Part 7.

On the next evening, I met my fiance Kelsey for dinner at, of all places. TGI Friday's.

I know, I know, Friday's is gauche, right? And us in an urban center surrounded by high-quality, privately owned restaurants with unique, creative menus. And like most people, I prefer real food prepared in real kitchens by real chefs. But Kelsey loved the TGI Fridays in Western Reserve, the suburb where she grew up. It gave her the "warm fuzzies," or whatever her deal was. Typical goopy girl nonsense.

Anyway, I had told Kelsey about my gender-swap on the phone. Even though on the phone I could hide my condition by lowering my voice, now an octave higher, I didn't. Because I didn't want to lie.

Though I had been truthful, based on her nonchalant acceptance, I half-suspected that she half-suspected it was a lark, and with good reason, since I've always been high on the shenanigans. And since Kelsey gets emotional about EVERYTHING, I found her serene acceptance suspect.

I mean, girls don't often discover that the guy they agreed to marry lost his penis, do they?

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I rolled into Friday's parking lot ten-minutes early and sent Kelsey a text before stepping into the chilly November rain. Hey hun. Here. U?

I locked my BMW, and pulling my coat tight, walked to the entrance.

Now, you've gotta feel me. First off, I'm a dude with no proper fashion sense. I mean, how tough is it to pull off tan khakis and a golf shirt? Or a pair of navy or charcoal dress slacks with a nice button-up broadcloth shirt, and maybe a tie? And a suit? As long as it's tailored and pressed, easy-peasy. So even though I'd picked up some clothes for my now much smaller frame, I didn't exactly "dress to kill." Worse, I'd forgotten some details, inevitable I suppose. Like getting a new raincoat.

So as I opened Friday's front door, I grimaced at my reflection in the glass. I looked like a waif, my slender frame swimming in a men's Burberry short trench coat, its too-long sleeves rolled up. My khakis were wrinkled, and the golf shirt with the State logo on the breast looked like haute couture... were I a thirteen-year-old boy. Worse, my rain-damp, mop-top fade clashed with my now softer, more rounded face.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

I groaned, breathing deep as my ribcage imploded.

I was a mess.

I looked like Kaki King modeling a new-fangled, gender-bending hairdo while sporting KD Lang's 90s-style shabby chic getup.

My phone buzzed, rousing me from self-pity as I entered the inner lobby. Kelsey.

yay! just got sat a second ago. booth behind the bar. we're a step ahead of the wait!!!

I shook my head, annoyed as usual at Kelsey's excessive exclamation points, which always struck me as so middle-school-girly. But I bit back my annoyance and texted a quick reply.

Just got inside, drying off. Damn rain.

I slipped off my ill-fitting trench coat, tossing it across my arm and ran my fingers through my hair. Semi-together, I pushed through from the inner lobby to the always busy restaurant, a bright dining room filled with families, the clank of china and silverware, and the roar of conversation. I breathed deep, the smell of beef, onions, and green peppers wafting past as a waitress delivered a fajita, making my belly grumble.

The hostess, a chipper high schooler with lime green hair approached the door and greeted me. She placed her hand on a stack of menus, asking, "How many?"

I smiled, waving her off and scanning the crowd. "Just looking for my fiance... and there she is." Kelsey, all blonde, high cheek-bones, and sexily attired in a business skirt and sexy, strappy heels, waved from behind a cheesy display of rusty old bicycles and fire fighting equipment.

I turned to the hostess. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. And it's cool you guys can now."

I began walking, but stopped, turning back to her, facing a half-dozen people entering and lining up at the hostess stand. "Can now, what?"

"Be engaged, get married."

"I'm not, we're not..." My shoulders slumped, and I stood still, my jaw open, speechless. She was trying to be cool, and succeeding, but I wanted to defend myself, saying I wasn't gay. And that Kelsey wasn't a dyke. However, at that moment I realized that I had no clue as to what I was.

So I turned, sunning her with a smile. "Thanks. I appreciate that."