ALPHABET SUPERSET WEEK 2

It’s a special afternoon, but I don’t know that yet.

All I know for now is that Lia and I are sorting out the mailbox and, while we are at it, everything that is lying around in our home office. She’s very motivated, I’m not so much because there’s some research I’d like to do privately. And I feel bad working on something with her when I have secret plans.

Of course, I can’t tell her any of that, so I try to keep up with her questions and with her demands for this folder and that folder. I usually think of myself as organised, but next to her I’m a chaos queen.

“What is this?”

I look up and immediately recognise the Post-it note she has torn from the back of my last pay slip. The letters, carefully drawn in black marker, shine through the paper.

1. Lia

2. Kaleb

3. Psyche

4. Everyone

5. Looks

6. Bureaucracy

And after number seven there’s a smiley face.

I’m in charge of the budged; Lia doesn’t usually bother with this kind of document. At least when it doesn’t get in the way of her tidying up. Still, I must have known it could happen.

The plan is simple, but very complex. Nobody was to know until it was their turn to be involved.

Step 1: Tell Lia. Opening up to anyone else first would feel like a betrayal.

It was to be carried out on 5 July, the day after her birthday. Now it’s barely June and she’s freaked out because things are stressful at work and Kaleb’s struggling at school and she really wanted to plan a nice birthday party for herself this year. I could – maybe should – tell her that I don’t remember, or make up some kind of believable story.

But I have already lied to her too much in the past year, just by accepting that she called me her husband. She deserves the truth. Not just before anyone else, but now. Or maybe it’s not about her at all, but about my desire not to be the only one to know.

I throw away my mental timetable. The clock starts ticking for each step.

Step 2: Tell Kaleb. He’ll understand, I think.

“Let’s sit down,” I say, settling on our little sofa by the office door.

She’s already going through the next pile of papers and seems confused, when she looks up. Maybe she would have forgotten she even asked if I had just ignored her question. Too late now.

“What’s up?”, she asks, more curious than suspicious.

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Anything could follow that sentence. I feel guilty, but I don’t have any other words right now.

She finally sits down next to me, looking as worried as I had feared.

“It’s nothing bad” I rush to say. “Actually, it could be good.”

Why am I relativising it? It is already good because it is my identity.

Step 3: Go to therapy and let myself be guided through the process. Not just for mental health, but also because it‘s required by law.

“So,” I say to gain time. How do I start? Why didn’t I plan this? Because I thought I had another four or five weeks, of course.

Her face is one big question. I have to say something.

“Do you remember when we went shopping in this tiny Italian town?”

“Portofino,” she says, looking more confused than ever.

“Portofino, yeah.” I fall silent again. Why did I start with that memory? It’s not the moment of realisation (which doesn’t really exist). I knew back then. It was just a normal, except above-average nice day pretending to be a man.

“What’s the matter?”

I can’t give her answers as quickly as she needs them.

“I really liked it. Shopping with you. Especially in that boutique. The one next by the water.”

“Me too.” Her face lights up.

It makes me realise how I sounded. A lot like “I secretly bought you that dress you liked so much.”

There was a dress. And she liked it a lot and I liked it a lot. It was green with some blue stains, with a tight waist and a wide skirt that ended just below the knees. She looked gorgeous in it, but decided not to buy it because she didn’t know when to wear it – too casual for a wedding, too elegant for a garden party.

As she stood in front of the mirror, letting the skirt fly around her thighs and weighing up the price against the use, all I could think about was how it would feel to wear it myself. I had no intention of buying it or wearing it in public. My thoughts couldn’t go that far back then, just after I had discovered the truth about myself. I simply wished I could try it on without being weird. I could see how much stronger and more confident Lia felt just by wearing that piece of clothing. I longed for the same. But I knew, all I would feel was insecurity and shame.

Step 4: Tell everyone else and demand that they call me by my chosen name and use the right pronouns. Friends, relatives, colleagues, neighbours. I didn‘t realise how many people I know until I started making lists in my head that I didn’t dare write down because they would look like to-notify-if-I-die-lists which would probably upset both Lia and Kaleb if they found them.

“I’m not ashamed anymore,” I say, completely out of context for her.

“Ashamed?”

“Yeah, it has been there for a long time. But I don’t want it anymore.”

She remains silent.

I really don’t like big talks. No wonder this was so easy to procrastinate on.

“I am who I am.”

It sounds stupid as it comes out of my mouth. But in her confusion I see a suspicion, just a small one. Probably, deep down she already knows already because of all the time, energy and love we have spent on each other.

“I’m a woman, Lia. I’ve always been.”

Now it’s out, and in an ideal world that’s everything it needs to keep living our lifes, only better. In the real word she moves away from me, not out of disgust or fear, but out of pain. It hurts me that my identity is hurting her.

“Why did you marry me?”, she asks. “I married a man. At least you let me believe that.”

There’s another stab in my chest.

“I didn’t know then. Something was strange, but I thought, it was normal to feel lost in your own body.”

Step 5: Change my appearance to fit my self-image.

Again, there’s silence until she breaks it.

“So how long have you known?”

“A year.”

“And when were you going to tell me?”

I don’t want to throw my carefully crafted plan at her. Because it doesn’t help her now, that I intended to spare her emotions until after her birthday.

“You always were at the top of my list”, I say instead, pointing to the post-it note that somehow ended up lying under the desk. She stands up, looks at it and then puts it back where she found it.

Step 6: Deal with all the bureaucratic and medical stuff. Change my name legally. Start taking hormones. Have surgery if I opt for it.

“I have to clean the bathroom.” For anyone, this would be completely out of context, but I get it.

She likes to clean while she thinks. Even though I don’t want her to leave until we are all settled, I know I have to.

“I’ll make dinner later.”

Of course this is not about sharing chores equally. But I really want her to know that I’m still the partner she knows and can rely on. She doesn’t answer, but rushes towards the door.

“Oh, you’re home already”, she says as she steps out into the hallway.

I freeze. Then I turn my head slowly.

“Dad?” Kaleb is standing in the doorway, looking as pale as I feel. “You’re trans, Dad?”

This was not written down, not even thought of in any plan. We stare at each other for a long moment.

Finally I manage to say: “I’m trans.”

“Wow.”

That’s all I get from him. Then he disappears into his room, acting like a teenage cliché by slamming the door and putting on loud music.

A smiley face looks at me from my pay slip.

Step 7: The struggle is worth it.

He will come around eventually, they all will. Kaleb will call me something else as proudly as he calls me Dad now. Lia will realise how wonderful it is to have a wife. Each step of my plan will come true.

This was only the beginning of my happy ending.