Flesh & Blood

FLESH & BLOOD

E. DOOLAND

Copyright © A. E. Dooland 2015

First published as a weekly web series on aedooland.com

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above and excluding ordinary retail purchase from authorised distributers, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission of the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this story, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover design and art by Yue Li

yue-li.tumblr.com

Edited by Anne Farmer and Martina Veselá

ISBN: 978-0-9941779-3-3

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you once again to Anne Farmer for her thoughtful critique, tireless support, and persistent encouragement, and also to Martina Veselá for her sharp eyes and helpful suggestions. They both deserve a holiday after listening to me talking about this story for a full ten months.

Thank you to Jieun, Jude and Haley for sharing their culture with me and checking I wasn’t getting anything about Min’s mum horribly wrong.

And finally, thank you to my own wonderful mother for being nothing like Min’s!

***

FINANCIAL BACKERS

Sequel to Under My Skin, this story ran as a crowd-funded weekly web series and has been collated as a novel. The following people were major financial supporters of the story.

Firstly, a big thank you to the most generous backer, the enigmatic ‘Mysterious Mitchell’ who is truly a pleasure to write for, and:

Becky

Miya

Manu

Aleksandra Borowska

David Goodes

David and Stephanie Jones

A. Miura

Brooke A. Steele

Tsutako

Lake McGlone

Amy ‘Bucky’ Watson

Nora

Irian and Mai

Brooke Stewart

Yue Li

Sapaen

Max

S. X.

Katie S.

Kristen Madrid

Sam D.

Liv and Tiz

Ashleigh Wickens

Ken Dibbins

Nib

Lo Lyons

***

ONE

When Bree and I pulled into the driveway of Sarah’s house, it was dark. Not that I expected an epic fanfare or anything upon my return, but given what day it was, what I didn’t expect was nothing. For a couple of seconds, I actually wondered if the GPS had led me astray – I had only just moved into Sarah’s spare room right before I’d gone away for two weeks, after all – but then I saw her boyfriend’s banged up ute in the carport. This was the right house, owned by the right people, and it was dark and empty and they were somewhere else on my birthday.

It was hard not to be disappointed, even if I was well into adulthood now.

Sarah and Rob aren’t home? I asked Bree as we got out, thinking she’d probably been here to drop off her stuff before she came to meet me at the airport.

Bree shrugged. I think Sarah said they needed to go pick something up for Rob? I didn’t really ask. She saw my expression as I opened the boot to get my luggage. Don’t worry! They didn’t forget or anything, Sarah said something like, ‘You’re making Min a cake, aren’t you?’ just before. They’ll probably be back soon. Here, I’ll take the smaller case.

I handed it to her. Oh, well, I said, trying pretty hard to be pragmatic about them abandoning me on my birthday, I suppose celebrating alone with my girlfriend works just as well as it did for the last few years with my boyfriend.

Bree gave me a look as we hauled the cases up the stairs to the back porch. Gee, don’t sound so incredibly enthusiastic about it, she said. I was going to cook you dinner and spend all night in your lap telling you how totally impressive and amazing you are at whatever game you want to play, but I can always—

—I didn’t mean it like that, I said, ruffling her blonde curls with my spare hand as I dumped my case by the back door. The porch light wasn’t even on; that was weird.

I know what you mean, Bree said, apparently not bothered by the missing light. I get it. You were kind of hoping Sarah and Rob would make a big fuss over you.

I sighed, feeling around in my pocket for my keys. Silly, isn’t it? I’m not a kid anymore.

Yeah, Bree said, brightening again. You’re in your late 20s.

I scoffed. Please, 26 is still mid-20s. I stopped sorting through my keys for a second, frowning. Hey, don’t you think it’s kind of weird Sarah didn’t leave the back light on for us? She’s normally really good about stuff like that. I wonder if she’s okay.

Bree looked blank. I’m sure she would have called if she wasn’t?

Sure she would have called… Oh, shit! Something suddenly occurred to me. "I don’t think I switched my phone off Flight Mode in the airport because someone jumped on me too quickly." I hurriedly fished it out of my pocket so I could fix that. The second I did, a whole stream of notifications came through, including seven voicemails from a private number. Sarah’s number was private.

Bree looked a little impatient. Don’t you want to wait and do that when we get inside?

Nah, it’ll just take a second, I said, dialling voicemail and propping my phone between my shoulder and my ear as I fit my key into the lock. She’s left me a few voicemails, I should listen to them in case they’re really important and—

I didn’t get the chance to finish because the very second I opened the door and set foot inside, the lights burst on and a chorus of voices yelled, Surprise!

I—what?

I just stood there for a second with my jaw open.

There was a group of people, most of whom I recognised from Sarah’s movie nights, all wearing pleated skirts or tailored pants, blazers, school hats, neckties, and knee-high socks. Sarah had pulled the kitchen table into the centre of the living room for the spectacle and was standing on top of it. I didn't notice at first because I was too distracted by all the people, but on the table at Sarah's feet were dozens of presents. While I was standing frozen in place and gaping at it all, everyone began to sing a cheerful, drunk version of Happy Birthday to me.

I was just... I’d been winding up to spend the night alone with Bree; I hadn’t thought… well, I knew these guys, but we weren’t buddy-buddy and they had their own lives, you know? They were busy. But this… it didn’t feel real. If they hadn’t been singing ‘Happy Birthday, Dear Min’, I don’t think I would have really believed any of it was for me.

When they were done singing, Sarah cleared her throat ceremoniously and held up a piece of paper which looked suspiciously like a running sheet. So, she addressed me, grinning. You’re probably wondering why there’s a bunch of 20- and 30-somethings dressed in school uniforms in my house. I mean, apart from the fact that we’re all totally rocking them. Am I right, guys? Rob cheered enthusiastically, and the rest of them laughed at him as Sarah continued. Well, it’s for two reasons. First of all, it is your birthday, and we all know you have a thing for schoolkids…

I had to laugh a bit at that. Beside me, Bree joined in. She was still wearing her real uniform.

Sarah let me finish chuckling and then sobered. And secondly, I know high school really sucked for you because you were different, and you didn’t have a proper graduation party the first time around. You didn’t have a proper anything the first time around. And, like, I can do better than that, Min, she told me with a smile. I can make a fuss over you. So here’s the celebration you always should have had! She held up her beer towards the ceiling to toast me. Congratulations on leaving the crappiest boss on the planet, on getting into the course of your dreams, and Happy Birthday!

Everyone cheered and drank deeply, and I… God, they all looked so happy for me. They were all smiling and toasting me, and they’d all dug up their old uniforms just for me. And all those presents… Real people didn’t come home to birthday parties like this, did they?

Apparently, if they had friends like Sarah, they did. Fuck, I couldn’t tear up in front of everyone.

Fortunately, Sarah rescued me by climbing down off the table in her scandalously short school dress and coming to give me a big hug. Sorry, she said, not sounding very sorry. But it’s kind of compulsory to be the centre of attention on your birthday.

I hid the fact I was smiling and hugged her back very tightly. If you make me cry in front of everyone, I will kill you.

She pulled away and narrowed her eyes at me. Challenge accepted, she said. She then grabbed my hand and towed me into the scrum of adults in school uniforms to be hugged, patted and wished Happy Birthday by everyone.

Sarah had invited all the people she usually had over: Liz and her husband Chris, Andrew and Gay Matt, the other Matt ‘Smithy’, as well as Rob and one of Rob’s friends, ‘Dazza’, who looked rough, spoke broadly and was covered in tattoos, but seemed otherwise very friendly.

I hadn’t really wanted to ask myself the question, but as I finished up shaking hands and getting hugs from people, I kept kind of hoping I’d see Henry’s face amongst everyone. We were very freshly broken up, and I knew it was a serious long shot because he’d told me he didn’t know if we could stay friends, but I wouldn’t have put it past Sarah to invite him anyway, not at all. I also wouldn’t have put it past him to accept that invitation. It would have been nice to have him here.

When I got to the last person, though, it wasn’t him. It was someone who was wearing a skirt that was even shorter than Sarah’s, and while she did actually have a very nice pair of legs, she obviously wasn’t that comfortable with showing so much of them.

Gemma, I said, greeting her. She smiled and went to hug me, but she tilted her head in the same direction as I did and we nearly smacked noses. I had to laugh. We got it right the second time.

Happy Birthday, she wished me belatedly as she pulled away. I must have been glancing downward as I thanked her because she noticed and went a bit red. Oh, god... it’s been at least ten years since I put my uniform on. I didn’t know it was going to be this short.

Yes, she did, Sarah said loudly behind me.

Gemma looked mortified, but didn’t get the chance to say anything else about it because I was dragged all the way back to my bedroom and deposited there by the host. Your costume’s in there, Birthday Boy! Sarah told me as she pushed me inside. Don’t come out until you look as terrible as we all do. The door closed in my face, and I had to laugh at it.

My ‘costume’ was spread out on my bed, and it turned out to be pretty much what all the men were wearing: generic tailored pants, a white shirt and – I checked the crest – a St. Peters Boys’ tie. Everything was in my size, too.

This is so surreal, I thought, grinning down at the uniform. Someone had thrown a party for me, complete with costumes, and there were actual people at it! I put my phone on the table and went to try everything on.

There was a gentle knock on the door while I was buttoning the shirt up over my binder. It’s me, Bree’s voice said, and then she burst straight in without waiting for an answer and practically bounced over to me. So how cool is this whole thing? Sarah’s been planning it for ages!

Well, that at least answered the question about whether or not Bree had been in on everything. You were part of all this! I accused her faux-sternly, but I’m pretty sure it was clear I was bluffing.

Maybe! she answered brightly. Sarah did all the organising, but she’s always at work and she needed someone who could do stuff for her during the day.

You’re at school during the day.

She looked very guilty. Yeah, she said dismissively, and then hung off my waist as I tried to get my tie done. So, did you guess at all? Like, did you think, ‘these guys are hiding something from me’?

Surprisingly, no, I realised. Or maybe not surprisingly, I was away for two weeks.

She giggled. Yeah, you being up in Broome did kind of help, but seriously, I thought you were going to guess when we got home just before. So I figured if I could just keep you, like, focused on your disappointment at Sarah and Rob being ‘gone’ and everyone totally forgetting about you, you wouldn’t think of other reasons the house might be dark.

I stopped mangling the knot in my tie to look at her like she had three heads. I kept forgetting how good she was at lying; it was unnerving. That’s one seriously well-considered lie, I observed, and then got straight back to fucking up the knot.

Worth it, it worked! she declared, batting my hands away from my tie and fixing it for me in about five seconds flat. Then, we both stood back to consider my reflection in the mirror.

It was okay, except my pants had that sagging crotch thing again; story of my fucking life. I tried to reposition the fabric. Do you think I should put the packer in to fill that up?

Bree stopped posing for a second. If you want?

I looked back at the mirror and sighed. Will people think it looks weird without it, though?

She laughed good-naturedly at me. You’re overthinking again! No one else is going to notice, seriously. She turned towards me and put her arms around my waist. Besides, everyone out there knows you're kind of a guy but not, like, a typical trans guy. They call you 'she', you know? It's no big deal. She pointed at the mirror. So stop stressing and check out how cute we look! See? She squeezed my waist.

I looked back at the reflection again. I did like how we looked together, and she was looking especially gorgeous with that great big smile. I tapped her nose with my index finger. I think you do ‘cute’ enough for both of us.

Her face lit up at the compliment and she smiled up at me for a second or two. I’m so glad you’re back, she said more tamely, and then pulled me down by my tie into a kiss. That, I had missed; it had been two weeks since I’d kissed her properly. Having her skype me on the weekends from Sarah’s computer wasn’t really the same. And since we were finally in the privacy of my own room, it meant that we could really get—

There was a loud thump on the door. Time’s up, Birthday Boy! That was Sarah’s voice. Everyone here wants to get you drunk and give you presents, special cuddles will have to wait!

Bree sighed as I straightened again, looking like she was going to whinge about not being able to pash me more, but then she remembered something. Oh, the cake! she said, I have to get it ready! and then rushed back through the door.

I followed her out, and everyone had pulled chairs into the mouth of the hallway and cheered at me when I emerged. That was a bit confronting, even if I knew everyone.

Still, since the crowd was waiting, I did a slow turn to present myself so they could all appreciate how I looked in my boys’ uniform. That earned me a round of drunken applause and a couple of wolf-whistles. Even when they’d settled down again and stopped yelling compliments, I was still smiling like an idiot.

Sarah gave me the once-over, impressed. Nice. Bree got the sizes right. She took a deep breath and called into the kitchen, Bree, you did something right!

Yay! was the response as Sarah led me over to the present table and sat me in an empty chair.

There were about 20 full shot glasses on the table between me and the presents. Sarah wasn’t fucking around with the ‘drunk’ part. Is killing me all part of the celebrations?

Sarah clapped me on the back. I’ve seen you drink. Those would hardly make you tipsy, let alone kill you, but no, she said. You’ll only drink all of those if you can’t guess which present came from who. If you guess right about who gave you a particular present, they drink one.

It was actually surprisingly fun. People had brought me pretty funny presents to start with; the ‘boy’ theme was popular, so there was a lot of typical guy-stuff like nice leather wallet – which I actually really needed so I knew Sarah had bought me that – a set of three novelty-patterned ties, football-scented soap, some dog-tags which I remembered mentioning to Gemma that I liked a few weeks ago, and various other random stuff. I guessed wrong on the ‘His First Shaving Kit’ present because it seemed like the type of joke gift Sarah would give me.

She looked insulted to be picked for that one. Are you kidding? she said. I’m waiting for you to decide to start taking testosterone and grow a pretentious hipster beard like a proper art snob. It turned out to be Rob who had gotten that for me.

Bree patted Rob’s head. Good choice, she told him as I took my shot. Min isn’t a big fan of facial hair.

Which was one of the many reasons why starting testosterone injections wasn’t very high up my to-do list, despite Sarah’s complete conviction it’d happen eventually.

There was one particular present I left aside; I recognised the delicately patterned and meticulously wrapped paper. The frilly ribbon was also a dead giveaway. Apparently my mother wasn’t boycotting my birthday after all, despite how upset she was at me quitting my ‘perfect’ job and not being able to regularly send money back to South Korea anymore. I didn’t want to open it in front of everyone because I had no idea what it was. I gave it to Bree to put in my bedroom before she presented me with hers: the enormous birthday cake.

It was flat and rectangular and iced like a Cintiq tablet, and there were stick figures of the guests at the party piped all over it. Everyone insisted on singing Happy Birthday to me again so I could blow out the one candle, and then when the cake was cut into slices, everyone fought over which stick figure was who so they could joke about eating each other.

I think wearing these uniforms is actually turning you into schoolkids, I told them all dryly as Sarah swallowed Rob’s piece whole and everyone leered.

Shut up and eat your girlfriend, Sarah told me, nudging my slice toward me. I glanced up towards Bree across the table, and she gave me a coy little wink as I put the piece in my mouth; she’d undone an extra button on her school shirt for the occasion. I needed to be reminded to chew.

Gemma had gone off to the toilet after presents were finished, and came back to find her own slice of cake left alone on the platter. She took it and laughed bleakly. That’s right, she said. There are eleven of us, and eleven is a prime number.

I’ll share my piece with you! Bree cheerfully offered before she even realised what she’d said. Everyone was quiet for a fraction of a second before they all burst out laughing, and that just made Gemma blush again. Bree looked horrified. Oh, no! That’s not what I meant! I just thought we could share because I made Min’s slice really big and I’m really small, and I can’t fit all of this in!

She was drowned out by more laughter, and Gay Matt prompted her, Could you give us a demo of what you have in mind? I threw a scrunched up piece of wrapping paper at him.

Gemma ended up quickly eating her own piece, thinking that’s where the jokes would stop. She was wrong. I was surrounded by adults acting like drunk teenagers and it was hilarious.

As people finished eating each other, we took a few group photos of ourselves all in our uniforms and then everyone went to refill their drinks.

I sat back in my chair and enjoyed the familiar feeling of alcohol setting in.

It’d normally be just me and Henry playing PlayStation in my old apartment right now, I realised, still completely spun by the fact someone had thrown a party for me. Henry probably would have thrown me one, but I don’t think either of us really had enough good friends on our own to pull it off. Henry worked too much; in fact, he was probably still at work. I wondered what he’d be doing if he was here, because I couldn’t imagine him at a party like this. He’d probably enjoy it, though. He was a people person.

I spent a couple of seconds trying to guess what he would have bought me for my birthday. I didn’t have to wonder very hard: I still had that beautiful $27,000 engagement ring in a box in my room, never to be worn. ‘Keep it’, he’d said quietly, even though we’d broken up. ‘It was for you anyway’.

God, I thought, remembering that whole painful night. That was the last time I’d spoken to him. Why on earth did I think there would be any chance at all he’d be here after what I did to him?

I sighed. Well, there were two last shots on the table in front of me and I might as well drink them, right? I went to scull them. I didn’t manage to, though, because Bree’s little hands darted across the table and snatched them and they both went down her throat.

Hey! I said, indignant. Whose birthday is it again?

You’ve had enough, she said cheerfully, and then rounded the table with the cake empty tray to plant a kiss on the top of my head. She was being amicable enough, but she stopped in the doorway to make sure I knew she was serious before she disappeared into the kitchen.

Rob’s mate Dazza saw the whole thing and looked very amused. Why’s she allowed to keep drinking and you're not?

Because she doesn't have the same history with alcohol that I have, I thought, and she’s right. Because she's the boss.

He clapped me on the back. Someone’s got you under her thumb, he said broadly with a grin. Although I kind of don’t blame you, she’s gold. I only get to give it to girls like that in my dreams.

Well, I’m not so much giving it to her as she’s forcibly taking it from me.

He laughed at that, and I hoped that was the end of the conversation. It wasn’t. I could feel him looking at me like he wanted to say something else, and I knew what type of question was coming next. The other guys knew me and knew how much I didn’t like doing Min’s Gender Q&A; Dazza didn’t, and apparently Rob hadn’t given him the 101.

How does that work, anyway? he wondered aloud. Is it like lesbians for you two? I mean, because you don't have a... He at least had the courtesy to gesture at my flat crotch rather than say the word for everyone to hear.

I immediately regretted not wearing the packer and I wondered if the fact I wasn't had anything to do with his question. Actually, I'm saving myself for marriage.

He was so drunk that for a second he believed me. Really?

Nope.

He laughed, and I’m pretty sure he got the message. Hah, nice save. So, you were just up in Broome, yeah? That’s where I’m from. That explained his incredibly broad accent. What were you doing up there?

At least art was something I felt comfortable talking about, and despite his rough appearance, he was very interested in what I’d painted and in which café. I ended up talking to him for ages, and he was midway through explaining the meaning behind his multitude of tattoos when Sarah tugged on my sleeve and inclined her head towards the couch.

I looked over her shoulder: Bree had fallen asleep curled in a little ball and completely oblivious to the loud chatter and people stomping everywhere around her. This wasn’t just an ordinary Bree-style sugar crash, either. Clearly those last two shots she’d taken for me had finished her off. I felt a teensy bit guilty about that; she’d hate to miss anything.

Sarah grinned. Hilarious, right? I mean, apart from the obvious illegality of getting a five-year-old really drunk. I groaned, and let her gather me and everyone else around the couch for a cheeky Facebook photo of us all posing around sleeping Bree. The photo I was okay with; it was only when someone asked Sarah if she had a permanent marker that I decided I should probably put Bree safely in bed before anyone could draw a moustache on her.

Shouldn’t you call her parents to come get her? one of the Matts joked as I lifted my groggy girlfriend off the couch and carried her towards my bedroom. I didn’t really want to joke about Bree’s family, so I pretended I hadn’t heard him as I closed the door and tucked Bree into my bed.

I couldn’t just dump her there in whatever condition she was in, though, so I sat beside her for a second, stroking the hair off her face. She didn’t seem unconscious-unconscious—at least, not to a level that I should worry about. She’d passed out enough times while completely sober at my apartment for me to know there wasn’t anything too wrong. Still, I checked her pulse, just to be safe.

It woke her up a little. Are you going to come to bed? she mumbled.

Soon, I told her.

Okay. Don’t leave your binder on, she said, and then snuggled into the doona and promptly started breathing deeply again.

I had to smile at that. It was going to be nice to have her in my bed after two weeks of sleeping by myself. That was probably the only good thing about her parents having zero interest in her whereabouts; she could stay over with me as often as she wanted, including coming to surprise parties on school nights. That seemed so alien to me. If my mum had even let me go to a party at 18, she would probably have sat out the front in her car the whole time and phoned me every five minutes.

Thinking about Mum made me remember that I hadn’t braved her present yet. From where I was sitting I could see it sitting innocuously on the desk, and the room was so small I could probably just reach out from the bed and grab it. I tested that theory, and then sat back on the bed with her present across my lap.

The ribbon was frilly. That was my first concern because I hated frills, and it didn’t bode well for what might be inside. I had to get this over and done with, though, didn’t I? I was going to have to do it at some point.

I undid that frilly ribbon and very, very carefully peeled the edges of the sticky tape off the paper without tearing it—Mum hated it when I just ripped into presents and I felt like she’d just know. When the perfectly preserved wrapping paper was folded neatly on the bed next to me and I discovered what was inside, I was really glad I hadn’t opened this in front of everyone else.

She’d sent me a cutesy microwavable heat pack in the shape of a bunny—I’d probably lose that one to Bree—and a book of wedding dresses for ‘the tall’ woman. Real subtle, Mum, I thought, frowning at it. It was also in Korean. I leafed through it just to properly horrify myself, and I saw her precise handwriting inside the front cover. ‘Henry would love some of these!’

I’m sure he would if we were still together, I thought to myself. That was about as close as I’d gotten to telling her, because she loved him. If I’d told her we’d broken up, I’d be opening a card full of anthrax right now. Or worse: I’d be opening the front door to her. I sighed at the book and put it back on my desk.

In the process of doing that, I caught sight of my phone and its little flashing LED: blue for new voicemail. In the frenzy of the party, I’d forgotten all about those. Obviously they hadn’t been left by Sarah like I’d originally thought, and looking at my phone beside Mum’s present suddenly made it very clear to me exactly who had left me all those seven messages. I closed my eyes for a second, exhaling. Of course, my birthday was the perfect opportunity to spend seven minutes nagging me, wasn’t it?

Well, fuck that. Sarah had gone to a tonne of effort to put this party together, and I was pretty sure her running sheet didn’t have a segment dedicated to me sitting in my bedroom being nagged and feeling sorry for myself. I was not going to be sucked back into that place by someone who was 10,000km away: it was my birthday, this was my first real party and I was going to fucking enjoy it.

I kissed Bree’s temple, slipped the packer into my underwear, and then went back to the party where I couldn't be bothered by that little flashing LED.

TWO

I’m going to be late for work!

It was impossible to tell what time it was in winter, and for some reason my stupid alarm hadn’t gone off—I’d probably been drunk and forgot to set it again, my team was going to kill me–and, fuck, where was my fucking phone?— I had been hurriedly feeling around for my phone on the bedside table when I realised my table was the wrong height. That’s weird, I thought as my eyes adjusted to the light. Nothing made sense, I didn’t remember getting another—

—bedroom.

I wasn’t in my apartment. It took me several seconds of staring at an unfamiliar ceiling to remember what had happened and where I was.

I’d quit that god-awful job. No one was going to kill me. No one was expecting me to be anywhere at the crack of dawn doing anything for anyone, and no one was asking me why I no speaky Engrish or telling me to leave all that tranny shit at home. I was in Sarah’s house, there was a formal complaint pending about all that crap, and I could relax.

I lay my head back on my pillow and took a deep breath. Beside me, Bree stirred. Under the doona, she slung an arm across my stomach and buried her nose in my shoulder. It’s okay, she said groggily. She was lovely and warm.

I kissed her forehead and felt her smile against my shoulder. That made me smile, and I exhaled at length, ready to try for another round of sleep before I realised that it was Friday and Bree had school.

I groaned, opened my eyes again, and clumsily felt around my bedside table for my phone so I could hold it at my face, in the process knocking over a framed photo of Bree smooching my cheek and probably about a hundred other things. I read the clock at the same time as I noticed that fucking flashing blue LED and those stupid messages I hadn’t listened to yet. I dropped it back on the bedside table and sighed upwards at the ceiling. Clearly I wasn’t supposed to relax this morning.

You’re doing that teeth-grindy thing again, Bree mumbled into my arm.

She was right, I was. I tried to relax my jaw, but my muscles still felt all stiff. Why am I such a stress ball this morning, anyway? I asked her, tilting my head to stretch my neck. I had such an awesome time last night.

Because when there’s nothing to worry about, you worry about worrying, Bree told me sagely, and snuggled up against my arm. Don’t worry so much. Just relax.

Wow, I’m cured, I said dryly. Thank you, Dr Dejanovic.

She was peeking over the doona at me and there was a twinkle in her eye. You pronounced it wrong.

Oh, yeah? I said, and propped myself up on an elbow. Let’s hear you say my name properly.

She still had that cheeky grin. Pretty hard for me when you can’t even pronounce your own name properly.

Wow. That earned her a tickle, and I rolled over on top of her, my fingers hovering ominously around her ribs while she struggled, laughed, apologised and shrieked—that ear-splitting, glass-shattering sound she made when she panicked. I put my hand over her mouth. Shh! I hissed, but I was laughing too hard for it to be an effective warning.

She licked my palm to get me to take my hand away, and it worked. At my grossed-out expression, she shoved me. Are you serious? You’ll let me put it in your mouth but you think it’s gross on your hand? she wrinkled that cute little nose of hers. No wonder you won’t let me put it anywhere else!

Didn’t you hear what I told Dazza? I’m saving myself for marriage.

She looked a bit coy. Yeah? Well, I’m not, so…

"Oh boy, I wonder what that means," I said flatly, and then leant down to kiss her.

In the grand habit of Bree, at some point in the night her skirt and her socks had come off and were probably buried in the covers somewhere. I had bare legs, too, and the feeling of all that skin against mine was not incentive to get Bree off to school on time. She was soft and warm, and her hips were resting against mine and our legs were intertwined, and, god, her buttons were really hard to undo with one hand…

She helped me, and then said in a deep voice which I think was supposed to be mine, ’You can’t be late, Bree, that would make you a terrible person!’

I kissed down her neck to her collarbones. I’m just getting you ready for a shower, I told her as I pushed apart the sides of her shirt. Her breasts were falling out of her bra because she was on her back, and that was a very, very pleasant sight. God, I was going to need one of those showers myself: a very cold one. I wanted that bra and those knickers off her right now.

We couldn’t start something, though, because she needed to get to school before Christmas. I managed to resist the allure of all that very tempting skin, and sat back off her. Okay, I said breathily. Okay, we probably shouldn’t. You need to go get ready or you will be late.

"Fine, she said, and sat up from underneath me, shrugging off her school shirt and her bra, and leaning over to my phone. She scoffed. I’m going to be way early, you are so ultra-paranoid about time."

I just wanted to make sure you had an opportunity to use all the hot water before it’s my turn.

She rolled her eyes at me and stood, grabbing her towel and wrapping it around herself. I must have been watching a bit too hard as she did that, because she gave me another cheeky grin before she left. You want to come and waste the hot water with me?

I winced: I did, a lot. But seeing my naked body in front of Sarah’s full-length bathroom mirror was a big enough challenge for me even when I was alone. I can’t, I told her, making a face. I’m sorry, I just—

—I know, she said simply, and then added, Maybe we could get you, like, a binder that’s supposed to be swum in or something? I mean, trans guys still want to swim, right, so they probably exist? That could be fun.

Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of being wet and naked together, though?

No, she said, as if the suggestion was ridiculous. We’ll still be in there together with all the hot water and the steam, and I’ll be naked. When I tried to apologise again, she cut me off. —Still worrying too much, she told me, leant down and gave me a quick kiss and another spectacular view of her cleavage, and then slipped off to have that shower.

I had been sitting on the bed, smiling like an idiot and imagining all that hot water and steam, but the little flashing LED on my phone kept fucking distracting me. I gave up, threw on some clothes, and went to see how Sarah’s house had fared after the party.

The hallway outside my bedroom looked normal, but as I approached the mouth of the living room, there were tumbleweeds of party streamers gathered in corners and I nearly trod on a bottle cap. Off in the kitchen I could see the sink had a skyscraper of dirty cake plates stacked in it, and the number of empty bottles crammed onto the kitchen counter made it look like at least a hundred people had been drinking last night, not a dozen. The living room had bottles in it, too, but in addition to the bottles there was rubbish spread everywhere—it looked like a party bomb had detonated and showered the whole area with festive mess.

In the centre of the room, seated at the dining table, Sarah was dressed in her work clothes and hunched over an uneaten bowl of cereal, groaning like a creature out of Silent Hill.

She looked up at me when I entered. I think I’m going to die, she said bleakly.

I laughed. You look like you’re already half there, I told her, and then had to rush back to my room to get the phone so I could take a morning after photo of her and the house.

If you tag that, I’m taking you with me to the grave, she said, waving her spoon at me. Then, she dropped it back in her cereal, moaned and put her head in her arms on the table. I am way too old for this, my head is killing me and I have a presentation this morning. I thought food might help, but if I have a single mouthful of this cereal, I swear to god I am going to need a bucket.

I bent over the table and rescued a lock of her long brown hair from swimming in the milk. On the bright side, you threw a fucking amazing party.

She looked up from her forearms. It was great, wasn’t it? Good, I’m glad I’m not going to die in vain. And let’s be serious: you were totally digging the chance to see me in a school uniform. I know how it is.

I grinned. You’re way too old for me, Sarah.

She pretended to be offended. Harsh! she said, laughing. Although I guess I’ve told you about a hundred times that you can’t touch me until you put on 50 kilos of muscle, so I guess that makes us even. C’mere. She held an arm in the air that I was presumably supposed to accept, so I put my phone down on the table and let her put that arm around me. Happy Birthday, she told me, and gave me a big, firm hug. I didn’t want to say this in front of a whole room of people, but I am pathetically in awe of you. You’re literally awesome. Inspirational, even.

Over Sarah’s shoulder, I could see the LED on my phone. ’Inspirational’? I asked a bit sceptically, trying to ignore it so I could focus on the nice things Sarah was saying to me.

She let me go, and I sat beside her as she lolled semi-upright on her chair. Yeah, she said. Hear me out before you decide I’m so hungover that I’ve lost my grip on reality. So, all the changes you’re making, it makes a girl think about her own life, you know? She looked a bit wistful. What am I supposed to be? Not, like, gender-wise, obviously, but in general. I thought about it, and even though I’m pretty happy with my life and things are great, I don’t know my purpose. Does that make sense? It’s not wasting away as a lowly forgotten clerk at Frost, that’s for sure. I mean, ideally they’d promote me—that’s what we’re all there for, right?—but since it seems kind of obvious that’s never going to happen, there’s no point in me hanging around and just hoping. So, I was thinking of giving up on the whole upper management dream, and paying off my house—that’ll probably take me two-ish years—and then doing all that cliché self-discovery crap: taking a year off to travel the world, and maybe spending a few months in the part of Italy my Dad’s side is from.

That actually sounds pretty awesome, I told her honestly. I turned my phone over so I couldn’t see the light anymore.

Sarah noticed. Yeah, I’ve always wanted to do that stuff, but sort of assumed I couldn’t, you know? Which is crap, of course I can do it if I want to. So, thank you for showing me that just by doing your thing. We smiled at each other for a moment, and then her smile faded and her eyes dipped to the table. Min. What’s going on with your phone?

Nothing, I answered, probably a little too quickly. Her eyes narrowed and, with speed belying someone who was catastrophically hungover, her hand shot out to grab it. I got there first and put it in the front pocket of my hoodie. The notification light was bothering me, that’s all.

She looked very suspicious. You do realise if you check your notifications they stop blinking, right?

Oh my god, so that’s how it works.

She ignored my sarcasm. I thought we’d got you to a place where you actually answered your phone when it rings? Apparently Mum had outsourced the nagging to my friends, now.

Bit hard to answer it when it’s in flight mode 25,000 feet in the air.

Sarah didn’t budge. …15 hours ago, she said pointedly. Come on, what’s the worst thing those messages could say?

I didn't get the opportunity to answer, though, because Bree came bouncing into the living room, dressed and ready, and in the middle of announcing that when she stopped. Whoa, she said, surveying the damage and looking pretty impressed. "You guys went crazy. I’m kind of sad I missed—whoa, she repeated when she saw Sarah. Then, she laughed. Sarah, you look terrible."

Sarah narrowed her eyes at Bree. Gee, thanks, she said. Whose house are you staying in again?

Bree completely ignored her. Maybe you should stay home and get better? I could look after you! I could clean up, too, this place is a mess.

You have school, I reminded Bree, and she made a face.

Sarah stood painfully. Hah! she said, Sick leave? What’s sick leave? At Frost, we only have people who show up to work and traitors. She gestured at Bree and began to walk towards the door. Come on, Schoolgirl, let’s get moving.

Bree looked surprised. You want to walk with me?

Sarah bustled her towards the hallway. I need someone to call 000 if I pass out on the way to the station. Go on, get your bag, let’s go!

Sarah may have been joking, but I recognised those careful steps she was taking from enduring five years of terrible hangovers. That must be one mother of a headache, and it wasn’t like I had anything else to do today, was it?

I’ll drive you, I called after them and followed them into the hallway. Least I can do to say thanks for the party, right?

Sarah looked dead serious. I’d totally kiss you, she said, but with the way I feel right now, I’d probably throw up in your mouth and that’s not a great way to thank someone.

After we’d piled in my car and taken off, she didn’t look much better, either. I must have been glancing nervously towards her, because she patted me reassuringly. Don't worry, I’d vomit in my handbag before I’d vomit on the leather seats of your glorious Lexus, and my bag's Chanel, she said with gravity. That’s how much I appreciate you driving me.

Bree was sitting in the back looking thoughtful. I think I read something that said if you press, like, this place in your right wrist it stops you from feeling sick, she said, and then she made a noise. Or maybe it was your left wrist? I forget. I’ll check. Her little hand appeared over the back of my seat. Phone.

I took it out of the pouch in my hoodie and passed it back to her automatically.

It took her a couple of seconds. Min, you have like seven voicemails, she observed.

Here we go. I know.

Well, why don’t you listen to them? Doesn’t your car have Bluetooth?

I could see Sarah smirking at me from the corner of my eye. Oh, yeah, look, here’s the symbol, she said, and ‘helpfully’ pointed to the little B on my dash.

I braked suddenly and they both yelped. Whoops, I said flatly, accelerating again. I guess I should really concentrate on the road and not allow myself to be distracted.

I can listen to them for you! Bree offered. And then I can tell you what they say!

That’s not going to be very useful unless you learnt to speak Korean while I was in Broome.

The smile on Bree’s face faded. Oh, they’re from your mum? I nodded. She made a face. Well, maybe they’re not all from your mum? I mean, it was your birthday, maybe some other people called, too? You should listen, just in case!

They’re from Mum, I said. Everyone else was at the surprise party. Well, everyone else except Henry…

Sarah grabbed my arm and nearly made me swerve. Oh, no! she said with exaggerated drama. What if your Mum’s calling to wish you a happy birthday?

I sighed at her. If that’s all it was, I’d be fine.

Sarah watched me for a moment and recognition dawned on her face. She stopped smirking. Oh. Oh, right. She doesn’t know, does she? I shook my head, and she sat back in her seat and stopped bothering me. Yeah, I thought that gift wrap looked a bit girly. Ouch. I didn’t say anything to that and we drove the rest of the way to Frost in silence.

It was weird pulling up alongside Frost International HQ; seeing the building again up close now that I no longer worked there made me feel out of place. Everything looked the same, but it felt unfamiliar and different, somehow, as if it was in another dimension. It kind of was, in a way. It was in my past, along with a series of people I never wanted to see again.

A thought crossed my mind. Maybe I should just drop the complaint, I said as Sarah got carefully out of the car.

She spun back towards me, looking alarmed. No! she told me. Your complaint investigation is the only reason Omar’s Head of Marketing instead of Jason, and I really don’t want Jason back as my boss!

My eyes were probably pretty wide. Okay, okay! I’ll leave it! I said, and then passed her the not-vomited-in Chanel handbag.

She leant in the doorway for a second as she took it. Thanks, and thanks for the ride, she said. I saluted her. Now: to go forth and not throw up during my presentation. Wish me luck!

Good luck! Bree called out the window as we got honked at for blocking the bus lane. I pulled out of it quickly so I didn’t kick off my holidays with a traffic infringement.

I had been thinking about those fucking messages again when Bree interrupted me. Will they fire him? she wondered aloud as I tried to figure out how to avoid the toll roads. It took me a second to realise she meant Jason.

Hah, in my dreams. Probably not, but they haven’t really told me anything.

Is that what’s supposed to happen?

I have no idea, I told her honestly. But Frost doesn’t really do ‘supposed to’, so I don’t know if that means anything.

At the next set of traffic lights, Bree casually climbed through to the front seat, snuck my phone back into my pouch, and placed her hand over mine on the gearstick. I’m sure it’s all fine, she said, squeezing my hand. I bet everything is fine. I bet your complaint thing is going to be fine, and I bet your mum isn’t saying anything really terrible. She gave me a lovely big smile.

I looked across at those rosy cheeks of hers and she edged closer to me, looking hopeful. I knew what she was after. I’m driving, I told her with a half-smile. You’ll have to wait. And do up your seat belt.

She rolled her eyes and followed my instructions. Spoilsport, she mumbled under her breath, but she looked secretly delighted.

Bree’s school wasn’t that far out of the city, and it only took me a few minutes to get there once we cleared the traffic in the CBD. She insisted I drop her off right outside the front entrance, and then she grabbed me by the collar and started pashing me very energetically through my open window while I blinked at her.

She was normally a lot gentler, and I wondered if the two teachers standing on duty at the gate had anything to do with it. They did not look impressed. Are you sure you want to do this with them watching? I asked her when I’d managed to escape for a second.

Yes, she said flatly. One of them is my Maths teacher and I want him to see me pashing a guy driving a Lexus.

I wasn’t sure why that was, but I let her dive right back on me for a few more seconds anyway. She looked very smug afterwards. Thanks, she said. And, seriously, you don’t have to worry. I’m sure your mum isn’t saying anything awful in the messages like, ‘I know you’re trans!’, or, ‘I know you’ve broken up with Henry and I have no daughter!’ or whatever. She made a face. Although I guess technically that’s true since ‘daughter’ is probably the wrong word now, isn’t it? Anyway… She stood up and stepped away from the car. I’m sure it’s fine. Thanks again!

God, I hoped Mum hadn’t somehow found out. I hadn’t even thought of that, but it would explain the seven messages... Someone honked. You’re welcome, I told Bree, and then glanced in my rearview and saw a line of cars waiting to drop their girls off behind me. Whoops. I’d better go!

She gave me a little wave. Bye!

Mum couldn't have found out, I thought as I drove away from Cloverfield. Henry definitely wouldn’t have told her, my Facebook privacy settings rivalled Alcatraz and, in any case, Mum wasn’t fantastic with the Internet. No one my Mum could possibly be in contact with would tell her, so it wouldn’t be that.

If it wasn’t that, what was it?

Sarah’s question rung in my ears, ‘what’s the worst thing those messages could say?’, and the answer was far, far too easy: ‘I got someone to mind Grandma, I’m in Sydney now and I'm coming to visit you right this very minute!’

That actually made the blood drain from my face. I didn’t know what I’d do if she showed up suddenly at Sarah’s. She knew the address, so she could do it. Rob would probably let her in, too, and when she couldn’t find me, she’d poke around in the rooms and she’d find my room with all my artwork in it and my men’s clothes and—my stomach dropped—the packer…

I should have worn it this morning, I thought. I should have worn it. God, what if that is what she’s saying? What if she’s coming to visit me?

I was a few streets away from Sarah’s place, and I kept imagining walking through Sarah’s door and seeing Mum sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me. I had no idea what she’d say. I couldn’t even imagine it. I didn’t want to imagine it because I knew the sorts of words that might come out of her mouth, and I couldn’t hear them, not from my own mother. Just thinking about it was making me break out in a cold sweat, and I turned the aircon right up because I felt like there was no fucking oxygen in this car.

Eventually when I started to feel a bit lightheaded, I gave up. Fuck this, I thought, and pulled over. Fuck this. I need to know if that’s what those messages are about, and I need enough time to prepare for her being here if she is visiting.

I took the phone out of my pouch and looked down at it flashing at me.

Here goes nothing, I thought, tapped the notification and put the phone to my ear. My heart was pounding.

Maybe they aren’t all from her, I tried to reassure myself,