A dangerous nostalgia had wormed its way into Summer’s heart over the past two months.
She always got a touch of it in October. Her anniversary of starting HRT had been only a few days ago; she and Persephone had celebrated it with a pint of ice cream, a couple of pirated Disney films, and a Goserelin injector. It always reminded her of those first strange weeks in the basement, when the boy she’d been had gradually begun to accept that this was his life for now and Tabby was going to be a part of it whether he liked it or not. Their sponsor bond had gelled surprisingly quickly; it had been considered remarkable until Abby walked Melissa into the basement a few weeks later and they became best friends in a fortnight. It was a pattern that would be repeated again and again over the next three years.
But the nostalgia was much stronger than usual this year, and that was probably Persephone’s fault. The long shifts of electrolysis appointments Summer had been doing for years were one thing, but guiding a young woman through all the parts of transition—teaching her to dress herself, do her makeup, style her hair; showing her that she could relax, could hug and cuddle, could talk about her feelings; building her confidence, her dysphoria coping skills, her very identity—was just too much like sponsoring. That, too, brought her back to her early years at the Hall, when even the most difficult things were straightforward in a way: They might be telling you to walk barefoot through Hell, but at least your sponsor was there to show you the way.
And there’d been one more reminder of sponsoring a few hours before: The very familiar expense report she’d filled out. After all, a new girl’s growing wardrobe had needs.
That nostalgia was why Summer had hunted for the other Consensus app—the one buried in a disused folder next to some mobile game she hadn’t played in half a decade—and scrolled back a few days to find the photos she knew would be there: the photos of Aunt Bea’s birthday party.
There were so many unfamiliar faces in the photos, but what struck her more were the familiar faces in unfamiliar situations. Maria and Edy were an item now, apparently. Indira had come with a handsome man. So did Tabby, of course, but Summer knew Levi—he popped in to say hi during their video chats now and then. Nell was apparently a sponsor now, which struck Summer as a rather dubious decision. Melissa appeared to be in a triad (surprising) with Abby (not so surprising, the lucky bitch) and a woman that Dorleybase listed as a Pre-Transition Associate (fucking astonishing).
But one face was more striking than any other. The last time Summer had seen Pippa, the swelling from her facial surgery had only just gone down. Now, suddenly, she was a stylish young woman with bottle-blond hair, years past graduation with a career under way, proudly hugging someone who could only be the girl she’d sponsored, Stephanie. How had Pippa gotten there? What would have happened if Summer had stayed to see it?
And who was the literal teenager squeezed in between them? Summer dipped back into the database and, a moment later, shook her head. Not only had several of Melissa’s PTAs been disclosed, but one of them had brought her kid sister to Aunt Bea’s birthday? They really had thrown out the rulebook since Summer left.
Tonight, though, it was time for Summer and Persephone to don their own special outfits for an evening event. Summer had spent the last eight weeks teaching Persephone the fundamentals of feminine presentation: clothes, makeup, hair, jewelry, nails, a bit of voice, the whole kit and caboodle. And although Persephone had soaked up all of those lessons, enjoying every moment of them, she’d soaked them up exclusively indoors. No matter how often Summer reassured her that she was beautiful, an absolute natural, Persephone was too nervous to set foot outside Summer’s flat, too certain she’d be clocked.
But tonight was Halloween. And Halloween had a magical property: If Persephone didn’t pass, people would assume she was just crossdressing for a costume. Not ideal, but at least she had plausible deniability.
So when Persephone strode out of Summer’s bedroom in a purple dress, pink leggings, and lime scarf with her red hair piling in beautiful, shining waves on her shoulders, Summer locked her phone, adjusted her costume glasses, and said, “Jinkies!”
“Does it look alright?” Persephone asked. “I redid the eyeliner three times, and it still seems a little wonky.”
“You look fantastic, Persephone,” Summer said. “Even if it is a little off, you’re the only one who will notice. Everyone else just sees the overall effect.”
“I guess...” Persephone eyed Summer’s costume. “Why didn’t I go as Velma and you go as Daphne? I would’ve had less makeup and no contact lenses.”
“Halloween is an opportunity to come as you aren’t,” Summer said, “and of the two of us, you’re already the bespectacled bookworm. Besides, the point is to use these skills and gain confidence with them, not to avoid using them and continue to wonder what will happen if you try.”
Persephone grumbled her assent as they gathered their purses. “Where are we going tonight, anyway?”
Summer shrugged. “I know a girl who knows how to throw a party.”
* * *
Judging by the music and chatter that greeted them when she opened the door, Summer’s friend did know how to throw a party. She greeted Summer with a hug and a pair of cheek kisses.
“Summer! Hi! Glad you could make it!” Persephone braced for an insult or a look of disgust as the woman’s gaze fell on her, but the woman didn’t seem any more curious than she would be about any other stranger. “Who’s your girlfriend?” she asked.
“Oh—Bianca, this is my friend Persephone. Persephone, Bianca.”
Persephone squeaked as Bianca enfolded her in blonde hair. “It’s nice to meet you!” she chirped.
“You—“ oof, Persephone’s voice was off to a rough start tonight, “—you too.”
Bianca blinked, but her tone and expression didn’t change. “Well, come in, come in! Drinks and snacks are in the kitchen.” She looked past them. “Oh, Nadia! Hi!”
“See?” Summer said. “Piece of cake.”
“She clocked me as soon as I opened my mouth, though,” Persephone said glumly.
“Voice takes a lot of time and practice,” Summer said consolingly. “You said you don’t feel safe practicing at home?”
“Right,” Persephone said. She’d thought about doing it in the shower, but Jesse had walked into her bathroom to tidy up while she was showering before, and Persephone had no idea what she would think of a bunch of weird noises—let alone feminine speech.
“Then it’s going to take a while. But Bianca didn’t clock you until you spoke, which means everything else? Perfect.”
Persephone smiled a little. “I guess so.”
“And don’t worry,” Summer said, “this place is about as safe as it gets. Knowing her, half the girls here are trans girls and the other half have dated trans girls.”
“And the boys?” Persephone asked.
They stepped into the living room, and Summer said, “What boys?”
The living room was full of people either standing around and chatting or dancing, and their gender ratio was, indeed, rather dramatically skewed. Persephone knew better than to fully trust her own guesses, but there at least wasn’t anybody in sight who was obviously male.
Yeah, the girl definitely knew how to throw a party.
* * *
Once Summer noticed Persephone was feeling comfortable with the crowd, the two of them had decided to part ways. As much fun as they were having together, both of them wanted a chance to meet someone they weren’t pretending to date. And Summer wasn’t exactly wanting for attention; she’d flirted with four different people (three occasional FWBs and one acquaintance she’d never quite managed to hook up with when they were both available) who she might have taken to an upstairs bedroom on another night.
Yet all of those conversations had gone exactly the same way. At some point, the woman or enby who was flirting with her said something like this:
“You’ve really got it bad for that Daphne over there, don’t’cha?”
“I—shit,” Summer sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Alicia. This is Persephone’s first time out presenting femme, and I’m being a bit of a helicopter mum about it.”
“Summer, I’m pretty sure that what you want to do to her would be a crime if you were her mum.”
“Gross!” Summer said with a laugh, giving her a little shove.
Alicia grinned and leaned against the wall behind her. She looked amazing; her Xena costume somehow showed even more cleavage than the original.
“You’re gorgeous, you know,” Summer said. “Any other night, I’d be all over you. But…”
“But that’s not where your head’s at right now,” Alicia said.
“Yeah,” Summer said with a wan smile.
“I’ve been there,” Alicia said. “And honestly? It’s kind of cute. Now why don’t we go get some shots and you can tell me all about your girl?”
* * *
Persephone was having the best party of her life.
Despite her otherwise decent social skills, flirting had always been difficult for Persephone when she’d presented as a straight guy. With straight women, it was like pulling teeth—they wanted her to behave in ways that to her felt not only completely unnatural, but downright rude. It often started the same with bi women, but if they stuck with it for a few minutes, they often adjusted their approach, usually without even realizing it.
Before Summer, she’d only ever flirted with a lesbian once. Years ago, during a drinking game while overnighting with her uni’s fencing team at a hostel in Cambridge, someone dared a lesbian teammate to flirt with her, and they’d bantered so effortlessly and intensely that at the end of the conversation, the other girl had pulled her foil out of her duffel and touched it to each of Persephone’s shoulders, slurring out “I dub thee Lady Chase, the only male lesbian”.
That was the second-best party of her life. Amazing the things an egg could survive without cracking.
Tonight, though? Tonight, every conversation had been like that—fun and fluid from word one. Nobody had tiptoed around her presumed ego or given up if she hadn’t taken the lead. And certainly nobody had questioned her gender, even when her voice didn’t hold up. Just witty, sexy back-and-forths with what felt like (but probably wasn’t) half the room.
It probably helped that she wasn’t Lady Anything to anyone in the room; her future title had always been another obstacle whenever the other woman had known about it. Here, not even the woman who arguably ought to know about her did.
But, with the sole exception of a tall butch dressed as Prince Charming who decided that “a fair damsel like yourself” needed a farewell kiss, none of her conversations tonight had gone beyond the talking stage. Because if she was being honest with herself, she was only reallyinterested in one woman here, and that was the one she came with.
Still, flirting was a lot more fun now that people knew to flirt with her like a girl.
Another woman approached her, this one in a Xena outfit. “Hi, I’m Alicia,” she said. “You’re Persephone, right? Summer was telling me about you.”
“Only nice things, I hope,” Persephone said.
“I don’t think she’s capable of anything else,” Alicia said with a grin. Persephone smiled warmly. “So, my friends and I were thinking about setting up a little drinking game with you and Summer. You in?”
“Sure!” Persephone said.
Summer’s friends were the best.
* * *
My friends are the fucking worst, Summer thought.
She should have known when Alicia brought Persephone over that this game was an ambush. But failing that, she should have known when the first eight questions asked by the four people she’d chatted with all targeted her. A few—“Never ever have I ever been mistaken for a man”—hit almost all of them. And a couple—“Never ever have I ever dyed my hair black”—hit a couple of people. But “Never ever have I ever gone to uni in England”? That had only hit her and Persephone. And “Never ever have I ever stuck needles in another girl’s face”? That one was just bullying.
They had skillfully gotten Summer...well, not impaired, not really drunk, just tipsy enough to maybe be a little impulsive. And then they’d abandoned the game, paired up, and started dancing. Leaving Summer and Persephone alone on the couch.
“This feels like a setup,” Summer told Persephone.
“Kinda,” Persephone said with a giggle. “Want to dance anyway?”
“Sure,” Summer said, and took Persephone’s hand.
Summer had never been bad at dancing, but tonight she felt even more fluid than usual; must be the alcohol. Persephone looked like she was having the time of her life.
“Enjoying yourself?” Summer shouted over the music.
“I haven’t danced in a dress since I was little!” Persephone laughed. “It’s great!” Summer looked down and saw the hem of Persephone’s dress swishing around her; she grinned and gave her a hug.
Slowly, inexorably, they drew closer together, until Summer could feel Persephone’s dress brushing against her legs, feel the heat radiating from her body, see her pink lips parted as she breathed in deep, stare into her unobstructed green eyes (though Summer absently noted that she actually liked Persephone’s glasses better). She was so, so tempted, but she was sure there were reasons not to…
And then Persephone stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to Summer’s.
Summer had kissed a lot of women in her adult life—more than enough to say that Persephone was remarkably skilled. This was no clumsy mashing of lips. She started soft—the lightest brush—then came in again for more thorough contact. Varied the pressure, the angle. When her lips parted and her tongue snaked out, it was just for the barest moment, a tiny tease that sent a thrill through Summer. Then she broke the kiss, exhaling as they parted so her breath tickled Summer’s lips.
Summer knew there was supposed to be some reason this was a bad idea, but damned if she could remember it right now.
Then there was another kiss, and a third, and then they were moving towards the door, and Summer was initiating the next kiss. On the stairs, pressing Persephone against the wall as she whispered Summer’s name. Then at the top, hand in her hair, grip tightening, drawing out a soft little moan. Then a door opened and Summer’s wig slid off and they were in a bedroom—blessedly empty—and by the time they kissed next, they were on the bed. Then Persephone whispered, “Summer, I need you...”
Oh. Fuck. That’s what it was.
“We-we have to stop,” Summer said.
“What?” Persephone asked.
“Stop.”
Persephone whined, but she did stop. “Summer, if this is about not having romantic feelings, I don’t care—“
“It’s not that,” Summer said. “It’s about power.” She lifted herself up and settled next to Persephone, who pouted and rolled to face her. “Right now, you need me to get your meds. I don’t want to put you in a position where you might have to choose between getting out of a relationship and staying on hormones.”
“I...” Persephone sighed heavily. “I wish you weren’t right, but you probably are. Can…can we at least lay here like this for a while?”
“Sure,” Summer said, and she shifted a little closer, wrapped her arms around the smaller girl next to her, who snuggled into her embrace.
“I really did like kissing you,” Persephone said quietly.
“Me too,” Summer said. “I…I’d like to try again someday. Once things are a little more even between us.”
“Definitely,” Persephone said, and then closed her eyes.
Summer’s arms tightened around her. She felt so comfortable like this, with Persephone curled up beside her. Maybe she could close her eyes too. For just a moment.