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.