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Tommy looks in the mirror, frowning.
Something is off, something he can’t place his finger on. He’s feeling a little bit to the left, fine but wrong. Twisting and turning, he analyzes his body, not sure why everything feels so plainly wrong. Maybe it’s the mirror distorting his image, making him feel like the angles and harsh corners of his bones are more prominent than they actually are.
If he lets his brain drift off a little bit, he can imagine himself with gentle, unblemished skin, hips dipping in at the waist before sloping outwards when it reaches his chest. He can imagine himself as someone who has a softer voice, no harsh, grating laughs taking over the room.
Tommy stops himself from following the familiar thoughts too far, like he’s had to do a lot recently. It’s perverted, to replace a male body with a beautiful body of a woman, to dream of himself as one. His brother and sister would be ashamed of him, as would his father, his friends, fucking everyone.
Shaking his head at himself, he shrugs his jacket on, grabbing his backpack and leaving his bedroom. Elizabeth is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, quite impatiently, actually. She’s tapping her left hand on the banister, right hand fixing the maroon beanie covering most of her hair.
It’s Tommy’s first day of sophomore year, Elizabeth’s first day of senior year. Their older brother, Techno, graduated last year, and is enjoying his newfound freedom from high school by sleeping in. Phil, Techno and Tommy’s adoptive father and Elizabeth’s biological father, is at work already, something about building houses. At least Tommy thinks he builds houses. He does not know.
“C’mon dude, hurry the fuck up,” Elizabeth prods. Tommy’s literally has both of his shoes on already, he’s just waiting for his water bottle to fill up.
“Shut the fuck up, Liz,” Tommy scowls, screwing the lid on the top of the bottle. “We both know you had to wake up a shit earlier than me to pick out your outfit. The same one you pick every day.”
Elizabeth blushes, and Tommy knows he’s right. He grins, “I’m right! You wouldn’t be embarrassed if it wasn’t true, bitch.” He pats Elizabeth on her back, having to look up slightly because she’s so damn tall. He would hate being that tall, it’s too… something. Something he doesn’t want to admit, or think about anymore.
“Just, shut up Tommy.” Elizabeth yanks the door open and marches out to her car, the old beater sitting in the driveway. Not that Phil doesn’t make good money, but the car was the first thing Elizabeth bought with her own money, and Tommy remembers overhearing their conversation when Phil offered to buy her an upgrade, something about independence and wanting to do her own thing for once. He can even admit that he shed a tear listening in. Just one though.
They go through their morning routine of playing their shared playlist, singing alone as Elizabeth drives to school, her voice as beautiful as ever, stirring something deep in Tommy’s gut. He almost wishes that his voice wasn’t the deeper of the two, instead that Elizabeth’s was deeper and Tommy’s was the high, melodic voice.
He isn’t able to think about voices and feeling out of place when they pull up to the school. Elizabeth turned the volume down as she parks, not wanting to get in trouble like she does every week for blasting music, Tommy lowering his own humming, the deepness of his voice easily heard over the quiet music.
Elizabeth doesn’t unlock the doors after she shifts into park, and Tommy turns around, hand waiting on the handle. “Gonna unlock the fuc–” Tommy’s voice stalls, faltering when he notices Elizabeth staring straight ahead, both hands gripping the steering so tightly her knuckles are white. Weirdly enough, her hands look more masculine for some reason, like she used makeup to exaggerate the features, but Tommy dismisses the fleeting thought. Right now, he needs to make sure Elizabeth is okay.
Letting go of the door handle, he shifts, pointing his legs towards Elizabeth and putting a hand on her shoulder lightly. She flinches slightly, but doesn’t pull away, so Tommy assumes it's safe for him to keep his hand there. “What’s wrong?” Tommy asks softly, previous fake annoyance completely gone from his voice.
Elizabeth swallows, eyes not moving. “I’m fine,” her voice cracks, and Tommy can see that she’s obviously not fine. Licking her lips, she finally breaks her gaze in front of her, making eye contact with Tommy. She looks scared, breaths heavier than normal and a thin sheen of sweat glistening where her beanie meets her forward. “I’m fine.”
Damn, Tommy thought his older sister was a better liar than this, being a theater kid and all. He levels a look at his sister, easily reading everything on her face since he was adopted 8 years ago. It took him two weeks to know Elizabeth’s tells, and two months to know Techno’s, actually. And right now, Elizabeth’s emotions are projected for the entire world to see.
But Tommy can’t do anything to try to stave away her panic attack because Elizabeth quickly takes the keys out of the engine, jerkingly opening the driver’s side door and stepping out shakingly. She starts walking away from the car, and it sends Tommy into a frantic, rushing to get out of his side of the car. He watches her maroon beanie bobble in the crowd of students, and he slams the car door shut, ready to speed walk his way over to her.
His plans are thwarted when his bookbag straps get shut in the car door, snapping him back and causing him to lose sight of Elizabeth. Grumbling, he reopens the car, and yanks his straps out, pissed off. Elizabeth is long gone by now, and he has no choice but to head into the school. Tommy will have to talk to her after school, or else it’s going to be an awkward car ride home.
Right when he’s about to cross the threshold into his first classroom, he remembers something. They forgot to lock the fucking car.
Today was a shitty day. Hands down one of the most shitty days Tommy’s had for a while. Every time someone called his name, or called him a, a masculine nickname, or in fourth period where a random dude said that only girls draw flowers in their notebooks, Tommy got a sick feeling.
A feeling of discontentment, where the adjectives and words used for him don’t feel correct, like they’re puzzle pieces that were placed in the wrong box, the creator trying their hardest to make the wrong piece fit, only to be shoved in incorrectly.
He really shouldn’t be feeling like this, too, nevermind the fact he doesn’t know why he is. Why he has these painful twinges in his heart whenever he hears himself in the third person or why being grouped with the boys during PE absolutely fucking sucked.
His day only worsened when he got to the car, Elizabeth impatiently sitting in the driver’s seat and tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. She seemed less panicky than earlier, but still in a shitty mood if her snapping at Tommy when he asked what was wrong and what happened earlier was anything. They drove in silence home, no music, no chit-chatting, nothing. Which led to this, overthinking in his room again.
Tommy’s meant to be doing his math homework, and it’s sprawled in front of him, but his attention is elsewhere, obviously. Pushing his own dilemma to the side, Tommy wonders about Elizabeth’s, about her behavior in the car in the morning and on the way home.
His stomach grumbles (it is nearing dinner time), interrupting all this stupid thinking he’s doing. Maybe he should do it less, honestly, if it makes him feel all wrong and uncomfortable like it has been recently.
Sighing, he abandons his homework, probably not going to finish it, to be honest. Too much work, and he’s kinda lazy, especially with other things on his mind.
As if he knew he was wrong, Phil calls Tommy down for dinner. Tommy walks down the stairs, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Something’s going to happen tonight, he can feel it. He’s not sure what, nor if it will be good or bad, but it will happen, and something will be irreversibly changed.
Techno’s already at the table, Phil placing bowls of noodles, spaghetti sauce, and beef down. They’re chatting amicably, and Tommy regrets having to interrupt their quiet conservation. Only a little, though.
“‘Sup bitches,” Tommy greets, taking his place at the table. Before Phil can finish setting the table, he grabs a plate, piling noodles and spooning sauce on top of it. He’s not a big man of meat in spaghetti, so he only takes a little.
“Tommy, you could wait til everyone’s at the table,” Phil reprimands, smiling.
Techno flicks Tommy’s arm, “Yeah, could’ve waited for Phil to at least finish settin’ the table. Especially if you weren’t gonna wait for Liz.”
“Nah.” Despite what he says, Tommy waits for Elizabeth, stirring the sauce, smiling pleasantly to himself when he notices he achieved the perfect noodle to sauce ratio. Delicious.
Elizabeth decides at that moment to barrel down the stairs, exclaiming: “I’m here, I’m here.” Tommy studies her, something’s off, returning the feeling of apprehensiveness he was feeling prior to coming downstairs. She looks nervous, doing that anxious eye flicking thing and small smile she does anytime she is nervous. But she looks ten times better than earlier, so he’ll take anything.
“How was school?” Phil asks once they’re all settled in their chairs. Tommy rolls his eyes goodnaturedly, counting on his dad to ask the most basic dad questions there are.
Techno doesn’t answer, obviously, so Tommy goes first. “Fine, I beat everyone’s asses in history again. Fuckers don’t know nothing.”
Techno gestures to Elizabeth who is sitting across the table from him. “Pass the sauce, Liz.” She doesn’t right away.
“Are you goated with the sauce, Tech?” Elizabeth raises an eyebrow, grinning teasingly. She passes the after Techno gives her a blankest stare Tommy has seen in a while.
“Elizabeth,” Phil redirects the conversation back to school, “How was your day?”
Tommy feigns indifference, shoveling pasta into his mouth like he normally does, but he actually wants to listen to what Elizabeth has to say and why she was in such a weird mood all day, about why she was all panicky in the morning. Predictably, Elizabeth deflects the question.
“It was a day,” she says, breezing right by it. Her false arrogance—that Tommy was able to read through—deflates, and she seems to grow more anxious by the second. “I, uh, actually have something to tell you guys. And, I can trust you all, right?”
Phil smiles gently. Damn, what a great father figure. “Of course, Liz, you can trust all of us.” Techno and Tommy nod along, curiosity deepening in Tommy’s stomach, not spaghetti.
Elizabeth breathes in heavily, “Actually, um, that’s it.” She takes another deep breath. “The whole ‘Liz’ thing.”
Techno blinks, “If you don’t like the nickname, you coulda told us.” Phil nods in agreement, and Tommy sets his fork down on his plate, sensing that it’s something more than a nickname.
Elizabeth blushes, tilting her head down. She takes a moment for herself, and Tommy waits patiently for her to continue her… confession thing. Tommy’s not sure what to call it.
“It’s not the nickname,” she says, “It’s… all of it.” Wow, good job Elizabeth, Tommy thinks, way to be concise and on point. Elizabeth takes another deep breath, deeper than all the previous ones and Tommy believes this might be the final confession.
“I’m not Elizabeth and I’m not a girl.” Tommy blinks harshly in surprise. “My name is Wilbur and I’m a boy—a, a man, actually. And I use he/him pronouns.”
Phil runs a hand through his hair, “Is that everything?” Eliz—Wilbur nods, and Phil stands up, chairing screeching on the hardwood. Wilbur braces himself, and Tommy can’t help but feel fear for him, scared about how Phil reacts, and what that means for him.
Wait. Means for him?
Tommy can’t follow the random thought, one: because it’s Wilbur’s moment with Phil; his father and brother hugging and exchanging private words; and two: Techno is staring right at him. His oldest brother is observing him, staring deeply into his soul as if he knows something, and Tommy does not fucking like it. He’s not sure what Techno will find, as he doesn’t know it himself, but he doesn’t want Techno rooting through his secrets.
Tommy’s mini freak-out and Techno’s secret diving is stopped by Phil telling them to get over there and hug their brother. Tommy complies—not that he wasn’t going to hug Wilbur anyways—and Techno follows.
Phil, the shortest of the three, tries his best to squeeze all of them, and fails miserably if the light pressure Tommy feels—since he’s the farthest from their father—says anything.
“Guess I’ve got three boys now,” Phil chuckles, and Tommy swallows, not liking the sinking feeling in his gut.
It’s been a week since Wilbur came out, and the feelings Tommy’s felt for the past few months still haven’t disappeared. In fact, with all the learning he’s done about the LGBTQIA+ community (including the name), Tommy’s felt even more confused.
The family learned a few more terms: coming out and gender dysphoria being the two Tommy’s most drawn to. Wilbur had sat them down and explained coming out and how nobody needs to come out, they just can if they want.
He also talked to them about dysphoria and his experience with it. Phil had immediately scheduled a hair appointment for Wilbur and the two went shopping for different clothes. That conversation greatly confused Tommy, but did help him put names to feelings.
The only problem is Tommy shouldn’t be feeling dysphoric or anything, via Wilbur’s explanations and his own late night searches. Gender dysphoria tends to be, no is, experienced by trans people, not cis ones. Last Tommy knew, he was cis. Or at least he thinks he is. Inspired by Wilbur’s short, concise definitions—that were definitely meant for cis people—Tommy went online, searching things like can cis people feel gender dysphoria and am I a trans woman. Just short, little searches that mean absolutely fucking nothing.
Well, except they do. He’s taken to writing sentences with she/her pronouns and leaving out the whole “Tommy” part, like, not writing his name at all. It helps with the dysphoria, and it makes him feel better about the whole am I trans or not dilemma he’s experiencing.
Another week goes by, and Phil’s working on legally changing Wilbur’s name and listed gender, and they’re also looking into hormone treatments. He watches this all take place, and Techno and him observe the conversations while eating breakfast. He watches as Wilbur relaxes into himself and seems more comfortable in his own skin, hair newly cut in a short, masculine style, and all he can think is: why can’t I feel like that?
Then he would feel guilty for feeling jealous, even though nobody knows about it. He doesn’t like being jealous of Wilbur’s dysphoria or days where he gets misgendered badly at school and in public. He also feels jealous of the days where Wilbur confesses to feeling like a real man, and that he finally feels true to himself.
He wants to be true to himself, too, but thoughts stop him. Thoughts from two weeks ago standing in front of the mirror resurface, mind convincing him that he’s being perverted in wishing he was a woman, and that it’s wrong for him to want boobs and soft hips.
But then he paints his fingernails with clear nail polish he raided from Wilbur’s room, and starts combing his hair with Wilbur’s old girly pink brush. Not that the brushing does anything—his hair is still a masculine cut—but pretending that he’s a girl brushing her hair feels nice, feels correct.
She ventures into the next step, talking to herself in the third person when she’s alone with a higher voice than her normal one and raiding the donation pile of Wilbur’s old clothes on the one night she’s home alone. She leaves the dresses and skirts, not really feeling into them, but grabs the women-style jeans and a women’s fit shirt. They fit since Wilbur is taller than him by far, and she can’t help but spin and pose in the mirror, finally feeling that gender euphoria Wilbur sometimes mentions.
The series of events all lead to today, on a Saturday two whole months after Wilbur came out. Her hair is longer and she avoids any talk of getting it cut, the curls reaching close to her chin. She’s in her room, wearing Wilbur’s old clothes and painting her nails with clear polish, not yet brave enough to use colored polish. Her door is unlocked since Techno and Phil are out working, and Wilbur’s out with friends. She’s safe to present how she wants to present, at least until Wilbur comes home.
Looking at the time, she notices that it’s almost one o’clock, and Wilbur said he’d be home around 1:30. Humming a nonsensical tune, she wipes around her left index finger with a q-tip coated in acetone, finishing her nails up. She goes to close the acetone bottle but actually knocks it all over her desk, jumping back so it doesn’t get on her clothes.
“Fuck,” she swears, righting the bottle and screwing the lid on it. She’s not worried about the acetone on the desk, that’ll dry up in no time, but acetone also got all over her notebook soaking a decent number of pages. Sighing, she tears them out, and goes to throw them in her trash can, but surprise! There’s no bag in it.
“Guess I’ll have to fuckin’ go downstairs and shit,” she grumbles to herself, not really all that annoyed but it is an inconvenience. At least she can count on Wilbur getting home after 1:30—the dude is literally always late.
It’s not that hard to get a new trash bag, but she’s extremely inconvenienced when she sees that the box of bags isn’t open—and her nails are still drying. Smudges wouldn’t be all too noticeable with the whole clear nail polish thing going on, but she doesn’t like the feeling of bad nail polish on her fingers.
She sits at the kitchen island as she waits. On her phone, she scrolls through various social medias when suddenly, the front door is clicking open and her head snaps up. In a mad dash, she races to the stairs and is just stepping on the first step when Wilbur’s voice sounds behind her.
“Tommy?” Wilbur says in confusion , bags hanging from his arms. She winces at her deadname, and turns slowly, grimacing when Wilbur’s eyes look her up and down. “Are those my clothes? My old clothes.” Damn. There is no getting out of this one, is there?
“Yes? Maybe? Wouldn’t you like to know?” She tries, and Wilbur raises an eyebrow.
“Why are you wearing them? They’re women’s–Ohhhh. Oh.” Something dawns on Wilbur’s face, something like understanding. “You know that they’re women’s cut, don’t you?” He asks, and she nods sheepishly.
Wilbur sets down the multitude of bags, walking over in front of her and pulling her off the stairs, enveloping her in a hug. She returns it, resting her head over Wilbur’s heart, the comforting sound of his heart calming her own racing heartbeat. She honestly feels a bit of gender euphoria from this, from the height difference between her and a man. It’s a small thing, but it helps slightly with her sweaty hands.
“I did the same thing with Techno’s clothes, too,” Wilbur says suddenly, chest rumbling under her ear. “They felt… nice, to put it simply.”
“It’s not weird?” She asks, voice muffled by Wilbur’s shirt. “Not… fuckin’ predatory or anything?”
Wilbur pulls back, holding her at arms distance. She doesn’t make eye contact. “Never, T–sunshine. Fucking never. You can wear my clothes as long as you’d like, actually.”
She grins, eyes glistening as she connects gazes with Wilbur whose eyes mirror her own. “So, um, I’m a girl. A woman, and to be exact, a Big fuckin’ Woman. With the she/her pronouns.”
Wilbur licks his lips, smiling at his little sister. “Trans solidarity, right?” He sticks a hand out in a fist, and she fist bumps him back.
“Trans solidarity. Actually, um, I’ve been questioning my gender and shit since before you came out, dude,” she says, helping Wilbur pick up his shopping bags. Why does her older brother love shopping so much? Where does he even get his money?
Wilbur halts walking up the stairs, turning around and looking down at her. “You got a name, or is it still Tommy?”
She grimaces at the name, “No. No, not Tommy please.” She flushes slightly. “I actually haven’t found a name I liked yet,” she confesses.
Her older brother continues walking upstairs. “Take your time, sunshine, no rush. Are you planning on telling Phil and Techno yet?”
She places Wilbur’s bags on his bed. “This was a piece of cake, so I just might tonight at dinner.” She nudges Wilbur’s shoulder with her own. “Siblings, aye?”
Wilbur chuckles, “Yeah. I love you, no matter what. Even though I may or may not have stolen your gender.”
She snorts. “I love you too. Bitch.”
That night at dinner, she plans to come out to her family, officially. With her name and everything.
She feels like throwing up, and wow, how did Wilbur do this without knowing concrete evidence of a supportive family? She knows that Phil and Techno will accept her even if her mind tries to convince her otherwise.
They’re having tacos tonight, the whole family helping to prepare it. It’s awfully domestic, and nobody’s talking, not wanting to break the peaceful spell. Phil plates the beef and chicken, Techno with the lettuce and rice, Wilbur makes the guac, and she sets the table.
Sitting down at her seat, she makes her taco, feeling the weight of Wilbur’s eyes on her. No pressure or anything, right?
Clearing her throat, she catches everyone’s attention. “I’ve got something to tell you guys,” she booms, voice leaving no room for insecurity. A wave of deja vu washes over with the words, parallel with how Wilbur came out a few months ago.
And just as Phil did with Wilbur, his dad sets down his taco and devotes his full attention to her. Techno also does the same thing: continues eating but listening intently. Unlike Wilbur, she doesn’t dance around the topic.
“I’m a trans woman, I use she/her pronouns, and my name is Clementine.”
“Thank god,” Techno breathes, “I thought it was somethin’ bad you were hidin’.”
Techno’s words aren’t all that funny, but Clementine bursts out laughing, Wilbur and Phil following suit. “You thought I was fuckin’ breaking the, the law, or soemthing?” She exclaims, eyes tearing up in laughter.
Techno crosses his arms, pouting slightly. “Thought you were, like, sneakin’ out every night to do hard drugs.” He throws his hands up, “I don’t know! What did you want me to think?”
“Anyways,” Phil says, still laughing, “I’m proud of you Clementine. Any nicknames?”
She sniffs, “Maybe Clem if you’re feeling up to it, old man.”
“I am not that old, you little fuck.” Phil softens, “We can talk about what to do from here tomorrow, if you want.”
Clementine nods, “Sounds good to me, big man.” She does want to make changes as soon as possible, after all.
“I just want everyone to know,” Wilbur starts, holding up one finger smugly, “I knew first.”
Groaning, Clementine throws her head back. “Shut the fuck up you bitch. You walked in on me.”
Techno raises an eyebrow. “Huh?”
Wilbur throws her under the bus. “She was strutting around in my old clothes earlier. And boom, my gaydar went berserk.”
“To be fair, Wilbur did the same with your clothes, Techno,” Clementine throws back. Wilbur’s smile drops and his glare threatens death. Phil sighs, knowing where this will likely lead, but Wilbur and Clementine are interrupted when Techno’s shocked gasp sounds through the room.
“Heh? You were wearin’ my clothes?”
Phil, Clementine, and Wilbur burst out laughing, and Clementine couldn’t be any happier.