Love During Robot Fighting Time: Chapter 26

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***

Kate

“I have an idea,” I said to Nadine. We were in the garage part of Gaines’ facilities, and we had the place to ourselves. Nothing but us, my robot, and the smell of oil and grease. I wore a simple, practical outfit that day- a pair of jeans and a buttoned-up pink flannel. It was almost staggering how many pink articles of clothing I’d acquired in the past month, but I wasn’t exactly complaining. It just… Made me happy. A way to signal who I was, who I was becoming and who I’d always been. Yeah, it was a stereotype, but I didn’t care. It was what I liked, and there was nothing wrong with it. 

Nadine put her camera down. “Run it by me.”

“Cheerleader.”

“Go on.”

“That could be my gimmick.”

“Intriguing. Whose cheerleader?”

“My own, I guess,” I said. “What do you think?”

“Would you dress like one?”

“That would be the idea,” I said. “I don’t think I would start until next year tho- by then, my boobs will have grown a bit, hopefully.” I gestured to them, or to the lack of them, and managed to accidentally tap my chest… 

… At which point, there was a small sting, a little bite of soreness. 

They were coming. The hormones were working. 

I could have cried, but instead, I danced. 

Faith’s lessons had been paying off, and I found myself flailing around my robot with a slightly greater degree of coordination than I normally would have. Nadine started snapping her digital camera. “Good. Good. Keep doing that.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you might actually be able to pull this whole cheerleader angle off. I’d get a few more dance lessons first, though,” Nadine said. 

“Okay, duly noted,” I said, giggling and brushing the hair out of my face. Really needed to do something about this. I’d scheduled a salon appointment for that day, though, so this would be less of an issue then. 

Hopefully they’d be able to accomplish what I was asking them to do. 

That was when Gaines stormed in, a hulking wall of muscle with a throbbing forehead vein and an utter dearth of chill. “Hi, ladies,” he grimaced. “How’s it going here?”

“Good,” I smiled. 

His scowl deepened. 

“Yes, boss?” Nadine asked. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’m only gonna ask this once: who’s idea was it have Ms. Calloway stand in front of a trans pride flag and post it on our social media with the caption ‘trans rights are human rights?’”

Nadine opened her mouth, but I cut her off. I couldn’t let her take the fall for me, not after she’d helped me so much. “It was my idea, sir.”

They both looked at me and blinked rapidly. “Was it, now?” Gaines asked. “Because I’ve lost a dozen members in the past week because they aren’t comfortable with our current direction.”

“That was always going to be a risk, sir,” I pointed out. “You knew what you were doing when you agreed to keep being my sponsor.”

Nadine looked ready to faint. I was pretty sure she’d stopped breathing. Couldn’t blame her- Gaines was fuming so hard he was sucking all the oxygen from the room. “I see. Well, I suppose that’s true. And I suppose it’s also my fault for not checking my own feed. But tell me- why should I keep sponsoring you if you’re going to keep doing something that will alienate potential clientele?”

I bunched my fists and clenched my jaw, but the anger flowed out of me just as soon as it came. I didn’t need it. There was only one thing I needed, and that was confidence in myself, in my abilities, in what I was doing and my ability to get it done. “Because I’m gonna win you a championship, Mr. Gaines.”

“Are you now?” Gaines said, cocking (I could hear Faith laughing from however many miles she was from here) one of his massive gray-brown eyebrows. 

I stood up straight, unclenched my fists, breathed in and out, and looked him square in the face. God, he was buff. He could crush me if he wanted to. Literally and metaphorically. But I knew people like him, how they thought, what they responded to: force. Strength. Grit. “Yes. And when I do, everyone will shut up. People will stop caring about whatever bias makes them not like me, and they’ll see a champion, plain and simple. And they’ll come to you to get the parts of a champion, to get their vehicle fixed up in a place where a champion built her robot.”

“Will they?”

“Yes. They will. People don’t care about you ‘represent’ if you’re winning. They only care that you’re winning. And I’m gonna win big this year. Sir.”

He squinted, pointed at me with his comically large index finger… And threw his head back and laughed. “Alright then, girly- if you say so. I like your gumption, I’ll give you that much. Here’s the arrangement, then- you bring me a championship trophy, and I’ll stick with you. I’ll even give you an increase on your stipend. But you come up even an inch short? You’re done. Find a new sponsor. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” I affirmed, extending a hand. 

We shook, and I kept eye contact the entire time. 

Finally, Gaines turned around. “Nadine?”

“Yes, boss?”

“Keep up the good work. Whatever you’ve done, you’ve done a fine job of it.”

“Uh… Thanks, sir,” Nadine said. 

He was silent for the rest of his exit from the garage. A moment passed by before Nadine looked at me and said, “Are you crazy?!”

I shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“I think I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t think you’re being in any way overconfident?”

“Oh, I’m being grossly overconfident,” I said. “But it was either that or lose my sponsor right before the tournament starts.”

“Fair enough. I just… I like working with you. You seem like a good person, and I don’t want to see you get cut loose.”

I smiled at her. “Thank you. I like working with you too. But, uh, one thing at a time, yeah?”

She smiled back. “Yeah. So, should we finish up this shoot?”

“Yes, please,” I said, throwing my hair back. 

***

I stepped into the salon in Manhattan Beach, the peach and violet scents of shampoo and conditioner combining with gentle lights at the chairs and the warm hum of dryers. Seabreeze from the nearby ocean drifted in and cooled the place lovingly while offering its own calming aroma. A shapely Latina with dyed red hair wearing an orange knit-dress stepped forward over the black linoleum floor and said, “Hi! Are you Kate Calloway?”

“Yup! How’d you know?”

“I’m Ronda, your mother’s stylist. You look a lot like her.”

“Aw, thank you,” I said, trying very, very hard to maintain eye contact in spite of my own exhaustion. The encounter with Gaines had left me a lot more emotionally drained than I’d been expecting, but I wanted to be polite. Women came to salons and felt an overwhelming surge of sororal solidarity, so I wanted to feel that too. “Might be even more true after today.”

“Oh yeah, I got the picture you sent me,” Ronda said, guiding me into a chair with a wash bin behind it. “You sure you wanna go for it? You’ll have to come back tomorrow so we can finish it off, and it requires a ton of upkeep if you want to maintain it long term.”

“I know,” I said, sitting in the chair and leaning my head back into the basin. “And I want to go for it anyway.”

Ronda smiled at me with big, cherry-red painted lips. “Bold. You really are your mother’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Hm. Well, I try to be.”

“Well then let’s get started,” Ronda said, turning on the faucet. 

The warm water collided with my hair and scalp, and the stress and anxiety were immediately washed away. “Let’s.”

***

A day and a half later, after the sun had begun to set over the city of Angels, I rushed downstairs at the sound of our doorbell ringing. The long hem of my pastel pink, short-sleeved floral dress swayed around my freshly-shorn legs in a manner that made me giddy. A smile crept onto my perfectly painted face. I knew who was behind the door, and I couldn’t wait to see how they reacted to my new look. 

I pulled the door open. 

Zeke- in a black button-down tucked into his tight-fitting jeans, his hair messy and his stubble grown out into a slight but very sexy beard- and Faith- clad in casual white and blue sundress with a lovely little cleavage window parked up front- waited on the other side, and they both took one look at me and gasped. 

It was exactly what I’d been hoping for. “Hi. What do you think?”

“You’re blonde,” Zeke said, eyes wide as saucers. 

“Bleach blonde,” Faith said, blinking rapidly. 

“Platinum blonde,” Zeke said, grinning appreciatively.

“Marilyn Monroe blonde,” Faith said, naked lust permeating her voice.

“Well, I was going more for Miranda Calloway blonde, but I’ll take it,” I smiled, playing with a loose strand of my platinum waves. “Do y’all like it?”

“I love it,” Zeke said instantly. “You look super hot. Not that you didn’t before, but-”

“This looks more like you,” Faith finished for him.

“Thank you,” I said, putting a hand over my chest, sending another shockwave through my tender breast bud. Ow. I’d have to get used to that. 

“I just can’t believe you really went for it- that could have fried your hair!” Faith said. 

“What’s life without a little risk?” I said, unable to keep my smile at bay. “Besides, I think it turned out well.”

“It did, it did, I just… God, you’re so cool,” Faith said, grabbing both my hands and pulling me close.

I blushed beat-red and gave her a peck on the lips. “No, you’re so cool.”

Faith gulped and scrunched her face in protest. “No, YOU’RE SO COOL-”

“This is very cute and all, but I can feel the cold air getting out of Kate’s place, so maybe we should head out,” Zeke chuckled. 

“Sounds good,” I said. I turned back and shouted, “Mom! Dad! I’m heading out! I’ll be back late!”

“Have a nice time!” Mom called from upstairs. 

And with that, and a kiss for both of my beloveds, we were off. 

We drove all the way to Hollywood and found ourselves at a small bar with loud music playing. There weren’t too many patrons, so we had the dance floor to ourselves. And dance we did, with the display serving as my latest lesson. 2000s pop-punk music sounded all around us, and I let myself get lost in the sway of my hips and the feeling of Faith’s arms around me, of holding Zeke’s hands while he spun me around and dipped me, of slow dancing with all three of them. 

I raised my phone up high when the three of us were all pressed together and said, “Smile!”

And they did, and I took the photo, and the memory was forever secured. 

And then, shock of all shocks, I did something incredibly stupid: I posted it on social media. It seemed like a benign idea at the time. It really did. 

***

The morning rush came into the shop like a flood the next day, an endless deluge of shoppers looking to get kitted out. I used the opportunity to work on my voice, to practice my gentler mannerisms and more gracious personality. The customers definitely noticed- I closed more sales that day than I had in ages. I got a few ‘sirs’, sure, but almost all of them apologized as soon as they said it, and the others did so after I corrected them. 

All was going well, until the consequences of my reckless actions walked into the shop in the form of Olivia Root. 

I did a double-take when I recognized her, clad in a dark red sundress that hugged her ample hips and equally ample bust, with hoop earrings dangling from her lobes, makeup immaculate, and natural hair long and bouncy. She was unaccompanied by her teammates, carrying only a canopy shoulder bag over her arm. She wandered around the shop, looking at different dresses, finally pulling a sleeveless turquoise number off of the rack and taking it into the changing room. 

She stepped out, clad in the dress, looking even more stunning now than she had before. She walked up to me at the register, my parents both on the floor talking with other customers, leaving me alone with a woman I’d called out and challenged on live television. 

Sometimes I look up at the sky and ask ‘Why, God? Why did you make me so fucking stupid?’ 

At least now I could call myself a dumb blonde in earnest.

“I’d like to buy this dress,” Olivia said, looking at me plainly. 

“Good choice,” I said, looking down at the register. “It looks nice on you.”

“And I’d like to have a word with you,” Olivia said. 

“Whatever about?”

“Faith.”

“I don’t think she would like that.”

“Then work.”

“Well, I’m currently at work. This is one of my jobs, believe it or not, and I’m on the clock. And I already took my break an hour ago,” I said, furiously punching the keys on the cash register.

“Then after you clock out,” Olivia said. 

I shook my head, still not looking up as I ran her card through the swiper. “That’s not for another hour. And you’ve already bought something, so you’ll have to buy more stuff. Otherwise you’re loitering. Which is a misdemeanor, for which you can be fined-”

Olivia sighed, very slightly. “There’s a coffee shop down the road- I’ll hang out there. Meet me inside when you’re off work. And thank you for the dress- it’s honestly quite lovely.”

“My mother made it,” I said, handing her a receipt.

“Well she’s very talented, then,” Olivia said. She took the receipt, and she turned around and left. 

I spent the next hour locked into tunnel vision, trying desperately to focus on my work, on the swelling tide of customers that came without end. As the rush died down, however, my impending meeting became an all-consuming presence in my mind. I stood behind the front desk, drumming my fingers on the wooden surface, actively having to think about not biting my pink-polished fingernails. 

I pulled my phone loose from my purse on the floor and typed out a furious message to my partners during a free moment: “SOS Olivia came in and she’s demanding to talk to me!”

Faith was the first to reply: “WUT!”

“She’s waiting at a coffee shop down the street for me once my shift ends.”

“You’re not gonna go, are you?”

“IDK.”

“Don’t. Go.”

Zeke chimed in: “maybe she should go.”

Faith: “No, that’s a terrible idea. Olivia will eat her alive.”

I said: “I’m not scared of her, you know.”

“I’m not saying you should be, I just can’t imagine what she even wants to speak with you about,” Faith replied. 

I said, “Work. And you.”

Faith: “... I don’t like that.”

Zeke: “I don’t either.”

I typed, “I’m not crazy about it myself. But I think I should at least try to apologize.”

“For what?” Zeke asked. 

“Calling her out like I did.”

Zeke: “That was just you playing the heel. And you’ve changed.”

“I don’t think she’s aware of that, y’all.”

“... Dammit. Kate’s right,” Faith said. 

“I am?”

“Yes, you are. Olivia and I used to complain about you all the time last year. Like an ouroboros of self-indulgent bitching.”

“I don’t know what to do with that statement,” I typed. 

“... I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I typed. “I’ve changed. And I’d like Olivia to see that.”

“... Text us the address?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” I typed. 

“I’m with Kate on this one,” Zeke replied. “Olivia might not accept Kate’s apology if we’re there. It might seem like we forced her to do it.”

“Good point,” Faith said. “Can we at least come over and wait on stand-by? And that way we can all hang out when you get back?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” I said. 

“Please stop texting at work, Kate,” Dad said as he walked by carrying two massive cardboard boxes under his arms. 

I blanched and put the phone back in my purse. “Right. Sorry.”

The remaining fifteen minutes before I clocked out lived and died a slow, painful demise. Finally, it was over, and it was time to have a talk with my girlfriend’s ex. 

“Where you heading?” Dad asked as I slung my purse over my shoulder. 

“Gonna meet a… Colleague,” I said, my voice going flat and deep. I winced as I heard it. “Is it alright if Zeke and Faith come over in a little bit?”

“Hm? Yeah, that’s fine,” Dad said. “We’re probably just gonna do pizza tonight, honestly. I assume you want your PB&J?”

“Yes please,” I smiled. “Just be sure to get a different one, too. Faith isn’t crazy about the spice.”

“Duly noted- she can share a barbeque chicken pie with your mother,” Dad said. “Also, are you alright?”

“Hm? Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just seem… A bit jittery today, Katie,” Dad said. 

“I… Ask me that again later?” I said, standing in the front doorway. 

“Okay,” Dad nodded. “Be safe.”

“I will be. Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too.”

He was right, though. There was something I’d been avoiding, something I hadn’t wanted to address but which I was becoming increasingly concerned would be an issue. 

What would happen if I had to face Faith and Zeke in the battle box again?

As I walked down the street, the hot sun and cool seabreeze hitting me all at once, the question gnawed at my stomach lining. I loved being with both of them. And I liked being the person I was now: cute and blonde and happy and sweet and girly. I didn’t miss the guy I’d been: a posturing meathead who never shut up and had no concept of personal space or boundaries or any self-awareness whatsoever. And I didn’t think that having Faith and Zeke as my rivals last year had turned me into that person- I’d been that already, before we’d fought. But… 

God, I didn’t want to backslide. I didn’t want to turn back into that guy. And now I was going to confront someone who had been at the epicenter of that guy’s last notable public appearance. Someone who thought I was still that person, who probably thought I was going to backslide at some point and hurt someone who she really cared about. 

If I didn’t want to be Keith anymore, I had to prove it. To myself, first and foremost.

Breathing steady but heartbeat elevated, I moved forward. I had to do this. Had to do this. Had to prove it to Olivia. If I could prove it to her, I could finally prove it to myself.

I approached Hal’s Coffee Hut, a ramshackle building with a tile roof and brick walls on the corner of a busy intersection. Glass tables and wooden chairs sat gathered under umbrellas outside the establishment, while tinted windows kept the baking light from getting inside. I opened the door, which gave the ring of a bell as I stepped inside to the aromas of percolating coffee and fresh pastries inside a heavily air conditioned facility. 

In a metal chair, at a wooden table, atop the black linoleum floor, nursing a glass of cold brew and a blueberry muffin, Olivia Root sat waiting for me. 

She stared at me, blinking only occasionally as I walked up to the counter and ordered myself an iced Americano and a cinnamon roll. I maintained eye contact with her as I waited at the pick-up section for my drink, tearing sections off my pastry. Finally, a glass of cold coffee was thrust into my hand and I sauntered over to the table where she waited for me. 

“You changed your hair,” she said. 

“I did,” I said, running my hand through a loose section of it. I was still getting used to seeing light blonde locks running down my shoulders and chest when I looked down. But I liked it. I liked the new me. And I’d be damned I could be cowed or provoked into not being that person anymore. Had to do this. Had to prove myself. “I needed a change.”

“Been making a lotta changes lately.”

“I have,” I nodded. 

“You and Faith looked awfully cozy in that picture you posted last night.”

“You follow me on Insta?”

“I follow all the competition,” she said. “Same goes for other platforms.”

“That’s certainly…”

“Certainly what?”

“Dedicated.”

“Was that what you were originally going to say?”

“Yes,” I said. 

“Uh-huh.”

“Why do you care, exactly?” I said, trying to change the subject. Easy, Kate, don’t provoke her, and don’t get angry. You can do this. Just have a civilized conversation with someone who openly hates you. No problem. 

“I care about Faith,” she said. “I don’t want her to get hurt. She told me about what happened, about you pressuring her into confessing to Zeke-”

“Pressure is a very strong word,” I said, monotone anger beginning to infect my voice. 

“Sure it is,” she said. “I guess I just wanna know: what kind of game do you think you’re playing here, Calloway?”

“Uh… Competitive robot fighting?”

“Don’t get cute with me.”

“You think I’m cute?” I said, smirking, squinting, raising both eyebrows. 

“Don’t do that,” she glared. 

“What, be witty and charming?”

“Distract me. Avoid the topic. What kind of game are you playing with Faith and Zeke?”

“Um… There’s no game?” I said, barely understanding what I was being asked. “I’m just in a happy, committed relationship.”

“With which one?”

I flinched. Oh. Right. This wasn’t something we’d exactly gone public with. Because… We’d been afraid that… Something… Like this would… Would…

“You gonna answer the question? Or should I take your silence as an answer?”

“Both. I’m dating both. And they’re both dating me,” I said. “And they’re dating each other.” 

Olivia raised an eyebrow. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“No, I’m being entirely sincere right now,” I said before taking a long sip of my coffee. 

She stared at me, hands flat on the table. “Is this a fucking joke to you?”

“In what regard?”

“Them. Both of them. You seriously don’t see what this looks like?”

“I guarantee you that I don’t,” I rolled my eyes. Seriously, what was this jackass on about?

“You’re shitting me-”

“I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this, but I’ve historically struggled with a lack of self-awareness. So perhaps you’d be so terribly kind as to explain to my dumb blonde ass what the fuck you’re on about?” I said, frustrating starting to seep into my conscious mind.

“You’re playing with their hearts,” Olivia said. “Toying with them both in order to take down the competition from within.”

I blinked a single, sustained blink for something like fifteen seconds, my jaw dropped so far it might’ve dislocated. “Excuse you?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Calloway. You may have those two fooled, but you I see right through you.”

“You’re insane,” I glared. “You think I’m some kind of supervillain, when in reality I’m just an idiot who somehow lucked into a relationship with two amazing people.”

“God, you really buy your own bullshit, don’t you?” Olivia said. 

“Because it’s not bullshit. It’s the truth. I like them both,” I said, bunching my fists together. She thought I was… She thought I was freaking honey-potting the competition! What the hell- who would do such a thing?!

“And the fact that this would make it harder for them to fight you again if it comes to that is just a bit of good luck?” Olivia said. 

“No, it’s bad luck, because it’ll be just as hard for me,” I said, the anger beginning to rise, only to slam against the ceiling of my willpower. I wasn’t going to get angry, not at her, not in public. I just couldn’t believe she really thought I’d... 

“I won’t let you hurt her more than you already have,” Olivia said. 

“Funny, I could say the same thing about you,” I snapped, slamming my hand on the table. “Because you hurt her real badly. You ripped her heart out and tore it into a million fucking pieces. There are times where I still see her struggling to piece it back together. But Zeke and I care about her more than enough to help her with that.”

“Should’ve known you couldn’t get through this conversation without screaming,” Olivia said. 

“I’m not screaming!” I said. Then I blinked again, and realized everyone was staring at me. Because I’d screamed. “I’m not… I’m not the monster you think I am, Olivia,” I said, forcing myself into a quieter volume. The anger began to dissolve, boiled away by the cold fire of my shame and dysphoria. I’m not that person anymore. I’m not.

“However badly I hurt her,” Olivia said, “It’s nothing compared to what you did. She used to rant about you for hours, about how annoying you were, how much you’d embarrassed us, how much we were all looking forward to ripping that smug fucking smirk off your face. She dreaded having to deal with you, and so did I, because just looking at you would ruin her day.”

I blinked again. A tear fell out, shattering on the table. Did I really… Did she really?

“And you’re crying, like the fragile little baby you are,” Olivia rolled her eyes and scoffed. “That’s really all it is with you: you’re a child, desperate for attention. So desperate for Faith’s attention that you harassed her into thinking she likes you after you stole Zeke from her. The fact that you think you can get away with this is sickening. The fact that you think you can flaunt this farce of a relationship in front of everyone is equally sickening. You disgust me, Keith Calloway.”

I stared at her, wide-eyed with shock, my deadname knocking the wind out of me. 

“I bet you’re not even really trans,” Olivia said. “You just wanted the attention Faith was getting because of her transition. You’re an insult to trans people, just like you’re an insult to our sport. And if I have to kick your ass in the battle box to stop you from dragging Faith down with you, I will. But honestly, given who you’re up against this week, I probably won’t even need to. Gregson will put you in your place like the obnoxious little boy you are. I’ll see you at the arena, Keith. Have a nice day. And thanks again for the dress.”

Her words were like daggers, each sentence a stab wound. She got up and left me there, without even my rage for company. It was gone, out of reach- where was it? And why couldn’t I move or speak or do anything but count the tears that were falling from my eyes. It shouldn’t hurt this much. 

It didn’t used to hurt this much. 

I buried my face in my hands and wept, sitting there for what felt like hours. The emotional wounds festered and stung, and I hated how much I thought she was right. I was a travesty, an insult, a bad person, a fake trans girl. If she was wrong, I’d have been able to fight back, keep my anger, use it. Do something instead of cry. And cry. And cry. And cry. 

“Um… Excuse me, Miss?” a slender black barista with dreadlocks tied back in a ponytail said to me while holding a slip of paper. “Your friend said that you would be paying for her food and drink?”

I looked up at him, sure I was in a state with my red eyes and horror show of makeup. 

“You know what? It’s on the house,” he said, offering me a weak thumbs-up.

***

Eventually, I managed to force myself to my feet and hauled my stupid, disgusting, fake body back to the store. I lumbered into the back and stormed past my mother talking to Faith and Zeke in the hallway. 

“Katie?” Faith asked, concern I’d done nothing to warrant plain to see on her perfect face. “What happened?”

“What did she do?” Zeke growled. 

“Kate,” Mom started. 

I stormed past them, silently, and went into my room and slammed the door and locked it. 

I flopped onto my bed, my newly-blonde hair falling into my face. I didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve any of this. I rolled over and looked into the vanity mirror we’d brought into my room recently, and stared at myself. I was disgusting, a perversion, a degenerate travesty, an insult to trans women everywhere. I ought to just hack my hair off, wipe away the runny makeup, put back on the boy clothes I deserved to wear. 

But the thought of that… It was like imagining bathing in sewer water. It made me feel like weeds were growing out of my skin. It made me feel like hiding away in some deep dark corner of unreality and never letting anyone see me again. I couldn’t go back to being Keith. I didn’t want to. 

But what if I wasn’t really trans? What if I really was just a freak? What if I just wanted attention? What if I was just trying to take down the competition by playing some kind of cruel game?

“Kate?” Zeke and Faith both called from the other side of my door. 

I laid there for a while, the room spinning as I slipped further and further away. 

“Please open the door, Kate,” Mom said.

Mom. She and Dad… They believed me. They saw the best in me. And maybe they were biased because they were my parents, but… Maybe there was something to it. 

I rolled off my bed and hobbled over to the door and pulled it open a crack. My partners and my parents both were all there, all slumped with concern like they were sharing my pain. 

“Hi, guys,” I said weakly. 

Mom started, “Katie, what’s going on-”

Faith yanked the door open and wrapped her arms around me. I gasped as she impacted, stunned that she was giving me surprise-hugs all of the sudden. 

“I don’t… I don’t deserve this,” I said. 

“Yes, you do,” Faith said, squeezing me tight. 

“But I’m… I’m not really trans!” I moaned. 

All four of them gaped at me. Finally, Faith said, “What the fuck did she say to you?!”

I explained why as Faith wiped the runny makeup off of my visage and applied moisturizer, then kept explaining as she and Zeke led me to the dining room. My parents had set aside a glass of water for me while my mom cooked spaghetti on the stovetop. 

“And that’s what happened?” Zeke said, sitting on the couch with my dad. Dad was just angrily fiddling with his abacus, looking ready to pop a vein from sheer rage. 

“Yeah,” I said, sitting at the kitchen table while Faith stroked my arm. 

“Unbelievable,” Zeke said, fists balled. 

“But she’s right, I’m an insult to-”

“No,” Faith said simply. “You’re not. Nobody fakes being trans, Kate. Nobody does that to get attention. That’s not a real thing. And even if they did, nobody would go as far as to start taking estrogen. Olivia only thinks that because she knows literally nothing about the topic.”

“Then why does it hurt so much! Why did her words-”

“You’re on estradiol and spiro, sweetie,” Faith said. “It’s like that.”

“It’s… That’s all?”

“Yeah. You’re gonna cry more. And more. And more and more and more. And you’re gonna find yourself becoming less aggressive. That’s normal. It’s just how the HRT works.”

“Oh,” I said quietly. “But what if-”

“Kate, if you were honey-potting us, you’ve been doing a terrible job at it,” Zeke said blandly. “Someone doing that would try to play Faith and I against each other, make us think we had to compete for you. You literally offered to get out of the way so Faith and I could be together at one point.”

“And I should still-”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Zeke said. 

“You really shouldn’t,” Faith said. 

“This is correct,” Dad said. 

“Mm-hm,” Mom intoned. 

“You… You really don’t think I’m… A bad person?”

“No,” they all said. 

“You don’t think I’m an attention whore?”

A bit of incoherent murmuring came out of each of them as they all babbled at once, but eventually Faith’s voice rose over the others: “A little, yeah. But like… That’s not always a bad thing. And you’ve been doing a much better job keeping that in check lately.”

“... Did you and Olivia really used to rant about me for hours at a time?” I asked, barely squeaking out the words I feared the answer to. 

“... Yes,” Faith said, breaking eye contact. “But I’m not proud of that. Yes, you were obnoxious, but I took it WAY too personally. It wasn’t okay. And Olivia and I fed into each other on that. Honestly, we fed into a lot of each other’s worst habits.”

“Oh yeah, big time,” Zeke said. 

“You know, you could have tried to call us on it at the time,” Faith said flatly. 

“Would you have listened?” Zeke said. 

“... No, probably not,” Faith shrugged. “And Olivia definitely wouldn’t have.”

“Yeaahhhhh, that’s what I figured.”

“Look,” Faith said to me, “You can’t let her get to you.”

“I just don’t know what to do with all this,” I said, raking my hands through my hair. Oh, my hair. My beautiful blonde hair. I couldn’t believe I’d been considering hacking it off. “I’m glad I didn’t lose my temper. I’m glad the anger didn’t take over. But… Is this who I am now? I am gonna break down crying every time an insult hits close to home?”

“No,” Faith said with a reassuring smile. “The hormones are overwhelming you right now, but you will get used to them in time.”

“And it doesn’t have to be forever,” Mom said gently, pouring the cooked pasta into a drainer and stirring the marinara and sausage sauce with a wooden spoon. Guess she decided a home-cooked meal was what I needed. “There’s such a thing as feminine strength. You’re allowed to stand up for yourself. You just need to figure out how to do that in a way that feels right to you. In a way that feels right for the woman you’re becoming.”

I gulped, and I nodded. Zeke came over and sat opposite me, and I leaned into his strength. So tough and rugged. And I held Faith close, feeling her strength as well: her iron will and steadfast perseverance, her ability to keep going and always find a way.

“You’ll never be perfect,” Faith said. “But you are getting better. And it’s been amazing, watching you blossom.”

“Thank you,” I sniffed. 

“You’re strong, Katie,” Zeke said. “And you’re brave. You just need to accept that. That’s the first step to being able to stick up for yourself. You’re worth it. And we care about you.”

“We all do,” Dad smiled. 

“Amen,” Mom said as she served me a plate of pasta. 

I felt myself starting to cry again, happy tears this time. I wanted to fight against it, hold it back like I used to. But… 

But that wasn’t real strength. Hiding from how I felt, that wasn’t me. That wasn’t the kind of strength I wanted. I was someone who could be honest about how she felt. And who was strong enough to show it to people. And that was okay. 

So I cried my happy tears while I ate my home cooked meal with the people who saw me for who I really was and who I was becoming. Who saw all that I’d been and all that I could be, and who wanted to be there with me as I moved forward. 

And move forward I would.