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It’s been almost two decades now since Jay stumbled across that loudmouth kid tossing bikes into the river in the woods. That was the first time someone had met him, and with complete certainty, assumed him to be a fellow boy. He never corrected Matt that summer, letting himself indulge in that guilty fantasy. It was almost euphoric to dream of a future where they grow to be two men in a famous band, playing shows for girls fawning over them.
The dream survived that summer they spent together, becoming late nights after school in the woods or at Matt’s house where they would scribble out new plans. Still, it continued after graduation. He's lived with Matt for eight years now and slept in the same room as him for three. It’s rare for them to be apart for more than an hour, and yet his friend still has not noticed what he used to consider the most obvious fact about himself.
At some point, it began to feel too late to point it out, at least directly. A few years into living together he started trying to tell him through scattered hints. He would leave his binder draped over the coffee table, more than once watching Matt toss it aside without a second glance to reach for a controller. Setting his testosterone gel on the sink similarly prompted no response. He even tried leaving out the Batgirl comics that feature a transfemme character, hoping MJ would at least grab those to read. He did actually pick them up once, but the only thing Matt wanted to discuss after reading them was how different Batgirl’s portrayal was compared to the 90s Batman animated series.
Where Matt seemed oblivious to the gender assigned to him at birth, his mom seemed oblivious to the one he has been presenting as for most of his life now. The gradual deepening of his voice and sprouting of chest hair somehow hadn't been enough of a sign to her, and even now she seems perplexed when someone greets him with male pronouns. Of course, she did often push for him to wear more feminine clothing and let his hair grow back out, but never did she seem to think that he was dressing like a guy for any reason other than laziness and comfort.
He's heard her talk about trans people before - remarking on whatever issue was circulating the news cycle - bathrooms, athletes, HRT for minors. It feels like a betrayal to do so, but he shuts his mouth and nods along to her less than charitable views. He learned when he was a teenager that it was pointless to try to change her mind. Letting himself be pushed or pulled in the direction of conversation she chose was the easiest way to keep the waters calm.
"Look at you!" His mom had remarked once, "You have short hair and you don't act like that makes you a guy."
By some miracle, he's managed to keep his mother and Matt separated from each other. If his mom called, he would duck into another room to talk. And if she invited him to dinner, he'd figure out some excuse to keep Matt away. Sure, there was an infinitesimal chance that introducing Matt to her might change her into being somewhat more accepting, but there also lay the chance she would instead shift Matt’s perception of him.
Jay knows more than one of his direct family members consider him to be a bitch. Not in the 'wussy' way that Matt means when he teases him for getting cold feet with a plan. When they say it, it's both in reference to his 'actual' gender, and their perception of him as standoffish and uncaring. It’s almost comical, when he considers how opposite Matt’s perception of him is compared to that of his family.
And it's not as though his mom is unlikeable. Rather, she's wonderful to his friends, doting on them whenever he'd bring someone home. They'd get pampered with a soft drink, snacks, and plenty of embarrassing stories about Jay. Once, he even had a friend tell him that they thought they were closer to his mom than him. That was one of many friendships that petered out after high school.
At some point he began to consider contact with his family as a sort of infection. If someone who previously saw him as cool came into contact with them, his family's opinions would suddenly latch on and overtake their previously charitable idea of him. Suddenly they would squint when looking at him and see whatever it is his family sees.
Matt was the friend who survived that plague. Introducing him to his mom is a risk he can't take.
But give it enough time, and a mistake is going to be inevitable. There comes a day that his mother calls and he stays spread across the couch as he talks to her. Matt was out of the house, gone to grab drinks for them at the boba place down the road. Drained from a rather laborious plan involving disguising themselves as clowns, he decided it wasn't worth getting up with Matt already gone. He feels confident he wouldn't be back by the time he gets off the phone.
When his phone buzzes in his pocket, he lifts his head to check it, leaving an outline of his face in powdery white makeup on the couch. Deciding the stain will be something to clean up later when he has more energy, he takes the call and flops back down.
"Hi honey!" His mom coos sweetly. "You haven’t caught up with me in a while! I got us a dinner reservation at Minami on Saturday. We have to make an evening of it!"
He muffles a groan by shoving his face back into the pillows. When it's out of his system, he carefully tailors his tone to one of excitement.
"Yeah. Sure. Yeah. That sounds great." He says with as much enthusiasm as he can muster.
"Would your little friend like to join us?” His mom asks, “I know he's quite the busy bee, but I would love if you would ask him to make some time for his good friend’s mom?”
He flips through his mental rolodex of excuses for Matt's tin search of one he hasn't used recently. After a beat of thought, he seizes on what he decides is the easiest route through this.
"I don't know, Matt really doesn't love sushi mom. That's really the only thing on the menu there and-" the door of the house slams open before he can finish the lie.
"What? Bird, did I just hear you say I don't like sushi?" Matt laughs out, loudly enough for his mom to hear through the phone. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Ask him if he'd like to come along." His mom tells him, repeating it with some firmness when he hesitates. "Be a good friend. Invite him.”
"Matt, would you like to come to dinner? With my mom. Didn't you say you- you had something on Saturday" He hints, trying to plead with his eyes for Matt to refuse.
But Matt has his back to him, busying himself with setting up the Wii for a game of Mario Kart. He picks up his boba, taking a noisy sip while he puts in the disc.
"Are you kidding? You think I'm going to pass up sushi at Minami? Come on, Bird." He calls out easily, flicking on the TV.
"Wonderful!" His mom chirps out happily, "I'll make the reservation for three then. 5 o'clock, this Saturday. Don't forget to put it on your calendar."
"Yes, Mom." Jay mumbles out, knowing he has to accept his fate. "We'll see you on Saturday."
Jay's meetings with his mom are the only times he tries not to dress as he normally does. It's a force of habit, maybe, to perform femininity for her. He knows it makes her less likely to comment on his appearance, and gritting his teeth through wearing a bra, shaving his face and slapping on some makeup is usually a worthy tradeoff for that.
He wonders, as he dabs at his face with foundation, if makeup expires. This is the same brand he'd used in middle school, when his mom had told him it was well past when he should have started wearing makeup. That he needed it. She happily dragged him to a Sephora when he eventually gave in, loading him up with 'the basics'.
This little vial of foundation is one he's been pulling out for years now, since he'd moved in with Matt and no longer had to force a feminine presentation on the daily. He kept all that makeup in a shoebox that he shoved under his bed, stuffed with bras and anything else he'd had to use to get through life before Matt. A few more dinners with his mom and he might finally need to buy another vial.
With makeup applied and one of his last remaining bras under a t-shirt, he leans into the mirror to study his appearance. A shave and a bit of concealer had rendered his five o'clock shadow invisible. Curling back his lips, he studies the pointed teeth his mom has insisted would look better ‘fixed’, rubbing a smudge of lip gloss from them. Stepping back to view it all, he doesn't think he could call himself 'femme' by any means, but he could at least pass as the butch lesbian his mom believes him to be.
Seeing this reflection makes him feel as though he’s in middle school again, having no choice but to wear the clothing bought on his behalf. Back then, his mom had insisted that push up bras were the only ‘proper’ bras. They would “prevent his boobs from sagging” later in life, apparently. Nevermind that it made him want to crawl out of his skin when he wore them - she had insisted it was simply a matter of health.
In all their time together, Matt has never seen him like this. Never had he needed to plaster on makeup and pretend to be something else for him. He was Jay with Matt. Just Bird.
The first thing that struck him when he met Matt was the sense that this kid would do whatever he wanted, no matter what reaction it got him. He doesn’t think he had ever seen that kind of pure freedom of choice before this, one completely unhindered by any anxiety of public perception. And before he could take it all in, Matt had asked him to be in his band. In that moment it felt like he had extended that power of freedom to him as well. When he was with Matt, choosing something because you wanted it was reason enough, no matter the consequences.
He starts scrubbing at his face with cold water when they already should be leaving, peeling off his bra to struggle on a binder. The pressure of it is grounding when he's otherwise panicking. Checking himself over once more in the mirror, he finds his face scrubbed red from his frantic makeup removal. A little worse for the wear, but he at least looks like himself again.
Downstairs, Matt is dressed as he always is, but tonight Jay looks him over with his mother's eyes. The frayed holes in his jeans, trilby, and even the shape of his face are things he knows his mom will note and comment on to him later. Matt doesn't seem to fret over those things in the same way that he does, like he couldn't imagine anyone seeing his outfit and thinking of it as anything other than cool.
"Hey, I'm leaving for dinner with my mom." Jay calls out as he pulls on his shoes, "If you're not ready I'm going to leave because we're already running late and-"
"I'm ready, I'm ready! Jesus, man." Matt scoffs, pushing himself up from the couch and stretching. "Let’s go! Come on."
A few steps down the sidewalk and Jay glances again at the time. It's already past when they should have been there now, and the realization sends a frightened jolt through him. He seizes Matt's jacket, dragging him into a faster pace. His roommate seems surprised by it, used to taking the lead himself, but he doesn't fight being pulled along by the elbow. It's not until they've stopped to wait for the tram that he lets go of Matt.
"Whoa! What's the rush, Bird?" Matt pants out, dropping down onto a bench. "You said this is just dinner with your mom, right?"
"Yeah. Yeah. Just dinner with my mom" He grunts out in agreement, leaning out over the street in an attempt to spot the streetcar in the flow of traffic.
Finally getting on does little to help the way his chest seems to be squeezing in upon itself. The usually comforting pressure of his binder feels crushing now, every breath feeling a little more difficult. He lets Matt's aimless chattering wash over him, trying to distract himself with checking over his clothes for flaws and tracking exactly how many minutes late they are.
This would all be easier if his mom was worse. He wishes his mom was worse. That it was black and white, her toxicity so obvious even strangers would agree he needed to separate from her. Even better would be if she cut him off herself and saved him of the choice, taking the decision and the associated guilt out of his hands.
He wishes he didn't still love her. Selfish as it is to say after all she has given him, he wishes he didn't care so deeply about what she thinks of him. All these years after moving out and she's still the voice of the insecurities in the back of his head. She's the last remnant of his life before becoming Jay, the only place he still feels like that pushover little girl that ran into Matt that day in the woods.
It pains him to know that is the end of a before, this moment that he has pushed back and fretted over for years. What his mom and Matt will inevitably realize at this dinner are things he can’t take back again. He doesn't know what's awaiting him in the aftermath, and any attempts to imagine it are simply picturing the outcome he dreads the most.
There is a hostess awaiting them in the restaurant, dressed in an all black uniform, sporting the straight face of someone already hours into a draining shift. He ignores the squeezing in his chest to approach her, though she seems to him an undertaker ready to lead him to his grave. He'll approach the gallows with his head held high if he can, maintain his dignity while he still has it.
"McCarrol?" She repeats after he gives his name, tracing the list of reservations on the screen with her finger. "Ah, I see. Right over here, sir."
She leads him deeper into the dim restaurant, between tables of families, friends and pairs of flirting couples on dates. He hopes between the lighting and his mom's cataracts she won't notice his break from how he normally dresses. She's waiting for them at a table for four in the far corner of the room. Her attire fits the restaurant more than theirs - dark crimson blazer and an A line skirt. She stands as they get closer, opening her arms to pull him into a hug.
"I was wondering if you were going to show up." His mom says with a laugh, "I thought you'd be a little more excited to see me."
He can tell she's scanning over his person after she steps away, and he hopes his layered clothing saves him from his use of a binder being obvious. Her eyes on him give him the compulsion to scurry to the bathroom to check himself over for crud on his face or clothes, but he knows disappearing just after his arrival won't win him any points of approval.
"I- I am excited to see you!" He stammers out instead. "The streetcar got held up at one of the stops I- uh. I'm sorry."
"Matthew! Hello!" His mom sidesteps past him and his excuses to cheerfully greet his roommate, "It's so nice to finally meet. Robin has told me all about you."
He feels tears prick his eyes, ones he tries desperately to fight. This is already humiliating. He hates the way his mom says that name so casually when it hits him like a knife. Why hadn't he begged Matt to do a Rivoli plan with him instead and stand the entire thing up? It would have been worth dealing with his mother's anger.
They take their places around the table, Matt to his left and his mom across from them. He's struck by the childish impulse to take Matt's hand or even grab a bit of his jacket for reassurance. Sitting at this table is making this all feel too real, this oncoming discussion neither his mom nor Matt have prepared for.
He nods along to his mom's usual chattering about his childhood as a music 'savant'. Really, he's listening for how she refers to him, the peppering in of 'shes' and 'hers', along with references to 'my daughter'. Matt hasn't said anything yet, but he can tell he's already picked up on it, glancing towards him as though to check if this is normal.
His mom just continues on with an embarrassing anecdote, one about him getting lost in the Toronto Zoo. He was found sobbing by an employee when his mom was just on the other side of the exhibit. The story grates on him, but he chuckles along politely to keep the mood light. He dreads hearing Matt's teasing when they get back home.
It's actually when Matt starts telling stories that the problems start. He's retelling their most recent plan proudly, despite its failure to work. He only gets a few words into describing it when he mentions Jay's name.
“Jay?” His mom interjects, pursing her lips. "Who's Jay?"
"It- it's a nickname, Mom." He stutters out, unable to help himself from attempting to patch this sinking ship. "It's one of Matt's nicknames for me."
"Robin, you know I chose your name very carefully." His mom says, the hurt in her voice adding weight to the uncomfortable guilt already in his chest. "I hope you did tell your friend your real name."
"Of course I did!" Jay blurts out, stomping on Matt's foot beneath the table to stop him from answering. "Of course I did."
"Good." His mom huffs concedingly as she stands. "Well, I have to run to the bathroom. Robin and her sister made it so that I can't hold my water quite as well as I used to."
She stands from the table, and he can tell Matt’s tracking her over the heads of other patrons. After a few moments he leans in.
“Robin?” Matt hisses, “What the hell was all of that about man? She was going on about you like you’re a girl! Does your mom have some kind of crazy amnesia?”
"I- well. Uh." He stammers, trying to find the words he has put off for over a decade now.
“She kept going ‘Robin’ this and ‘Robin that!” Matt continues on. “That’s your sister, right? Why the hell is she doing that?”
The words are stuck in his throat. He can't get himself to say them.
"I- I wasn't always. I wasn't always like this." He manages to sputter out instead.
"What do you mean you haven’t always been like this? I’ve known you forever, Bird. What, you haven’t always been-" Matt pauses mid-sentence and he can see him put the pieces together as his expression shifts to one of realization. "Wow. Your mom's a bitch, Bird."
Jay flinches at that, head whipping around to see if his mom is nearby. He spots her a distance away - on her way back from the bathroom. Stomping on MJ's foot, he mouths 'shut up' at him. Seeing his mom over the heads of the other patrons, he forces a smile at his mom's, waving as she nears the table.
"Sorry about that. I hadn’t gotten up before you got here because I didn’t want to miss you both coming in. Please continue your story, Matt." Jay's mom says as she takes her seat.
It's Matt who's scanning his mom over now, no longer smiling. He’s silent for a moment before he finally nods. Jay lets out a quiet breath of relief.
"Alright. So Bird and I went to a paint store downtown, since we needed to get face paint for the clown costumes. And Jay told me-"
"Her name is Robin." Jay's mom interjects, "I'm sorry she told you a fake name with you living together for all this time.
"His name is Jay." Matt counters, staring daggers across the table. “And as I was saying, we headed over to the paint store-”
His mom's attention turns to him now, sighing tiredly.
"You're still doing this, Robin?” She groans out over Matt’s ramble. “Did you convince your friend I'm some awful person? Don’t you think this is selfish?"
The words are all one lump in his throat, stuck uncomfortably in place. He nods without looking up, because he knows that's the only way to get this over with quickly.
"Is this why you brought your friend? You needed someone to do this for you? You don't think you can talk to your own mom?" She asks and he can tell without looking up she is staring directly at him. "It's sad that you can't talk to your own mom, Robin. You're acting like I'm some kind of monster."
"I'm sorry." he breathes out quietly, straining to keep his composure.
"You're always going to be my baby girl, Robin." His mom says soothingly, reaching across the table to muss his hair. "You know, now I know why you can't get a real job! No one is going to take you seriously if you’re doing this! You need to stop living in a fantasy, sweetheart!"
"Bird, come on." Matt grabs the back of his coat collar and yanks him away from his mom's hand. He's hauled up like a kitten by the scruff. "Let's go home."
"You're going to leave your mom because I didn't have the perfect reaction to you springing something like this on me?" His mom huffs, "This is ridiculous."
He squirms, but Matt's grip on his hood is vice-like. As powerless as he may be here, it feels good to have no choice but to let someone force him from the situation.
"You, dearest madam, are a cold hearted bitch." Matt announces loudly, with a mock bow. "And I bid you good night!"
His roommate drags him through the restaurant while he waves an awkward goodbye to his mom without lifting his head. He doesn't think he can look her in the eyes right now, but the inevitable fallout will be worse if he doesn't attempt a goodbye. He's pulled past the hostess stand, where they're staring at them, and finally out to the open street.
"I've waited two decades for that." Matt cackles, beaming.
Matt doesn't push him to talk on the way back. He lets his roommate fill the silence himself, while he stares out the window. The reality of what occurred settles on him slowly.
Does his mom even know he's trans now? All of this and he never managed to get those words out. Is this, to her, all a choice of name and fashion? Some kind of a scam he pulled on his best friend? At the least, he supposes he's ripped the bandaid off for telling Matt.
The adrenaline of the night is fading as they step in the door of the house, Matt still chattering away. His stomach growls unhappily when he falls into the couch. All that drama at the restaurant and he hadn't managed to get a single bite of food.
He trudges tiredly past Matt to the kitchen, beelining for the fridge. The lights flick on for its barren shelves, unclosed condiments and half-empty pickle jar. One promising takeout container in the far corner reveals itself to only house three cold fries. He lets the door swing shut again, sliding down against the cupboards to sit on the floor. The tears that he has been fighting all night finally get the upper hand.
Crying like this makes Jay feel pathetic. Sniveling, whimpery sounds force their way out of his throat. It's impossible to silence them, his breathing turning ragged as he attempts to stifle the noise. Wiping at his face is useless, but he keeps trying nonetheless, swabbing at the still flowing stream of tears and snot.
"Bird?" He hears Matt sputter before he drops down to the floor beside him "Hey. Are you alright, man?"
"I- I'm hungry." He blubbers out pathetically, pawing uselessly at his tear-streaked face.
"Hey! It's okay!" Matt reassures in a panicked tone, reaching out to rub his back. "We can get delivery. Anything you want. Pizza, burgers, chinese, uh. What do you want? You pick Birdy."
"I don't wanna- wanna choose anything right now, Matt" He whines out.
Dignity forgotten, he burrows his face into his roommate's shoulder. The fabric is quickly covered in snot and tears, but Matt doesn't push him away.
"Alright. Alright. I'll get us- uh- sandwiches from Wolfies." Matt says soothingly, letting Jay cry his jacket damp. “Two sandwiches, buncha cookies. We can have a nice quiet night. Watch a movie.”
Matt calls into the deli with one arm still slung around Jay. Something about that continual reminder of his presence slowly grounds him. He listens in on the call and the familiar rhythm of Matt’s voice. Gradually his crying becomes sniffling.
"I don't want you to see me as some- some kind of fucked up chick." He stammers out when Matt puts the phone down. "That's why I never- never told you. I- I didn't want you to think-"
"Jay, shut up." Matt snaps, "Listen. I never would have cared. What kind of- of fucking pervert is worried about what's in your pants? Or- or is that what this is! You think I’m gay?”
"No! no, Matt.” Jay stammers out, voice wobbling. “My mom thinks it's selfish. To be- to want to be a boy.”
"Fuck your mom!" Matt shouts, and just like the first time he heard him say it, Jay finds a surprised laugh punched out of him by the exclamation. "Fuck your mom!"
Matt pulls himself up with the counter, grabbing Jay's hand to tug him towards the living room. He grabs the remote as they pass the coffee table, then pulls Jay down with him onto the couch. For a moment it feels like a normal night, sharing a blanket and waiting for food to show up at their door. They start watching what's in the dvd player - Beetlejuice, ten minutes into the movie. They’ve watched it a dozen times before, but he’ll take that familiarity right now.
The food arrives just after the house gets sold to Jeffrey Jones' character. Matt hops up to retrieve it, rustling a sandwich and a few cookies out of the bag to hand to him. He pulls out his own, falling back into the couch beside him. Exhausted, Jay finds himself leaning into Matt just to stay upright. By the time the film’s credits roll they’ve polished off all the food entirely, leaving a crumpled takeout bag on the coffee table.
"You still sad that your mom's a bitch, Bird?" Matt probes, flicking his nose.
"Can we talk about something other than my mom?" Jay yawns, resting his head on Matt's chest. "I don't wanna think about her anymore right now. What's the next Rivoli plan?"
"Ah. Bird, let me tell you!" Matt grins, "I thought of a great plan. So in the movie, that part where Beetlejuice possesses all those people during that dinner and- and you know that song that plays?”
He lets Matt's babbling lull him to sleep. If his friend was offended, he doesn't seem to show it, continuing on as Jay's eyes blink shut. Hazily, Jay realizes how safe he feels around his friend, obvious now after having him to cling to in an environment he's only ever felt powerless in. That feeling of freedom to do or be anything that he wants that he feels around Matt comes with feeling comfortable falling asleep around him, even when his friend is talking.
There's only a moment of pause in Matt's words when Jay feels Matt tucking the blanket into place around him. He feels his friend’s arms wrap around him, securing him safely in place. Then, as though he had never stopped, Matt continues on with Jay's favorite bedtime story - the tale of how they'll play the Rivoli.