I win I pick your Halloween costume, you win you pick mine.”

“This is why I don’t bet,” I say. “What would the costume have been?”

“You can still make the bet and find out tomorrow morning.”

“Nope,” I say.

“If I ‘lost’ that bet I wouldn’t be getting out of that bed tomorrow morning. Or ever. And I don’t like saying it but I’m Gold Star,” the woman says.

“Girlfriend? Partner?” Sally asks.

“We’re getting married just before Christmas, winter wedding, both of us always wanted one. Hopefully it snows right after everyone arrives.”

“Ooh! That’d be beautiful. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. Anyway I’d better pee, then tell no-one about this conversation because no-one would believe it isn’t exaggeration.”

“Not even your fiancée?” Sally asks.

“Borderline...” the woman says, looking doubtful.

“I hope the wedding is amazing, snow or not,” Sally says. “You done, Toni?”

“Yeah,” I say, my hands now dry and following Sally out. “What’s does Gold Star mean?”

“She did very well in school,” Sally says.

When we arrive back at the table Sally says, “Sorry, Toni fell in.” But no-one is paying attention, they’re all eating from what looks like a table full of food. It’s all side-dishes and nibbles, and there’s barely space for the drinks.

“Who got this?” Sally asks.

“Mouse,” Natasha says. “Tim ordered when he was at the bar.”

“I like people to be fed,” Mouse says. “I’ll buy drinks and all that but if you want to make me happy you’ll eat at least some of the food I ordered.”

“Thank you, Mouse,” both me and Sally say.

Tim grabs me around my waist and moves me past him, between him and the table. And feeling him hold me, and move me, is heavenly. I want his hands on me forever, but he sits me down next to him and simply says, “Eat! Mouse knows when people need to eat. It’s his superpower.”

Sally has already re-taken her seat and is placing food in a napkin when I begin to pick into the bowls and plates. I remember I had a full English this morning, but that was hours ago and Steve did eat most of it, so after a few bites my stomach accepts how hungry I actually am.

Eventually most of the food has been eaten, and we’re all just sitting. I suppose feeling normal. No-one is calling anyone stupid, no-one is really drinking, everything is simply peaceful, and I want Tim to hold me.

I lean into Tim but as I do Mouse catches his attention, “Can I go home now, Tim?” he asks.

“You’re not starting preparing your dinner already?” Tim asks, and I’m starting to wonder how Mouse isn’t fat.

“No. You kept me awake all night talking about Toni, we were here first thing. I would like to go home and relax.”

“But you will start preparing dinner?” Tim asks.

“Yeah, of course. Just the basics. It is relaxing.”

“Do you think you could cook for everyone?”

“If you want Toni and her friends to come back you need to remember it is your place,” Mouse says.

“It’s your place, too, Mouse. I am asking if you would be comfortable with it and if it wouldn’t put out your dinner plans?”

Mouse growls to himself. “It’s my brother’s place, which he rents to you and you let me live in it, and how long has it been since my dinner plans have been put out?”

“I’m asking you, Mouse,” Tim says.

Mouse coughs a theatrical cough, a call-to-attention cough, stands and says. “OK, if anyone at this table is vegan will you please raise your hand? High in the air, if you will? At the request of the Commander in Chief, all round idiotically nice guy, Tim.”

I look around and see everyone else also looking around, worried.

“That was a bad start. That was my fault. If you can raise your hand and have no difficulties raising your hand could you raise your hand in the air?” High please,” Mouse says.

Everyone looks around again and within a few seconds of each other hands are raised by everyone but Tim. Who I elbow in the ribs before he looks at me and raises his arm in the air. “Thank you, Toni. I did say everyone and I know for a fact Tim has functional arms barring any catastrophic injury or stroke in the past few hours.”

“Anyone vegan?”

No arms go up.

“Vegetarian?”

No arms.

“Pescatarian?”

Nothing.

“Allergies? I don’t care about penicillin or cat dander...”

Again no arms.

“Any picky eaters?”

Now people are looking at each other.

“This is the free hit. Most people have something they’re picky about,” Mouse says. “Some people lots.”

I raise my hand a little and Mouse is on me before I’ve even really unbent my wrist, let alone my elbow. “Thank you, Toni, yes. The first honest person here... Now I’m seeing why he wouldn’t shut up about you.”

“I had English baked beans for the first time this morning, but I left most behind. They were particularly awful. Pure sugar.”

“Yes, you’re right. The sauce is almost entirely sugar, but there are some very nice, and healthy, English baked beans available. Don’t write them off completely, but I get your point.”

Natasha blurts out, without raising her hand or being called on, “I’ll eat them out of politeness, if it’s put in front of me, but I’ll be holding back gagging the whole time with most seafood.”

“Thank you, Natasha. That is not a problem,” Mouse says.

“Stinky cheese,” Jess says, things really flowing now.

“How stinky?” Mouse asks.

“I don’t know. Stinky? The cheese has a stink.” Jess says, as though people’s tolerance of stink is standardised. I think I even give a quick, involuntary sniff to see if Tim has a nice boy stink. Which he doesn’t. He smells of soap. Plain, normal soap. Which is a shame, but not the worst.

“Do we even have stinky cheese, Tim?” Mouse asks, looking curious rather than annoyed about cheese stinks.

“Just cheddar and American cheese, I think,” Tim says.

“No worries with stinky cheeses, Jess. Thank you.”

“Broccoli, and brussel sprouts,” Sally says, in a tone verging on defiance.

“There it is! I knew it! I knew it’d be you because I quite like you!” Mouse says, waving his arm in the air—finger pointed—like some mid-speech irate dictator. “I bet you don’t like cabbage either!” he says, bending down to meet Sally eye to eye, while she stays sitting ramrod straight in her seat, meeting his glare.

There’s a burst of laughter from Tim. Which makes me laugh. Then everyone is laughing, except for Sally and Mouse who are still staring at each other with big smiles on their faces. Until Sally gives Mouse a quick peck of a kiss on his laugh-stifling lips, when he does start laughing and Sally does too.

“Fine, you’ve all met the real me,” Mouse says. “Congrats, it usually takes longer than that.” And he’s still meeting Sally’s gaze.

“This is not the real Mouse, by the way. He’s usually much more charming,” Tim says.

“Shut up you, smitten idiot. Kiss your girlfriend and stop annoying real people,” Mouse says.

I feel like I could float, or literally grow boobs on the spot at the thought of being someone’s girlfriend, but Tim’s eyeballs look like they’ve retreated three inches inside his head.

I rub his thigh as though I’m doing the sternum rub thing I’ve seen in medical shows, but sexier, and needier. It does nothing so instead I try Jess’s tactic with Natasha and give him a shoulder bump, but maybe with a bigger build up than necessary. He snaps around and looks at me, surprised. “Will you please kiss me?” I ask, now I have his attention.

“You don’t have to—” and I don’t hear it with my ears, but rather through vibrations of our tongues meeting, and through my skull, Tim finishing his sentence, “—ask me twice.”

As soon as me and Tim have begun I break away for more important matters. “And what was the point of that food quiz, Mouse?” I ask, really wanting to get on with it.

“Oh, sorry, yeah. You’re all welcome to come back to me and Tim’s place. If you stick around for a few hours I’ll cook dinner for you, which you at least have to play around with on your plate and make it look respectable. I’ll even respect Sally’s weirdness.”

“You can do that?” Tim asks.

“I’ve been respecting a lot of weirdness today, Sally is annoying but easy.”

“’Annoying But Easy’ is Sally’s tramp stamp,” Jess says, and even Sally laughs.

“Anyway, please come back to our place. We have lots of drinks, you can smoke with no-one bothering you, we haven’t annoyed the neighbours in years so they can put up with us for once, it’s comfortable, it’s cheaper than here, even if you don’t like my food we have lots of nuts and snacks, and the snacks are at most a few months out of date. We’re really close by, about seven minutes walk. You lot outnumber me and Tim, so our murder is more likely than yours. And we don’t buy the cheap toilet paper.”

Natasha stands before I’ve fully taken account of Mouse’s speech and says, “The seven minute’s walk thing sold me but the good toilet paper made me a believer.”

“You’re a woman after my own heart, Natasha,” Jess says.

“I’ll get your shopping bags, Toni. I know where you put them.”

“Thanks Nats. I knew you were nice,” I say. Then she snarls at me.

“I’m not nice I just know you’ll need your energy later,” Natasha says.

“Do you think there’s a Gatorade in those bags? I’m expecting a lot of lost fluids,” Jess says.

Natasha laughs, bends over and kisses the top of Jess’s head, then is off to Trevor’s room. We all sit in silence while she’s gone, enjoying having been fed, then she’s back, my bags in her hands and standing next to the head of the table.

Mouse stands as well, and says, “Right, if you must, and if you will... Back to mine and Tim’s place!” And then I quietly hear him say, “After we stop for some Gatorade...”

Toni’s met Tim again, and been introduced to his friend. And all the rest, Natasha, Sally and Jess, have met Tim and Tim’s friend Mouse. No alarm bells are ringing for anyone and it’s all been a lot of fun. In fact Tim has been quite sweet, with him and Toni exchanging kisses, and Mouse has even bought a table-load of food, after being very picky about his sandwich.

Now it’s back to Tim and Mouse’s apartment, where Mouse says he’ll cook them dinner if they stick around. But does Toni really know what to expect? Going back to the man you’re kissing’s apartment, even if he’s apologised for being too forward? And it might not have occurred to Toni, so doll-eyed is she, but the others are really more interested in why Mouse is called Mouse, and what his deal with food is, rather than the two sickening lovebirds making googly eyes at each other.

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

We’re all walking towards the front of the Light Avenue, Sally and Mouse, Jess and Natasha, me and Tim, on our way to Mouse and Tim’s apartment. I don’t know what I feel apart from excitement, and even then I’m not sure why. At college I’d often end up in random places, and that wasn’t that long ago.

As we get towards the front of the bar I realise something. “Tim, do you mind if I invite Jackson back? Tell him to come after his shift ends?”

Tim seems unperturbed and says, “No, of course not. If it makes you happy.” Then stops walking, waiting, while the rest of them leave through the front doors.

I’m quickly up at the bar counter where Jackson is pouring some beers. “Jackson?” I say.

“You leaving me?” Jackson asks.

“After you finish your shift do you want to come join us? We’re all going to Tim and Mouse’s place. It’s close by, they say.”

“Oh, no way,” Jackson says. “I’d be incredibly jealous and might do something silly.”

I gasp at that, then realise he’s only joking, I think. “You had your chance with me, Jackson!”

“I’d be jealous of you, Toni,” Jackson says. “Literally everything in my power to get him to take me to his bedroom. Anyway, he’s too hot. There’s something wrong with him, guaranteed. Small dick, I’m guessing,” Jackson says, while the people I think he’s pouring the beers for stand silently, waiting.

“Bigger than yours,” I say.

“That cuts! But no, I have plans. Thanks for asking, though. Just remember, bedrooms don’t tend to be soundproofed.”

“Why is it always about sex?” I ask, mostly to myself.

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “Why?” And he laughs, walking away but not without telling me to have fun.

I walk back to Tim and we leave Light Avenue, with the rest off them a little ahead of us, and I’m wondering why it is always about sex. Sure, Tim is hot, but I like him for more reasons than that. He took me shopping, and was sweet. He’s kind and polite. He’s nice to me, and my friends.

“Let me take your bags,” he says, literally taking them out of my grip and transferring them to his other hand before he bends down to me and gives me a quick kiss. So, yeah, maybe it is a little bit about sex.

I take a deep breath and reach my now free hand towards his, where he needs absolutely no prompting and takes it in his. And this is it. I’m holding hands with a boy, while wearing a dress, going back to his place, after he just kissed me in public. Like, not in an LGBTQ+ bar. This is a kind of woman and a 100% man being, I don’t know, couple-y. We’re not a couple, of course, but could we be? Could I have a boyfriend? Do I want a boyfriend? It’s wrong to think that, I tell myself. We’re just holding hands. I’ve been at this a week.

We keep walking until we meet the rest of them standing on a corner, waiting for a crossing light. “We’re here,” Mouse says, as we all cross the street, before he turns to enter a building with no security code on the door but a massive lobby. And a man in uniform behind the desk!

“Enjoyable lunch, gentlemen?” the man in uniform asks.

“Yes, thanks Dave,” Mouse says. “We’re having some guests back. If we’re too loud just phone and we’ll keep it down.”

Sally turns to look at me, eyes popping out of her head and her mouth wide open while, yes, my chest feels like it's collapsed.

“If anyone complains I’ll gently remind them of all the times over the years you two have never complained about them. You rarely have a group of people. Enjoy yourselves,” the man says. Then he says, “Tim,” while nodding at him.

We all pile into an elevator in silence. Tim and Mouse because they’re just going home, and the rest of us because this is one of the fanciest buildings we’ve ever been in, certainly for me.

We eventually get to an apartment, with a hallway leading to a big room with three couches, a few armchairs, a big-ish TV against the wall, bookshelves against another wall, coffee tables in front of the couches and doors leading off the room along with another hallway, and a glassed off area with blinds that seems to lead to a pseudo-balcony. There’s no nooks and crannies off the living room. No tiny kitchen, like mine, just off to the side. It’s not open plan where it’d be cheaper not to build walls and give the illusion of space in a cramped apartment. It is the home of someone quite, or very, or extremely wealthy.

“You’re rich!” Sally says.

“We’re not,” Mouse says.

“Yeah, this is social housing if I ever saw it.”

“My brother is richer than you can imagine, me and Tim are not. He rents it to Tim, for a good price, on the condition we look after it and he can stay here whenever he has business in town.”

Sally laughs, and it’s her ‘I don’t believe this’ laugh. “Can you introduce me to him?” she asks.

“He’s married, and has kids. And he’s very happy. Now, do you want something to drink?” Mouse says.

“Champagne, and some caviar,” Sally says.

“I’ll bring in beers for everyone, for now,” Mouse says. “Go on, sit down.”

Tim takes all our coats, puts my bags in a corner then leaves, and we all sit down, just looking at each other. Sally is on one couch with Natasha at the other end. Jess is in an armchair and I’m on another couch. Most of us are facing the TV, which appears to be attached to a sound system. No-one is saying anything, we’re not even looking at each other any more when Sally says, “Way to go, Toni!” While the others nod.

Tim comes back helping Mouse carry some beers and they hand them out, twisting them open. Tim gives one to me then sits on the opposite end of the couch I’m on, space between us. Everyone is sitting in silence.

“Can I smoke on the balcony?” Natasha asks.

“In here or on the balcony,” Mouse says. “In fact I’m going to smoke in here, right now.”

“Come on, Toni, let’s go look.” She stands, walks to the sliding door, sliding it back, then waits for me to go through. My mind is completely empty, not in the at-ease way Steve talked to me about, more in the frozen way.

Natasha pushes me fully outside, and it isn’t really a balcony, it’s flush with the building’s exterior so it’s more a sun lounge, with an amazing view over the city.

There’s some beanbags out here, wooden flooring, and wicker seats, including a wicker love-seat with cute cushioning on it, and a table with an ashtray on it before the love seat. At one end of the area is another table, probably for eating, for four people with some metal but not too fancy seats around it.

Natasha places me into the love seat, then sits down next to me and is taking some things from her purse, laying them up on the table.

“Do you smoke weed, Toni?” she asks.

“Not really,” I say.

“Will you? I have some Dad weed, it might relax you. It will help.”

“Dad weed?” I ask.

“Weak,” she says. “It won’t blow your mind, or anything near it. I think it might help.”

“Help?” I say.

“Yeah, exactly with that.” And she’s already pulled something small and pre-rolled and stuck it into my mouth with a lighter in front of it. I draw on the flame, inhaling, and it’s fine. It tastes like weed, but I don’t choke on it or anything.

She takes another pre-rolled joint from another container and is lighting it for herself. She draws deeply, inhales, holds it, then lets out a thin cloud of smoke. She takes a sniff and says, “Are you ready for this?”

“The weed?” I ask.

“You’ve never been with a man, have you?”

“No...” I say, feeling ashamed.

“Women?” she asks.

“Not really,” I say.

“Do you want to be with Tim?” she asks.

I stay silent for a while, and there’s really no pressure on me. Natasha is just smoking, looking at the view. I don’t have to say this but I want to, “Yes. I think I do want me and him... But—”

Natasha interrupts me. “He likes you. That’s obvious. Being trans is not an issue. That is not the problem. The only problem is you not accepting it. Not accepting you and him.”

I feel myself sinking into the chair. I sit and wait, while Natasha keeps smoking. “What do we do though?” I ask.

“You finish what you’re smoking, then you go in and sit down next to him. Then you do what you want. What you want! No doubts, no hesitancy, no ‘Oh but I’m not really..!’ You are extraordinarily lucky.”

Yeah, I say. Or I don’t think I actually said it. I think the word was just in my head. The ‘Yeah.’ I am lucky. It’s really loud inside me. Like it was on a billboard in neon in my mind. “Do you want to finish this?” I ask, holding out what I’m smoking.

“No, just put it down.” And I do, then I stand, slide back the door and walk into the living room. I navigate my way towards where Tim is sitting and put myself next to him, where he’d sat himself away from me before. I don’t even notice it but somehow his arm is around me. I’m thinking of what Natasha was saying, about how I’m lucky, but I’m also kissing Tim, I have no clue how it happened. I don’t know. I don’t know how I’m kissing him. Or how he’s kissing me. We just are. And people are talking around us. It was silent, I think, but now there’s conversation.

And we’re kissing. I’m breathing with Tim. Our mouths are joined and we’re with each other. There’s no need for anything else. It’s not even boring, or a chore, like it was when I kissed girls before, just something to do. Something I had to do before, to be a man. This is real. Now I understand it. My hand goes under his t-shirt and I feel the hair leading up to his bellybutton and I want to kiss there too. I want my mouth everywhere.

My fingers creep towards his belt. “Oh this is disgusting!” Sally roars.

Tim stops kissing me and laughs. “I’m sorry I think she’s sex incarnate,” Tim says to Sally. But I wish they’d just shut up and me and Tim could get on with things. And I’m sitting, just looking at him, imagining...

“Give her the tour,” Natasha says. “Show her everything.”

“OK,” Tim says, then stands, with my hand in his grip and pulls me out of the seat. “Let me show you the apartment, Toni,” Tim says.

“I don’t want to see—” but a groan from literally everyone but Tim shuts me up.

He leads me away, passing closed doors, not giving me a tour at all. “Why are you...” And he opens a door to large bedroom, neat-ish but with some clothes scattered about, men’s clothes, mostly underwear, and another door just beside where we came in. “Oh!” I say. And he’s kissing me again, forcefully.

“Is this OK?” he asks.

I think I nod or something, or maybe I just grunt. Whatever I did he got the message and carries on.

He grabs me beneath my ass and lifts me up. I wrap my legs behind him wondering if I’m going to knock him over but he’s strong. He’s so fucking strong. I’m kissing him and moaning, trying to grind my crotch into him as he holds me.

He turns around and lays me down on his bed and I feel a parting between my thighs. I want him between me again. I want... I don’t know what I want! “Take off your shirt!” I say.

He pulls his t-shirt up, twisting it off with both hands and my god he is quite literally the hottest man I have ever seen in my life, anywhere, ever. Literally from anywhere, ever. My hand is on my skirt massaging myself. “On the bed,” I say.

He sits down next to me, kissing me as he sits, and I’m all over him. I’m in his mouth, my hands are on his chest, on his stomach, beneath his stomach. My hands are under his belt. I feel his pubes. I go further. I feel his dick. Oh wow! I love his dick. I don’t know if I love dick but I want Tim’s dick.

He breaks away from me and undoes the buckle on his belt, struggling to push his shoes off each foot. He lifts himself a little off the bed and slides his pants and underwear down, and then they’re off completely. I don’t know what I say, but I say something to him. It could be something like ‘Fuck me’ or ‘Hey sexy’ or it could just be me gurgling, drool spilling out. But I know what I need to do. It’s not a want it’s a need. A desperate need. I grab his cock in my hand and begin to jerk him off. I kiss him and love jerking him off. And I shiver.

I keep kissing him and feeling him in my hand and I want him inside me. But that’s impossible, mostly. I want more of him. I want to know him. I want to taste him. Without full awareness but with anticipation I’m down on a knee before him, looking into his eyes as I part my lips and lower my mouth around his cock.

Then... Well... We have fun.

A lot more fun.

Then I’m lying on Tim’s bed, me completely clothed, him completely naked and we’re looking at each other. We’re smiling at each other. At least I’m smiling. He’s just looking at me. “How long have we been here?” I ask.

“Does it matter?”

“I’m going back to my friends.”

“Am I not your friend?” he asks. So I kiss him. Which I hope answers his question.

I walk back to the living room feeling floaty. I stand by the hallway leading into it, just looking. “Yes, I’ll go to the bathroom with you, Toni,” Sally says, standing. “Natasha?”

“Couldn’t pay me...” Natasha says, and Sally has me by the hand and is leading me back down the hallway where I hope I don’t bump into Tim.

Sally knocks on one of the doors and says, “You decent, Jess?”

“Come in,” Jess says.

Sally opens the door to a fairly spacious bathroom, where Jess is standing in the middle. “Find anything interesting?” Sally asks.

“Nope, boring,” Jess says.

“Toni is freaking out,” Sally says. Then she turns to look at me. “No, we are not leaving. You are not running away. We are going to stay here and have dinner and a nice time presuming they don’t start talking about sex dungeons or something.”

“I am not freaking out!” I say.

Jess sits down on the closed lid of the toilet and says, “OK, go on.”

“Go on what?” I say.

“You wanted to talk,” Sally says.

“No I didn’t,” I protest. “You dragged me in here.”

“So you’re fine?” Jess asks me.

“Yeah,” I say, then I think. “It was great.” And I’m smiling.

“Do you need a toothbrush?” Sally asks.

“Oh, no! Can you smell his—” I begin, and both of them burst out laughing. “That’s mean!”

“I get to pick your Halloween outfit, Sally,” Jess says.

“Yeah, you won that one,” Sally says. “Go on, Toni, tell us everything.”

“No!”

“Oh, wow! She grew a spine,” Sally says.

“But...”

“But?” Jess asks me.

I pause for a moment, unsure how to say this, but it’s mostly true. I think it’s correct, anyway. “He’s hot, isn’t he? Like, really hot? Stupidly hot? That’s not just me thinking that?”

“Wow, she sucked a dick and cured her stupidity!” Sally says.

“Imagine how smart she’ll be in a few weeks,” Jess says.

“I plan on becoming an astrophysicist,” I say.

“Good for you, girl!” Sally says. “Now the ice has been broken we want the details.”

“I had a good time,” I say. I did.

“Did your good time have a peak moment?” Sally asks, making air quotes as she says the words Peak Moment.

I nod assuredly and say, “It did.”

“Do we need to get you Plan B?” Jess asks.

“Not unless fingers can get you pregnant,” I say.

“Fingers?” Jess asks. “Plural?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. He knew how to use them. Now if you’re done with me?” I say, putting on my Downton Abbey matriarch look.

“Haha, Tim found her inner bitch,” Jess says.

“And he’s welcome to find it any time he wants,” I say, before leaving the bathroom and walking back to the living room, where Tim is sitting in the same spot on the couch he was in before all of this happened.

I sit myself down next to him, he puts his arm around me and I snuggle into him. Fuck Sally and Jess. They’re just jealous. “Sally and Jess are jealous,” I say to Tim.

“Of what?” Tim asks.

“Because you’re really hot,” I say.

“And you’re sexy,” Tim says to me, and now I know he really does not have a clue how hot he is, so I cuddle into him more, more than happy being held.

I draw a deep breath and open my eyes. “You’re hot,” I say, looking at the man holding me.

“Feel better?” Tim asks.

I look around the room, where Jess and Natasha have moved some beanbags into the middle of the floor and are sitting next to each other. There’s no sign of Sally and Mouse. I rub at my eyes. “How long was I asleep?” I ask.

“A little bit,” Tim says.

“And did you hold me the whole time?” I ask, and he just smiles at me so I give him a kiss. “You’re amazing.”

“You’re sickening,” Sally says from behind me. “And Tim probably needs to pee, he hasn’t moved since sleeping beauty nodded off. Barely talked...”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, shuffling up on the couch. “Do you need to..?”

“Couldn’t hurt...” Tim says.

“Don’t ask him if you can watch, that’d be too much, even for you,” Sally says, sitting herself down on the couch and placing some wine glasses on the table. “Can we put on music now?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Mouse says. “Unless any of you plan on having a snooze soon.”

“Tim wouldn’t insist the music is off if one of us fell asleep, would he?” Natasha says.

“Of course he would,” Mouse says. “I told you, he’s nice and an idiot. Anyway, any preferences?” He places the open bottle of wine on the table and walks to a laptop next to the TV, fiddles with some cables and is soon typing away.

“It’s your place,” Jess says. “Your choice in music.”

“If you want to put something on you know how Spotify works, just put it in the playlist,” Mouse says. And both Natasha and Jess do stand and go to look at the laptop’s screen.

Then Tim is back into us, also playing with the laptop before he sits down next to me and I have to hold myself back from kissing him again. I really don’t want Sally yelling at me about being disgusting any more. I do notice Tim is wearing big, soft, bear feet slippers though. Not quite novelty level but definitely themed. “They’re cute,” I say, pointing.

“Do you want some slippers?” Tim asks. “Anyone? If you want?”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asks, looking a little, well, I guess the word is curious.

“Tim bought a load of slippers, various sizes, men’s and women’s, from one of those online Chinese stores. For any guests. What did I tell you about him?” Mouse says.

“What’s wrong with him?” Sally asks. “Why is he like this?”

“You’ll be thankful for them tomorrow morning, Sally,” Tim says.

“Presumptuous!”

“Yeah...” Tim says, then looks at me. “Did you tell your friends about Emma’s place?”

“Emma?” I ask.

“Where we went shopping.”

“Oh! No! No way. It’s too good for them. I do not want to share it.”

“She’s a friend,” Tim says. “Any help she can get in growing her business...”

“What’s this?” Jess asks.

“OK, fine! It’s a nice second hand shop, lots of clothes. Good prices, I think. You’d like it. There! Happy, Tim?”

“What’s it called?” Jess asks. “I might have heard of it.”

I shrug. “The Thrift Store,” Tim says. “I don’t know if it has an actual name.”

Jess laughs. “No, never heard of that,” she says, but she has her phone out. “Its website?”

“It doesn’t have one...” Tim says.

“Address?”

“I think the alley is just random letters on a planner’s map.”

I can see Jess wondering about this place’s ability to market itself so say, “You know that overstock store I was telling you I got the bathrobe in? It’s near there.”

Jess types a few things into her phone and then looks at me, or more Tim. “A few people mention it, from what I can see. Standard comments. There’s really not much on it. Why doesn’t she want to advertise?”

“She doesn’t want to go the online route,” Tim says. “She thinks clothes, and what she sells, needs to be an in-person thing. And wants word of mouth to build her up. I’ve told her how much it’d help, but she’s insistent, for now. Says the customers she has from markets will keep her going for a bit.”

“Tall, thin, blonde woman? Kind of snooty voice?” Jess asks. Tim nods. “Had a few pop up stores?” He nods again. “I was wondering where she went to! Oh, this is great. Can you show me on my maps app where this alley is?”

Tim stands but doesn’t go to Jess, instead he’s digging in a backpack he has set by the TV. “Will this do?” he asks, walking to, then handing Jess a flier.

“Yeah! Perfect!” Jess says. “How do you know her?”

“Business,” Tim says. “She needed graphic design, liked my work and could afford what I charged.”

The song on the playlist ticks over and Natasha groans. “Who put this on?” she asks.

Sally shakes her head. “Who’s the only teenage girl here, at least in spirit?” she asks, looking equally annoyed.

I realise they’re both talking about me. “I did not put Backstreet Boys on! I wasn’t even at the laptop!”

“Do you like Backstreet Boys?” Natasha asks.

“Well... Yeah! But I didn’t put them on! I swear!” I say. “I’ll even change the song, if you want.”

“The guilty mind,” Sally says. “Told Tim to put it on...”

I move to the laptop and change the music, and as I’m sitting down Natasha says, “Fuck you, Toni. You’re a fucking bitch!”

“I knew it was you!” I yell at her. “I can tell because you’re laughing! If you didn’t try to blame me for Backstreet’s Back you wouldn’t be suffering Enya now.”

“Yeah, right, fine. You win this time,” Natasha says.

“And you should see her in her work outfits! She’s like a pretty faerie!” I say.

“Don’t do this to me, Toni,” Natasha says. “You’ll regret it eventually.”

“It’s just a pity I don’t have any photos. Which reminds me, will someone take a photo of me and Tim, please? If you don’t mind, Tim?”

“What makes you think we don’t already have photos?” Jess asks.

“What?” I say.

They all take out their phones and start typing away, then my phone begins to beep. I open up my message app and there’s a stream of photos of me asleep on Tim.

“Can I get some of those?” Tim asks, looking over my shoulder.

“I need your number first,” I say, and feel nervous saying it. Although I don’t know why. A couple of hours ago his fingers were literally inside me. So we exchange numbers, and then the photos, and we’re taking a few more. Just the two of us, except I’m awake this time.

Then we all talk, and drink, and a few people smoke. Mouse begins to prepare dinner as it’s getting dark outside. Sally offers to help but Mouse gives a stern, ‘No!’

After a bit longer we’re all sitting in the same places, but with plates on our laps.

“This is lovely,” Natasha says.

“It’s a basic stir fry, nothing amazing. There’s no need to boost my ego. I know I’m not a great cook but I can make some healthy things well.”

“He can cook almost everything,” Tim says. “But apart from a few meals he does regularly he never sticks with anything long enough to perfect it.”

“So what’s the plan?” Mouse asks. “I’m fed. I think Tim said Toni likes dancing. We could go back to that bar?”

“Why do you think I like dancing?” I ask Tim.

“You, and that woman in there yesterday, when I first saw you... She was saying you like to dance. Or should dance more.”

“Oh, that? Yeah...” I say. Then I whisper into his ear what Steph meant by ‘tangoing.’

He laughs and asks, “So am I a good dancer?”

“You’re a very good dancer,” I say, which is true, at least in my extremely limited experience. Still, there’s a look of pride on his face.

Sally laughs. “I wonder what their deep code could mean? Will us who have such simple minds ever be able to figure it out?” Everyone else laughs at that. Including Mouse who’s cleaning up.

“So what do you want to do?” Tim asks.

“I want to stay here,” I say.

“Are you staying the night?”

“Where would I sleep?”

Tim looks puzzled for some reason. “In my bed,” he says. I didn’t even realise that was a possibility. That’d he want that. That he’d be OK with it.

“I have nothing to wear in bed,” I say.

“That’ll make things easier, Toni,” Sally says.

“Shut up!”

“I have a spare hockey jersey, I’d bet you’d look tiny in it,” Tim says.

“What about—”

“And I have spare toiletries, toothbrush, et cetera. You have nothing to worry about.”

“What if I stay the night?” Sally says. “Will that calm you down, Toni?”

Mouse is back from clearing up and says to Sally, “You can sleep in my bed, Sally, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“See! All settled. Me and Toni are staying the night. Now I want a fashion show.”

“Yes, I’ll stay. But what fashion show?” I ask.

“Yeah, you have loads of new clothes, try them on for us!” Natasha says, with an evil smile on her face.

“I am not some toy for you to abuse and mock!” I say.

Mouse shrugs and says, “Sorry Toni, you’re the only person with shopping here. I bet if they all had things to try on they’d join in as well. Right?” he asks, looking around at Jess, Natasha and Sally, who all nod and smile at me, far too sweetly.

“He’s right, Toni. Sorry,” Natasha says.

“Then, I’ll get the clothes you three can prance around in,” Mouse says.

“What?” Sally says.

“Yeah, loads of clothes. Every size. Women think Tim is handsome, then see the apartment and refuse to accept we’re not rich. They’ve basically moved in after a week. Then they break up with Tim, never want to see him again and Tim is sobbing while he packs bags full of their stuff to store away forever.”

“Don’t tell them that, Mouse. Fucking hell. You’re killing me,” Tim says.

“I’m certain there’s some very slutty stuff that’d look great on you, Sally,” Mouse says.

“You wish!” Sally says.

“So, are we doing the dress up party?” Mouse asks.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Jess says.

“Definitely not,” Natasha says.

“Why don’t you throw them away, Tim? Or donate them to charity?” Jess asks.

Tim shrugs and says, “They’re not mine to give away.”

“How long have some of those bags been here?” Mouse asks Tim.

“They’re not mine to give away! What if someone wants them back? Anyway, we’re not short on space.”

While they’re discussing this a thought is wiggling around inside my mind. “Why are all these women breaking up with you, Tim?”

“I really don’t—” Tim begins.

“Because he’s boring. Normal and boring. They see him looking all handsome, the fucker, and he’s polite, then they see the apartment and think he’s some suave, playboy millionaire. As we have said, a few times now, neither of us are those things. He’s a just-about doing OK graphic designer, I work for a sports statistics business. We’re young-ish but not mad for insane parties. We’re boring.”

“You’re boring?” Sally asks.

“And he’s handsome, and as you said I’m ‘no slouch.’ We do OK for ourselves.”

“So you think we’re boring?” Sally asks, smile on her face.

“You’re relatively normal,” Mouse says. “Relatively... You didn’t see the lobby of the building and immediately start listing off fancy restaurants to go to. You sat and ate my stir fry. It’s not an insult.”

“Anyway, it’s up to you,” Tim says. “We’re happy doing whatever you want to do.”

“What would you do if we weren’t here?” I ask.

“Watch TV, a film...” Tim says.

“Let’s do that then,” I say. “Just a normal night and not a crazy bitch being all crazy to you.” I hug into him tighter when I say that.

“I’ll get a taxi home, then,” Jess says. “Do you want a ride, Natasha?”

“That’d be great,” Natasha says.

“I’ll get your coats,” Mouse says. “We can call you one here, or whoever’s downstairs can.”

“We’re fine,” Jess says. “I know a good company, they’ll be here in literally minutes. Same one I always use.”

Mouse hands them their coats and asks if they want someone to walk down with them, but both refuse, and then it’s just me and Tim, and Sally and Mouse.

“What streaming platforms do you have?” Sally asks.

“Do we tell them?” Tim says.

“Being honest has worked so far,” Mouse says, with a shrug. Me and Sally exchange a look.

“Do you know the film Knives Out? The murder mystery kind of one?”

Me and Sally exchange another look, and she says, hesitantly, “Yes?”

“We like shows like that. Murder mysteries, detective stuff. They’re not big in the US but countries around the world have been making them for decades. Usually two hour long self-contained episodes, or a mini-series. They’re silly, but not as silly as you’d think.”

“Kind of like Columbo? Or what was that other one..? Monk?” I say.

“Yeah, like that,” Tim says. “You happy with that?”

“Of course!” I say.

“Subtitles or English?” Mouse asks.

“Please no subtitles,” Sally says.

And we sit watching a detective show for an hour, Sally and Mouse on one couch and me cuddled into Tim on the other.

Eventually Mouse pauses the show and says, “Anyone want popcorn? Something to drink?”

“Yeah, put on some popcorn, Mouse. Drinks anyone?” Tim says.

“Soft drink?” Sally asks. “Whatever you have, diet or regular.” And I nod in agreement.

Sally and Tim are talking about who they think the murderer is, Sally thinking it’s multiple murderers, while I hear popping coming from the kitchen. Eventually Mouse comes back carrying some bowls filled with popcorn and glasses on a tray, setting them down in front of everyone.

“Right, where does Mouse come from?” Sally asks.

“As I said, it’s worked so far,” Tim says. “It’s your story, it’s up to you.”

Mouse places his fistful of popcorn back in his bowl and says. “I had an eating disorder... Have an eating disorder, it’s under control, it wasn’t at university.”

“Which is why you’re so persnickety about food,” Sally says.

“Yeah, and to keep people from finding out I kind of nibbled at food like a mouse. Which people did notice, enough to give me the name but not enough to see what I was doing to myself. Not until I got quite bad, which is when Tim noticed, and got me help, along with my brother.”

I hug into Tim as Mouse is saying all this.

“I knew some girls in school with eating disorders,” Sally says. “It’s an awful thing.”

Mouse nods. “Full story, Tim?”

“That’s up to you.”

“It’s your story too, in fairness.”

“I am more than fine with you telling them,” Tim says, as he wriggles his arm around me to get more comfy.

“Me and Tim knew each other from sports,” Mouse continues. “He had a sports scholarship, I didn’t, I wasn’t a star anything. I’d always been weird with food, and working out was another way I was abusing myself. When I got to college and was stuck around really serious athletes my eating disorder went into overdrive. When Tim noticed how bad I was in the second year he tried sorting me out. Doing anything and everything to help. He lost his sports scholarship because of it, because of how focused he was on me, but he didn’t care about that. Eventually he got onto my family, then my brother, who was paying for my classes. Together both my brother and Tim got me help, help that worked. Tim was so good it saved me from having to be hospitalised, I could be treated as an outpatient. My brother realised how much Tim had done for me, and paid for the rest of his college, after convincing them to let him back in.”

“And now he pays for the apartment,” I say. “As a kind of thank you.”

“He rents it to Tim for fair market rate for an average two bed apartment less central than where we are, but it’s certainly nothing either of us could afford at its real price. My brother also pays most of the bills, heating and that, and he’ll pay for whatever food we want to get, within reason.”

“And Tim still keeps an eye on you?” I say.

Mouse nods. “He does. Which I am very appreciative of but he can be really annoying about it. Like I said, Tim is very nice, and a lot of people don’t try to get to know that.”

“Sally and Jess are kind of like that to me,” I say.

“That’s sweet, but we still hate you,” Sally says.

“I hate you too,” I say.

“This is really good popcorn, Mouse, like, best I’ve ever had level of good,” Sally says.

“Just use the highest quality oil you can get your hands on. There’s no trick,” Mouse says.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Do you want to watch the rest of the show now? Any more questions?” Mouse says.

“The show must go on!” Sally says. “And I’m telling you, there are at least three murderers.” At which point the detective show is un-paused, and we all keep watching, eating popcorn and drinking cans of diet 7-Up.

Then we watch an episode of Columbo.

Then I’m being rattled. “What?” I say.

“That’s the third time you’ve fallen asleep during this episode,” Tim says. “What time did you wake up this morning? Do you want to go bed?”

“I was up early,” I say, yawning.

“Yeah, you had a big day, babes,” Sally says. “Go to bed. I’m sure Tim will join you.”

“Are you coming too?” I ask Tim.

“Of course,” Tim says. “Come on, I’ll you get the things you need.”

And within a few minutes I’m lying in Tim’s bed, in the oversized hockey jersey he gave me, with him cuddled into my back, holding me. And I fall asleep as probably the happiest woman in the city, next to someone unbelievably kind and gentle I’ve been blessed with.

Toni has been Toni for a little over a week, which seems to be just enough time for her to have slept in a boy’s bed. Yes! With the boy next to her. And they did more than sleep in the afternoon, long before the Sandman visited. But how will she handle discovering men do more than smell good and kiss good?

Will Toni be spending the new day telling all her friends about her discoveries with a smile on her face? Will Steph in Light Avenue have to get used to saying the annoyingly alliterative “Toni and Tim?” Or will Toni be running to Big-G, her one rock, with tears in her eyes when she meets him later in her day? More importantly, does Toni even remember why she’s meeting Big-G, or has her mind been filled with more distracting thoughts?

My phone starts ringing and vibrating on top of the table by the head of the bed.

I flail my arms out, one in each direction, unsure in my state whether it’s to my left or right. This tells me Tim is no longer next to me, so the table must be to the other side. I manage to grab at my phone and look, through lids just about opened, at the caller. It’s my sister.

“What do you want?” I ask, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

“Oh, Miss Grumpy, what’s wrong?” she asks, placing emphasis on the ‘Miss’ part.

“You woke me,” I say. But I feel like I need to say more than that. I have no idea what time it is and I could have been asleep all day. “I slept at a boy’s place and no-one woke me.”

I hear a sharp intake of breath and an ‘Oh my god.’ Maybe a second. I’m tired and can’t be sure. Then my sister is talking properly again. “You’re sleeping with men already? How long have you been the new you?”

“I’m not sleeping with anyone,” I say, still groggy. It’s mostly true. Tim’s not in bed any more. “I slept on a couch.”

“Bullshit! You said you ‘slept at a boy’s place.’ I know exactly what that means. Is he hot? Is he good to you? If he’s not I’m coming straight there with a posse to inflict permanent injury!”

Tim is good to me but I’m not telling her that. “I have lots of male friends. You’ve met some of them, what makes you think I’m not staying at one of their places?” I say, pulling myself up straight. Then I look down and see Tim’s old hockey jersey on me and feel cute.

My sister guffaws. Very theatrically. “If it was one of your boring friends you would have said you ‘slept at friend’s place.’ Please don’t try and fool me, Toni, I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you. I fucking hope so at least. Now come on, who is he, what’s his name, do you have pictures of him? Of the two of you?”

“Fine! OK. You’re my sister and for some reason I love you... His name is Tim, of course I have pictures of us, yes he’s hot, and to answer your next question I don’t know if we’re dating. I’m not telling you anything else.”

My sister guffaws again. “OK, wow! I’ll refrain from asking you anything else. And I’ll hang up, as long as you promise to text me a photo of the two of you. And as long as you message me updates of your new, interesting life. Don’t go weird and disappear on me.”

“Deal,” I say. And she hangs up instantly. Without even a moment passing. I move to respect her respect by sending her a pic of me and Tim straight away, then realise she’ll be straight back onto me if I do that. She can wait.

Instead I stand and trudge my way out to the living room, still rubbing at my salty eyes.

“Don’t move,” Sally says. She reaches for her phone.

“What?” I say.

“I want to take a picture of you, and then you have to go and get dressed. Immediately!” she says, as I hear the digital shutter noise with the camera snapping me looking sleepy and confused.

“What? What is it?” I say. Why is everyone annoying me?

“Come here,” Sally says. So I do. She shows me the photo of me. My eyes are closed and the hockey top is loose and halfway down my thighs. I’m not exposing anything.

“It’s me,” I say. “Looking tired and annoyed at people being weird.”

“If Tim sees you looking like that he’ll take you right on the spot. Fucking hell, Toni, can’t you see yourself?”

“I mightn’t object to that,” I say, then smile. Then Tim walks through from the kitchen, along with Mouse. I look at Tim, and my smile gets wider. I couldn’t care less about Mouse, at least not at the moment. “Come here, Tim.”

Tim walks to me, smiling, and I almost lunge at him to give him a quick kiss on the lips. A quick kiss that isn’t so quick and involves a little more than lips, as well as a nice squeeze of his very nice butt.

“Do you want breakfast?” Tim asks me.

“I’m kinda hungry,” I say. He takes my hand and leads me out to the balcony where there’s some pastries and orange juice on the small metal table I saw yesterday.

I sit down and Tim sits next to me, just smiling at me. Eventually he asks, “Everything OK?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Of course.”

“No regrets?” he asks.

“Why would I have regrets?” I say, starting to feel a little worried.

“Sally explained this morning you’d never... Not actually... Actually done what we did yesterday. Not before.”

I’m halfway through putting a piece of croissant in my mouth, so I do put it in my mouth, to give myself time to think. I chew, and chew a little more, then swallow, feeling a lump in my throat. Then finally say, “Remember those guest slippers you talked about yesterday?” He nods. “The next time I’m here can I get my own pair?”

“You’ll be back?” Tim asks.

I nod and say, “If you’ll have me back. If I wasn’t boring... I’ve never had a friend who was a boy and I was a girl and we did that kind of stuff. I’ve never really done anything with girls, either. I’ve never really done anything. My life was boring until recently and this is all new to me.”

“You’ve never had a boyfriend?” Tim asks. Then he pauses. And I realise I’ve been incredibly forward. He wasn’t in bed with me when I woke. I’ve forced a kiss from him already. I’m treating him like we’re supposed to be together when he’s not done or said anything like that.

I freeze, motionless. Like I’ve been dropped in dry ice. I’ll shatter if he says anything. Then he does speak. I’m about to shatter. “Would you like us to be boyfriend and girlfriend? Because I’d like to be your boyfriend. If you’re OK with it. If you’re ready?”

“So we’re girlfriend and boyfriend?” I ask. I don’t shatter. I still could.

“I guess so. Yeah,” Tim says. “If you’re happy with me being so high school like that?”

“We’re dating. The two of us. ‘Official.’ And I’m your girlfriend?” I say, asking the exact same question.

“I’m not a girl, and you’re not really boyfriend material, so...” Tim says, trailing off.

“I mean, I am a—”

“Yes, you’re my girlfriend. And I’m your boyfriend. That’s settled. And now you need to eat because Sally said you’re meeting some guy called Big-G? Do I need to be jealous?”

I kiss him. It’s a different kind of kiss to before. To anything before. I say, “Can I finish this croissant then we go to your bedroom where we do what we did yesterday? Except you pretend you’re jealous? Just a little? Like, kind of, a little angry at me? You know? Then I go meet the man you’re jealous of? And I think of what you did to me while I look at him?”

Tim laughs. Except it’s not his normal laugh. It has a kind of stutter to it, almost a cough. He shakes his head and says, “Fuck me, Toni! You’re not the simple, innocent girl you pretended to be.”

“Does that turn you on?” I ask, inching my hand up the inner thigh on his sweats as I hold some pastry in my other hand.

“Hurry up and finish your croissant!” he says, with another one of his shocked laughs. “Don’t do that to me then make me wait.”

Then I’m in his bedroom getting dressed in the clothes I wore yesterday, feeling extremely satisfied. Feeling Tim watching me.

“When do you have to go?” Tim asks.

“Pretty soon,” I say. “As soon as I do my hair.”

“When will I see you again?”

I sigh and remember work as I twist at my much too short, crappy brown hairstyle. “I have a big thing at my job. I need to focus on that for the next few days. Someone found out about me and they’ve given me something of an opportunity, to prove myself. It’s a really big deal.”

“What do you mean by they ‘found out about you?’”

“I’m a different version of me at work,” I say, and it feels weird to think of that while I’m looking at my boyfriend lying on his bed. “People don’t really know the me you know.”

“But someone there does... And you have an opportunity,” Tim says, looking as though he’s thinking.

“Yeah, something like that,” I say, slipping on my Mary Janes while I balance on each foot.

“What do your friends at work think of the real you? The ones who know?” Tim asks.

“I don’t really have any friends at work,” I say.

“When they meet my girlfriend you’ll make some amazing new work friends. And be beating the men away with a stick. At least I hope you do.”

“Shut up, they won’t. They’ll remember the old me and be disgusted.”

“Tiny skirt? Heels? Legs? Professional white blouse opened up to tastefully reveal and inflame? Necklace hanging just above your boobs to seal the deal? Please! I know what that does to men!”

I laugh and it feels like Tim’s shocked laugh. “You have a thing for office women, don’t you? Watching her bend over, hoping she gives you a glimpse? A little ‘What if someone catches us?’ in the copy room? Maybe an office tryst started at the drunken Christmas party you regret but can’t and don’t want to stop?”

“Who doesn’t?” Tim asks, with a smile.

I laugh again. I guess he really is a dude. “Yesterday you said you didn’t want to be that kind of guy.”

“Now you’re my girlfriend,” he says, looking proud. “Things are different.”

“I am your girlfriend!” I say, feeling just as proud as Tim looks. “Now come on!”

Tim gets up from bed and puts on his sweats and t-shirt again, me watching him as he does, thankful he didn’t put his boxers on before the sweats, and I’m imagining him hanging free beneath the material, wishing I didn’t have to go. Wishing I could touch him all over. We walk out to the living room. “What are you doing, Sally?” I ask, my mind on what Tim has under there.

“Are you ready to leave? she asks. “I only spent the night to convince you to stay.”

“Just about,” I say, not believing a word she said. Trying to stop thinking of Tim’s dick. And chest. And his kisses. I hold back from sighing. I’d stay here if I sighed.

Then Sally says goodbye to Mouse, with me watching Sally to see if there’s any give in her reaction or anything to her tone. If there is I can’t catch it. Tim says goodbye to us at the door.

“Message me?” he says, after a gentle kiss.

“Of course,” I say. And give him a proper kiss, hoping there’s a reaction beneath his sweats. I hope I cause a lot more reactions.

Then I’m walking down the hallway, away from my boyfriend’s apartment, somehow feeling the hips I don’t have sway, and getting an elevator to the first floor.

The attendant in the lobby tips his cap to me and Sally as we leave, and I’m walking back to Light Avenue to meet Big-G, with Sally not saying a word to me, and me not saying a word to her.

We get to the bar and order two coffees before we sit at a table waiting for G. Sally’s still not saying anything but I can play her game as well. I already am. I know full well what she’s doing.

Our coffees are half gone and neither of us have even coughed when Steph sits down next to us.

“Am I going to have to get used to saying ‘Toni and Tim’ now?” Steph asks.

“I’ll tell you if Sally leaves,” I say, refusing to look at Sally.

“They’re dating,” Sally says. “And they danced. A few times.”

“So did you and Mouse!” I scream at Sally.

“We did not!” Sally says, looking full of herself, and pleased. And I know! I know!

“I heard you two in his bedroom!” I say, confidently.

“You didn’t,” Sally says. I wait. There’s more coming. I know it. I’m certain. I wait. I hold her out. She blinks. “Because we did it in the living room! With the Mouse who has moves, and a tongue.”

“I fucking knew it! I knew it!! Are you seeing him again?!”

“I have his number and he has mine. We’ll call each other as the mood takes,” Sally says. Then she finishes off her coffee in one gulp.

“Are you OK, Toni?” Steph asks.

“I’m happy,” I say to Steph. And I smile at Steph.

Steph rubs my shoulder then stands. “That’s all anyone can ask for.” She walks away.

“So..?” Sally says.

“My sister phoned me. She wants a picture of me and Tim.”

“Your sister knows?” Sally asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “She seems glad I’m not boring any more.”

“Send her one of you asleep on Tim and Tim looking pleased as punch.”

“Ew! No! I’m not sending her one of me asleep. I’ll send her one from after I woke up.”

“Ladies...” G says, sitting down. I’m delighted to see him. I don’t know why but he looks more manly. More, I don’t know, like he’s powerful?

I chase the powerful G thought from my mind and say, “Hey, G!” And I’m smiling again. I’ve smiled a lot today.

Sally smiles at me smiling and turns to G, who’s also smiling. “Toni has a boyfriend!” she says, a sing-song in her tone.

“Took you long enough,” G says, looking at me.

I’m taken aback at this. This isn’t Big-G’s usual cool and calm but, most importantly, caring self. This is him treating me, I don’t know? Being dismissive. “That’s mean!” I say, confused. “G?”

“I’m sorry, you hold no interest to me now. You’re another man’s piece of meat. I’m not going to fight him for you. He already won the battle.”

I hit G on the arm. “Fuck off! G! You’re doing that on purpose. You know I’m not like that and I know you’re not like that.”

“I’m glad to see you develop some of those feminine wiles of yours,” G says, with a laugh.

But that makes me think, it did take me a while to have a boyfriend. To see them as, well, objects, things to play with and for them to play with me. When I looked at Tim’s chest yesterday it was hot, so incredibly hot. I actually realised how sexy he was. Looking at him I wanted him, almost more than when I was kissing him. “Why did I never think of men before?” I ask.

“Have you tried to think of men?” Big-G asks. “Of you and a man as a couple? Together? When you saw them?”

“No, but that’s the thing. I did see them. I even saw naked men, far more often than naked women, And the naked men were in real life. But I never, y’know, wanted them.”

“Who were you yesterday?” G asks.

“I was me. Who else would I be?” I ask.

Sally looks at Big-G, almost as though she’s impressed. Neither of them say anything else. They’re just sitting, both staring at me. My eyes are going kind of blurry as I try to stare the two of them down at the same time. I don’t know why I’m staring back at them. I don’t know why I’m making myself cross-eyed.

Eventually Sally says, “And who were you before you were you?”

I don’t know what that means. What is she talking about? Then I do know what she’s talking about. And it hits me. It hits me what I am. Who I am. I can stop staring.

My lips tighten and press inward on themselves. My eyes begin to water. I’m crying. Both Sally and Big-G move to each side of me and hold me as my tears are flowing. I wasn’t who I should be. I wasn’t who I was supposed to be.

“I wasn’t me. Not actually me. Not before,” I say between sniffs. I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know if I want to feel this. Can I ever be who I am? Can I ever be me?

I begin to sob, my head bowed as I raise my hands to cover my face. I can’t turn to either of them. I can’t go to anyone. I’m alone.

“What’s wrong?” I hear. I think it’s Steph’s voice. I look up and try to force myself to stop crying.

“There’s no going back,” G says.

“From..?” Steph says, and I look at her and feel weak.

“Herself. Who she is,” G says.

“That’s a tough moment,” Steph says. “Toni, look at me.” I try to stop myself shaking and look Steph in the eyes. “Remember this. You’ll forget this feeling again, probably soon. This is you. These are your feelings. And there is going back. You can do anything you like, be anyone you like, if you remember this.”

“I’m me,” I say, and I can feel the tears beginning again.

“Yes. You’re you, Toni. And we love you, we all love you,” Sally says.

“I wasn’t me before.” Now I’m crying again and barely holding back the sobs.

“You were,” Steph says. “But you were afraid, really afraid. Are you afraid now?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Afraid of who you are?”

I rub at one eye, then another. My crying has stopped again, just about. “No,” I say.

“Then there’s nothing else to be afraid of,” G says.

Sally’s somehow passed me a tissue and I’m drying myself up, then blowing my nose. “How do you know all this? How do you do this to me? And so suddenly?” I ask.

“We don’t know anything,” Steph says. “We know Toni, and we like Toni, and we do this to you by caring for you. And you do this by allowing yourself to do it. That’s all it is.”

Sally lets go of me and G pulls me into him. “Thank you,” I say. “I love you. All of you.”

“We know, but it’s nice to hear that instead of ‘I hate you!’” Sally says.

“I do hate you, and you hate me, and there’s also love. And fuck me, this is hard,” I say.

“Yeah, and it’s easy, and it’s all a mess, and that’s what life is. Enjoy it,” Steph says. “Do you need a drink?”

“Yes, but G wants me shopping. So I’d better get cleaned up,” I say, taking one last sniff.

G shuffles up on the seat and I stand. I take a deep breath and steady myself. I begin to walk to the bathroom and I’m thinking. A lot. I’m also shaking and weak, and I’m not quite sure what I’m thinking. I focus on the fact I have friends. Friends who love me. I have friends who care for me.

I’m walking back to the table, hopefully looking relatively normal. I’m trying my best to look normal, all the while focusing on my friends who care.

“Why do you like me? Why do you love me? And don’t say it’s because I’m nice, please.”

“First of all, you are nice. But for me it’s because you make me feel,” Steph says.

“Feel what?” I ask.

“Yeah, Steph’s right,” Sally says. Big-G smiles gently at me. “I don’t know how to put it in words,” Sally continues, before quietening.

“What you do to people isn’t common, Toni,” Steph says. “You expose people. You make them feel things. And causing people to feel things with the intensity you bring them to is rare.”

“Some people will hate you for it,” Big G says.

“Oh, Jesus! Some will despise her for it. Fucking hell, I hadn’t thought of that. I haven’t met anyone who goes to that way in a while, certainly not talked to them for longer than necessary. Fuck, they’re awful!” Steph says. She shivers, shakes out her head as though shaking off a curse, and continues, but not to me, “That’s a horrendous thought, but well spotted, Gary.”

“I’ll expose people..?” I say. “Sometimes exposing people isn’t good. Exposing people isn’t always a good thing.”

Steph nods. “You’re doing it right now.”

“Yeah,” Sally says. “Some don’t want to be exposed. Some people couldn’t handle it.”

“You’ll turn into a total bitch if you begin to crave it,” Big-G says.

“Crave what?” I ask.

“Reactions,” Steph says. “Feeling like you’ve had an effect. Affirmation... But that’s enough for now, I think. I’m not even sure where we are.”

“Isn’t that the best time to explore?” I ask. “When you don’t know where you are? And you’re exposed?”

“Did someone give her a joint?” Steph asks.

“Not today,” I say. But there’s neon billboards in my mind like yesterday when I smoked with Natasha. “And, actually, I really like Natasha. She’s really soft. You almost couldn’t tell she—”

“Has an admirer in Jess? Yeah!” Steph says, shaking her head and making big eyes at me as Sally whips her head around.

“Jess likes Natasha!?” Sally asks, voice loud.

“I said Jess admires her, Sally. Natasha is a really confident woman, who speaks her mind once you respect her privacy. It’s why you often see her reading quietly alone, although some people don’t see her when she’s like that.”

“Yeah, I get that. I understand now you say it,” I say to Steph, feeling suitably cowed. “Jess and Natasha did spend a lot of time talking about books while you were talking to Mouse, Sally. I was so caught up in my own thing I almost didn’t notice myself. I wasn’t thinking. Until Steph interrupted me and forced me to.”

Steph stands, looking at her watch, then gives me that, ‘Here’s lookin’ at you, kid!’ gentle punch to my face. I laugh at my own stupidity while being a little amazed at Steph’s tact.

“I was only glancing at the security monitors in the office before you all left yesterday. Anyway, I could be wrong. It’s hard to pick up on some things if you don’t watch people like a bar worker watches things. It’s just practice. But I only say this to you because I like you all,” Steph says.

“You didn’t say you love us,” I say to Steph, who glances a tired, grumpy glance at me. And now she really does want to punch me.

“Look at her!” Sally says, holding up her phone.

“Like a mugshot!” Steph says.

“Yeah, a guilty one,” Sally says, grinning at me.

“Oh, don’t show her that!” I say, knowing full well it’s Sally’s picture of me in Tim’s hockey jersey with my eyes closed, and with the legs I wish I didn’t have.

“Show her what?” Big-G asks.

“Yeah! The guilty mind knows exactly what it is,” Sally says to me. Then she turns her phone to Big-G.

“I might actually fight a man for that woman,” G says.

“OK, send that picture to me, please,” I say to Sally.

“Is the correct reaction to that photo,” Sally says.

“And send it to Tim when you’re feeling lonely,” Steph says. “Jesus! Woman!”

I feel my chest puff up pride. “Is it really that good?” I ask.

“If you ever catch me like that I want an entire photo shoot,” Sally says.

“I haven’t looked like that in years,” Steph says. “I wish I could.”

“You could have any man you want, Steph,” Sally says. “Shut up! Be confident. You’re confident with us.”

Steph bends down to look at Sally. “There are endless possible men I could have. And I’m at ease with you because I like you, despite it being far from easy.” Steph stands up again. “The thing is I don’t know who I want. Or if it’s even a who.”

I don’t know where the words come from, or why I’m saying them, but I do say them. “Do you want to go for a drink, Steph? Just me and you. Somewhere not here?”

Steph strains her neck and sets herself straight. “Yes, I do, thank you, Toni. I’ll let you know when and where, if that’s OK?”

“I’m looking forward to it,” I say. “Let me know the dress code.”

“Men are a lot simpler than this,” Big G says.

“Tired cliche,” Sally says.

“I’d better go with him to his shopping plans, he’s getting bored.”

“I’ll send you that picture straight away,” Sally says. “Don’t forget your bags.”

Soon I’m walking out of Light Avenue, thinking of Steph, and not quite remembering what G wanted us to do.

We walk for a few minutes, with nothing being said, and I don’t know why but I feel small, and weak. I don’t like it. “Can you put your arm around me, G?” I ask. He doesn’t say anything but stretches his arm out, and wraps it around my shoulder, pulling me into him. “I’m scared.”

“You have friends, you have a boyfriend, and you’re a beautiful young woman,” G says.

“That’s what I’m scared of.” I feel his already tight hold somehow get tighter.

We walk and walk, and then arrive outside a store on quiet street and G says, “We’re here.”

“Can you give me a minute, or maybe we do this some other, maybe—”

“No. This is happening now,” G says. “You’ll have these feelings far more often. It happens when you’re open with yourself. You’ll deal with them better as things go on but you do have to go on, OK?”

“OK...” I say.

And we go in.

Inside is a mixture of old shelving and modern fridges and freezers, in long supermarket aisles, under a mix of modern LED and old style fluorescent tube lighting. It’s bigger, deeper, I guess, on the inside than the outside would hint at. To my right are some checkout lines, although there’s no-one queuing at the moment, with only one staff member, sitting, drawing. To my left is a fridge with soft drinks I don’t recognise, along with a notice board with posters, and hand written notes and messages.

G wraps his arm around me again and begins to grip into me. “OK?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Let’s get to it.”

The next thing I know he’s dragging me to a vegetable section and picking out garlic, onions, peppers and a range of veg I half recognise. “Do you have a kitchen you can use at work?” G asks.

“Yeah?” I say.

“And do people use it? Can you use a frying pan there?”

“I assume so,” I say.

He nods and doubles each of most of what’s already in the cart. Next we’re in a spice and herbs section and it looks like he’s on automatic, pulling out packet after packet, without even really looking.

A woman walks to him, “Teaching her to cook, Mr. G?” the woman asks.

“I am,” he says, with a smile.

“New friend? New special friend?”

“Old friend,” he says. “She just decided to sort her life out.” Which I guess is kind of true, but it’s still a bit rude. It’s not like I only ate Doritos.

“Will I get you one your books?” she asks.

“She’s getting an author copy, Rita, but thank you. Sorry you’re missing out on your cut.”

She laughs and says, “A very special friend! A real friend. We make enough from the desperate parents buying it for their idiot children off to school. No mother to make them dinner any more. And do they look at the book? No! They eat noodles straight from a cup! Even though there’s a recipe for that!” She looks at me. “Get Mr. G to autograph it for you. It could be worth a lot of money some day.”

We go to a section with those very same cups of noodles the woman was talking about and G begins to tell me which are good, and the spice levels. After another fifteen minutes of picking various foods up G is loading everything onto the checkout belt with a young man scanning it all through.

It comes time to pay and G stands back. I look at the figure and for the amount of food I have here it’s really not that much. Sure, it’s more than my weekly spend, but there’s things like spices and herbs G says should last months, massive bags of rice and lentils, tins of beans, tins of tomatoes, and more. And what G says is a good knife.

I take out my card and pay. The young man says, “If you ever need the knife sharpened just drop it in. It’ll take about 24 hours.”

“Those small soup Thermoses?” G asks.

“We’re coming into winter,” the man says. “They sell out quickly. Do you want me to set you one aside?”

“That’d be great, Sujesh. Thanks.”

“Do you have too many bags?” the man, Sujesh asks. “I can spare someone to help you carry them.”

I lift one with my free hand, and it’s not too heavy. Heavy enough though. G has grabbed the other bags. “They’re too heavy,” Sujesh says. And he’s yelling something incomprehensible towards the back of the store. “Put them down, G.” G nods. Then a teenager is up to us. “Help G and his friend carry her groceries home. You’re doing nothing else.”

“How far is it?” the teenager asks.

Sujesh impatiently hits a code into the till and pulls out five dollars. “Get those donuts of yours on the way back. This is what you’re angling for, yeah? You’ve been talking about them all day.” Then he looks at me. “Do not tip him! We pay him enough and he does no work. Absolutely none! He’s the laziest employee we’ve ever had. Even lazier than when I started here, and I was pretty lazy.”

I smile at Sujesh, I can tell he adores the kid, then me, and G, and the teenager, begin the walk to my apartment.

The whole way the teenager and G are deep in conversation about donuts. I have never heard anyone as enthusiastic and seemingly knowledgeable about donuts and sugary things as this kid. They’re talking about the best donut spots in the city, and what particular styles they’re good at, as I’m keying my code into the door. I thought a donut was just a donut!

I look at the teen, to take the bags. “All the way to your kitchen,” he says. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

“Come on up,” I say.

Then we’re all resting the bags up on my living room table. “Vee, could you put the chicken thighs in the freezer?”

“Sure thing, G,” Vee, the teenager, says.

As soon as he’s gone I turn to G. “How much do I tip him?”

“Vee? Nothing. Sujesh is right, he’s incredibly lazy.” But I think G can read the look on my face. “Two dollars, a token!”

“Are you living in the noughties, G?” I ask, digging in my purse.

“He gets paid to do this, very well for a teenager! He wants for literally nothing!”

Vee walks back into the room. “The thighs are all put away,” he says.

“Thanks for your help, Vee,” I say, handing him five dollars. He quickly glances at it and stuffs it—crumpled—into his pocket. “Do you want something to drink before you go?”

“A beer?” he asks, and I can hear the hope in his tone.

“How old are you?” I ask, holding back from smiling at his audacity.

“Twenty-two!”

“You’re barely even sixteen,” G says. “Do you want a glass of water?”

“I have Coke Zero,” I say.

“That’d be great,” Vee says. Which I’m soon handing to him.

“If you asked for the glass of water you’d have to stay a bit longer to drink it,” G says. “But you got greedy so now you can walk back to the store with your can.”

Vee seems to know he’s played his hand as much as he’s able and is letting himself out. Before he closes the door he turns to me and says, “Any time you need help just ask for Vee.” Then he’s gone.

I look at G, laughing. “He’s so sweet!”

“He’s hilarious. Every woman too old for him he charms the pants off but he has no luck with girls his own age.” I laugh thinking I can full well understand how his enthusiasm and innocence would be off-putting to a jaded, all-knowing 16 year old girl.

We put the groceries away with G showing me the best place to store everything, which sometimes involves a slight reorganisation. Eventually I’m pulling another Coke Zero out of the fridge, for me this time, while G is opening a beer. We sit down at the same table we’d previously eaten his lovely eggs on. “OK, G, you’ve held me in suspense long enough, what’s this book?”

“Me, and my dad, and Rita, wrote a cookery book. It’s not fancy, just cheap-ish printing. Simple recipes covering a range of cuisines. The whole point of it was to give people who didn’t cook much, or ever really before, a quick way into mostly decent and healthy food, affordably. Especially people getting their own place for the first time, or who finally accepted they can’t or don’t want to pay for take-out.”

“People like me,” I say.

“People like you,” he says. He’s zipping open his bag and pulls out some tubs of what appear to be cooked rice, then he hands me a simple stapled book, regular printer paper in size, of maybe 150 or so pages, with a colour cover of a rice dish with veggies in it, and on the back is an advertisement for the chain of stores we’ve just come from.

I begin to flick through and it’s not like any other cookery book I’ve seen before. It’s dense, with small type, sometimes four recipes to a page, no photos rather line illustrations—quite good ones—and it’s entirely in black and white.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I say. “I’ve bought and been gifted a few cook books but nothing like this.”

“Yeah...” G says. “It’s functional and affordable. Like the recipes in it. Page 24.”

I flick to page 24 and one of the recipes on the page is for the eggs G showed me how to cook. “Wow!”

“Last page,” G says.

I go to the last page and the recipe covers the whole thing apart from a small black and white photo at the bottom. The same dish as on the cover. After it is simply the text, ‘Good Luck! You Can Cook!’

“OK..?”

“It’s the most difficult recipe in the book, in my opinion anyway. Others find some of the other recipes more difficult, but this one involves spices that seem to intimidate people. If you can make that you can make anything else in there. You’re going to make it now. You ready?”

“Right now!?” I ask.

“Well, in a few minutes. We’ll finish our drinks, and I’ll have another beer while I supervise.”

I nod a few times, thinking. “It’s a little early for dinner, isn’t it?”

“We’ll just eat a small bit, you’ll want to eat more, though. It’s really good. And there’ll be plenty left over for you later tonight when you get snacky. It’s healthy so don’t worry about over-indulging.”

“I didn’t think you could store rice! Won’t it kill you or something!?”

G starts to laugh, and he seems really, really amused. “You’ve never talked to someone from any Asian country, have you? Certainly not about food.”

“Shut up! I’m not stupid.” I hate when he does this to me. Why is he so put together and informed?

“Rinse the rice a few times before you cook it, which you should do most of the time any way, unless you need the starch for a specific reason. Then just put it in the fridge when it’s cooked, it’ll survive a few days. You can even freeze individual portions.”

I scowl at G. “There was no need for the laughs, you could have just said that.”

G laughs again. “And miss out on your angry face? Never!” And I want to stop my angry face but now I’m angrier again. “Come on, let’s get started. Read the recipe a few times.”

“You’ll help?”

“If I have to.”

So I read the recipe a few times, seeming to get into the rhythm of it. There’s a bit of chopping things, a lot of herbs and spices, some of them needing to be crushed, a lot of quickly adding everything in thirty second intervals, waiting to hear seeds crackle, etc. “How do I crush the seeds?” I ask.

“What does it say?”

“Between two spoons?”

“That’s how you do it then. You ready?” he asks. I nod, then he hands me the tubs of rice.

Then I’m chopping, and arranging all the spices in a row on my kitchen counter-top in order of when I need them, along with the amount and variety of utensils I think I’ll need. “Should I put each spice and herb and things in a bowl? Ready, you know? Pre-measured? To help with the timing?”

“Do you want to wash all those bowls?” G asks.

“Good point, yeah. Well said. So now I just..?”

“Do what the recipe says...”

And that’s how things go. It doesn’t take that long to make to it once I have everything ready, and it’s all cooked in one pan, anyway. I ask G for advice at a few stages and whether I’m doing things correctly and he repeatedly says, “Just do what the recipe says,” and, “Keep going and find out when you eat it.” Before I know it, probably because I was so focused on what I was doing, some sort of nice smelling rice is sitting massed in the pan, more orange than the red I expected with the tomatoes, some bell peppers chopped and mixed through giving it some colour.

I put some onto each plate, with G asking for more than what I put on his originally, and even more again. He has more confidence in me than I do. Or he’s just really hungry. He grabs two beers from the fridge and we’re sitting down at the table again with plates in front of us.

“So I just..?” I say.

“Do you need help with how to eat, too?” he says, laughing. I put my hands to my face in exasperation. He knows full well I’m nervous. This is the most complex thing I’ve ever cooked.

I poke a fork into the rice taking a small bit, then figure I have to go in whole-hearted to this, and load up a little more. I put the fork near my mouth, just beneath my nose, but don’t really smell anything. I guess I just have to do it. I stick it in my maw and I don’t know... I don’t taste anything. Then I do. I chew, and swallow. I load up another fork and quickly eat it down. Then one with a chunk of green bell pepper. I realise I haven’t said anything. “Holy shit, this is amazing, G!”

“Yeah,” G says. “And you made it.”

“It’s your recipe! Holy crap! This is delicious!” And he’s sticking a fork of it into his pie-hole, enjoying it too.

“I doubt it’s my recipe. I think it’s an old one I found in my catalogue, whether I got it from my Dad, or some website, or some book, I don’t know. I had it. Now it’s in the book.”

“You stole it from someone?” I ask.

“Are you going to report me to the police?”

“If they arrested you you’d just have to make it for them and they’d set you free. Saying your work was a net positive on the world. Wow, G!” He laughs at this. “Big-G!” I say, impressed, emphasis on the Big.

“Do you have enough on your plate?” he asks.

“NO! I don’t!” He laughs again.

Then we’re both laughing. And just chatting like normal, both drinking beers and eating really nice food. It’s really comfy.

After we finish, after I’ve spooned out more for myself, I’m flicking through the book, amazed at what G has come up with, and his helpers. “Page 12,” he says.

On it is a lot of writing about the noodles we bought, not the brands, specifically, but any that come in a disposable cup or bowl, or any flavoured broth with noodles. A lot of options and ingredients, things you can add to them to make them into proper meals. “This is what Rita was saying about the students?”

“Yeah, it’s really easy. There’s nothing wrong with those noodles, at least if you don’t go for the ones overloaded with salt. And MSG is not something to worry about, pure racism the hate against that. A few additions from the book with decent noodles is really good. It’s how they’re eaten in the countries they come from, mostly. Apart from, of course, the students there. Who are just as lazy, and stressed and strained, as students are anywhere else.”

“Which do I do?” I ask. “And don’t give me this ‘figure it out, read the book’ crap.”

“Whatever veggies you want, or have, or need to be eaten, quickly fry them at work. Really quickly. They’re mostly fine raw but North American tastes generally want them at least a little cooked. Defrost some of the chicken thighs from the freezer overnight, tonight, and cook them in the oven tomorrow. From Tuesday onwards, when you’re back in the office, you can add the shredded chicken once the veggies are heated up a bit. You’ll be amazed!”

I stand and raise a finger to G. I go to the kitchen and get two tumblers and my bottle of whiskey, then I’m sitting back down. I pour me and G a measure each. “What’s this?” G asks. “You didn’t even ask me. What’s up?”

“Remember when Trevor and Steph brought me back here, the kind of first night, and you stayed?”

“It wasn’t that long ago,” G says.

“Yeah...” It really wasn’t, it was last weekend, but so much has happened. “Well... Steph gave me a bottle of whiskey. She said it was for celebrations and special occasions. This is one. I’d like you to share a glass with me.”

G lifts his glass and clinks it against mine and we both take a sip. “What was the first special occasion?”

“I felt really happy,” I say. “Being me. I was looking through the funny pictures websites I always looked through, every weekend for years, except now I was laughing. Properly laughing. Not just saying to myself ‘that’s funny’ and not actually laughing”

I move to G’s side of the table and sit next to him. I have my phone out and am taking a selfie of the two of us, with G holding his glass up. “Thank you,” I say. He smiles.

It goes quiet for a minute and there’s something on my mind. “The night it first happened, me... Why did you, you know..?” And I make the jerk off motion.

“I thought you needed something to cement it in your mind.”

I’m wondering what he was cementing in my mind. Then I remember I have a boyfriend, now. Who’s sitting in his apartment where we, well... “That’s it? That’s all it was?” I say, and I feel annoyed but don’t know why.

“I mean, yeah, it was a little hot, but I don’t make a habit of doing that,” Big G says.

I nod and think. “And the strip poker? I mean, we were all dudes? Not me, I suppose, but I didn’t know that then. But at the time it was dudes sitting around the table.”

G laughs. “What did we say at the time?” he asks.

“I can’t remember,” I say.

“We knew the girls were coming. We wanted an excuse to be naked in front of them. And they said they’d be entirely happy with that. Anyway, Sam is gay and Alan is bi, and I did notice a few glances from you,” and he laughs again. “Hence the...” And he makes the jerk off motion himself.

“I didn’t even know I was looking,” I whine.

“Now you do. And why! And before you ask no-one but Steve knew about the dress thing. We’d figured out he was probably planning costumes ages ago when he kept asking us height, and chest measurements, and shoe sizes, over bets. ‘Who’s the tallest and by how much?’ ‘Guess your weight.’ No-one knew about the dress aspect, certainly not what it would mean for you. Are you unhappy about all this?”

I furrow my brow in thought. “Just wondering. Especially about Steve.”

G is all laughs now. “I don’t think he has a thing for you. I think he just finds you confusing. You’re suddenly a pretty enough girl he’s known all his life. Maybe if the two of you get really drunk together some time... Would it be bad? Leaving aside the boyfriend thing? Friends hook up, girls and boys hook up. Alan and Sam hooked up that night!” Then he puts the glass down and says, “That was a very enjoyable whiskey, thank you, Toni.”

“You’re welcome, but now I’m confused,” I say.

“It’s really simple. It was just a perfect storm. And Jess was honest with you, she has a thing for women, and a thing for trans women. If she knew you were going to turn into a proper bestie I don’t know if she’d do it. She did though, don’t worry,” G says, and he hugs me into him. “Who cares?”

“I care why I’m me!” I say, getting annoyed.

“Who else would you be?” he says.

“You asked me that this morning and I cried my eyes out!”

“Do you want to cry now?” he asks, and he’s laughing again.

“I can’t even blame hormones!” I say.

“Do you want them?” G asks, sounding sincere again.

“Yes, 100%.” I nod, emphatically, or what I feel is emphatic nodding.

“You are so cute,” G says.

“I am not!”

“And adorable. And I don’t think you realise but you have quite a feminine voice, without even trying.” He grabs me around the shoulder again and gives me a rattle.

“What? I do not! My voice isn’t the deepest but it’s deep enough.”

G smiles. It’s his stupid, all knowing smile. “It’s not about how deep it is. Yeah, it’s not always at a female level but most women’s voices, at least here, go up and down a lot. Changes in pitch when they get excited and sad, even within the same sentence. You seem to do that naturally, without trying. You were doing it by the second night I saw you as Toni. You were free to be yourself. Some trans women have the high register but not the uppy-downy bit.” I think of Natasha and realise that’s what was going through my mind about her, I just didn’t recognise it. She does have a female register but she’s really monotone.

Then I realise G has pointed all these ideas out to me. I might stop. “Why did you make me conscious of that!? Just let me be, G!” I say.

“But you’re still doing it. It’s who you are!”

“Stop telling me how much of a girl I am!”

“Then stop pouting when you say things like that,” he says, and he scoffs, filled with scorn.

“Oh go home!” I say.

“No! Unless you’re happy here, on your own?”

“I didn’t think of it but I should probably so some chores, and laundry, you know? And I probably stink, I haven’t showered since early yesterday morning,” I say, and I sniff at my pits.

“OK,” he says. So we say our goodbyes with me thanking him for all his help today, and I give him a kiss on the cheek. Then I’m getting down to chores. It only takes a couple of hours of effort until I’m finally sitting back into the couch.

I decide to message Tim, and I know exactly what to text him. I send the picture I’ve taken of me and G with the text of, “This is the man you should be jealous of.”

A minute later I get back, “If he’s a friend of my girlfriend I know I can trust him. She has superb taste.” And now he’s being annoying, just like G.

I message him the picture Sally took of me in his hockey jersey, being cute, or possibly hot. “This is why you should be jealous!”

A few minutes go by and I hear nothing from him. I’m checking my phone every few seconds and eventually a message does come through. It’s of Tim, and his chest, and a lump in his underwear. I think of that lump and what I want to do to it. It’s really damn hot. And I don’t know how but we’re sexting. I’m doing things to myself Tim was doing to me yesterday and I know he’s doing things to himself. I have the pictures of him doing them, and some video. I feel giddy.

Then we’re saying we’ll message again tomorrow.

I sit back, very happy, but feel something is missing, or was missing. From what me and Tim did. I message Alan asking if I can call and within a few minutes he’s calling me.

“I have a boyfriend!” I say.

“Oh my god! Was it fun? Did you enjoy yourself?” he asks.

“How do you know I’m calling about that?” I ask.

“Oh please! You have a boyfriend and now you’re calling your bi male friend with excitement and nerves in your voice.”

“It was just fingers, but yeah, it was good. I understand why you do it,” I say.

“I’ve never done it!” Alan says. “Done it to other people, yes. Talked to people about it, of course. To myself? Or with anyone else? Nope, nope, nope!”

“You should try it, it’s enjoyable,” I say, trying to sound flirty.

“Nope. But are you calling about what I think you’re calling about?” Alan asks.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“You’ve just had your tiny girl-brain blown and are interested in ‘Self-Care’ now you’re all alone.”

“How do you do this? Am I really this transparent?”

“I’ve known you for years, Toni. I’ve been myself for years. And I know you’re only using me as a font of knowledge. I’ll message you a website. They’re local. And do local same-day delivery. If you order now you’ll have what you want tomorrow morning. Enjoy yourself! Read the guides! Now hang up and call me back later!”

“Thank you, Alan,” I say.

“I want a Christmas present this year,” Alan says.

“I know what I’m getting you, too,” I say.

“I’ll murder you!” Alan says. And we hang up.

Then I’m on my laptop, looking at the website Alan messaged me, for hours, before eventually hitting the button for the fastest delivery. After that it’s a night of messaging friends, and my sister, and a long call with Alan, and more messaging with the football group, before I eventually climb into bed. It’s a work day tomorrow, but at least I get to be me at home.

Toni’s weekend is over—she somehow found herself a boyfriend, Tim—but now it’s back to work. She has to finish her report on the business’s healthcare plan, hopefully getting back a proofread draft from Mallory without too many issues spotted, then submitting it first thing Tuesday. She knows a lot rides on this, perhaps even her job. Will it work out for Toni? Will it be received as well as she feels it’s good? Or will her boss, Greg, get up to his usual rubbish of throwing chaos at her? She has a plan for Greg, though.

---

Please note the first of what will hopefully be many short stories, and possibly novellas, in the Toni With An i/Light Avenue world was released last week; Not Strong Enough to Run. Featuring Steph and Trevor, and a new character, nurse Paul, it’s set roughly ten years before Toni With An i and fills in some (many?) background details. Or at least gives clues as to what’s going on in the yes/no/maybe? LGBTQ+ bar that is Light Avenue.

---

I don’t know how many times I’ve groaned this morning. I’m exhausted. Absolutely shattered but I can’t sleep, for some reason. I did sleep, and slept well, but now I’m just awake.

Nothing bad is going through my mind, nothing is bothering me. It’s just one of those things. I am simply awake. I don’t think I’ll even get dressed but I spent the stupidly early hours, at least before official work starting time, going through the exercise clothes Steve bought me. At some point I’m going to have to get a floor length mirror, less of a concern when you’re wearing boring man clothes but I am completely certain I want to be looking my cutest now.

Sitting in front of my laptop I check my emails, nothing important has come in. And there’s been no calls from Greg. I switch on the TV with my personal laptop hooked up to it and play some of the football games from the weekend in the background, just listening to the commentary, occasionally glancing at it, and hearing the roaring of the crowd, along with the odd apology that inappropriate language may have been picked up by the stadium microphones.

Eventually, bang on 11am, Mallory’s edits from my report on our healthcare plan come through. Explaining in her email she seems pretty happy with it, she has a few suggestions, some grammar and clarity edits, along with a few typos the spellcheck wouldn’t be able to pick. Her immediate suggestions are good, and I appreciate them. Then I’m going through the entire document mostly approving her changes.

I think the document is done. It’s ready. I’ll give it a few hours without looking at it and have one last check. I’ve done the best I can. I’m certain of that. I just hope it’s enough. I know this is a test. I know it’s possible my job rests on it. I know someone at the office knows about the real me, and they’re seeing if I’m worth the hassle with continuing to work there.

With nothing else to do I’m pulling the boned chicken thighs out of the oven, enough for the week, like G suggested. I let them cool, then tear some up for the noodles, quickly frying up veggies. The noodles are good with all the additions, much better and much more of a meal than what I’d have before. G has a career as a chef, or at least as a cook, if he wants it.

Then, having eaten, I’m ready to get the drop on Greg, for once. And I know I will. I’m certain of it. I punch his number into my phone and hold it to my ear, feeling both giddy and nervous.

“Tony?” he says, picking up.

“You were going to call me sometime in the next hour or so, and ask me to email you the whole report. To ensure I wasn’t pulling an all-nighter. I can email it to you now.”

He laughs. “I was going to ask you that, but it wasn’t to ensure you didn’t pull an all-nighter. It was to ensure you weren’t worried about it all night, handing it in tomorrow. I already asked Mallory what the draft she saw was like. She said it was good. I believe her.”

“Did you read it?” I ask, getting annoyed that he still, somehow, has one up on me.

“No. I’ll read it when you email it to me. After I send it onto Mr. Mayer. If we agree it’ll get broad distribution tomorrow. There’ll be no further edits from us. This is your work. You stand or fall based on it. Are you happy with that?”

I think about it, a little confused, or maybe doubtful. “Yeah, that’s fine. What do I do now?” I ask.

“It’s 3pm, take the afternoon off. Everyone slacks when they’re working from home. Enjoy the last of it. Do you have anything you want to do? No-one’s going to call you.”

“I’m going to paint my nails, Greg!” I say, trying to annoy him again, realising I will have to take the polish off before work tomorrow.

“What colour?” Greg asks.

“A kind of neutral, pale pink. Like the nail-bed colour.”

“Sounds professional enough to me, as long as they’re not talons. I’ll see you 9am tomorrow. You and the gals can chat about your nails on your break,” he says, laughing, which is fucking annoying. I think I won’t take the polish off. Fuck him!

“Yeah, us gals chatting and talking about boys!”

“That’s the spirit, Tony! 9am tomorrow, my office.”

Which is what I do. The rest of the Monday I spent just chilling out, and eating the last of the cold leftover rice I made with G. Just before 9am, the next day, I’m walking into the office, well rested, wearing my man chinos and a shirt with a warm coat over it. I swipe past security and take the elevator to my floor, heading straight for Greg’s office, my hands balled into fists trying to hide my nail polish.

I knock, and Greg yells for me to come in. As I get to before his desk he stands and extends a hand, as though to shake it. I do shake it, obviously seeing my painted nails and him seeing them too. He smirks. “Congratulations, Tony. You have finally reached the level of work we knew you were capable of. Well done. Now you have to begin to get better than that.”

“My job isn’t at risk?” I ask.

“It never was,” Greg says, looking confused. “We were seeing what changes we might need to make. We do have confidence in you. Maybe our approach wasn’t working. We do make mistakes in hiring people, often, in fact. We didn’t feel we made one with you. We just had to figure out what worked best for you. Now, Mr. Mayer wants to see you. Off you trot!”

“My nails...” I say.

“What do you know of Ben?” Greg says.

“What do I tell other people? Someone will ask.”

“Tell them what you want. Or the truth? That you did it to annoy me. Which you failed at. They’re professional. That’s all that matters. Now go see Ben, then back to me. Take out your laptop and leave it here, along with your bag.”

Then I’m being sent into Mr. Mayer’s office by his secretary after she greets me. Apparently I’m his first meeting of the day. “Tony, good morning! Coffee?” he asks.

“Not necessary,” I say, laughing, and thinking I don’t want to put him through the misery of pretending to drink another coffee with someone, the main role of his job, it seems. And he seems to appreciate it as he smiles, quite genuinely, when I say it.

“Sit down... How was working from home?”

I think for a moment. “It was good. I appreciated the freedom, especially. And that Greg seemed happy to give it to me. It allowed me to sort some things out.”

“That’s good,” Mr. Mayer says. “Did you get to be more yourself?”

I nod, knowing what he means. Knowing he knows I’m trans. “Yes, I did. I think it helped.”

“Your work is very good. It’ll be appreciated by a lot of people, and annoy a few people with what it points out.”

“Therese?” I ask.

“No. She’s delighted with it. I sent it to her last night. It’s going out to the rest of HR in this office this morning. They’ll have a meeting about it later in the week. It will bring about changes, probably even nationally. Some of them quite major.” He begins to fumble in a desk drawer. “Which is why you’re getting this.” He hands me an unsealed envelope with my name on it. “Open it!”

I look inside the envelope and there’s a check for $2,500. “What? Why..?”

“Greg argued that because we pay you, ‘poverty wages,’ in his terms, you should get this straight away, not in your end of year bonus or in your next paycheck.”

“This is a bonus?” I ask, amazed.

“Specifically for you catching there are areas where it’s possible to have our health insurance plan but not be entitled to any specific coverage from necessary professionals. Legal are having a field day with it. It could save the business millions in a settlement, non-public, of course. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone, or a few people, lose their job. It’s serious, although less serious than if someone actually needed care and didn’t get it, but we’re checking to make sure that didn’t happen.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “This is a lot of money,” I say. “I just did my job.”

“Do you not want it?” he asks, then laughs as he sees the look on my face. “I’m getting an extremely expensive vacation out of this. I don’t know what Greg is getting but it’ll be more than you. But we’re your bosses, so we’re getting a bigger slice of the pie. Welcome to corporate life.”

“And I get a bonus?” I ask. “Another one?”

“Probably,” Mr. Mayer says. “It’ll be noted this is good work, that’s for finding the gap, work like the report will be calculated at end of year. Keep it up and the bonus could be substantial. Anyway, you felt working from home benefited you... Would you be interested in doing it more often?”

“Yes! Of course!” I say, and this is more exciting than the money for some reason.

“OK, I’ll phone some people. We’ll see. You’re going back to Greg?” I nod. “Fine, off you go. This really is good work, Tony. I’m glad the freedom you gained allowed you to do it. And that Greg insisted we give you this chance, now.”

Walking into Greg’s office, I don’t know why, I blurt out. “Do you know I’m trans, Greg?”

Greg laughs. “I didn’t until now. I did see you in a store with a friend, boyfriend? There’s lots of reasons you could have been dressed like that. You seemed happy, it was your day off. What does it matter to me? Are you happy?”

I suddenly feel very serious. “Yes. Since that weekend. And no, he’s not my boyfriend. I guess he was just buying me a coming out gift.”

Greg actually looks surprised now. “This is this recent?” he asks.

“Yes. Kind of sudden, really...”

Greg nods and seems to think for a few moments. “Whatever you choose to do, I cannot guarantee the full support of everyone in the office. I cannot control people like that. I can guarantee my full support, and Ben’s full support. I don’t feel I’m overstepping to say you will get the full support of this office as an entity. The people, on the other hand... But we’ll deal with that if it arises. And I hope it doesn’t. I don’t particularly like having to get angry with people, it spoils my image of being fun and friendly,” he says. And I’m laughing; he knows full well that’s not his image and it’s certainly not the one he cultivates. “It seems like everything happened in a whirlwind then, just enough things falling into line. Do you want to work from home again?”

“Yes,” I say.

“OK, you’re approved for two days work from home. They cannot be both a Monday and Friday, nor can they be two days next to each other leading up to or after a weekend, unless maybe there’s a public holiday. That’s not the precise meaning but you get what I’m saying, no long party weekends unless they’re approved. Two days mid-week are fine, assuming you have no pressing need to be in the office. You don’t need approval for them but checking with me would be appreciated, especially at the beginning of the process. From 10am to 3pm you need to be available, outside of that time is flexible. A break for a coffee, or lunch break, or to use the lady’s room is fine, of course. Just get back to people as soon as you can. Is all this OK with you?”

“That’s great. I mean, thank you! This really means a lot.”

“This is what happens when you do good work. Now up to HR. Therese will arrange some things with you. And back to me again, after. At least you’ll be getting your steps in.”

And it is more steps, as I’m now trudging to the HR department, where Therese is seemingly ready. She grabs some paper and a pen and brings me to one of the small, private rooms, where we both sit.

“This moved faster than I expected,” Therese says.

“How do you mean?” I ask, crossing my legs beneath the table.

“I know Mr. Mayer, Ben, approved it and said to expect it. The ultimate decision is up to Greg, whatever you said or did he made the decision very quickly. Much faster than usual.”

I cough and again find myself saying some words without thinking. “I told him I’m trans,” I say.

“Good for you!” Therese says. She looks delighted. “However you want to transition, in whatever way you want, we’ll work with you with it. From the healthcare plan or in the job. Whenever you want. If you want.”

“Did you know?” I ask.

She looks thoughtful for a second. “I figured something was going on when Ben took you to our informal LGBTQ+ group, and said to put you on the mailing list. I guessed at it when I read your report, with some of the stuff you spotted on trans plans. The need for electrolysis was a good spot, I hadn’t thought about laser not always being effective. The report is excellent, by the way. Really helpful. Is there anything you need straight away about your gender identity?”

“A drink,” I say, and Therese laughs.

“It’s a good thing I have a sense of humour. Some HR people would be fretting over a comment like that. This is a good office, though, and we have a decent system for work from home. Do you live with other people? Do you have a spare room you can use? Or just some extra space?”

“Hmm.... Give me a second...” I say, taking out my phone and opening my gallery app. “I live alone, but there’s no spare room, it’s just a living room with a small dining table, a couch.” I keep flicking quickly through photos until I find what I want. “This is the space I have.” I show her the photos I took of the apartment when I first moved in, as proof of the condition of the space.

She takes my phone and indicates to ask if she can flick between the photos. I nod. Eventually she says. “This will work, if we can use the entire wall. I assume that’s a normal sized door there.”

“It is, and you can use as much space as you want if I get to work from home.”

Therese nods. “OK. We’ll set you up with a home office setup; chair, desk, laptop dock, a permanent monitor, some other bits and pieces. Little table with a printer, maybe? Wifi we can manage, you’ll use a VPN on your laptop the IT department is updating but you’re free to use our system for personal reasons if your home wifi goes down, just try not to use your work laptop unless you’re stuck. Other offices check it to make sure people are working, this office it’s usually the opposite; to make sure people aren’t working too much. IT will also sort you out with a work phone, but if you leave we get it back and the number is ours. People won’t use your personal number unless it’s an important matter, such as we’re worried you fell ill or something. Or Greg wants to annoy you, we can’t control him. All this OK?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” I say, a little shocked at how sudden this is. I hadn’t realised so much had ridden on my report. I thought it was about keeping my job and it seems almost as if I’m getting a promotion. “I hadn’t expected this week to be as crazy as my last week.”

“Sorry, Tony,” Therese says. “And if you can think of something you feel you need for working at home say it to me today, there is a budget for specific needs an employee has that not everyone might. If you think of it straight away we can sort it out straight away.”

“A floor length mirror?” I say, taking a chance. Everything else seems to be working out.

Therese sucks air through her teeth and looks skyward, or at least ceiling-ward. Almost straining. “Those windows in your apartment are small, and quite high. I know natural light is very important to health, physical and mental. I can see how with a tall, free-standing mirror you could move you would boost the natural light around your workspace. Do you concur?”

“I do,” I say, with a smile.

“Do you feel better having people know?” she asks.

I know exactly what she’s referring to. “I do, yes. And working from home let me be me. And the whole thing is giving me some purpose, something to latch onto. I’m happier. I thought the report I was working on was about keeping my job, not about giving me opportunities.”

Therese puts her fingers to her lips, and furrows her brow for a few seconds. I can tell she’s battling something in her mind. “There were concerns you weren’t motivated, that you weren’t even challenged, really. People were waiting for you to get angry and stand up for yourself. Greg, with Ben’s help, went a different direction. The challenge, yes, and an opportunity, but he’d begun to feel concerned that you didn’t have the freedom to express yourself. To gain that confidence. He got it right. He usually does, eventually.”

I gasp at what I’m hearing. I can’t help it. If Greg had tried what he tried even two weeks ago things could be very different. Then I really think about it, this couldn’t have happened two weeks ago. Greg tried what he did because he saw Big-G buying me a purse. I pick up my phone while saying, “I can’t believe how lucky I am. How things are coming together for me. It feels like I was lost for so long and now things are really working.”

“That’s a common story for LGBTQ people. Come back to the group when it’s held again. I can arrange one for next week if you want. I’ll come up with a reason. People will come for the pastries and gossip, no matter what.”

“Let me think about it...” I show Therese a picture of the purse Big-G bought for me, with the stitching of the frog by a brook in an enchanted forest. “Greg saw a friend buy me this. A coming out present,” I say.

“That suits you,” Therese says. “But if Greg is stalking you I can get him fired. It’d be hilarious.”

I laugh. “Not stalking me, but I do need to see him, again.”

So I’m knocking on Greg’s door, letting myself in when he barks. “Fancy over-engineered German high-tech whizbang wizard chair?” he says.

“That costs far too much,” I say. “I might sell it on the office furniture black market to make up for my poverty wages.”

“Now you’re learning the business! But not today, you’re going to lunch. Take Mallory. Nice move on thanking her explicitly in the report. And early. She’s already written me a bitchy email saying other people should be so respectful.”

I laugh. “Well, they should. No-one ever thanked me when I did edits. Anyway, what’s this with lunch?”

Greg gives a passable impression of a Gallic shrug. “Partly reward, also if you keep doing good work you’ll eventually graduate to wining and dining clients. They sometimes like to see the peons we have working on their accounts. Order what you want, even the extremely expensive steaks. You don’t strike me as a steak woman—don’t worry, that’s out of understanding for you, it does not go further than me and you, and the people I get drunk with, which believe me is no-one in this office—just please no alcohol on the bill. Once the booze starts in that restaurant they’re very good at keeping you topped up. It’s a close walk to there and our car service will take both you and Mallory home. I’ll email you their number, and the name of the restaurant. Give yours and Mallory’s name. They know how this works. You get to tell Mallory.”

I have absolutely no idea what’s happening with all this, other than it is a test, as everything seems to be. “Thank you, I guess. That does bring something up. We have a kitchen, a staff kitchen, don’t we?”

“We do,” Greg says.

“Can I use it to cook?” I ask.

“Cook what?” Gregg asks, looking suspicious.

I try to give him a confident stare that tells him I have no plans to cook human brains or anything like that. “Just fry some veggies, to add to noodles. I have some pre-cooked chicken thighs in my bag I should really put in the fridge there.”

“Yeah, that’s no problem. It actually sounds intelligent given what we pay you. Just no microwaving fish, please.”

“What do I work on until lunch?” I ask.

“Minesweeper, solitaire, your choice,” Greg says, waving his hands.

“My laptop doesn’t have them. I’ve checked,” I say. “They were removed by IT. And I can’t get them through the store on the laptop.”

Greg laughs. “Your laptop has the full work from home upgrades now. There are other upgrades available if you achieve them. For instance I can play chess and backgammon, and the like, online. Browser games, old flash games, that kind of thing.”

“What if I make it to the C-suite?” I ask.

“You’ve heard of corporate raiders?” Greg asks.

“Yes?”

“C-suite are World of Warcraft raiders. Still playing it decades later. That’s all they do. They have one of the highest ranked raiding guilds on their server, someone’s child or grandchild, or niece, or something introduced them,” he says, nodding assuredly. “At least it’s not flight sims...”

“I’m not too sure you’re entirely lying,” I say.

“Wait until you see the corporate room on the top floor,” he says, laughing. “Are you happy to be seen with your nails? It’s really no issue, not with me, but if you’re worried I have some nail polish remover in my cupboard of wonders.”

“Cupboard of wonders?” I ask.

“You know how in elementary school there was a teacher who had a cupboard filled with items for literally any problem or emergency?”

“You see us as elementary school kids?” I say, still not insulted by Greg’s madness.

“There’s some of you I doubt are fully potty trained. Now, if you’re happy with your nails visit the kitchen, explain things to Mallory, then get down to some gaming before lunch. Gaming is extremely important!”

Which is exactly what I do. Explaining the lunch thing to Mallory she looks surprised before saying, “It’s about time we got some recognition!”

And soon I’m sitting at my laptop playing solitaire. I do check in on my emails as they come in, or as soon as I think to look. There’s nothing major, apart from a scan of the cheque I received from Mr. Mayer’s secretary. She says it should be good enough to use if my online banking has the facility to accept it that way, which it does.

After another few rounds of solitaire, and some moments I feel I could scream at stupid Minesweeper, I check my email again. There’s an email from Greg to my entire department, the elementary school, as he seems to think of it, which I guess is what it is. We’re all new-ish hires who’ve yet to be moved somewhere permanent. It’s my report, with Greg telling everyone to read it when they get a chance, as it’s the standard of work he expects from people. And a threat that if such a standard is not met, soon, “there will be consequences!!!” Actually with three exclamation marks, which makes me laugh. He’s so full of bluster!

After thirty minutes I notice there’s more people passing my desk. I eventually ask one of the women who seems to be loitering what’s going on.

“People wanted to get a look at Wonderboy. Great job at mentioning Mallory, by the way! That’s something the higher ups never do. Glad to see you’re one of us,” she says, as she smiles. “And what’s the story with your nails? They’re really pretty. Some of the women are being thundercunts about it. Fuck them!”

“Yep, they are pretty. I like them. When Greg asked me what I had planned after I emailed him that report, yesterday, saying I could take the afternoon off, it annoyed me. So I said I was painting my nails. Now...” I hold my fingers up and waggle them.

“Keep getting them done. Maybe it’ll get Greg even more pissy. He’s such an asshole.”

I laugh and go back to playing Minesweeper, determined to finally beat the fucker. I soon start hearing laughter and mention of nails and it pissing off Greg. Before long it’s time for my lunch, and I’m walking into a comfortable, classy restaurant like you’d see in a New York mob film, maybe a little more glass frontage, and a little more spacious. They have no problem with our booking and see us to a table, sitting Mallory against the wall and me on opposite the chair.

There’s bread on the table, quickly, along with some water in a jug, and some oils and vinegars, and butter.

“Right,” Mallory says. “What’s your name?”

“Tony,” I say. She knows my name. She’s emailed me.

“Bullshit! Your real name! Those nails weren’t done yesterday, and certainly not to piss Greg off, and your eyebrows are shaped. You’re trans. What’s your name? Spill it.”

“Toni,” I say, somehow shocked at the reveal. Then realise she’s ready for another round if I don’t explain the difference in what I’m saying. “Toni with an i.”

“Toni, fine. I bet you’re cute.”

“I am pretty cute,” I say, smiling.

“There’s gonna be another bitch hotter than me in the office, soon, then,” she says, annoyed.

“I don’t know about—”

Mallory makes a low growling noise. “OK, fine. Not a bitch. You are hotter than me though. I can already see that. I shouldn’t be mean, you’re the only person who’s ever thanked me in a final report. And fuck me, what a report!”

“Really?” I ask. Why has it caused such a buzz?

“The bits on women’s healthcare? Real insight! They’re things that needed to be said,” she says. “And now they’re written, in a document, that people will see!”

I smile thinking of Jess and Sally, then I remember where their conversations went to in the chat. “Yeah, my friends helped me with that, just in a group chat. They were disgusting when they got going!”

Mallory laughed. “You have real friends then,” she says, as some menus are placed in front of us.

“Do you need some drinks now?” the woman asks.

“Fizzy water, a bottle of it? Please?” I say. “Mallory?”

“That’s good by me,” Mallory says.

The woman nods and is walking away as we begin to look at the menu. The steak menu is longer than the rest of it, which has enough but isn’t over-laden with options.

“Are we doing starters?” Mallory asks.

“If you want. Do you know what you’re getting already?”

Mallory has a huge smile on her face. “I’ve heard my Dad talk about this place with reverence. He says they do an aged steak. I don’t know about starters. This restaurant is actually why my Dad told me to apply to the office here, this place is close-by.”

The woman is back with a large bottle of sparkling water, chilling in a bucket. “Are you ready to order?” she asks.

“We’re unsure on starters,” I say.

“I’m happy to make some recommendations if you have a main course picked, however it’s up to you.”

Mallory nods at me and I nod back. “I’m having the aged steak. The one you’re famous for,” she says.

The woman smiles. “Do I need to ask how you want it cooked?”

“You do not. The chef will decide best. The same for sides.”

The woman smiles, even wider, then looks at me. “The seafood pasta,” I say, pointing at it on the menu. “The one with the spinach.”

The woman looks to be in thought for a few seconds. “With the seafood pasta I’d suggest the ox-tongue starter. There’s no other choice for you,” she says, turning to Mallory. “You have to have the oysters. It’s the classic experience.”

“Perfect!” Mallory says.

“It sounds great,” I say. “Thank you so much for the help.”

“Do you need to be back to work soon? Or have plans?” the woman asks.

“No, we can take as long as we need. There’s no rush on anything.”

“So you’re happy for me to time this? The pace of your dining.”

“Of course,” Mallory says.

The woman takes the menus after loosening the metal cap on the bottle of sparkling water. I notice she’s left the drinks menu, which is much thicker than the food menu.

“Greg said they have a way of making you run up the drinks tab here,” I say.

“Maybe next time,” Mallory says, actually looking annoyed. I don’t particularly need a drink, though, despite what I said to Therese earlier on. This feels normal. Like when I’m the real me. It’s easy.

We munch on a bit more bread for a few minutes, telling each other which oil to try. Then Mallory looks at me, all serious-like. “Do you have a picture of you?” she asks, and the seriousness falls from her face.

I should have expected this from the start, but I do reach for my purse before remembering I don’t have a purse today. I reach into my pocket instead, and take out my phone, finding the picture of me and Tim. “I’ll show you this, but then we talk about you. I’m sick of talking about me. Everywhere I go things are about me,” I say, handing my phone to Mallory.

“He is so hot!” Mallory virtually moans.

“What about me?” I ask, annoyed.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, you’re cute. Cute enough. But him? Damn! Who he is?”

“My boyfriend,” I say, feeling giddy.

“Oh, fuck you! You are a bitch. I retract everything nice I said to you.”

“Fine! Now we talk about you,” I say, holding my hand out for my phone. Instead of handing it to me she’s flicking through more of the gallery. I grab it out of her hand and quickly shut it off.

I wasn’t fast enough. Her eyes are wide. “You naughty girl!” she says. “I saw that! So what’s he like?”

“Fun!” I say, sternly. “Now you, what do you do for fun?”

“Well my next bit of fun will involve thinking about your boyfriend! But when I’m not doing that I mostly listen to baseball.”

‘Listen to baseball?’ I think. “How do you mean?”

“Baseball is better on the radio than on TV. Best in the stadium, of course, but radio is pure. I listen to recordings, new games, old games, classic games. Everything. And I do stats stuff. My Dad got me into it.”

“I like football,” I say.

“They’re meatheads.”

“Soccer-football, I mean.”

“Divers,” she says. “And cheaters.”

“From what I know of baseball you shouldn’t really be calling any other sport cheaters,” I say, laughing.

“A more honest form of cheating in baseball,” Mallory says, then we’re both laughing, as the starters are laid down.

We start into it, and the food is simply amazing. I have one of Mallory’s oysters, and she has a slice of my ox tongue. Apart from that we don’t really say a word about anything, we’re just focused on eating, and making impressed-faces at each other.

After we finish we’re just looking at each other, as the woman is picking up our plates. “How was that?” she asks.

“Amazing!” Mallory says. “Everything I’ve heard about this place is correct.”

The woman nods and smiles.

I take a drink of my water. “I—”

“I wonder if oysters really do make you horny?” Mallory says.

“Why?” I ask, concerned.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone. I really need to get out more. I don’t really like going out at night, though. Which makes things difficult. Only on special occasions.”

I think for a second. “I usually watch a soccer game with a friend, sometimes friends. It’s early Saturday morning, like 7.30am early—”

“Ew...”

“But there’s another game around 10am, and another at 12.30. If you want you’re more than welcome to come.”

Mallory makes a Hrrrmm noise. “Convince me...” she says.

“There’ll be a lot of men there,” I say, but she looks doubtful. “The food is really good.”

“OK, give me your number, remind me later in the week.”

So we exchange numbers, like friends. My first real work friend. And she actually knows about Toni. Then we talk about sports, mainly. What drew us into them. Some of the work she seems to have done on baseball, with the stats, sounds incredibly intricate, but she says she’s really rehashing old ground, mostly.

Then we’re talking about family. She rents an apartment with her sister, who sounds really annoying. I actually bring up my parents, and how I don’t know how to tell them about me. Mallory says it didn’t even occur to her that she’d see me dressed as a woman on the Saturday, that she already sees a woman in front of her.

I’m surprised when the woman who served us earlier is standing next to us, with another server behind her holding more dishes. She places Mallory’s food down, saying, “The steak, with sides of green beans and mashed potatoes.” Then she places my seafood pasta down and asks if I’d like some freshly ground black pepper, or lemon, but I say I’ll manage it myself.

Somehow the food is even better than the starters. Mallory’s steak tastes like nothing I’ve ever eaten in my life. The spinach doesn’t even taste like actual spinach, it’s like a seasoning to the fish and the creaminess of the pasta.

We’re again just looking at each other when we finish. I take a piece of the bread, which has been refilled at some point, and mop up as much of the pasta sauce as I can with it, offering to Mallory before doing one for me.

“Ladies,” a man, in a suit, and holding a drink says, as he sits down on the wall side of the table next to us, next to Mallory. Another man sits down on the seat opposite, on the side next to me. They don’t seem to be being seated by anyone.

“Ladies?” Mallory asks, sounding incredulous.

“I’m sorry for my co-worker,” the guy says, next to me. “I know it’s ‘women’ these days, it just doesn’t roll off the tongue as well. Neither of us are fans.”

Mallory laughs. “You look at us and think ‘ladies?’”

“Fine, yeah, a woman and a dyke,” the first guy, the more drunk guy says. “Secretaries getting a treat? No alcohol allowed, of course.”

Mallory nods. “I’ve been told to have a conversation with Toni, here. Get her wearing something more appropriate to her gender.”

I snort. “I don’t see you wearing a skirt, Mallory,” I say. “Anyway, you know what the men are like. They get handsy if you dress as hot as we can be, you’ve seen me in a dress.”

“You wear a skirt and I’ll wear a skirt. Maybe one of the bosses will take a shine. Leave their wives for a younger model. We’d never have to work a day again if we get them bothered enough they forget the pre-nup.”

The female server is back again. “I don’t think I need to ask how the meal went,” she says, taking some of the plates. Another server is placing two champagne glasses down in front of us. “On the house. I know your account says it won’t cover alcohol but we wanted to apologise for the troubles we really should have seen. It won’t be on your bill,” the woman continues, as the other server steps back.

“Standards have really slipped here,” less drunk guy says.

“Sometimes things slip through without our noticing, but we try to do our best in such circumstances. We do apologise,” the woman says.

“Champagne, I hope?” drunk guy says.

“Sparkling house white. Our own label,” the woman says. “I thought our guests would prefer it.”

Less drunk guy beckons the woman speaking to us, while holding a drinks a menu. She hands off the plates she’s carrying to another server who’s appeared and she is soon behind less drunk guy, very professionally holding her hands clasped behind her back, leaning in to look at something he’s pointing out. “A great choice, Sir,” She says. “How many glasses?”

“Two. And a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue for us, two fresh glasses.”

The woman nods and stands upright. Then looks towards me and Mallory. “If you’d like to freshen up while the table is cleared let me show you the way,” she says.

We both know this is more of an instruction than an inquiry, so we stand, watching yet another server fuss with our table.

She begins to walk with me and Mallory to her side. “I’m Irene. If those two bother you just give me the nod. Or anyone. We’ll recognise it. We’ll have someone watching your table at all times, so don’t worry. Mainly it’ll be me.”

“Why—”

“You two seem capable. And I like you, Toni, and you, Mallory. You really enjoyed that steak. The bread on the pasta sauce, Toni? The kitchen will be delighted. The lady’s is there. Take your time. Like I said, someone is constantly watching your table. I don’t think those two are dangers. Just fools.”

“I can—” I begin to say, but I’m cut off.

“Use the women’s bathroom as it’s where you’re more comfortable, with your friend,” Irene says, rubbing my shoulder.

Then we walk into the bathroom, where Mallory just stares at me. “What’s going on?” she asks. “I was just playing with them, but it seems everyone is.”

I give a tired laugh. “Everyone’s playing with us. Everyone! Greg picked this place for a reason. I bet you they’re reporting back to him. It seems everyone is trading on secrets and information. Do you know he told me everything anyone does for him, in his department, is partly a test?”

Mallory shakes her head as she says, “What do we do?”

I shrug. “Take part? Play the game? Try to pass the test? I’m not too sure you can really fail. I think they just gather more information, until your case is terminal.”

Mallory pinches at her lips. “We continue to fuck with those guys?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” I say. At which point Mallory salutes me. Then we use the bathroom for actual bathroom reasons, and we’re walking back to our table.

A man is placing down another ice-bucket, this time with its own stand, in between the table the drunk guys are sitting at and our table. Irene is also placing down their whisky, and two glasses for them, with another bucket of ice except no champagne bottle in it, just some tongs.

As we sit I see two cards in front of me, business cards. There’s the same in front of Mallory.

“Given our roles we don’t have business cards,” I say to the fools.

“Dress a bit sexier and we can get you jobs, the pay will be much better than wherever you are,” less drunk guy says.

“We can do the interviews now, if you want,” drunk guy says, then he starts making slurping noises.

Mallory makes a disgusted-looking face at me and says, “I think we’d need something a little stronger to even imagine doing that.”

Drunk guy picks up their bottle of Johnnie Walker and pours some, a very small amount, into our empty water glasses. “Do you drink whisky?”

“I’ve had a little,” I say. “Nothing like this.”

Somehow Irene is standing next to the drunk fools. “You wanted something?” she says.

“Is Simon working?” less drunk guy asks.

“He is,” Irene says. “Do you have a request?”

“Could he imagine up an introduction to whiskies for our soon to be secretaries?”

Irene nods. “Any instructions for him?”

“He knows best, he’s the expert. He showed me an entire world I hadn’t seen before. He’s never wrong. Just keep them coming for the ladies as long as we’re here. We can’t have them responsible for the bill.”

Drunk guy makes slurping sounds again.

“How do you take your whiskies, ladies?” Irene asks. “Coke, ginger, ice, no ice, drop of water? Any way you want Simon will work with.”

“Coke Zero is tempting, but just straight is fine for me,” I say.

“What Toni says,” Mallory says, as I’m taking a drink of the restaurant’s sparkling white wine, not realising it’s gone.

Yet another fucking server is standing to my side, taking the champagne out of the ice-bucket and pouring me a glass. “How was the white?” he asks.

“Amazing!” I say. “Like everything here.”

He laughs as he pours Mallory a glass.

Drunk guy has somehow finished his whisky, already, and is pouring himself another measure, and topping up his friend’s glass. Less drunk guy is dropping ice-cubes haphazardly into the whiskies. A lot of ice. “Your minds will be blown by that champagne, then,” drunker guy says.

I take a drink of the champagne. My mind isn’t blown. I put the glass down. It’s nice, really nice. That’s all it is though. The house wine had something special.

Irene is quickly back with some fresh water glasses for us, and two tumblers with a small amount of whiskey. “Simon would like your opinions on the whiskey, so he can tailor what’s to come.”

Me and Mallory both take a taste of our whiskeys. It’s nice but not the best I’ve had. Not like the one Trevor gave me, not even like the one Jackson gave me. But there’s still something to it. “I’m not very good at describing tastes,” I say. “It’s interesting. It’s not complex, there’s a kind of evenness to it. I’ve had some really complicated whiskies I couldn’t even begin to understand but this is just normal. It stays normal for ages though. Like I can taste it being normal, still.”

“That’s a good description,” Mallory says. “There’s no real tastes to it beyond whiskey. Irish whiskey, I’d say. Not cheap but not fancy. Better than everyday stuff.”

Somehow drunk guy is pouring yet more of the Johnnie Walker Blue for himself. “If Simon didn’t start them on a Scotch he really is slipping, just like this place.”

“How about your champagne?” Irene asks.

“I preferred the house stuff,” Mallory says. I give my agreement.

“Simon should have enough from that. Whiskies will be produced while your gentlemen friends are here to cover the bill.”

Which is how the afternoon goes. The fools getting drunker and drunker, and ordering beers as well, while small glasses of whiskey are found for us, once we give our reports for Simon. I’m really eager to meet him. There’s also various small plates of food, and nibbly bits, that both me and Mallory really try getting the fools to eat some of, but they refuse.

At one point Irene stands next to us for another whiskey tasting, not waiting for the report. There’s two small jugs of water as well, with the instruction from Simon to take a few sips of the whiskey, then try it with a tiny drop of water, then a little more. Irene says it’s fascinating that I preferred it without the water, but I don’t feel like it’s a judgment on me.

After it’s been dark outside for hours, while the two bros are fully slurring their words, and nearly falling off their seats, they order another bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. Irene tries to protest but they’re having none of it.

They’re so drunk they actually give us a proper glass, for the first time. I feel like I’m about to slur my words too.

Me and Mallory are taking our first real drinks of the Johnnie Walker when Irene places a bill in front of the fools. “Your account has been settled, gentlemen. I’d suggest you hold onto the bill, and don’t forget your card. Your car is waiting for you.”

“What car?” the originally less drunk fool, but now totally drunk fool asks.

“When you arrived you insisted we reserve a car for you for precisely 8pm, should you still be here, and said you had to be gone unless something came up. I don’t know what that something is, but I don’t believe it’s happened.”

“We said that?”

Irene nods. “And I have to insist, I’m following your own instructions you made while in a much more early-morning frame of mind; while not enraptured by good company. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for you missing out on a reservation elsewhere.”

“We just got the bottle. Is there somewhere we could store it?”

Irene shakes her head. “That’s what I was trying to warn you about, but you made yourself clear. And we don’t have an alcohol license to let you take an opened bottle off the premises. I’m sure the ladies will try to finish as much as they can, they can stay here all night drinking it.”

I’m about to speak up to protest when I feel Irene’s hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, sure, fine. Another fun day, as usual. We’ll be back,” drunk fool one says, looking tired.

“I’m sure you will,” Irene says, as two male servers are helping the fools collect their belongings, including slipping the bill and credit card into the guy who started out more sober’s pocket.

Then they’re gone, and me and Mallory laugh. “Wow!” Mallory says.

“Are you two OK to walk?” Irene asks.

“I hope so,” Mallory says. “We drank a lot.”

“Small glasses, and you paced yourselves. And you tried to get those two idiots to eat while you were eating. Leave your stuff and follow me. Someone will bring it along in minute.”

Mallory grabs her purse and stands, holding herself still for a moment, as I also stand and do the same. “Yeah, fine, I think,” I say, just about fine. “What’s going on?”

“You really don’t know?” Irene says. Me and Mallory look at each other. “It’s what those drunks have been aiming for for years. This both of your first times in here?”

“For me, yes,” I say.

“Yeah, same,” Mallory says.

We’re led down a corridor and through some double doors, then down another corridor. We go through a sturdy door, where Irene stops. The room we’re in is like an old gentleman’s club, not the strip club kind. There’s no cigar smoke, though. There’s leather everywhere, and wood. There’s a bar at the top of the end of the long room. At almost every table, with people around it, or often just one person, there’s bottles of spirits, and sometimes buckets with ice. Some people are drinking beers, some glasses of wine, but again it’s mostly spirits. There’s plates of food too, mostly snacks, and charcuterie plates, meats, cheeses, various pickles. Breads as well. One person has pie and ice-cream.

The whole room looks more formal than the restaurant but actually feels more relaxed. People aren’t as dressed up. There’s people of all ages, at least ages older than us. A few heads have turned as I’m looking, there’s smiles on their faces, but apart from that there’s no reaction.

“You like it?” Irene says.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Yes!” Mallory says.

Irene nods and someone behind a bar rings a bell, just the one ring. All the heads now turn and applause breaks out, polite applause, and smiles.

“Welcome,” Irene says.

“What?” both me and Mallory say.

“What would you like to drink? Anything? Just describe what you want.”

“Some of the wine we had first?” Mallory says.

“Toni?” Irene asks.

“A light beer. Not low calorie, light in alcohol. And if you don’t have that a shandy? Half beer—”

“We have what you want,” Irene says. “Sit over there.” She points at a table with some leather seats around it, up against a wall with a reserved sign on it.

Me and Mallory sit and just look at each other. We’re offering people ‘Thank yous’ as they carry our stuff in from the restaurant, them saying ‘Congratulations’. And ‘It was something!’

Eventually Irene is back down with a tray; two glasses of beer and a glass of the sparkling white wine.

She places one beer in front of me, the wine in front of Mallory and another beer in front of a third chair. She takes her waiter’s apron off and sits herself down, picking up the glass of beer and taking a sip, or more a gulp.

“Oh! That’s so nice!” she says “Long day, but worthwhile.” Then she looks at me and Mallory, and begins to speak. “We’re a club. We’re inviting you to be members. We’re not really like other clubs. You don’t need money to join. You can’t buy your way in. We don’t care who you are. Although we do have some impossibly wealthy and successful members that is not why they’re members. Did you two have fun today?”

Mallory and me both laugh, staring at each other. “Actually, yeah,” Mallory says, smiling.

“We know,” Irene says. “We enjoyed watching you having fun. That’s how you get to be a member. You don’t have any pretensions or ideas about what it took, not that we can see. In your cases you didn’t even know this spot existed, which can be helpful, but also a hindrance. It’s slightly more difficult, for some people, if they don’t know about us. We’ll challenge you more to see how much you enjoyed yourself. The staff were pretty quick on you. That you came from Greg means we were already aware it could be in your future, and he decided to send you here. He’s a member.”

I sigh. “A test. Are you going to report back to him?” I ask.

Irene laughs and takes another long drink of her beer. “You’re on a corporate account, a corporate account setup by members. That’s how we make a lot of our money, typically reporting on staff, new hires, potential hires, junior staff, especially, etc. We won’t report on clients or possible business partners unless we feel something is seriously wrong. I would have reported on you had you not been offered membership tonight. I’ll be doing a report on the two idiots you had fun with tomorrow morning. They’re frequent fliers. If you choose to take up membership I will never report on you. No-one will. It’s simply not done. You’re in. Greg can see the bill, if he asks for it, it’s a business account paying for it, but he has to put a request in to see anything but the final figure. If we can find the bill. You can, of course, just show him your copy.”

“How is our bill?” I ask, worried.

“A little bit higher than normal for Greg’s first timers. Not many go for that steak their first trip here. It’s balanced out by your pasta, though. The starters were within reason, just about, and you didn’t get desserts. You ate a lot of bread, however.”

“The bread was amazing,” Mallory says.

“It’s not in house. I’ll get you the name of the bakery.”

“What about the drunk fools’ bill,” I ask, wondering how deep in it they’re going to be with their bosses.

Irene smiles and wipes at her eye. “Their bosses won’t care. Greg will explain if you show them the business cards they gave you. I can’t report on them to you. It’s not as high as you think. The whiskies you drank were all from members in here, from their personal collections.”

“So who’s this Simon guy?” Mallory asks. “The one picking the drinks?”

“The staff... The members... Mostly the staff. People like to think there’s some genius behind what we do here but it’s mostly just experience in the industry. If we said that people would get annoyed and disagree with what we say. When we tell them it’s Simon choosing things they respect his knowledge.

That’s actually one of the rules of here. You can get any of our own label drinks from the bar in here, wine, beer... Anything else you have to buy a bottle of. You can store opened bottles if they’re the style of drink that can be stored. You can obviously store unopened bottles of wines. However, the point, if someone is being tested for membership, like you with the whiskeys, any staff member can take from a bottle you have opened in your locker that’s more than half full. For you two it’ll be two-thirds full as that’s your stopping point. You’ll be joint members.”

“Joint members?” Mallory asks.

“We know you as a couple. It’s usually husband and wife, or spouses. Sometimes boyfriend and girlfriend, or the variations on that. Very occasionally a parent and adult child, or adult grandchild. We have a few friends. Usually they’re retired friends. Sometimes younger. It just means one of you could clear out the locker without the other realising. It can be a bit of a test. It happens with breakups.”

I’m beginning to feel tired. I’m not thinking when I say, “This is such bullshit. How do you keep all this going?”

Irene begins to cackle. “What did you think of our food? In comparison to other places? And I saw you looking through the drinks menu. What did you think of that?”

I think for a few seconds, deciding to be blunt. “It’s actually not that fancy,” I say. “Not based on how those guys were acting. A lot of things are affordable. I could come here for a treat with my boyfriend. The bill would be expensive but I wouldn't squirm, even with a bottle of wine.”

“Yeah!” Irene says. “And you’re welcome to bring one non-member in here at a time, if we don’t object after we see them eating a meal. Just tell us you want to take them in before you order, so we can watch, and judge if they’re worthy. But that’s what we do, we’re exclusive in the sense we don’t let anyone join. We’re not exclusive because of price or anything like that. Certainly not compared to other places. This city has the highest amount of member’s clubs in the country. We have a lot of members from the hospitality industry. The challenge is in finding drinks, foods, and the like other people don't know how to find as usually people just go on cost. We like affordable quality. Of course we offer the high-end too, but it’s not what we’re about. Any more questions?”

Mallory’s drained most of her glass of white wine. “Why us?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Why? Why us? Why so quickly?”

“You trusted me from the start, trusted my opinion on the starters. You loved the food. It is really good food, not cutting edge, good! The chefs were interested when they heard of you sharing bites from your plates. They were lobbying when they heard about you wiping up the sauce with the bread and sharing it. You were patient, you took your time, you had fun, you enjoyed the whiskies and were happy to talk about them. You weren’t cruel to people, even people treating you badly. You bit your lips, and accepted what you thought was drunken hospitality, with some schadenfreude. You could work in the hospitality industry if you wanted, you’d be great at it. You were marked for membership, at some point, because of all that. Why tonight, so suddenly, is because you tried to get the drunkards to eat when you were snacking away. That was a really normal thing to do that not many people would do. Not after how they treated you.

I do have one question for you, though, Mallory, how did you know about the steak? Who told you?”

“My Dad has been raving about this place my entire life. He stopped coming when my Mom got sick... He said he couldn’t be in here without her. He made me take the job I did because it was near here.”

“OK... I think that’s everything explained. Do you want to be members? You have until we close to decide.”

I squeeze my eyes closed, then open them again. “What’s the downside?” I ask.

Irene stops for a while, really thinking deeply. “I suppose you know the one downside. You’ll know you’re always being judged, to some degree, when you’re in here. Especially the people you’re with. You two will be fine with us as long as you don’t do anything horrific, same as anyone. You’ll be members. And if you don’t join, in the future, when you’re here for the corporate stuff, we’ll be reporting back on you. I just need your surnames if you want to join. There’s no fees or costs, or expectations. It’s not literally a member’s club, or even legally, it is a business, just one that was established with a certain purpose in mind. It’s stuck to it. If you join and never come to even the restaurant again you can show up in fifty years if we’re still open and it’ll be OK. We’ve been open more than fifty years, already.”

Me and Mallory exchange a look, shrug, then tell Irene our surnames. She goes to the bar to sort our ‘membership.’ We sit in silence for a while, then Mallory asks the question I’ve been thinking about too. “Do you think my Dad, and maybe my Mom, were members here? When she... Why he talked about here?”

“Maybe...” I say. “I’m sorry.” I want to explain how I didn’t know any of this, or didn’t intend any of this, but Mallory knows this. It’s just something weird that happened.

Any words, at all, don’t seem appropriate in the moment, with a few minutes passing while we both think about what this means. Something incredibly funny happened, and fun, and now it’s horrific for someone who’s my new friend. At least in her memories.

Eventually Irene is back. “You’re members, but it looks like you’ve figured out what I was checking. Yes, your parents were members, Mallory. I’m sorry. Your Dad still is, of course, he's just not been here since your mother passed,” she says.

“I did say my Dad wanted me to take the job because it was close to here, he must have been hoping I found my way, into the restaurant at least.”

Irene smiles. “We don’t encourage phones in here but people would understand this call. I don’t think you want to make it in public. There’s a private phone through the doorway by the bar, on the way to the smoking lounge. The number has been the same since he was last in here. If he’s kept his phone up to date, and I think he will have, he’ll be happy to get the call. He left a bottle for you, should you ever join. I have someone rooting it out at the moment. We’ll have it for you by the time the call ends. Even if you just want to tell him you love him.”

Mallory stands and slowly makes her way to where Irene described. Me and Irene sit for a few minutes, and more drinks are dropped to us.

Irene explains that for the first night all the house label stuff is free, but that table service only happens in extreme circumstances, and she can’t ever remember a circumstance like this.

We continue to sit, quietly drinking, waiting for Mallory when some bottles are dropped down to us. “For your locker,” Irene says. One has a light layer of dust. It’s obviously the bottle Mallory’s Dad left for her. “The two bottles of wine are just gifts, nothing special. The whiskey is that one you preferred undiluted. It’s a small brand. Irish. Cask strength, which would typically mixed with water. It’s from a staff member’s collection. He hasn’t found anyone who likes it as much as you. Convinced everyone his should be the selection from staff. The sparkling wine is from me, as I served you.”

I talk, deliberately, and feeling quite sober again. “Is it expensive?”

“Not really. And staff here pay cost price, anyway. A perk. We’ll all split the cost with him, a few bucks each. He has quite a few bottles of it. The other amusing thing which I forgot is you actually have access to your corporate locker. It’s quite large. And completely untracked. You and Mallory are members, and we know you’re part of the business from Greg’s instructions. You have the run of it. And you could, theoretically, not tell anyone about your membership until they come in and think to check your names on the list. You can do that, as a member. Here’s your card.”

She hands me a membership card. On it is the name of the restaurant, an ID number, and the words Toni Mallory — Joint Members. “She’s Mallory Toni. Your real names are in the database if anyone needs to check. Don’t worry about your actual ID or whatever you go through in the future. Staff will keep everything update. An i or y here or there won’t make any difference. And if all that fails I’m sure you can just say you’ve met Simon.”

I smile and take another drink. “A multi-faceted man, Simon. Lots of dimensions,” I say, but jokes like that don’t really feel important with what Mallory is going through.

Finally Mallory comes back, and it’s obvious she’s been crying, but she’s also smiling. “How was it?” I ask.

“Amazing. We both cried. It’s the best I’ve felt in ages. Is that the bottle?” Mallory asks Irene. Irene nods. “Could you pour us each a measure?”

“Of course,” Irene says, picking up the bottle.

“No, please. No, Mallory. That’s yours, that’s from your Dad.”

Mallory sniffs again. “He recognised the number. And my voice, immediately. He began to cry and I did too. He explained him and Mom were members, and it was a special treat to come here, when they went out for a night. When she... Well... He said he couldn’t come back here unless it was with someone he loved. But he didn’t want to force it on either of us, me or my sister. I explained what happened today, as best I could, and your report, and you thanking me in it. We cried, again. He knows I’m a joint member. Him and Mom were joint members, didn’t even know the club existed when they got brought in. He says what happened is special. He couldn’t dream of it happening in a better way, and he has dreamt about it, a few times. He wants us to drink it. As much or as little as we want, but just one drink, at least. You know... In memory? And celebration?”

I find myself rubbing at my eyes too, as Mallory sits down, and Irene places the glasses in front of us. “Toasts aren’t allowed in here. Just sharing drinks,” she says.

So we all drink. In memory.

It’s a simple day for Toni, right? She’s back at work, she’s had her surprise lunch with Mallory, that Greg told her to indulge in. She somehow got to join a private members' club, for people who like food and drink, and simply enjoy the pleasure of it, not the status and money. And now she just has to knuckle down, back at her regular job. That’s all she has to do, right? Life is going to be normal—as normal as it can be for Toni—until Friday when she gets to see her friends, and her boyfriend, again. Right? A normal day back at work for Toni? Right!?!

---

I walk into the office building and the headache pills seem to have stopped working. I don’t know why exactly, they should be strong enough. I don’t feel too awful, just the effects of last night, and an intense week and a half, or so, catching up on me. It could also be the lighting. It was overcast outside and there was no glare, but the lights in here? They’re intense.

I make my way up to my floor on the elevator, with my head bowed and eyes closed, looking up each time the doors open. Not my floor.

Then it does get to my floor. I’m looking up. Greg is standing there.

“My office!” he says.

“Greg?” I say.

“Go to my office!”

I shake my head. I have no idea what’s wrong with him. Sure Irene, last night, said she wouldn’t report on either me or Mallory to Greg, we’re now members in that restaurant’s private club, so it’s not done. What else is there? The bill wasn’t huge. I saw a copy. I even have a copy!

I walk into Greg’s office and sit myself down. He has two chairs set out.

After a few minutes Mallory walks in. She looks brighter than I feel. She’s even giggling.

“Oh no! We’re in trouble!” she says, in an exaggerated tone.

I laugh too.

Greg storms in, launching the door closed behind him.

“What did you do?” he asks.

“Are we late?” Mallory asks.

“At the restaurant?” Greg continues.

Mallory looks aggrieved. “What you told us?” she says. “Or what Toni told me you told us. And I know she didn’t lie.”

“I know something happened!”

Mallory has less resting bitch face now and more of an active bitch face. “Were you watching us?”

Greg looks like he’s biting his tongue. He’s staring at us.

I reach in my coat pocket and take out the receipt from yesterday. “I assume you need this, and it’ll probably be easier than requesting it from the restaurant. Their record keeping might not always be the best,” I say, sliding the receipt across Greg’s desk.

Greg picks it up and examines it. Checking it two or three times. “I assume you got the oysters and steak, Mallory?” She nods. “A lot of bread. One or two snack plates.”

“Thank you, Greg. We had a great time,” Mallory says. “I assume everything is in order.” She’s looking ready to stand.

Greg glares at Mallory. “Did you pay for the drinks yourself? On a separate bill?”

“We didn’t buy a single drink!” Mallory says.

Greg shakes his head. “You’re not good enough with words, Mallory, to have that attitude. Tell me what happened and there’ll be no issues.”

“There should be no issue,” I say. “We did what you said. We didn’t order a single drink in the restaurant. We did get some complimentary drinks, among others. But they were given to us. And Mallory wants the same work from home setup as me.”

Greg slaps the desk. “That’s how you negotiate, Mallory! There’s no contention, yet. No need for fists, and Tony offered up something to pique my interest. I’m the boss! For now! We’ll consider your work from home, if you’re clear on what happened in the restaurant!”

“Some men thought Tony should dress more femininely, and they’re right. And they wanted us to experience what Simon could come up with, so arranged for us to taste whiskeys—on their dime—while they got drunk and said we could work for them as secretaries if we passed their blowjob based interview style.”

I’m back in my wallet again, getting the membership card to the restaurant. “This should answer your questions, Greg. I’m guessing you got told you wouldn’t be getting a report. And didn’t expect this...”

Greg takes the card from me, looks at it quickly, then hands it back. “You too, Mallory?”

“Mallory Toni,” Mallory says.

Greg nods, and I can’t read his face. “OK. No negotiation, now. You had your fun. Tell me from the top...”

So we do, me urging Mallory, at first, then both of us picking up memories the other has forgotten. We leave out the details about Mallory’s father, only saying he’s a member who hasn’t been there in years but he hadn’t told Mallory anything about the place.

Eventually Greg is satisfied, and a quiet has fallen. He sits back in his chair. “You said these men gave you their business cards, do you have them?”

I nod and hand over the business cards, looking at my wallet again and thinking I really need to get something prettier than my old and worn, imported leather football one. Although I do quite like it.

Greg laughs, looking at the cards, before handing them back. “Those guys want membership, badly,” he says.

“Yeah, that seemed obvious once we were clued in,” Mallory says.

Greg shakes his head. “That’s not it. The firm they’re with... A very old finance firm. It handles extreme wealth. Money few of us could even dream of, certainly not you. Going back generations. To move up the business, and to handle the wealthier clients, their staff are set challenges. Given finance people it’s usually about behaviour. If they were set a challenge to join that place, as a member, then someone obviously doesn’t like them. Or thinks they need a big lesson..”

“They were assholes,” Mallory says.

“They do need a lesson,” I say.

“Are you OK to work today, Mallory?” Greg asks.

“It’s a Wednesday. Of course,” she says.

Greg makes a lifting motion with his hands and points towards the door, with one, while indicating for me to stay sitting with the other.

As Mallory leaves he looks at me. “What did you learn about Mallory?”

“She’s nice. Fiery,” I say. I don’t know what Greg is looking for and don’t want to volunteer anything not necessary.

“What style of work?” he asks.

“Finance, technical detail, statistics, data. All that, definitely. She said she’s not a qualified accountant, and she didn’t go the full analytics route, but took an interest in both. She blogs explaining baseball stats. She says she has some readers. I think that’s right...

“She has a good knowledge of a lot areas but not deep enough in any one area to commit to something. I think ‘translating’ as it were, technical details, would work.”

“Do you know her blog?” Greg asks.

“I do not... And if I did I wouldn’t tell you. I don’t know it, though, so there’s no point trying to cajole it out of me.”

Greg writes something on a notepad. “Is your home tidy enough that we could set up your work from home today?”

I think for a few seconds, running around my living room, mentally, and my kitchen. “Yeah, sure. It could take me a day or two to get it setup, but to have movers? Or deliveries? That’s no problem.” I wonder when I’ll get to see Tim, as I’m saying that. I can imagine him helping me with building the desk and chair. I think I’d just watch him, though. And maybe hope he notices me watching him. We could both get sweaty...

Greg nods and keys in a four-digit internal number into the phone. Holding it to his ear, after a few rings, he says, “Yeah... Tony... Yeah. No problem with it... This afternoon..? I’ll tell them. And to let you know one of the fashionistas might be complaining about makeup... I don’t know, Therese! I’m not a woman. It’s under her... Yeah, ‘their!’ I don’t believe Toni minds me referring to her as a woman. At least among people... Yes! I know! ‘As she’s ready..!’ I’m hanging up now... No, I’m really hanging up... Call Ben then!”

Greg does actually hang up. “HR is the worst invention in modern business. People say they’re corporate cops. They’re not. They invent rules as needed to justify their own martial law. The problem is we don’t pay you enough to tolerate the bullshit and they barely pay me enough to get results. It’s an unhappy balance. Give people money and time off, and a little respect—something that works their grey matter, or skills—then everyone’s happy. You don’t need one of those useless fucking MBAs to realise that! Work in a fast food restaurant for two weeks and you’ll discover that! If you’re in fast food you have none of that. Poor fuckers!”

I’m touching my finger beneath my eye, where my cheekbone disappears towards my nose, and realising Greg did see I was wearing makeup. Just a little, beneath my eyes, as I was not looking too great as I dragged myself out at the alarm. “It’s just a little BB cream,” I say.

“BB cream? What’s that? I know about concealer, it’s heavier than foundation...”

“It’s a lot lighter, really light coverage, if you have good skin. Which I guess I do because for years I just washed it and didn’t wear anything... But if anyone—”

Greg has obviously picked up on where I’m going with this as he interrupts, “If any of the dressed up weapons give you issues you can try either, ‘I’ll stop wearing it if you do,’ or, ‘I’m sure HR would be happy to deal with your concern.’ Do not fucking send them to me!”

I can hear the tiredness in his voice as he swears. “You need a holiday, Greg.”

“I’ve got a big day coming up. Important milestone.”

“Retirement?”

“Ha! You’d be floundering if I retired. No.” He reaches into his desk and pulls out two packages. “This is what you’re doing until we find you a project. I will find you a project. Hopefully by the end of the week, or the start of next week. For now though I want you taking notes on some of the interviews we’ve done. You don’t need to know what particular industry or business question it’s for. This is adding value, picking up little details others might not notice.

“This afternoon you’ll be organising your work from home setup. Another bit of martial law! Ha! Supposedly you’ll sue me if you get a sore wrist from the wrong kind of mouse. Would you do that to me, Toni?”

I laugh. “Maybe not you, personally, Greg,” I say. “Maybe...”

“Take the headphones and case. They’re expensive. And now you’re a member in the mob boss’s restaurant go wild on the business’s private stock. That disappears as soon as it’s bought. And Toni..? Eat lunch. And drink water. For your skin, at least. You won’t always be young and pretty.”

I stand with Greg looking at me, walk towards the door and feel the need to turn around, Greg calling me ‘pretty’ like a loudspeaker in my mind. “Thank you, Greg,” I say.

“You’re doing really well, Toni. I’m happy for you, as both my employee and a person,” Greg says.

I don’t know why but I walk out of Greg’s office feeling a thousand feet tall.

As I sit down at my desk I realise I’m still hungover.

My laptop is booting up as a woman approaches me. “How much were your nails?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say, incredibly tired, eyes almost blurring, certainly given the conversation with Greg. I feel drained, and somehow elated. “Less than fifty bucks,” I continue. “But I got my eyebrows done too.” I have to add the eyebrows part because she’s thinking I spent fifty bucks on nails.

She zips her mouth shut. “Your secret is safe with me. You look amazing! And you’ll look better when you’re ready... To... You know..? Be yourself!? I’m telling you, girl. Don’t give a fuck what anyone says. The real women have your back! That’s exactly what you are! You’re gorgeous! You need to know that.” She’s put emphasis on the ‘need’ in her words, as she she walks away, almost strutting, beaming lasers into anyone who looks at her as she passes them.

As my laptop finally wakes I look through the staff directory, seeing if I can place her. Eventually I come to a name; Megan. That’s her. Hired straight from university, from what I recall. Something unusual for this place. Typically people do a year or two with a smaller business then try to move up; getting stuck in Greg’s madness, with his ‘tests’ to escape his insanity.

I unpack the headphones and plug them in, going through my emails—nothing important. Apart from one, linking me to a directory with the videos I should watch; I load them up and start watching, a notepad next to my laptop, me taking extensive notes.

Before I know it it seems I’ve skipped the morning break, and my stomach is rumbling. I go to kitchen, and it’s mostly empty. There’s a couple of stoves, proper industrial stoves, an array of cutlery including sharp knives. microwaves, plenty of generic oils, salts, and sauces in one of the massive fridges, along with people’s food in tupperware. In the second fridge are my chicken thighs and veggies.

I get down to preparing things, cleaning as I go. I realise I probably don’t actually need as much of this food as I brought. Yesterday I was sent out for lunch, and I don’t know what will happen later in the week.

The kitchen also has an industrial boiler, and a bean to cup coffee machine, with dire warnings of what will happen to any employee who uses the milk frothing attachments without cleaning them printed on the front of the machine. I imagine whoever typed up that message was channelling Greg as they wrote it. And in one fridge is both sparkling and non-sparkling water, ‘When you take one replace it!’ With my meal ready I sit down with a bottle of the sparkling water.

As I take my first bite I realise I am actually quite hungry, but in a strange way. It’s not necessarily a nutritional hunger, I ate really well, yesterday, although my noodles, with chicken thighs and veggies, is hitting the spot, it’s a hunger for, I don’t know, success? Growth?

As I’m halfway through my noodles a few people have come in. They’re preparing their own food, mostly using the microwaves. Therese also comes in, and waves as she spots me. She comes over. “Finish your food while I have a coffee, then we’ll get to your place and get you all situated.” She’s smiling as she walks to the bean to cup machine and bashes in her drink, a straight, double strength, black coffee.

Sitting down, opposite me, she says, “I don’t know why people go the cafés in the building, or farther. These are free, here... Well... I do know. People want to get away from work. They’re expensive though! I could never justify a $5.50 coffee no matter how much money I had. It’s wasteful!”

“I’m becoming acutely aware of finances, with my life, well... Taking off?” I say, and I know I can’t live at the same pace I have done for the past ten days, or so, no matter how much fun it might be. Either for my bank account’s sake or for my own health.

“How are you doing, Tony?” Therese asks. She takes a sip of her coffee.

“I want things to move fast, as well as, you know, taking my time. I don’t know how to explain it. There are some things I want right now, immediately, and some things I just want to appreciate.”

Therese grips onto her coffee with both hands, and leans in towards me. “If you want to go talk in private we can? Or if you just want to hint at things, or even say nothing, that’s fine. Or just eat.”

I nod, finishing off my noodles, considering things, while Therese sips at her coffee.

“I think I need to speak to a therapist, and I want to start on hormones. Soon. Like, yesterday.”

Therese laughs. “And miss your lunch? I heard you had fun.”

“Maybe not yesterday, then. But that’s the thing. I don’t know how if I have time to fit everything in and still keep myself healthy.”

“OK, let me think. And if you’re ready to go I’ll grab my things and you grab your things, then we’ll meet in the lobby and get a car to your place. Are you sure you’re ready to have everyone come into your apartment and get you all setup? There’s no rush if you need to prepare. It can wait! Which is my problem, not yours.”

I tell Therese I’m sure.

I gather all my things and go down to the lobby. Eventually Therese joins me, apologising for the delay as something came up in her office, then we’re getting a car to my place, both of us in the back seat, casually chatting, at least after a few minutes. We hit on her wedding, somehow. I didn’t realise I had an interest in weddings.

Therese and her girlfriend are getting married. They just want something small, at least as far as traditional ceremonies go. Sure, lots of people, but in a bar they know, that’s willing to set aside one of the rooms for them, and have dedicated bar staff. They’re building their own playlist for the music, and getting a friend to DJ for people’s requests. The ceremony will be in the morning, with just a few, close people, then it’s a restaurant they both like for a meal before the trip to the bar and the dancing. It sounds like a real celebration for two people who are entirely comfortable with each other. I can’t even begin to imagine my own wedding. I never contemplated it before, but now I’m thinking do I want the big, white dress wedding? Is that even who I really am? Am I a woman who can actually marry a man?

Before I know it I’m keying the code into my door and we’re taking an elevator to my floor, where I let us both into my apartment.

I set my things down and Therese sets her things down, both on the coffee table in front of my couch.

“Do you want a coffee? I only have instant or a drip machine.”

“Are you a big coffee drinker?” Therese asks.

“Some, a little... It’s not a massive deal for me,” I say.

“A water would be fine, then,” Therese says, as she’s unpacking her laptop and dialling it into her phone’s wifi.

I’m back in with a water for each of us, and sit myself down on the armchair.

Therese begins explaining my new phone to me. It’s a dual sim phone, with two partitions of storage. I can keep my personal phone on it, and my work phone, and still keep the two separate on a single device. It’s mostly already setup, but she does transfer my personal details onto it, and all my photos and apps. It doesn’t take too long. Then she calls me from her work phone, with the work directory built into the office side of my new phone, explaining how things will appear depending on the origin of them. I think I get it, and she has a print off of my number for me to put in my wallet, and my purse.

I do show her my frog purse, which she oohs and aahs over. The words, ‘very cute,’ coming out of her mouth.

She’s explaining some of the setups the business can do with hormone treatment, and with therapists, and I’m explaining that I have some friends looking for a suitable therapist for me, friends who know my story, when her phone rings. It’s the people delivering my work from home setup.

We both go to the front door, telling them the code. There’s three of them. All big burly dudes, or sort of burly, powerful, even if one is wiry. You can tell he’s able to carry things all day long. One of them stays in the truck to avoid parking fines, and the other two begin carrying boxes up to my apartment.

Eventually it’s all delivered and I say, “I didn’t realise there’d be this amount of stuff. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get it put together.”

Therese laughs and says, “You’re not setting it up! That’s what these guys are for, aren’t you?”

The men laugh. “Health and safety keeps our business going. Can’t have you pretty office dwellers breaking a nail.”

I quickly look at my nails, realising they are painted and these guys know nothing about me. Therese slaps my hands down from where I hold them up in front of me, staring, and laughs at me.

“How does Toni’s apartment rate on apartments you’ve delivered to?” she asks.

“If we could get a water from a fridge it’d be a full 10/10.”

I quickly leap to my feet. “Oh shit!” I say. “I’m sorry! Do you want a Coke Zero, or something? I think I have a Sprite or two, as well, with sugar.”

“12/10 apartment, Therese!” the wiry guy says. “Water is fine, really. Thanks, Toni.” He knows my name. “Even tap water.”

I get them two chilled waters after arranging a few more things in my fridge. They don’t even pause to drink them, just sipping as they go, while thinking, and making, and screwing—with small drills—occasionally looking at printed diagrams. And hefting bags of screws. The two look like they have a secret language between each other. Just moving around each other, knowing what the other needs, with the occasional instructional grunt. It’s quite beautiful really. Even sexy, somehow. I even notice Therese watching. And she’s gay!

The first thing they put together is the floor length mirror. It’s a simple, pine surrounded mirror. A long, rectangular pane—with the pine encasement— on a horizontal swivel, set atop a pine box with two deep drawers in it.

“We’ll move this one, fellas,” Therese says. “I assume the light you need to bounce is in your bedroom workspace?”

The two men look like they want to object, but I nod at Therese, and they back down after I open the door to my bedroom and they catch a glimpse of, well, a mess, at the end of the room.

Me and Therese lift the mirror, carrying it, then setting it down inside my bedroom door so I can stand at any distance to see myself from the bottom of my bed.

Of course the first thing I notice when I walk into my bedroom are the clothes scattered everywhere; on one half of my double bed, and across the couch in my bedroom that was left by a previous tenant. There’s dresses, tops, jeans, skirts. Shoes, panties, pantihose, bras... All my work-out clothes that Steve bought me.... There’s my sexy date night dress hanging up in the dry cleaning packaging hanging outside my wardrobe. There’s even makeup and pink razors on the night-stand next to my bed.

Thankfully Therese doesn’t say anything and we’re quickly back into the living room, sitting down again.

“Are you thinking of joining the gym I mentioned at the meeting?”

“How do you mean?” I ask.

“I saw all your work-out clothes. A lot of new purchases. I can send the email from here if you want.”

I’m a little taken aback, I hadn’t even thought about it. This feels normal, somehow. I’m Toni, now, not Tony. Right now there doesn’t seem a difference. “I haven’t had time to think about it, to be honest, those were just... It’s a long story. I’m not sure I even have the time to go to a gym”

“You need to use your holiday time, Toni. You have a decent amount built up. Enough that it’s actually a problem, or could become a problem soon. We do expect people to use it. You’ve used very little since you started working for us. It’s getting to the point we’re going to be instructing you to use the time, with no choice in the matter. Especially if you carry it over into yet another year.”

I stroke at my nose, thinking. “I guess I really never had a reason to take time off, or a desire to go anywhere, or do anything?” I realise I’ve never felt pressure in work. Nor have I felt pressure in my life. It was all a blur. Or maybe more a fog? Downcast? Drizzle? The shits?

Therese seems to consider this. “Has that changed in the past few weeks?” she asks.

“Yeah, I guess it has. But it feels like my career is beginning to take off in new ways. I’m not sure I want to risk it by not being available.”

Therese clicks her tongue a few times. “Do you mind if I step into the kitchen to make a few calls?”

I shake my head and Therese says to give her those few minutes.

She spends a lot longer than a few minutes, longer than thirty minutes, even, occasionally stepping out to point at her phone with a grimace; she’s waiting on more calls.

After about forty-five minutes, maybe a little longer, she’s back into me, sitting down. “You owe Greg a favour, if you go ahead with this. He yelled at my boss. Apparently he was a right A-hole to her, but not enough she’s taking it out on you. You’re approved for ad-hoc time, if you formalise that you’re seeking medical treatment for something with me. It’ll never be recorded what that treatment is, until it becomes necessary for something in work, i.e. should you wish to transition in work—which will not be an issue, by the way,” Therese says, seeing the look on my face. “Even then it’s not a medical issue. Not in this state, although you do have some extra equality laws protecting you.

“All this means is there’s a record that you’re facing a serious medical issue. And need time, as allocated to your holiday time, to deal with it. Ultimately it’ll be up to Greg to approve it, and track it. That’s why he yelled at my boss. Apparently, to quote him, or the report from my boss on him, the words were, ‘Give the fucking kid whatever the fuck they fucking need!’ Or something like that. He was angry. Sorry about the kid part, those are his words.”

I simply nod, it sounds like Greg. I do feel like a kid, with people arguing. Not that my parents argued. My sister did, but they shushed her, with patience. But this feels like what being an actual child is like. People calling me an idiot.

“He also gave a, something along the lines of, ‘She could be really important to us in a few years time, do you want them, and our hard work, to have fucked off before we reap the fucking benefits!’ And then there were some slightly personal insults directed at my boss... Questions of her ability to function... She doesn’t typically deal with Greg, that’s what I’m for. I felt it necessary to call him in though as she was being stubborn.” Therese laughs at that, seeing the look of horror on my face; her choosing to inflict what sounds like actually angry Greg on someone.

I shake my head, or more rattle my brain about, hoping it slots back into place. “What are the consequences for me?” I ask. “For Greg? For you!?! You didn’t need to do this!!”

“For me? Nothing. This is my job. Toni, really... This is my job. I’m good at it. Don’t doubt that!” Therese smiles. “For Greg? People already call him an asshole. The downsides for you are there’ll be some record you had a medical issue. I’m sure people will be able to put 2+2 together when and if they track the timeline of your transition, should you transition, but there’s no official record of that. We don’t have access to your medical reports. Obviously I know but it’s not written anywhere. Other people will know but there’ll be nothing actionable. Will people remember in the long run? Not if Greg is right...”

Therese sees me looking a little shocked, at least that’s what I feel she’s looking at.

She leans forward on the couch she’s sat herself down on, leaning towards me, almost keeping the words quiet from the two men in here with us.

“Toni... As far as I know no-one at the LGBTQ group is trans, but they have dealt with issues mostly like this; the consequence and prejudice. It’s up to you. Personally I think it’s worthwhile, and I say that as someone who likes you. It was worth it for me, coming out about my sexuality. You have people in your corner. That’s what you want, and need. Now it’s up to you, if you want. As long as you, and I, and Greg, even Ben, are here that’s how it’ll be. You’ve impressed people. Just a little. I don’t know that for sure but you’ve got some people talking about you. Everyone talks about everyone but the people talking about you? That’s not me being HR. That’s me seeing a young woman—if you don’t mind me abandoning my HR role—who could do with a few breaks.”

I sit back in my chair, unable to de-tangle the thoughts running through my mind. “How do I do this?” I ask.

“You just tell me you have a medical issue you need to deal with, and need to use holiday time to deal with it.”

“I do,” I say, words coming out of my mouth with certainty. I do have an issue. It does have to be dealt with. Greg has been superb, my friends have been superb, Therese has been amazing. I’d like to see Tim, to have him hold me. I need time, and if I can get a little more of it it’s the best thing for me.

I uncross my legs and crouch forward, shaking my head slowly. “I can’t believe how lucky I am,” I say.

“It’s good you recognise that,” Therese says. “Now go get dressed, the lads are finishing up. We’ll go for a drink. One or two beers, or something. Please, no more! I have to save my big nights out, and I can imagine you’re exhausted, and I don’t want to be loading you into a car.

“Somewhere you feel comfortable. I’ll be clocked off, but I’ll still use the car service. I can drop you home if you’re ready to go home. If you need tomorrow morning off I’ll put it down as needing to put the finishing touches on your setup here. Is this all OK with you?”

I take a deep breath and stand. “It is, thank you.”

Then I’m walking into my bedroom, shakily, gently closing the door that looks out to my work from home setup that’s nearly completed.

I get dressed, a simple pale, ocean green, calf length, straight and heavy skirt, trainers, grey, opaque pantihose and a light, baby blue hoodie. I’m back outside in my living room after I’ve done my hair with dry styling products, in my new mirror. It’s not a showcase piece but it works. It’s simple. It didn’t cost a lot. I figure it won’t get noticed on review.

The guys working on my setup don’t even turn their heads when I walk out, dressed femininely, and go to the bathroom, with my heart pounding. I do my makeup, really taking time to look at my eyes before I apply my mascara. Then I’m back again, and ready.

“OK, we just need you to try your laptop in the dock, login to the wifi, and make sure your email is working,” Therese says.

I pick up my laptop and arrange it in the dock; the laptop set off to my left, on the stand, with a large monitor in front of me with a webcam on top, some speakers to either side, a printer/scanner on a little side table.

The laptop, as it powers up, detects the dock, and keyboard, mouse and speakers. There’s a lot of extravagant beeping from it after I log into the operating system, the laptop’s fan whining, as well as the fan of the dock.

Therese, standing by my shoulder, and as the laptop finally begins to calm down, says, “The password to the work wifi, the one we’ve provided, is on the router. It’s 5G, I believe. I’m sure you’re familiar with all this stuff...”

I check the password, a few times, still shaking, every so slightly. I login to the wifi, which is seamless, and then into my email, which I drag to the main monitor. There’s a few new emails I begin to click onto but Therese tells me to ignore them. “Any changes you need with the setup?” she asks. “Physically? Heights, comfort, anything like that?”

“Nope,” I say, after swivelling my chair to the left and right.

“OK, close down and stand back, I need to get a photo for our records.”

I feel a panic thinking Therese is going to take a photo of me at the desk, dressed as I am, but she waits until I’m standing back. She pushes the chair in underneath the desk and snaps a few photos with a flash.

“Everything’s great, fellas. Thanks,” she says. “You can take the last of the boxes.”

“Hang on!” I say, and quickly dart into the kitchen. I come back carrying a six pack, chilled, and hand it over to the wiry guy. “Thanks for all this.”

“Is this OK, Therese?” the wiry guy asks, but he’s already clutching the six pack, so I’m not sure what he’s asking.

Therese nods. He reaches into his pocket.

“Toni, this is my sister’s business. She’s just starting out. Started on soft furnishings and the like, sewing, that kind of thing. There’s plenty of people in the city who can do that so she wants to get into interior decorating. There’s a code on the back of the card, 25% off, minimum spend is $250. I don’t know what that is after the discount.”

I look at the back of the card and it says, ‘TREY25.’

“Trey is you?” I say.

He nods.

“Thanks, sure, yeah. Of course! This place is kind of stark.” I look around. It’s busier with the work from home setup, but compared to Tim and Mouse’s apartment, even Jess’s—Sally’s is an old family home—it’s a young person’s apartment that no-one has ever settled into. It needs something. Something I’m not sure of.

For some reason I imagine living with Tim, then quickly push that thought from my mind, telling myself that’s stupid. Mouse is a better home-maker, anyway. Do I want to live with Tim? Could I imagine my life with Tim? I can imagine sex with Tim...

The wiry guy, Trey, smiles. “Thanks for the beers, and check out my sister’s website. She’s good.”

They both nod, the bigger guy taking two beers from the six pack into his hand while carrying the last of the cardboard boxes in his other hand, and they’re gone. Except there’s a stack of plastic packaging left sitting on the ground. Plastic packaging, with something soft in them.

“You’ve spotted that?” Therese asks.

“What are they?” I ask. They look like cushions.

Therese moves to then begins to rip into them. There’s hoodies, work hoodies, and t-shirts being thrown over the back of my couch. “I figured these might be more fitting to your circumstances, just to wear around the house,” she says.

She hands me one of the hoodies and I hold it up, then hold it up to my chest. It’s one of the work hoodies I’d gotten before, when I got them in the wrong size; from various business milestones, and projects. Except these aren’t in the wrong size. They’re the right size, and they’re the female cut.

“If you ever have to take a video call and are inappropriately dressed just throw on one of those. Maybe you’re in your flowery PJs or something?” Therese laughs. “A quick way to professionalism. I can’t work from home, not often, unfortunately, I need to be available to people. I’d kill to work in my PJs! Don’t you think HR would be more approachable if we were wearing something fluffy and soft?” She smiles at me, and I laugh. I laugh even harder thinking of Greg’s comments about HR as martial law, and what he seems to have said to Therese’s boss.

“Are you ready to go? Do you know where you want to go? You look ready for a drink? A pizza? Whatever you want... I don’t get to work from home but this is a privilege I’ve finagled my way into when settling Greg’s people into work from home setups. When he’s an asshole on your side he’s very good.”

“How off work are you?” I ask.

“Pretty much 100% but I can’t abandon all knowledge I have of that place, at least not that easily, I do have to do one thing, though,” Therese says, and goes to her laptop bag, taking a package out.

The parcel is rectangular, and hard, quite thin. Too big and thin to be a book, and too stiff.

It’s wrapped in what appears to be recycled, or at least pre-used birthday wrapping paper. She hands it to me and slings her laptop bag over her shoulder.

I open it. It’s a framed Harvard Business Review. I think it’s from the months I started working in the office.

In gold pen, at the bottom of the framed HBR are the words, “To Tony. From Greg.” And scribbled on the white matting are the words, “Sorry about the Tony part, but that’s all part of growth.” Along with two heart symbols, what appears to be a stamp of a Sonic, and a shark, along with the name, ‘Greg.’

“He’s such an asshole,” I say, laughing at the idiot. “A fucking Harvard Business Review!”

“That he is,” Therese says.

I settle the frame, with the pop-out stand, to the left of and just behind the printer/scanner, and ask Therese to take a photo. She says she’ll send it onto Greg in the car, which has been called, then asks me where we’re going.

We wait a few minutes outside my apartment for the car to arrive. When it does we hop in and Therese tells me to say the bar to the driver. He seems to know it, apparently it’s an occasional drive, for him, at least. Then we’re stepping inside Light Avenue, me feeling nerves that I’m now, in some way, crossing my work life with my... I suppose it’s my real life? I don’t know what’s real though. Which part of me is real? It’s all blurring together.

As we get into the front area of the bar Therese shakes herself out, mumbling something. I walk to the bar, to see if there’s any seats available, but there’s none. After about a minute Steph appears and seems to point towards the long bar, mouthing that she’ll open it.

I take Therese’s elbow in my hand and direct her where to go, sitting us up at the counter. She’s busy looking about, seemingly very interested in something.

Steph is soon standing in front of us at the long bar. “Toni! My beautiful! My favourite woman! What can I get you?” I feel a wave of relief through me at the normality of this—this is all fucked up though, right?—of Steph being kind to me, and her effusiveness, in calling me a woman. It’s sort of where it all began; me being who I am. And now people seeing the real me. Is this the real me?

Is that all it was? I had to be me? It’s ridiculous. Totally stupid, just being me. Is life this stupid?

I cross my legs, a little clumsily, as Therese sets her laptop bag down and takes her coat off. I do the same and rest the strap of my purse on the hook on the bar.

“Can we get two businesswoman drinks, please,” Therese says to Steph. “Corporate account, if you catch my drift? Clear, low calorie, packs a punch. Would knock men off their feet!”

“Oh! Toni! I didn’t know you were moving this fast!” Steph says, laughing. “How corporate?” she asks Therese.

“Big junior position night out,” Therese says. “Something of a graduation drink. But still something unofficial.”

“I catch you,” Steph says, moving to grab some shakers, and then some bottles, after loading the ice-buckets with ice.

Therese turns to me. “She’s senior, isn’t she?” she says in a quiet tone. “I vaguely remember her from my drinking days. She’s been here a while.”

“Steph’s the manager,” I say.

Therese elbows me with a quick popping out of her elbow. “I knew you were a mover and shaker,” she says. Then she calls out to Steph, “With a little kick!”

“A little kick?” Steph asks, pouring drinks.

Therese nods. “A little teensy, tiny kicky,” she says, with a gnarled looking mouth on her.

“You got it! If you take responsibility?”

Both Therese and Steph laugh, and soon two drinks are being settled in front of me and Therese.

The glasses are somehow clear, but the liquid looks thick. When I take a drink of it I feel air being blown out my ears, neither cool, nor warm. It’s a room temperature air, almost equal with my surroundings, and who I am. I even feel it out my nose. I feel my eyes bulge.

“This is fucking...”

“Dry!” Steph and Therese say, both laughing.

And at some point I forget what’s happening. There was a second business-woman drink. And there was a message from Trevor, who I gave my phone number to, via Steph. I wasn’t even that drunk, just clueless. Excited! It was the name of a therapist? A therapist who Therese didn’t recognise but said she’d look into. Steph explained what she knew about informed consent as I had my third, possibly fourth drink.

I told Steph, or maybe Therese... Maybe I told both, two times, what I would fucking do to those guys who put together the office. I think I involved detail. Was there a shot involved? I think I involved tongue with those guys? Either my tongue or theirs. Possibly both? Both of their tongues? And me? Oh I fucking would!

There was laughing, and another drink. Possibly a bottle? It had no label.

I either danced, or fell off my seat, I’m not sure. There was more laughter. I wasn’t the only one laughing. I think Steph sat down too. Did Steph dance?

I think Therese danced? Steph mumbled something. I definitely stumbled.

A woman from security argued something with two guys? Or three guys? It was Anna-something, from the first night I was in here. I wished I was as built as her. I told her that, and she took me for a smoke, and a glass of water.

Really I showed Steph, and Therese, my moves. Killer fucking dance moves. I was amazing! I managed two shots while dancing!

There was a fifth drink, or a third? Did we do double shots? I don’t remember. The bottle was taken away. Steph explaining to a bartender how to make it, asking for comments from us. I think I contemplated what numbers meant, aloud. Or how irrelevant they were. There was a sixth drink where the bartender was all on their own. I don’t remember it, not really. There were other drinks, I feel? I’m not sure.

I think Tim carried me home. Did Therese call him? Or was it Steph talking to him? I called him, trying out my new phone. And apparently, according to Steph’s words, “Someone’s wasted and needs a man taxi.” Why she didn’t get a taxi I don’t know, either way Steph is insisting she drives Therese home. Or someone drives her home. And Steph certainly can’t drive. They’re talking about definitely going home...

Tim is being all sexy but refusing to fuck me. I don’t know why but Columbo is interrogating him. Is Columbo interrogating me? He has a question for me? I don’t care though because I’m trying my best to get slobbery with Tim, who’s a stupid asshole and busy laughing. But I can still feel his tongue in my mouth, or is it my tongue in his mouth? Maybe I’m biting his ear? Did he scream?

I mock his girly scream as I try to unzip his pants, which he rejects. That’s fine. Pants are too complicated! Skirts for life, I scream, as he carries me, I think.

I feel light as air and someone’s undressing me. They’re taking my pantihose off, and my underwear. Men can’t unfasten bras but somehow he does. I’m a woman, I say. And he tells me to go sleep. And he refuses to play with my boobs. Eventually I get him to rest one hand there, on my tit, and I think he likes my naked butt squeezing into him. I reach back and give him a handjob, or at least I think I do. I hope I do.

I still feel him pressing into me, and I force myself to stay awake, struggling with his giant... Arguing I just want him to...