24. Reconnected Jax

H is birthday confirmed it. I was smitten with Tabby and totally fucked.

Still, I believed what I said about fate bringing us together and used that to soften the edges of my mind when thinking of him. Sure, he was funny and got all my jokes. He lived the way he wanted without apology or fear. Tabby’s fierce sense of self made me jealous over the fact I had also just turned thirty yet hadn’t figured myself out yet. All those qualities made for a beautiful platonic foundation as much as they did a romantic one, so when planning to meet with him again the following Wednesday, I kept the former at the forefront of my mind.

Rob sent me a text to thank me and mercifully hadn’t asked for any more advice thus far. The fact he was so unprepared for Tabby’s birthday helped prove my theory that he had no instinct for charm while mine was otherworldly; I shouldn’t have been so spot-on with my suggestions, but by Rob’s report, I was.

Tabby sent a couple of short texts over the weekend, and we agreed he’d call me Tuesday night to make arrangements for the next day. I assigned him a new ringtone so I wouldn’t miss it and chose the theme to Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy , a classic in my mind that he would undoubtedly appreciate.

The familiar twang of the song I knew well called through my apartment at nine o’clock. Before answering, I took a deep breath and let it out over five seconds so I wouldn’t stammer my way through the call.

“‘Sup. This is Jax.”

“Hey, you. It’s Tabby. This a good time?”

The mere sound of his voice made the lights in my apartment look as if the dimmer switch was turned on high. “Of course. We still on for lunch tomorrow?”

He hissed. “That’s the thing. Yes, but I can’t join you with takeout. I, uh, promised I’d try not to cheat on our diet this week.”

“That sucks. It’s a little hard to meet for lunch if you can’t eat with me.”

“No, it’ll be fine. Just come to my office again, and I’ll pack something.”

“Nice. I can do that, too. You’ll really get to see how simple my taste is that way. Do you have any allergies?”

Tabby paused, then let out a single chuckle. “Why, do you?”

“No. I just don’t want to accidentally kill you with my peanut butter sandwich. Could be dangerous if you get too close.”

“Or it could be the perfect crime.”

“Would be if nobody knew you were allergic. But if you carry an Epi Pen...”

Real laughter this time. “Nah, I have no allergies that I know of. And call me crazy, but a peanut butter sandwich sounds amazing. Crunchy or smooth?”

“Smooth. Obviously . And strawberry jam, not grape. Soft bread. Man, I’m getting excited just thinkin’ about how awesome my sack lunch will be. Might stock it with a few Oreos.”

“That sounds...surprisingly awesome. Pretty sure my salad will feel pretty lame by comparison.”

“Eh—we can rate them side by side tomorrow.” The more we spoke, the warmer I became. Time to get off the phone. “Noon okay? Or twelve thirty?”

“Noon. I’ll text if I have a late patient.”

“Sounds like a plan. See you tomorrow, Tabby.”

“Same to you. Night.” Click .

A lightbulb went off in my mind, and I traded the phone between my hands. He was only my friend. What harm could it do to be friendly?

––––––––

M y work uniform of a blue button-down and tan slacks made me feel like an idiot, so I put on a tie to elevate it a bit. The front of my hair fell into my eyes with the wind on my way to Tabby’s office. Overdue for a haircut. I’d ask where he got his done. Yeah. Small talk that wouldn’t feel too intimate was the plan.

Like last time at his office, I was anxious to see him, but it changed from an unsure worry that I’d bother him to a hopeful wish that he’d notice my extra effort. The advertisements on the side of the building changed to a seasonal flare and were decorated with fall colors and window-stick leaves, obvious additions from the staff. Without snow on the ground to help orient me to the changing seasons, it reminded me that the year would be over soon. Getting faster all the time.

The receptionist at the desk was the same one I saw months before. She cocked a brow at me when it was my turn.

I dug through my memory to find her name. “I’m here to see Tabby. You’re Beth, right?”

“That’s right.” She smirked. “And who should I say is calling?”

“My name’s Jax. Whenever he’s free, just—”

“I’ve got a note here to expect you. Go on back to his office; he’ll be there in a few.” Beth waved her hand to the door at her right.

Fortunately, I remembered my way around. “Thanks.” I did as I was asked and found his office at the end of the hall again.

It was neater than last time. The desk was cleared off and a standard chair waited for me, opposite his rolling one. Before I sat down, I admired his large diplomas on the wall. None of the pictures I saw from a distance last time were still up, but I didn’t question why they might’ve been moved or changed.

After only a minute, he tapped on the doorframe, interrupting my private tour of the space. “Hey, you.”

I shifted to see him and stepped back in awe. Wow.

Instead of scrubs, Tabby wore an outfit that looked something like mine. His black button down and gray slacks showed off his physique. While he didn’t have a tie, a peek of chest chair made itself known in the gap below his collarbone. The ensemble suited him well, much better than his scrubs. It sent shivers up my spine.

“Something special happening at work today?” I asked, gesturing blindly over him with my open hand.

“Trying something new lately. Scrubs aren’t mandatory; they’re just easy.” He closed the door behind him and sat, inviting me to do the same. “Thanks for coming down here. It’s great to see you.”

“My pleasure.” I put my brown bag on his desk while he peeled the lid off his salad with a frown. The downright sadness in his pinched brows said enough.

“You look so excited for that,” I joked.

He grumbled.

“Good thing I had a plan.” I pulled out my sandwich, as well as an extra one for him. “Ta-dah!”

“You made lunch for me?” His smile grew more intense by the second. Even his sweet dimples appeared. “Thank you. Really. I’ve kinda been dreading the arugula all day.”

“Least I could do for missing your birthday dinner. Where’d you all go?”

“Cheesecake Factory. One of my favorites. Hence the need to be better this week.” He gingerly opened the sandwich bag so he wouldn’t get excess sticky jam on his fingers. “You didn’t miss much.”

“Did you get everything you wanted, at least?”

Tabby tipped his head side to side. “Yes and no.”

“What’s left on the list?” I took a bite and leaned back in the chair, giving him space to breathe and open up.

For a moment, he merely tapped his fingers on the table and took a strong bite of his own. When his internal walls fell, he shrugged. “I’m not really sure. I thought when I reached this age, it would mean something, you know? Like I’d wake up and feel more like an adult or something.”

“I completely understand. I turned thirty in September and was so pissed that all I have to show for it are some gray hairs.”

“Liar.”

“I’m serious, check it out.” I leaned across his desk and pointed above my ears, where a few wiry strands stood proud.

“My God. You are getting old. I remember—” Tabby stopped himself with a choking gulp.

I stared at him for a moment. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.” He shook his head quickly. “I meant to say, you remind me of someone I knew. Guess I wonder if he’s also turning into a silver fox.”

I snorted. “Silver fox. Sure . More like silver squirrel.”

Tabby smiled, but it was reserved. Held back. Disjointed. He took another bite of his sandwich. The energy in the room changed, like a cloud swirled above us.

“You know, sometimes memory lane is a good way to get to know somebody.” Relaxing into the chair again, I cracked open my Sprite and took a few sips. “Tell me about this guy. Was he special?”

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, chewing more than he probably needed to before answering. “My first crush, actually. He was wonderful.”

“Mm-hmm. To get your attention, he’d have to be, right? Go on.”

Tabby flashed his eyes at me. “You’re trying to flatter me, and I just want you to know, I’m here for it.” He took another breath and hummed. “My crush...he was kind. The sort of person who put others first, no matter what. Did his best not to judge. I imagine he’s the kind of person who would accept me for who I am now instead of who I was then.”

“Ah. So this happened before you were Mr. Tabby Tabs, I presume?” I worried I would offend him with my casual reference to his status and immediately wished to take it back. “Shit—I’m so sorry if that crossed a line. I really don’t know what’s allowed or not.”

He smirked. “It’s allowed, with me anyway. Rob, not so much.”

“Why is that? Is it tied to why he’s kind of a prick sometimes?”

With a sigh, Tabby rolled his eyes. “He isn’t a prick, he’s just...defensive. Rob didn’t have the same experience I did. I told my mom, we moved here, and I started life over. Within a year, I started taking T, and—”

“T? What is that?”

“Oh, sorry. Testosterone. I also had my name legally changed. Mom was supportive and helped me with every step. She never once gave me shit for it. It was a hard year even with how great she was, because of course, all the pictures I had of myself were of this person I didn’t recognize. When my voice dropped and my beard came in, it was a second puberty, but I loved every squeaky, pimply second of it. My really wonderful therapist taught me to focus on the things that made me feel good as affirmations, instead of using the things that made me feel bad as proof that I didn’t belong as a girl.”

My mind buzzed with more questions. The concept of not belonging to oneself fascinated me. “I hafta be honest. I consider myself to be a pretty empathetic person, but I can’t even imagine that.”

He shrugged. “Cis people tend not to think about their gender the same way trans people do. My therapist would say most people have the fleeting thought, what would it be like to wake up in another body? Not the same thing as gender dysphoria. I’ve met people who can’t decide what they are, so they spend years asking themselves, ‘Is this normal, or am I trans?’ Now there are new categories and labels, which helps a lot. But in our community, there are still exceptions, and the trauma that so many people face gets thrown around to those on the outskirts who are seen as ‘less committed.’” Tabby said the last piece in sharp air quotes.

“Less committed? What does that mean?”

Tabby bit the inside of his lip trying to find a good way to explain it. “Well, if somebody in the media comes out as trans, what’s usually the first thing people ask them?”

“The first thing? I guess...people wanna know what they look like naked.”

“There. That. Right there.” He clapped once, like I got the answer right. “That’s such a bullshit cliche, and it’s nobody’s damn business anyway. Trans people just want to be who they are, which could be anything. Some are happy just making a few changes, and some people go for the full enchilada.”

“Mm. Enchiladas. Sorry. Continue.”

He smiled at my joke but kept going. “I’ll be frank. I—”

“No, you’re Tabby. Be Tabby.” I laughed.

“Shut up, I’m trying to be serious.” He huffed through a few chuckles and dropped his shoulders. “For me, I didn’t want surgery for anything. The idea of going under really scares me. My T does enough; I mean, it’s kind of miraculous what a change in hormones will do to your body shape, sensation, appetite...everything. I don’t think it’s common to settle for T, but it’s what I wanted. Rob’s different. His top surgery was done by a complete miracle worker with a knife, and you can’t even register that he has scars at all because of the approach they did. From the waist up, Rob is all man. You’d never be able to know he was AFAB—assigned female at birth. Don’t repeat that, though. Not all trans people like medical labels, and every one of us is entitled to how we want to be referred to and discussed. Word to the wise, if you want to know what somebody wants, ask.”

“Okay, but why does that make him defensive if he could fool anybody?”

“He doesn’t want to fool anyone. Nobody who is trans wants to do that, even if they aren’t out publicly...and we hate the idea, just so you know. To say we’re fooling others perpetuates the idea that trans people are liars and sneaks who aren’t upfront about what we’re packin’.” He wasn’t angry or irritated, yet the way he recited the words so well told me he’d said it many times. A common argument. “We say pass instead. Like, Rob passes as a cis guy really well.”

“Duly noted. Thank you.”

“Anyway, Rob’s family did basically the opposite of what my mom did. They kicked him out. When he left, he fought hard to find a doctor who would treat him and get him started with T as soon as he could. Found his top surgeon through a program helping trans youth, and had it done before he turned twenty. Even got a hysterectomy. If he had his way, he’d get more done tomorrow.” Tabby picked his fingernails and swallowed hard, enough for me to hear it. “The problem is, Rob isn’t great at communicating, and he still figures everyone in his life is about to drop him. He puts up walls, so he doesn’t get hurt. Hasn’t learned that it pushes people out.”

“I...wow.” My stomach rolled like it did over the weekend when I saw Tabby kissing Rob and looking so happy. Rob lived a life I couldn’t possibly relate to, and I had no right to give him shit for how he did it. “Okay. Now I feel like a complete ass for calling him a prick. Please don’t tell him I said that.”

“I won’t, but you’re not really wrong. In his effort to keep people at arms-length, he ignores what happens in between. Being rude to you when you first came to D did you transition and become a whole different person? Or were you the same person, with the same favorite color, favorite hobby, favorite movies? Sure, your style could change, but style doesn’t have to be one thing or another, does it? The things that make up who we are aren’t really completely dependent on that physical shit. It’s just a body. What if she were in an accident? What if she had surgery? What if she and I really did get to live happily ever after and grow old together? The way she looked wouldn’t stay the same forever. It was our love that I had long-term faith in.” I hummed and imagined Jamie’s face, which was now only a blurry image in my mind, surrounding the only thing that wouldn’t waver. “Tabby, do you know there is one thing about our bodies that never changes?”

He turned to me again. “No. What?”

I pointed to my face. “The eyes. Eyes don’t really change. Her coloboma would always be there. So now, all these years later, I can barely tell you what she looked like; not the shape of her nose, if she had lots of moles, if her smile was crooked, et cetera. But her ash-blue eyes with that keyhole lock, holding the very key to my heart...that’s how I’ll remember her.”

“Is there a reason you haven’t told me her name? Why you don’t say it?” He squinted as if searching for the answer on my forehead.

“Honestly? I feel like saying her name out loud will make her absence all too real. So, I keep it to myself. We had nicknames for each other, and I think of her that way instead. That love can’t disappear for me. She’ll always be my Hwa.”

After I said it, I ran out of words. A flood of uncomfortable, impossible tingles rushed through my limbs, like she watched over me. A haze settled in Tabby’s office again, and the light changed. Clouds outside parted, letting a beam of sun highlight the room. It meant our lunch hour was nearly over, though I swore I felt Jamie’s presence around me.

Her ghost pushed me toward Tabby. Inch by inch, the space between us closed.

“Hey.” I reached for his hands, though I wasn’t sure why. His fingers in mine were just as comfortable as his whole body the last time we hugged. “Thank you for being someone I can trust.”

A buzzer on Tabby’s desk cut everything short. “ Dr. Ross, your first patient is here.”

“Thanks, Beth,” he said, and the intercom clicked. “That’s my cue.”

“Yeah. I know.” I released him and grabbed my noisy bag on the desk, crumpling it in my hands.

“Get outta here,” he said with a bad Jersey accent, gifting me with those dimples again. “But promise me this time you won’t stay away so long.”

“You got it.” Strolling down the hall to leave, I couldn’t help myself and turned to see him one last time before going through the double doors.

Yup. Totally fucked.