“Oh no,” I said, scooping the leftover screws into a cup. “Did yourconsiderationsrun into each other?”
“You could say that.”
“Okay, so, you’re kissing and…”
“I went to pull back, but she wanted to keep on making out. I explained that there was going to be an unavoidable physical reaction if we kept doing that, and I didn’t want to—no pun intended—spring that on her. She thought about it and said it would be fine, so we kept going.”
“I’m guessing she wasn’t as fine as she’d hoped she would be.”
Aggressively pushing a pile of nuts into a cup, she answered, “Got it in one.”
“Shit. I am so sorry. For both of you.”
Her chin trembled. “It wasn’t anybody’s fault. Nobody did anything wrong. She really thought she could handle it, me being—” She looked around and lowered her voice. “—someone who hasn’t had bottom surgery.”
A lot of my fans were trans or nonbinary, and I’d done a lot of work with various trans organizations, all of which probably made Jules more comfortable with me, even though we weren’t necessarily besties.
Yet… hmm. I gathered the bolts into their cup, curious but hesitant to cross that line.
“Go ahead and ask,” she prompted, lining up the cups on the coffee table.
“I respect your privacy,” I said, climbing onto the well-loved couch.
She sat next to me. “I know. That’s why you’re allowed to ask,” she said, putting her head on my shoulder.
I hesitated, considering my words. Finally, I decided that she must’ve invited the question because she wanted to talk about it. “So, is this a temporary situation? Like, do you have a surgery planned that’s going to solve this? Or…?”
She shook her head. “No. Everyone’s feelings about surgery are super individual. And every trans person’s approach is valid.”
“Of course.”
She laughed to herself. “It’s funny how you sound so confident about that. I keep wondering if someone who looks as femme as I do should be taking hormone replacements and scheduling the surgeries. I mean, I’ve done the laser hair removal and the tracheal shave,” she said, ghosting her fingertips from her jawline to the light scar where her Adam’s apple used to be. “And while I’m super happy with that, I wonder if I should’ve already had top surgery.”
“You don’t want to?”
She shook her head and locked eyes with her shoes. “I’m so lucky—with my family, with my friends, with the resources available to me. But…” She glanced around, then looked me in the eyes, hesitating.
“Nothing you say is going to shock me, Jules. Feel free to share whatever you choose to share.”
She took another big breath. “I’m just a girl with a dick,” she said, then watched intently for my reaction.
“Okay…”
“And I’m fine with that. But I’m also a lesbian, and any partner of mine will have to be good with everything I bring to the table. It’s not Ginger’s fault that she’s not, but I can’t be with someone who can’t accept my body as it is.”
“I agree, though I’m sure none of that is simple.”
“It isn’t. Which is why I usually only date other trans girls. They get it. Not all of them are comfortable with my body, either, but at least they tend to feel more safe saying that up front, before anyone’s feelings get too involved. But with Ginger—” She smoothed her hands along her thighs. “—I’d hoped it’d be okay.”
“This blows, and the fact that it’s nobody’s fault kinda makes it even worse.”
“Exactly.” She thumbed away a tear. “It would definitely suck less if Ginger wasn’t such a cool human. She’s been through so much. Like, I fought in a war, and I’m not half as brave as she is.”
“Facts,” I said, not knowing the full extent of what Ginger had been through, only that it was really, really awful. “I’m so sorry. Do you think y’all can be friends again? Maybe with time?”
“I hope so,” she said, but she didn’t sound confident.
Strong, familiar hands landed on my shoulders, and I smiled. “Is my boyfriend dispensing heart-to-heart advice?” Sawyer said, squeezing and releasing the tired muscles.
