It was the first real day of spring, and the sea breeze wafting off the Pacific was intoxicating to Leslie. She had taken her bike out of its awkward storage spot in the basement of their apartment building and taken to the streets. The hills of Vancouver sometimes made for difficult cycling, but when she crested the top of the rise and came down the other side there was this feeling of exhilaration like nothing else She let out an involuntary cry of joy, drawing a few awkward stares from the people around her.

Leslie was, admittedly, trying to take her mind off things. Jess had texted her to let her know that they had to talk when she got off work. Leslie figured it was probably something to do with Jess’s mother, slowly losing her mind, or all the late shifts she had been working at the warehouse. Or maybe Jess was just deep into her depression again. It wouldn’t be the first time Leslie had held her girlfriend all night, quietly waiting for the tears to stop, but she wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.

She stopped outside of her favourite Chinatown fish shop. The scent hit her nose instantly, but it was an aroma Leslie had come to appreciate. When she had first come here the men had looked at the skinny white butch dyke warily, but now they greeted her by name. Leslie scrutinized the fish for a minute before picking out two thick cuts of perch. Jess always liked perch, especially with a little bit of lemon and herb. She took the fish to the front counter, briefly argued over the price, and left.

Today’s catch nestled in her shoulderbag, Leslie made her way back to the apartment. The hills would be tougher on the way back, but she was sure she could handle them.

The fish was sizzling in the pan when Jess came home. Leslie kissed her as she dumped her messenger bag to the ground next to the shoes. “Smells good,” said Jess. There was definitely something she was nervous about – there was that flushed pinch of her cheeks that she got whenever she had to send something back at a restaurant.

They sat down for dinner shortly afterwards, making idle chit-chat about their days. Jess picked at her food but didn’t eat much. Finally, Leslie decided that it was enough. “Okay, J. Just tell me what you’re worried about.”

Jess looked a little like she was about to throw up. “I don’t know if I should ... it’s a little weird...”

Leslie took Jess by the chin and gently pushed her head up until their eyes met. “You can tell me anything, okay?” She was mystified as to just what would make her girlfriend so hesitant.

“Well, you know how I’ve been seeing Gwen for a while, trying to work out the whole depression thing?” Gwen was her therapist, recommended by their mutual friend Mona. Leslie took a deep breath. “Well, we’ve been talking and ... I think I’m a man.”

Leslie blinked. Her mind had suddenly gone blank. “Sorry ... what?”

“I ... I want to transition. To being a man. I’m trans. Is what I’m saying.” Each short, staccato sentence was accompanied by another sharp intake of breath. A distant part of Leslie felt like she should hug her girlfriend, but her brain was still stalled. It was as if Jess had announced her intention to become a cucumber. She knew trans people, and had accepted them, but ... Jess was Jess, and she couldn’t imagine her being otherwise.

Leslie finally managed to compose her thoughts enough to speak. “I’m just a little confused. I mean, you’re more femme than I am.”

Jess hiked her knees up to her chest, curling into a ball. “That’s not what it’s about. It’s how I feel inside.”

The whole thing was alien to Leslie. She had never felt cosmically aligned to femininity, but it was how she was born, and it was good enough for her. “But ... what do you think you can do as a man that you can’t do as a woman? What idea of femininity are you rejecting?” Of course, Jess was bearing her heart and Leslie started sounding like a professor.

“This is something I can’t change,” Jess said. “It’s who I am.”

Leslie found herself getting frustrated. Jess always did this – make some big demand, then curl into a teary ball. “You’re changing it right now!”

“You don’t understand.”

Leslie took Jess’s hand. “I want to understand.” She wasn’t sure she was telling the truth.

Jess’s ocean-blue eyes stared into Leslie. They were teary, but hadn’t leaked yet. “I’ve been thinking about names. I want to go with Jason.”

She couldn’t pretend that she liked the name. Her perfect, cute Jess becoming a bland, bro-y Jason sounded like a bad joke. It must have shown on her face, because Jess took one look at her and the dam broke.

Jess got to her feet and grabbed her purse and jacket quickly. “Wait,” Leslie said, jumping up from the table. “Let’s talk---”

“I’ve said all I can,” said Jess, shortly before the door slammed shut behind her.

Leslie stayed behind, staring at the cooling plates of fish. She felt like an asshole, but also like she couldn’t possibly do what Jess expected of her.

Mona met with Leslie at the same cramped student bar where they had drunken each other under the table a decade ago. It was oddly quiet – Leslie supposed it must be finals season. Mona had been the first trans person that Leslie had known. She had supported her fully, and thought that her life was a testament to the fluid nature of gender. It had been easy to say that, back then.

But then there had been Aiden, and Leah, and Jake, one member of her friend group after another transformed. They all talked like born-again Christians, of their past lives only as a miserable illusions and their new ones as a self-actualized adventure. Leslie found herself irritated, then upset with herself that she was irritated, then staying up at night surreptitiously reading dubious corners of the Internet. One trans person was inspiring, two was strange, four was a conspiracy.

And now it had come home. Leslie had called Mona because she still trusted her, still thought of her as legitimate and not some kind of trend-chaser. But she was having difficulty explaining the problem in a way that didn’t make her sound like an asshole. (This may have been a sign that she was, in fact, being an asshole.)

“I know you hate people asking you about this,” Leslie said. “But what made you sure you were a woman?”

Mona raised a sculpted eyebrow and took a long swig of beer. “First off, I hate strangers asking me about it. But you’re a friend, so nothing’s off limits. Unless you ask me about that camping trip back in junior year.”

“Okay, then,” Leslie said. “So how were you sure?”

Mona shrugged. “I wasn’t. But I think ... I always somehow knew that I wasn’t in the right body. I felt as though I was always pretending to be someone else, although I couldn’t figure out why. When I started wearing women’s clothes, I felt a little less fake. When I started taking hormones, that feeling went away some more. So I just followed that path.”

Leslie rapped her fingers on the table. “But isn’t that just, like, the human condition? Aren’t we always feeling out of place, wishing we were somebody else? I don’t think you can just take some pills and resolve all that.”

“Look, I’m not going to pretend that my life is perfect now or I have it all figured out,” Mona said. “But there’s just a ... rightness to me that there wasn’t before. It’s hard to explain if you’ve never had dysphoria before.”

They drank for a little bit, both watching each other guardedly. “So what brings this on?” Mona said. “Is it Ask Invasive Personal Questions Day?”

“Jess is...” Leslie take a deep breath. “She says she’s trans. I mean, like, she wants to be a man. Not that she’s a trans woman. I would have, uh, probably noticed that.”

Mona winced. “Jesus. I hope you were more sensitive with her than you were with me.”

Leslie said nothing.

“Please tell me that you said you accepted her and would support her,” said Mona.

“Look,” Leslie said. “Jess is just ... she’s not like you. When she gets in her moods, she gets weird ideas. One time she said she wanted to go to Nepal and join a Buddhist temple to find herself. And I love her for who she is, but sometimes she needs to be talked down from the ledge.”

Mona pulled her glass closer to her. “Let’s say you’re right, and this is all a mood swing. What would be the worst thing to happen if you take her seriously? A binder in the closet, maybe a couple months on T and some hairy knuckles. But if Jess is trans, and you don’t accept him ... that could do a lot of damage.”

Leslie stared down at her beer, in the vain hope that it would offer a more palatable solution. It didn’t.

“What can I do?” Leslie said, with a shrug. “I’m a lesbian. I like women, and I don’t like men. I can’t change that.”

“No one’s asking you to,” Mona said. “Look, when I transitioned my girlfriend broke up with me. It wasn’t what she had signed up for. I got it. But she respected me, and who I was. That’s what’s most important.”

“I’ll try,” said Leslie. “But only if you buy me some shots first.”

“Done.”

Leslie woke up the next morning, groggy but not quite hung over. The sun was bright streaming through her window, and the clock read 2:13. Well, a good afternoon’s sleep would always do it.

Jess was there too, her back turned to Leslie. She was going through their drawers and dumping out clothes into a large duffle bag. She picked up a mannish plaid shirt, took a deep sniff, and dropped it into the bag.

“That one’s mine, you know,” Leslie said.

Jess jumped a little bit, obviously startled. “Oh, you’re awake. I honestly forgot – I wore it so much. But you can keep it, I guess.” She stuffed the shirt back into the dresser.