Nick was squinting at a word his student had completely misused in the first paragraph of the essay when a Facebook notification pinged. How could anyone not know the difference between inconsistent and incontinent? Nick dismissed the error as lack of proofreading, when another Facebook notification pinged. He always tried to keep the windows on his computer minimized as he graded, but he swore the Facebook noises were getting more intrusive. When he opened a window in Chrome, a new friend request was glowing in red along with a message request from someone named Sheena Miller.
Oh. Katie. Nick’s heart pounded. He swallowed, unsure what to do. He wondered if there was now a green light by his name, signalling that he was online and ready to mingle with the world. Leaning in close to the screen, he tried to assess Katie’s profile picture without touching Accept or Deny, or anything on the keyboard. Her hair was only to her shoulders, which made her seem so much younger than before. Her jawline was sharper too, and her body was skinnier under the purple spaghetti-strap tank top she wore. She stood in front of a graffitied wall in downtown Toronto, a wide smile on her face. Nick’s heart sunk. She was cute here. But was she cute because he could see the stronger jawline—the jawlines he normally desired in men—or because he understood that she was trying to become Sheena from all those punk rock songs? Nick wasn’t sure, and the uncertainty made him close the window yet again, without even reading the message.
Once Nick had come down from the high of meeting her and the small make-out session, the reality of the situation—she was trans, and he had no experience with that—had set in on him. Three days later, Nick still wasn’t sure about his feelings or what he wanted to do. He’d tried to forget about their night together, maybe even pick up a guy on Grindr, but short-term hookups weren’t for him. After tossing and turning the night before, he’d woken up at eight in the morning and figured he might as well start grading some of his student assignments. But of course, even that work was disrupted by his thoughts on Katie and Katie herself. He glimpsed the message she’d written to him, without accepting the message request.
Hey, I’m sorry I was being obtuse before. Even Ilana said I was being ridiculous about not giving you any contact info, so I decided to add you here. If you still want to hang out and go to that job I mentioned before, just let me know. If not, no problem.
Nick read the words several times. There was nothing about a romantic date or even their kiss. Maybe she didn’t want to be with him. Maybe she was already seeing someone casually and it’d become serious over the weekend. The scenarios and circumstances piled up in his mind, and he knew there was no point whatsoever in trying to get grading done. Talking to Katie still felt like walking a tightrope, so he started to google.
After reading a couple of puff pieces in the local paper about trans people, commentaries on the specific terminology used surrounding gender and pronouns, and finding a dozen articles on Caitlyn Jenner that didn’t hold his interest at all, he was about to give up. Everything about trans identity seemed fraught and complicated, something he thought he could relate to as a gay man, but it turned out it wasn’t what he’d envisioned at all. He was about to go to Netflix and pretend none of this had ever happened, when he remembered Against Me!’s latest album was called Transgender Dysphoria Blues. The lead singer had transitioned to a woman, and she’d written this entire punk rock anthem about the experience. Nick had been a fan of the band on and off in university, but never enough to really care that much about the members. Now he pored over the lyrics and tracks written by Laura, trying to understand. He was in the middle of an entire AOL series she’d done on transgender identity, when Tucker walked by his open door, doubled back, and stood in the frame staring at Nick.
“What do you need, Tucker?”
“Nothing. It’s just . . .” Tucker made a show of looking at his wrist, as if there were a watch there and not his pale skin, and then back at Nick. “Isn’t it early for you? I mean, it’s still the morning.”
“It’s 11:45. But yes, you’re right. It’s early. I’m just grading, you know . . .” Nick mumbled as he pushed the laptop screen away so Tucker couldn’t see Laura Jane Grace. But would Tucker really care? Maybe, maybe not. But Nick knew it was getting easier to explain to himself.
“Yeah, sure. And grading requires headphones?”
Nick was about to argue that he often listened to music while reading essays, but it was pointless. When Nick shrugged, Tucker nodded astutely.
“So are you going to tell me what’s up? Or are you going to slump in front of your computer with a confused look on your face all afternoon? If so, I’m going to completely close your door because it’s a little creepy.”
“I’m not creepy. I’m just . . . thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
“Just things.”
“Ah, ‘things.’ Very specific.” Tucker chuckled. He still lingered by the doorway, no sign of leaving anytime soon.
With a sigh, Nick realized he didn’t want to hide this anymore. “I have . . . I’ve been watching a bunch of YouTube videos on trans identity.”
“Oh.” Tucker was silent for a moment. “Should I be calling you something else?”
“No, no. Not for me. Really?” Nick made a face, half caught between shocked and offended. “You thought I could be trans?”
“I don’t know. Maybe? It’s not that weird to me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“It’s not?”
“No.”
Waves of guilt washed over Nick. Had he hidden his night with Katie from Tucker because he worried about transphobia—or was it because he was ashamed? Was he offended at being thought trans because he was cisgender (a word he’d learned more about today), or because he thought it was something you only did because there was no other hope? More conflicting feelings bloomed inside of him, and he was relieved when Tucker started to talk again.
“So you were watching videos about trans people. And what have you learned?”
“A lot of stuff. But what was most useful was from this woman I met this weekend.”
“Right. Your tux fitting. I forgot to ask about that. How was it?”
Nick waved off Tucker’s question and provided a few stories about the clip-on ties and Levi’s antics. “But after all that, I went to a concert with a trans woman, and we talked and hung out. Now she’s messaging me on Facebook, and I’m not entirely sure I know what to do.”
“Oh. Okay.” Tucker nodded a few more times, as if letting the information sink in. When the Facebook alert pinged, he seemed just as startled as Nick. “Is that her?”
“Probably. I’ve ignored her message so far.”
“Well, you should talk to her. Have fun. I won’t keep you.”
“Wait. Wait.” Nick reached out, signalling for Tucker to not walk away. “Is that it? Really?”
“What do you want me to say? I asked you a question and you answered it. I was also prying, probably, so I should leave you alone.”
Nick laughed. Tucker always pried, more or less. Nick didn’t mind it ninety percent of the time, even if he didn’t ask for it. But the one time he did want Tucker to be nosy, Tucker was walking away. Nick checked his Facebook app on his phone quickly and realized the ping was a birthday announcement—nothing important. “Tucker, stay. I like it when you pry, actually. I realize you’re doing the whole Socratic method by asking me a question to elucidate my reasoning, or whatever you call it. I end up feeling better most times after we’ve talked.”
“Good. Coffee, then?”
“Please.”
Nick followed Tucker into the hallway and their kitchen. Tucker ran water into the kettle and set up their French press for coffee after grinding the beans. He worked silently and methodically, like he did with most tasks. By the time Tucker sat down at the table with their drinks, Nick had rehashed all the details of the weekend, including his tossing and turning over his small-but-definitely-there attraction.
“So now that you’ve confessed your secrets—” Tucker slid Nick a black cup of coffee and affected a German, Freud-like accent “—how do you really feel, Nick?”
“Oh, man. Don’t shrink me. Because I’m fine, really. This is just all so new. Can I ask you something first, actually?”
“Sure.” Tucker shrugged.
“What do you . . . like, identify as? Can I ask that?”
“You want to know whether or not I’d bring guys or girls back to our apartment?”
“Yeah, I guess. Or if you even want to bring anyone at all, which is also an option and totally cool. I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you with anyone, and you don’t leave that often, so I’m unsure what to . . . you know.”
“You’re unsure what pronoun to use when talking about my sex life? And if I even have a sex life?” Tucker sighed as if he had been asked this way too many times before. “Well, I dated women in high school, got bored, and then decided to try men in university.”
“And?”
“Still boredom. I . . . don’t like the sex very much. With both men and women. I mean, I do it, but it’s not . . . how I envision spending an evening. Is that too much to share?”
“No, no,” Nick said. “In fact, it makes a lot of sense. So asexual? With no real preference of men or women?”
“Eh, I don’t really think about it anymore. I’m happier like this, the way I am with you.”
“Like roommates? Friends?”
“Yeah. I kind of like the platonic thing we have going on here. You leave me alone, and I leave you alone. Well, unless I pry.”
Nick smiled. He knew Tucker was his friend, but hearing their relationship phrased this way—as a platonic thing—made him feel special. Singled out in a good way. “Yeah, I’ve liked having you as a roommate. And a friend. And things don’t really have to change, either.”
Tucker rolled his eyes. “People always change people. That’s the nature of relationships.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you go out and see this girl, things will be different. That doesn’t have to be good or bad, but it will be different.”
Nick was about to argue, but merely took a sip of coffee. In all he had learned this morning and the past few days about trans identity, he was drawing blanks about what it meant for him. Sure, maybe that was a selfish attitude—he should be focused on Katie—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be confused, right?
“If I do date this woman,” Nick asked, “does this mean I’m not gay now?”
“Is that bad?”
“Kind of.” Nick scrunched up his nose and then shook his head. “But not because I don’t like straight people. Obviously, I like straight people. But it’s like watching a game of basketball or something. I’m not a sports player, but I can appreciate the game.”
“Sports player.” Tucker laughed. “You mean athlete.”
“See?” Nick laughed along with Tucker before he sighed. “I don’t even know the proper words. I’ve never considered myself anything but gay. That seems completely counterintuitive. When I was four, I realized I liked boys. A little later on, I found the word gay and liked it a lot. I’ve always identified as that. But if I say I’m gay and only attracted to men, then Katie isn’t considered a woman. And then she gets sad. Really, really sad.”
“And you do like her?”
Nick bit his lip and nodded. “I don’t know why, though. We like the same things, sure, but so do Alex and Levi and everyone else I grew up with. Liking the same things means nothing, and we don’t even agree on everything we do like.”
“Liking something isn’t always in the thing itself, though. It’s about how someone likes a thing. If you get hung up on the object, you do what Marx warned about and turn it into objectification. Or reification, if we’re talking about Gestalt philosophy.”
“Tucker . . .” Nick couldn’t finish what he wanted to say, because now that Tucker had mentioned Marx, he was back to thinking of the concert in neon colours and Katie referencing revolution. Oh, it was all so ridiculous. But he really wanted to know more about how she liked those things she talked about—regardless of the things themselves, just like Tucker said.
“Nick . . .?” Tucker answered, furrowing a brow. “You went somewhere else for a moment.”
“I know. I’m just thinking.”
“About her.”
“Yes.” Nick nodded. He gathered his thoughts, forgetting the minutia of the concert and worry over sounding offensive, and tried to speak his feelings. “So when she first told me she was trans, I thought I liked her because she used to be a guy—probably the exact kind of guy I would have been all over if I’d met her before now. But I’ve been learning from her and these online videos that I shouldn’t say that. Katie or any other trans woman isn’t a guy. Even when everyone thought they were guys, they were still women deep down. It’s sometimes complicated, but I get that. Even before I knew she was trans, I thought she was a woman. I can’t really picture her as anything but. And I like her—I really do. We kissed and it was nice.”
“You could be bisexual, you know,” Tucker said. “There’s nothing wrong with that, either.”
“It’s not really a matter of what’s wrong or right, though. It’s more like . . . I have to think of everything differently now. Everything that I took for granted before—ending up in life with a man—is now called into question.”
“You’re not marrying her.”
“I know I’m not.” Nick set his coffee cup down on the table so he could gesture. “But if I open this door, I don’t know what else can get in, you know?”
“Sure. I definitely understand the fear. No one wants to change their life story, especially when it’s part of their bedrock.”
Nick squinted and leaned in closer. “What do you mean my ‘life story’?”
“The one you said about realizing you liked boys and only boys at a young age.” Tucker nodded decisively. “That’s your life story.”
“But that’s just a sentence.”
“But it is your story. That’s what you’re worried about, right? That you’ll have to change that one sentence, and it means the rest of your world gets so complicated. It’s like . . . Hegel.”
“Oh no.” Nick ran a hand through his hair. “I can let you get away with Marx but please no more about Hegel.”
As if Nick hadn’t spoken, Tucker went on. “He has this term, for which the English is sublate, where it basically means that ideologically contrary ideas are maintained and changed through one another. So, you remember that you liked a boy and forget about all the girls you may have liked as well for the sake of maintaining the single story of being gay, but those two ideas still feed off one another. You ignored those feelings towards girls because you were gay, and anything else introduced to that narrative shook your foundation.”
“You do realize you’ve just vocalized every single gay person’s nightmare—that we really could be straight if we tried hard, right?”
“Oh. Um. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just talking about ideas, you know? Hegel is all about opposing ideas—thesis and antithesis—and how they blend together to make the third option, the synthesis. These ideas have always helped me to figure out my stuff.”
“But ideas don’t exist in a vacuum. And I’m just not sure where these ones will take me.”
Tucker nodded. He took a sip of his coffee and then pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “I . . . I may not have been as equipped to handle this as I thought I was.”
Nick laughed—loud and uproarious, probably more than he should have. When Tucker also started to chuckle, everything seemed better. Even if they were both as confused as when they’d first started, at least Nick was talking about it. Katie wasn’t a secret tryst in the middle of the night anymore. She was a real person with real feelings, and maybe he was falling for her. That was okay. Even if he couldn’t predict the future, Nick was starting to become okay with the present.
“Do you want to see what she looks like?” Nick asked. He pulled out his phone before Tucker could even respond. The red notification numbers dwindled as he clicked on her profile photo and then slid the phone to Tucker, who stared at the image for a while.
“She’s pretty. And seems like your type.”
Nick’s heart and stomach did another flop. “My type?”
“Kind of punk rock, but also very sophisticated. That’s a type, right? I don’t really know dating lingo.”
Nick chuckled. “You know, I think me and you both.”
Nick let his eyes wander to Katie’s image again. Now that he’d shown Tucker her photo, there was no hiding from the green light that surely announced he was online. Katie would have received the message that he’d read hers, and now his silence was an answer itself, one that said I don’t want to accept your friend request—which could also mean I don’t want to accept you. Nick never wanted anyone to feel that kind of rejection, so he accepted the request, but still felt mute.
“Something wrong?” Tucker asked.
“I. Uh. I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s not hard. I mean, I make conversations seem hard when I mention philosophy all the time, but it doesn’t have to be. And maybe you two will just be friends.”
“Maybe, but I think I’d like to be something more.”
“Yeah? That’s good, but you should tell her soon. I think . . . I think a lot of the difficulty with situations like this has to do with the way people talk about relationships—and then the way they don’t talk about them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Most people carry around silent expectations about what a relationship is supposed to mean, but they rarely express it out loud. For instance, most people believe that sex is the be all and end all of a relationship. When I was with people, no matter their gender, that was what I realized. They wanted sex—and expected sex—way more than I thought was necessary. And while I was cool with it for a short time, there was this disconnect about what we wanted for our futures. And that disconnection, the lack of talking, was enough to pull us apart.” Tucker made a face. “Am I making sense?”
“Yeah. What did you want, then? When you were in the relationships? If it wasn’t sex, what was it?”
“Companionship. Someone to call at night. Someone to sleep with, sometimes, but not all the time.” Tucker glanced up from his mug of coffee. “Something platonic, more or less. Once I realized the people I dated and I were on two different pages, I could reconfigure my expectations. And then I could be happy. Even if I was alone.”
“Hey, you’re not alone. I’m here. And we have . . . whatever we have.”
Tucker smiled. The two of them held up their half-empty mugs of coffee and clinked them together in a silent toast. Nick knew what Tucker meant, more or less, with his own situation. He was used to the pushback of being gay, like the name-calling and worry around marriage, as much as he was used to his pride that came from it. He could remember the first time he’d gone to Toronto Pride at eighteen, and feeling as if he belonged for the first time in his life. But was that just another scene in his life story he’d constructed after the fact? God, sometimes Nick hated Tucker for talking about the Big Ideas and not just focusing on poetry or pretty things like Nick did in his dissertation. Nick thought back on his life in elementary school and high school and tried to find mysterious girls or women he’d fallen for before Katie. I’m falling for Katie. Admitting that fact was like walking into the home he had decorated and moving all the furniture around. It was still him, still where he lived, but everything was from a different angle. But was she the first? That was the question he found difficult to answer, even as he thought back on his life.
“So you really like her?” Tucker asked. “Even despite all the difficulty that could come with other people’s expectations?”
Nick bit his lip. He remembered the way he’d danced with her during the concert and then, later on, listening to bad music as they looked at the Toronto skyline. Their relationship was so new it didn’t seem fair to think too far ahead. But in the present moment, they were acting like a bunch of kids just outside of high school, watching John Hughes movies together, and trying to find the perfect summer playlist. He could get used to that.
“Yeah. I do. It’s really weird sometimes, but I do.”
“You’ll get over the weirdness, then.”
“Thanks. I really mean it, Tucker. Thank you.”
“Not at all. I wouldn’t mind meeting her.”
“Really? So you don’t mind if I maybe bring her back at some point?”
“Not at all.” He rose from his seat and collected Nick’s mug with his own. When Nick looked back at the message screen, he knew exactly what to say.
Thanks so much for the add, Katie. I was thinking about the job, and also what you were saying about exploring matters outside of my comfort zone. So tell me, does the Grad House have music other than drunk grads at Open Mic?
Oh, definitely. We get to play whatever we want here, Katie wrote back. How about you come by Friday after 5, and we can figure out what to do next?
Nick didn’t even have to check his calendar. Definitely. I’ll be there.