He nodded stiffly. “When you express uncontrollable anger in front of others, it is stressful and potentially traumatic for them.” He took a breath, making a 'calm down' motion with his hands. “So I will try and find a healthier way to express it. Min, I am very angry at Sean Frost for making me so upset that I came directly here to take it all out on you, and I am very angry at myself for transferring the blame when I should be perfectly able to control my own emotions.”

“Those were some excellent 'I' statements,” I told him. “But, seriously, it's okay, I'm not traumatised. I'm just a bit worried about you.”

“Thank you,” he said, still sounding frustrated. “And I'm glad I haven't caused you vicarious trauma. Fuck,” he said, pushing plate away. “This is going to sound a bit weird, but do you have any tracksuit pants that might fit me? I think the solution to all of this adrenaline is to go for a quick run and all I have with me are my singlet and sneakers.”

I only had the one pair that was unisex, and that was the pair he'd left here a couple of years ago that I wore all the time when there was no one around. He'd probably forgotten they were his by now, though. I almost had. “Yeah, I might,” I said, and then went to get them. They did end up still fitting him, and so he put them and his sneakers on and went for a jog in the singlet he wore under his work shirt.

I chuckled to myself as I shut the door. At times I'd really wanted to strangle Jason, so I was completely with Henry about having an infuriating boss. I did feel a bit bad about my reaction to his anger, though; even though he was really upset, I still found him hilarious and entertaining. Poor guy. He was great, I hoped the run made him feel better. He worked too hard to put up with this crap.

On the way back to my Pad Thai, I spotted the scary flowers again and looked up at the clock. If Courtney lived near Parramatta, Bree should definitely be there by now. I took my phone out and went to send her a note, and then remembered that she'd lied to me.

I spent the next 15 minutes with my phone next to my dinner as I ate, trying to decide if I was angry enough not to check that she was okay. In the end my concern for her won out and I typed her a quick note to confirm she'd arrived at Courtney's in one piece.

It didn't take her long to reply. “are u worried about me?? :) :) :)”

I frowned at the screen. “Yes, and I'm not very happy about it,” I told the phone, but I wasn't in the mood to actually reply.

Henry wasn't gone for much longer, but I'd nearly finished my food when he let himself back in. He looked calmer. “That's better,” he said as he staggered into the living area. “I'm going to have a quick shower and then let's kill everything together.”

“Sounds romantic,” I called after him, and went to set up the console.

I didn't tell him much about Bree until we'd called it a night and were lying in bed, because he was finally enjoying himself and I didn't want to stress him out again. Furthermore, when I watched him put on the hoodie that was on my bed, I kept my mouth shut. It was difficult, though. I'd bonded with that stupid hoodie and I didn’t like him wearing it.

Before we went to sleep Henry startled me by making a sudden noise. “Jesus Christ, Min, I'm the worst boyfriend ever,” he said, remembering something. “You got promoted today and all I can do is talk about my problems. We should have been celebrating!”

I laughed shortly. “No, I'm way past that,” I said, and then finally told him about Bree. At the end of the story, when I got to the point where I'd found out that she'd lied to me, he actually laughed. It sounded affectionate, but it was still a laugh.

I must have looked quite indignant because he laughed again. “I'm sorry, Min,” he said, reaching over and rubbing my arm. “I am, really. I know honesty is a big thing for you after high school, but when you said she'd lied to you in that tone of voice I was expecting it to be about something serious and major.”

“Does it really matter what it was about? She lied to me. That's not okay.” He had a familiar expression on his face as he was listening to me which meant he was analysing what I was saying. That sort of stuff may have worked to calm him down but it wasn't how I dealt with my emotions. “And, Henry, if you pull that shrink act on me at this time of night I swear to god I'm going to murder you.”

He sounded like he was smiling. “Min,” he began, pulling it anyway. “Why do you think she lied to you?”

“I'm not playing this game,” I told him, and he was very pointedly silent. “Henry, I know where you're going with this and I'm not going to rationalise it.”

“Of course not. Then you wouldn't have an excuse to push her away and never talk to her again. Why do you think she lied to you?” he repeated, sounding gently insistent.

I looked at him. He raised his eyebrows at me and I rolled onto my back and groaned. “Fine,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “She was trying to get into my house.”

He didn't stop there. “And why do you think she was trying to get into your house?”

I turned my head back towards him and just glared. “Henry, I get it, she wanted to be friends with me.”

He smirked, looking rather pleased with himself. “Wow, what a despicable human being, wanting to be friends with you. She clearly can't be trusted.” The smirk faded a little and he did a facial shrug. “I don't know, Min. She just sounds like a normal teenager to me,” he said, and then rethought it. “Well, maybe not normal, per se. But what is normal? You obviously enjoy her company, and that's all that really matters. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“She's 17 and she keeps doing things that remind me of that. I'm pretty sure that matters.”

He didn't look convinced. “Seven years,” he said, reminding me of the age difference between him and me again. “Shall I go on?”

“No.”

He chuckled. “Probably for the best. I'm a bit biased about this whole thing with—'Bree', wasn't it?”

Despite the fact I'd said I didn't want to go on discussing it, I couldn't help following up on that one. I looked across at him. “How can you possibly be biased about her? You haven't even met her.”

His humour faded. “Well, you've been here for four years, Min. I'm just happy you're finally throwing down some roots.” He snaked an arm across my middle, smiling. “Really happy, because I love your company, despite our colossal seven year difference, and I want you to stay in Sydney.” He paused. “Although, obviously if I accidentally see you without make-up, I will dump you on the spot.”

I thought back to how boyish I'd looked that morning in the hoodie he was now wearing, and winced.

He saw my expression and his smile dropped straight off his face. “Oh, Min, I'm sorry, I was just joking because I thought it would make you feel better,” he said, sounding a bit panicked as he shuffled closer and wrapped his arms around me. “I didn't mean to say anything to upset you. Shit.” He shook his head. “Sorry, that was really insensitive of me. I'm doing a great job tonight, aren't I? I’m so immersed in my own problems I’m not being very helpful about yours.”

“It's okay, I'm fine,” I said dismissively. “As in, I'm actually fine. Let's just get some sleep.”

He did worry about it, but we eventually got to sleep anyway. Unfortunately, the following morning he had a couple of hours off because he'd been doing serious overtime even by Frost standards, so he left my apartment in the hoodie. I wasn’t prepared for how upset that made me. That was my big, comfy hoodie, and I felt very not-fine about him taking off with it. Especially since my trackies were now all gross and sweaty, too.

I stood in front of my 'weird' amount of make-up—thanks, Bree—and got irrationally annoyed about the whole thing before I remembered that I was an adult and I could actually purchase my own clothes. By the time I made it into work, I’d decided I’d duck down to one of the places on George Street while I was getting lunch. Maybe I could even get some comfy clothes that I wasn't embarrassed to be seen in, too.

On my way into my new office I got accosted by the lead from the Canada project team.

“Mini,” he said, in a voice I couldn't really ignore. I stopped walking and turned to face him as he asked, “Have you finished with the draft layout concept for the website?”

No, I hadn't, and I'd explained why to those guys yesterday. “I won't be able to volunteer for your project because I've been assigned my own team, now.”

He put a hand on my shoulder which automatically got my back up. I looked at it, and then at him. “I know you've got other stuff to do, Mini, but we're really counting on you for this. We even reallocated the budget for design to something else and it's as good as spent. We can’t afford to outsource now.”

You had to be fucking kidding me. “Really, I'm not sure I'll be able to do it.”

He squeezed my shoulder. “We're really going to be in big trouble if you can't finish what you started for us, Mini. It's going to put a lot of pressure on the rest of the team. And, really,” he said, copying the way I'd said it to him, “it's not like you can't fit another design job in on top of whatever boring crap you're doing for the political pitch. Those never need to be flashy.”

I'm a project lead, too, I wanted to say to him. I actually can't fit your dregs on top of my workload, and it's not a political pitch. Fuck confidentiality, seriously. Just fuck it, and fuck my complete lack of capacity to say 'no'. “Fine,” I said, despite the fact it really wasn't. “Give me a couple of days, though.”

He lifted his hand from my shoulder and patted my arm. “Good girl,” he said, and then strode off somewhere on another mission.

I watched him go, and I'm pretty sure I looked disgusted. ‘Good girl’. Was he serious?

That put me in a bad mood, and even Sarah noticed it. “Wrong side of the bed?” she asked with a grin as I walked into Oslo and put away my handbag. One of the other team members looked up and smiled at me. I managed to return it, but it was very difficult.

“Some of the people in this place...” I said to Sarah cryptically; I couldn't really discuss why I was so upset while there were other people around.

She spun her chair around to face me. “What I'm hearing is a great reason to get out of this place and vent to me somewhere else,” she said. “Actually, Rob's going back to Broome next weekend and I was thinking that you and Henry should come on a double-date with us. I think you guys would really get along.”

I shrugged. “I'm sure we would,” I said politely, “but I just accepted another design job because I'm a doormat. I think I'm going to be Red Bull's best customer for the next couple of days.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why would you do that to yourself?” she asked me, but then said, “But you've got to eat, right? What do you say to Friday night? That way if you need to catch up with some work because of it, you can do it on the weekend.”

I made a face. “Sarah, I'd love to, but I really can't. I'm just too busy.”

“Me too,” she said. “I'm on two teams as well, remember?” When I didn't say anything, she sat back in her chair and considered me for a few seconds. “I'm not going to be able to get you out, am I?”

I sighed. “It's nothing to do with you, I promise,” I said, sitting down in my own chair and switching on the computer. “Please don't take it personally.”

She made a noise. “Okay,” she said, not sounding hurt or upset, which I was grateful for. She then swung her chair back towards her own computer and got back to work.

Not that I really should have expected that much in a single day, but I felt like the team wasn't making as much progress as I hoped they would when I'd been doing the timelines yesterday. They were all hard workers which was fantastic—not that they'd be employed by Frost if they weren't—but I felt like especially the younger guy was really missing the mark when it came to the depth of research required. I'd just have done everything myself, but I couldn't. Not even if I worked 24 hours a day.

I had actually planned to forgo my hoodie-buying expedition because of the extra work I'd taken on, but the oldest team member ended up chucking me out of the office at lunch time, saying I’d kill myself if I didn’t take a break. I didn't argue with him because he was right, but I did spend the whole walk to the shopping centre worrying about being unfit for management. I was so busy stressing about not knowing my own limits that I nearly forgot to grab something to eat, too.

Well, apparently women the world over did cheer themselves up with shopping, so maybe I could give retail therapy a shot.

The store I'd been planning to get my own hoodie from was one of those surfie-type places that all of the beach-tanned blondes always bought all their bikinis and perfectly distressed denim from. I didn't look like I belonged there at all, and two separate sales clerks tried to offer me assistance because of that.

The women's hoodies were in all these pastel colours and some of them had strange embellishments like dead-end pockets or zips that lead nowhere. I wasn't a big fan of anything that wasn't very plain, but I took the last three 'XL's anyway and then went to go and try them on. On the way there, I spotted the men's hoodies hanging in their loose, completely plain glory over on the far wall.

That’s more like it, I thought.

I looked furtively back toward the counter. Fortunately, the girl staffing it was busy doing something tedious and not looking in my direction. Feeling like I was about to commit some sort of felony, I crossed the floor and went to go have a look at what was on the men's side.

The colours were much bolder over there and the majority of the tops there had normal pockets and quite plain prints. I took a blue one from the rack. It was an 'XL' as well, and when I compared it to the women's XLs, they were like baby clothes.

I liked it, it looked really comfy and it was exactly what I was looking for. I held it for a moment. What was the big deal, anyway? There was nothing wrong with me buying this for myself. Women wore their boyfriends' clothes all the time, and men apparently found it cute. So I was buying it for myself instead of waiting for Henry to leave one at my apartment, so what? What was the difference?

I still felt really uncomfortable, though, and I couldn't put my finger on why that was.

“Hi, can I help you?” another one of the clerks asked, suddenly appearing beside me. I forced a smile but didn't say anything straight away. Because of that, she asked, “Oh, you don't speak English?”

I would have actually been tempted to go along with that if it would get rid of her, but I had a feeling she was one of those people who would try and help me anyway even if I pretended to not understand. “No, I do,” I said. “Can I just walk straight into the change rooms or do I need one of those number-tag things?”

She indicated where the rooms were like an air hostess showing me the over-wing exits. “No, you can just go straight in. Also, we’re having a promotion today. If you purchase one of the men’s tops from this range or that wall over there, you get forty percent off men's jeans from the same line.”

She proceeded to show me the jeans she was talking about and ask me about sizing, and while she was loading me up with them I just agreed they looked great and the deal was good value because I figured it would make her go away faster. It did, but by the time I went into the change room under the guise of trying on the women's hoodies, I had my arms full of men's jeans. I dumped them all in the corner of the cubicle.

The lighting the change rooms was actually pretty flattering, but I still had to face myself in a bra before I got the first of the hoodies on. It was one of the women's, and the sleeves were too short. That probably wasn't an enormous problem in itself because I always pushed them up my forearms anyway, but I felt like it was a sign. It also was a pastel purple and made me look as if I was trying too hard to be cutesy when I just wasn't. Well, so much for trying to buy something that I could actually wear in public, I thought. I scrapped that idea.

That hoodie had gone so badly that I didn't even bother with the other two pastel ones, I just went straight for the men's. It slipped over my head so much more easily than the purple one, the sleeves covered my arms and it hung at a really comfortable length down my middle.

It looked weird with a suit skirt, though.

In the reflection of the mirror, I could see the jeans I'd just dumped in a pile in the corner. I frowned at the glass. Min, you came here for a big comfy hoodie to wear at home. You'll leave with this one. What the hell are you going to do with those jeans? Hang around the house in them? You can save a 100 dollars and just do that in your trackies.

Then I remembered my trackies were currently soaked in Henry's sweat. I could use something comfy to wear while they were at the laundry.

So, wait, I was going to buy really expensive, really ultra-fashionable men's jeans because my 100 year old trackies were going to be gone for two days to be washed? And then what was I going to do with the jeans after that? Where was I going to wear them? I had never been a big fan of jeans.

On the other hand, the only reason I avoided wearing jeans in the past was because the skinny jeans I had at home were tight and uncomfortable. If I had big boot cut ones maybe I'd feel more like putting them on.

But, seriously, if I did really like them, where was I planning on actually wearing them other than at home? Those jeans screamed ‘man’. There was nothing feminine about them at all. They belonged on a sepia-tone billboard under rippling abs and visible Calvins, not on me.

I bent down and picked up a pair of them. Fuck, they were so cool, though. I really wanted to put them on, regardless of who they were meant for. But what would it mean if I liked them?

I made a frustrated noise at myself. Who cared what it meant? Jesus, Min, get a fucking grip, the sky is not going to cave in if you put on a pair of men’s jeans and like them. What the hell is wrong with you? This isn’t high school anymore, no one’s going to draw moustaches on photos of you and post them online just because you’re wearing men’s jeans.

I ended up just kind of holding them up and scowling. Great work, Min, I thought. How balanced of you. You're having a fucking personal crisis over a pair of jeans. A pair of goddamn jeans.

I was in there for ages, so long that the clerk came to check on me. “Is everything okay in there?” her cheerful voice called through the door. “How are the sizes?”

I looked at them in my hands. They were enormous. “I'm good, thanks,” I called back, “I'll be out in a sec.”

My final verdict was that I didn't have time to make this decision now. And since I wasn't sure when I'd be able to come back, I just decided to buy them and worry about everything later.

I wasn’t sure what I had expected, but the girl at the counter didn’t seem at all weirded out by the fact I was buying men’s clothes. I supposed women did it all the time—probably not for the same reasons I was, though. I felt like she could read them all over my face as she greeted me and I was almost bracing myself for that smile to disappear. “Are these for yourself?” she asked, still smiling for now.

I panicked. “Why?”

That made her look a little surprised. “Because I can put them in a non-transparent recycled paper bag if you want to hide them from someone in particular.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling so, so stupid. “That sounds great.” Then, completely unnecessarily, I added, “They’re for my boyfriend.”

The girl smiled while she was running my card. “I’m sure he’ll love them.”

Fuck, I was no better than Bree: ‘they’re for my boyfriend’. Min, really? You're going to lie to her? And Henry most certainly would not love them if he saw me in them, either. But whatever, I wouldn’t wear them around him. Or anyone. They were for me.

Even in that paper carry-bag, I was actually too afraid to take them back to work. It was ridiculous, because if anyone saw the bag and what was inside it, they would assume I had bought them for Henry. Just as a means of avoiding that conversation, though, I walked all the way home and left the bag inside my door before I returned to work.

I was late back from lunch, but given the amount of overtime I did, the only comments people made were more of the 'long lunch date?' variety.

“Yeah, I'm cheating on Henry with clothes shops,” I said dryly when Sarah asked. She laughed at it, though, which made me feel a bit better.

“I didn't think clothes shops were your type,” she said afterwards, handing me a USB. “That's pink diamond sales in North America and Mainland China,” she said. “Actually China's hedging out the US at the moment.”

I accepted the USB from her. “Interesting,” I said, and then asked, “and you didn't think clothes stores were my type?”

Sarah laughed again. “You don't seem like the kind of person to go shopping, that's all. I'm not having a go at your fashion sense. You dress way better than me, anyway. I'm lucky to brush my hair in the morning.”

And yet you look amazing, I thought, a little bit enviously. I bet she never got stuck stressing for half an hour in a change room. Envy aside, though, she was right, I wasn't really a fan of shopping. Rather than think about why that was and spend too much time dwelling on what I'd just bought, I reviewed the figures that Sarah had dug up for me.

I didn't need our data-crunching ex-intern to tell me that the US was out, but I wasn't too sure sales in China were strong enough to justify positioning ourselves there, either. I gave the USB to the team members and asked them to see what they could mine out of it while I sat back and tried to think of what the hell we should do.

Okay, so it was only day two and I didn't think anyone other than me had really expected we'd be completing the marketing requirements document by now. Still, with only four weeks we really didn't have time to spend ages figuring out who we were even trying to sell these things to. There was just so much to do, and I had a sudden panic that the four weeks would be up and we would have achieved nothing, that I would be demoted, end up in admin and need to tell Mum what a terrible failure her daughter was.

Shit, and with everything that had gone on I hadn't even told Mum about the promotion in the first place. I was clearly losing the plot.

“Back in a second,” I told my team, and then grabbed my phone to head outside.

Several of the levels in our building had their own alcove balconies, and ours was usually full of smoking marketing reps, especially around lunchtime. Today, though, there wasn't anyone out there when I pushed the door open and dialled Mum's number. As usual, she picked up almost instantly. “Min!”

Predictably, Mum was overjoyed for about five seconds and then started playing her usual game of running through a list of catastrophic what-ifs about if I blew the opportunity. I had been walking backwards and forwards and half-listening to her, while I privately what-iffed about those goddamn jeans, when the balcony door opened and Sean Frost came striding out.

I stopped walking. What was he doing here? He never came onto level 36 because it was Diane's stronghold. I didn't even think I'd been this close to him before.

He was supposedly an enormous heart-throb, but even from this distance I couldn't see it. What I could see was how fit he kept himself and how well dressed he was, but those things never really impressed me, anyway. He did seem much more easygoing than his sister; compared to her the only intimidating thing about him was his obvious self-confidence.

On that note, he smiled amicably at me when he saw me looking. The smile turned out a bit crooked because he had an unlit cigarette between his lips as he felt around in his pockets for a lighter. He didn't find one.

Because I was on the phone, when he walked up to me he just mouthed, “Lighter?” as he made a lighter motion with his hand. I shook my head. He nodded once, and then proceeded to search around the pot plants, seats and railings for an abandoned one.

I couldn't help being amused; this man was a co-CEO of a billion dollar mining company on his hands and knees in an Italian suit, retrieving a fallen lighter from underneath a bench.

He stood up and showed it to me as he triumphantly lit his cigarette. I smiled back, and I didn’t even have to force it. Before I got too friendly, though, I caught myself: this was the guy that had broken the law and made Henry really upset last night. This was the fucking asshole fuck and all those other things Henry had called him.

I should have been really angry with Sean on Henry’s behalf, but I was finding it really difficult. I mean, Sean definitely wasn’t doing to me what he did to most of the female staff and maybe a few of the men, but he was very charismatic and very likeable one-on-one. Definitely a far cry from the cool professional I’d seen give speeches at annual general meetings, and an even farther cry from the things Henry had called him last night.

“Min, Min? Are you listening to me?”

Shit, I'd completely forgotten about the phone against my ear. “Sorry, Mum, I'll call you back later,” I said, and hung up.

Sean looked over towards me, and that's when he saw my expression. He cringed, clearly thinking it was about the fact he'd been scrounging around for a cigarette lighter and not to do with Henry's opinion of him. “I promise I don't normally crawl around on the concrete,” he said. He had a pleasant voice. “It's just been a really hard day and I really needed a cigarette.”

“I hear you,” I said, surprising myself by actually speaking.

I meant that it had been a hard day, but Sean thought I was asking for a cigarette. He patted down his lapels and his pockets. “I'm sorry I can't offer you one, they're in my office,” he said, and then considered me for a moment. “Min Lee, isn't it?” he asked.

I was too surprised he knew who I was to correct him about wanting a cigarette. When I didn't, he put the cigarette between his lips and dusted off his palms, walking over so he could shake my free hand. I was taller than him, but he didn't make me feel awkward about it. In fact, apart from the fact I knew Henry hated him for some reason, everything about him put me at ease. “I work with your boyfriend. There's a picture of you on his desk. Pleasure to finally meet you—I hear you're the rising star of Marketing at the moment.”

I wasn't sure he was supposed to know about my position, but it was possible Henry mentioned something. “Henry does tend to exaggerate his praise of me.”

Sean laughed. “I'm the same with my beautiful wife. So, how’s your new team? Political project, is that correct?”

It seemed like a perfectly innocent question, but following Diane’s advice I was careful to be appropriately dismissive. “You know how they go.”

He was still smiling, and I could see where he got his reputation for public relations. “Fortunately, I'm pleased to say I don't,” he said. “But according to my sister you get results, and since that's what she cares about, I'm guessing we'll have a politician or two in our pockets by June.” He nodded politely, finishing his cigarette and butting it out in the bin. He gestured towards it. “Sorry again you had to witness the awful lengths I'll go to in order to feed my nicotine addiction. Now if you'll excuse me, unfortunately I have to run.”

I smiled at him as he went back inside, but I didn't follow him straight away. Henry hated that guy? Really? I unlocked my phone with the intention of texting him, but then I saw I had a note on Deviant Art. I didn't have to check who it was from.

“sooooooo,” it said. “did u have a shower yet?? :) :)”

I pictured the smiley face Bree had drawn on my shower screen and grinned for a fraction of a second before I remembered what else she'd done. You lied to me, Bree, I thought, but then I realised how many times I’d lied today and felt like a raging hypocrite. That didn’t change the fact I was grumpy with her about it, though, so I decided to leave that message for now. I did end up texting Henry, but he didn’t answer either so I figured he was already back at work and busy.

I’d better get to work, too, I thought, and then went back inside.

That evening I was the last one to leave as usual, but Sarah didn’t leave very long before me. She gave me a bit of a measured look as she held the door open, but she didn’t say anything other than goodbye.

“Bye,” I said absently, trying to figure out why I hated the colours that Canada had chosen for their scheme so much.

I didn’t get home until about 9 or 10. The recycled paper carry-bag was still inside my door, so I took it with me into the bedroom and only faced it again after I’d had a shower.

Since my trackies were off with the laundry, I was sort of forced to put on my new comfy clothes. I wasn't too unhappy about that. Despite my inner conflict, part of me was looking forward to wearing them.

The jeans were seriously fucking cool, and when I pulled them on they were really comfortable. Not baggy, exactly, but nice and loose. I’d bought one size bigger than I probably needed so they sat low on my hips; if I was going out in them I’d need to wear a belt. I stopped for a moment: yeah, right, ‘going out in them’. Just, no. As if people didn’t stare at me enough already because of how tall I was, I didn't need to add 'wearing men's clothes' to that. I put a soft t-shirt on under the hoodie, and then shot myself a passing glance in the mirror while I was throwing away the bag.

It was just supposed to be a quick look, just to check nothing was on back-to-front and no tags were still attached. It didn’t end up being quick, though, because my reflection was just so different from what I had expected to see.

I wasn’t wearing any make-up and I had my hair tied back because I’d just been in the shower. Between my hair seeming short and the fact I was wearing men’s clothes… fuck, what was I doing? They were only supposed to be comfortable, that was why I’d bought them. It wasn’t even about how I looked at all.

But that didn’t change the fact that I looked good like this, really good. And better than that, I looked right.

My heart started racing again, and I forced myself to look away from the mirror. No, I thought. I’m not doing this, not now. I had way too fucking much going on in my life to want to add more stupid, whimsical complications to it. Work was already making me feel like I was on the brink of losing it, I didn't need something else to worry about. I just needed to dag around my home and enjoy my new comfy clothes like anyone would. That's enough, Min, please just leave it there and stop thinking about it.

I followed my own advice, poured myself an enormous mug of wine and went to quickly eat some dinner. In doing so, I was sitting opposite those evil flowers and they reminded me that it had been a while since I'd replied to anything Bree had sent me.

When I went to get my phone so I could, there was already a message waiting for me. It wasn't from Bree, though, it was a text message from Henry. “Hey, Min, one of your co-workers—Sarah, she said her name was—invited us out for dinner on Friday night with her and her boyfriend. Obviously, I said yes.”

I stopped chewing mid-mouthful.

You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought, she went behind my back and just asked Henry?

God, she was as bad as Bree. I reconsidered that and made a face: okay, no she wasn’t, no one was as bad as Bree. She was sneaky, though. I still had no idea what to do about Bree, but I knew one employee who was about to find herself with a lot of very boring paperwork for the next four weeks as penance for ganging up on me with my boyfriend.

 

EIGHT

 

I got to work early the following morning so that when Sarah arrived, it was to a desk covered in analytics printouts. She stopped in front of them, looked from them to me, and then walked over to my desk and placed a can of Red Bull between my keyboard and my monitor. “Still glad I did it,” she said as she went and sat at her own desk. She sounded like she was grinning.

“You say that now,” I said neutrally as I pretended to be very busy, “until I tell you that I ‘accidentally’ deleted the spreadsheet for those and I need you to re-enter all the data.”

Even after all those years she’d been working with me, she still hadn't learnt. “Oh my god, Min, are you serious?” She turned back to all of the printouts on her desk with this look of total horror on her face. “I can't believe you'd seriously do that to me because I asked you to eat food with me and...” She never finished that sentence because apparently I was doing far too good a job at looking completely innocent. “You're messing with me!” she accused. “And after I bought you a Red Bull, too!”

I shot her a half-smile before I looked back at my screen. “Of course I'm not. I'd never do such a thing. Now get to work,” I said, nodding my head sideways at her printouts. A crumpled-up ball of one of them flew past my face and I gave her an unimpressed look. “Good thing it’s only contracts you pitch.”

I saw one of our teammates who was sitting beside Sarah roll his eyes. I left it, though, because Sarah had started laughing and that made me chuckle.

Since my cover was blown, there was nothing standing between me and the Red Bull. I plucked it from between my keyboard and monitor and I toasted it in the air towards Sarah. “Cheers,” I said, opening it to a very satisfying hiss. “A-plus job at sucking up to the boss. Now I need you to tell me what rich 25 to 34 year olds on Facebook are saying about pink diamonds.”

“Yeah, okay, okay,” Sarah said, pushing aside all of the paper to get to her keyboard, still smiling ear to ear. “Hah, Rob is going to love you. Is it Friday yet?”

I wasn't looking forward to Friday as much as Sarah was, and so when Friday did roll around, I was too worried we hadn't completed the framework documents to think about much else. Actually, we'd barely even started them. It was only a week into the project and already we were way behind the timelines. I was so worried about it I sought out Jason to have a quick word with him. It was never a pleasant experience; I had to be pretty desperate to bother talking to him.

He listened to my concerns while he tried to pick something out of his perfectly white teeth with a fingernail. “Well, ordinarily I'd give it a few weeks,” he said, giving up on his teeth. “But because you've only got a few weeks for the full project I'd suggest getting your arse into gear. There's probably still enough time.” He pointed his finger at me. “But what's this I hear about you doing Canada's design?”

I made a face. “I promised them I'd do it before I got committed to Pink. I've finished it now, though.”

He didn't look impressed, and that made my heart sink. “I know hard work is kind of an Asian MO, but maybe you'd have finished the docs by now if you focused on the project we actually assigned you to.”

After I'd been told that, I felt like the most appropriate course of action was to book a ticket back to Melbourne and apply for a job at McDonalds; something I might actually be capable of doing properly. I didn't, though, and I didn't even go hide out on the balcony, either. I went back to my desk at Oslo and tried to focus very hard on reviewing the data I'd been given and not think bad thoughts about my lack of skills in project management.

I had been so preoccupied I jumped when Sarah tapped me on the shoulder with a smile on her face. “Your phone,” she said, and pointed towards my drawer. “It's been going crazy in there for like the last 15 minutes.”

I stared blankly at her for a second, and then looked at my drawer. Just as she'd said, it buzzed. I'd better turn vibrate off. “Sorry, I hope it hasn't been distracting you.”

She snorted. “Please distract me,” she said, going back to her desk. “I'm watching a terrible Russian TV show that has so much product placement I feel like it's one big infomercial.” She imitated a Hollywood-style Russian accent, and actually didn't do too bad a job at it. “'Please, let me present you with enormous pink diamond. Let me to show you where you are buying such this diamond. Let us reflect on this most wonderful store full of diamonds. Look here at store'.”

That made me laugh for once, and when one of our teammates cleared his throat I realised we were probably bothering him. I felt a bit guilty about that, because I'd asked him to finish something today that realistically should have taken two or three days, and here I was, dicking around and annoying everyone. I scrunched up my face; a job at McDonalds was looking pretty appropriate at this point.

I'd gone to open my drawer and take my mobile out to turn the vibrate function off when I noticed it was a series of notifications from Deviant Art. I paused for a moment. It had been a couple of days since I'd replied to Bree. I still wasn't happy about her lying to me, but the more I thought about it, the more I recognised Henry kind of had a point. It wasn't malicious, and seriously, I wouldn't have let her in if she hadn't lied in the first place. I sighed. I shouldn't defer replying to some fictional point in the future where I wasn't overworked.

I had literally only just opened up my notes and was tapping out a quick reply when Jason powered through the door with a big fat book in his hand. He stopped when he saw me on my phone, looking directly at it and then laughing.

“I just came in here because I thought you might be more comfortable using some of the timeline templates in this,” he said, holding up the thick book. The title was 'Essentials of Effective Time Management in Marketing'. “But maybe you should just read the whole thing.” He dropped it on my desk in front of me, gave me a pointed look, and then left.

Sarah and I glanced at each other, and she rolled her eyes and shook her head about him. It felt like something the naughty students sitting up the back of the room would do to each other if the teacher had told them off.

My other teammates had been surreptitiously watching and of course they didn't say anything, but they didn't need to. I knew what they were thinking and I just felt stupid. And it wasn't as if I could run after Jason and tell him that he just had bad timing and I'd been working really, really solidly.

God, was I kidding myself, though? Was I really working as effectively as I could?

I had spent nearly half an hour earlier in the week printing out all that analytics stuff to arrange artfully on Sarah's desk. That was definitely time that could have been better spent. And Jason was right about accepting Canada's design project. Goddamnit, why hadn't I put my foot down with the arsehole lead from that team? Did I really need his approval? And what the fuck was that 'good girl' crap he'd said to me, anyway? I had a brief fantasy where I was a guy and instead of accepting his stupid fucking design project, I just punched him as soon as he opened his mouth and kept walking.

I chuckled to myself about that and then realised what I was laughing at and immediately stopped. Why the hell would I imagine being a guy? I tried to correct myself by imagining it again just with how I looked right now, and the fantasy didn't have any of the same oomph or satisfaction about it.

I felt really uncomfortable about that, and I didn't want to think about what it meant. Fuck, I really didn't have time for this crap. We were so behind, and my team had all probably given up on me and decided I was terrible at my job. I didn't need to have any more time-consuming personal crises.

I didn't take a lunch break. I did, however, exceed the recommended maximum number of cans of Red Bull and eat a decrepit muesli bar I found at the very bottom of my handbag.

In the evening, Sarah had to go pick Rob up because he lived somewhere out in suburbia, so she said goodbye a little bit after seven, and reminded me the booking was for eight. My other three teammates all disconnected their laptops from everything and went home with them shortly after that, presumably to continue working there.

I hoped that I'd regained at least some credibility by being the last one to leave. I actually had most of the data by now, and we'd had a meeting to discuss the strongest leads, and it was really looking like it was going to be Russia. I hadn't done any sort of business with Russia before, and neither had the rest of the team. It would probably be wise to spend some of the budget on getting a consultant to train us and the sales team on cultural appropriateness. There was also the off-chance that we'd need to go and deliver the pitch in Russia given the tight timeframes for getting people out here. That was kind of cool, at least. Moscow was supposed to be beautiful.

I caught myself. Wait a second, Min. That was if we had stuff done on time and if I didn't fuck the hell up. And, fuck, I really needed to write the marketing statement tonight. I'd told the team I'd email it to them tomorrow and I hadn't even started it. I opened a blank file. Shit, shit. I was running out of time.

“Min,” that was Henry's voice, “there's this thing called a mobile phone. I think you might even have one.”

I looked up, kind of startled. Henry had his head poked in through the doorway. I briefly wondered what he was doing here instead of just texting me, but then I remembered I'd turned off vibrate on my phone because of Bree's messages. And now Henry was here, and shit Henry was here. I hissed and hurriedly shut the screen of the laptop. “Henry, you're not supposed to be in Oslo!” I gestured out behind him. “Diane's office is just around the corner!” The last fucking thing I needed was to have one of the CEOs unhappy with me, too.

He had his briefcase with him, I could see the corner of it halfway down the door. “I wouldn't be except you haven't answered three texts and the phones aren't connected to this office. We really need to leave now or we'll be late. It's 7:50.”

I looked back at my screen. I really, really, needed to write that statement. It wouldn't take more than about half an hour. An hour, at the most. “In a second,” I said. “Sarah knows the pressure we're under, she'll understand if I'm late. You just go on without me.”

“...and yet she's probably already at the restaurant, waiting for us. Come on.” He pushed the door all the way open and stood in the doorway. “You can do the rest over the weekend.”

“Henry,” I said. I could hear the note of desperation in my voice and I hated it. “I will literally be done in about half an hour. You just order me something and I'll be there on time to eat it.” He didn't budge. Since there was no one else within earshot, I added, “My team's already basically given up on me and Jason thinks I'm hopeless. I have to get this done!”

He walked into the room towards me. “Min, by all reports you're great at your job, so I'm sure you're just overreacting.” He stopped behind my chair. “Are you actually going to make me drag you there? Because I will try.” Despite saying that, though, he didn't. He just stood behind me and looked down at me. He always looked quite imposing in a full suit with his jacket on. “Min. Let's go.”

My heart was racing. “Henry, you don't understand, I really just need to get this finished, so if you could just give me—”

“Can we help you, Henry?” said a cool voice from the doorway.

We both turned looked over towards it and to my horror, Diane Frost was standing there. She wasn't looking at me, she was looking at Henry, but it didn't matter. I knew who was going to cop it. “I hope Min explained to you this is a closed office.” When she looked down at me, I felt sick.

“She did, and very clearly, but I'm just trying to drag her out of here for food,” Henry explained, trying to soften her. Fuck, he was good with people; he sounded so lovely. “Taking appropriate breaks is an OH&S issue, after all.”

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. “I'm sure she appreciates the gesture,” Diane said. “But you still shouldn't be in here. Political pitches are strictly confidential.”

“You're right, and I shouldn't need to have that explained to me, I apologise,” he said easily. He seemed so relaxed, but I could hardly move. I was frozen in place as Henry bent down beside me and opened my drawer. I didn't actually know what he was doing until I saw him walk out of the room, nodding respectfully at Diane as he passed her. Once he was out in the corridor he held up what was in his hand.

My handbag.

My jaw dropped. I'd told him about what Bree had done, but never in a million years would I have thought he'd take tips from her. He went off towards the lifts with it while I sat there feeling ill.

Diane directed me a very hard stare. “Don't let him in here,” she said once he was gone. “I don't care what his excuses are. Did I not make that clear enough for you?”

Apparently not. I felt so stupid. “Of course you did, it won't happen again.”

She kept glaring through me. “Jason tells me there are some holdups with the documents?”

I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach. God, could it get any worse? Of course Jason had told her. I bet he'd told her how I'd been wasting time on my phone, too. “It's nothing that hard work can't fix,” I said, probably sounding much more confident than I felt.

She nodded once. “Good,” she said. “You won’t make me regret choosing you to lead this project, will you?”

From the way she said that, I think she already was. And she should regret it, too. If I needed Diane Frost to come in here to tell me how to do my job, I was majorly underperforming.

I watched her leave, feeling sick, so fucking sick. I'd been so excited about this opportunity. I had been looking so forward to impressing her and exceeding her expectations and now... Well, now everything was turning to shit and I still hadn't finished the fucking framework docs we needed. She should have chosen a more experienced project lead even if they were all loud, egotistical fucks. I wasn't up to this, but I couldn't pull out of it now without destroying my career. I just had to do it and not fuck up any more than I had. Somehow. Fuck, I needed sleep, but I had this stupid dinner.

I really needed to touch up my makeup before I met Sarah's boyfriend, and, shit, all my makeup was in my handbag and Henry had taken off with it. I didn't know how far he'd go with it, but if he was making a point he might actually take it all the way to the restaurant.

I hurriedly shut down my laptop and pulled out the USB. I gave my desk a cursory glance to make sure I had definitely shredded everything that showed anything about the project, and then left the room. I could come back tomorrow and grab the computer if I needed it.

After I'd shut Oslo, I jogged all the way to the lifts, but Henry hadn't even pressed the button. He was just waiting there. “I actually am very sorry about that,” he said as he passed me my handbag. “I hope I didn't get you into too much trouble.”

I couldn't think straight, the adrenaline was making everything feel a bit surreal. The bottom line was that I was fucking up, though. Henry couldn't be blamed for that. “No more trouble than I already got myself in,” I said dismissively. “Fuck, I need alcohol. Lots of alcohol. And then I need to pass out and wake up at in the middle of the night and keep working.”

Henry nodded once. “Sounds balanced,” he said mildly, and then offered me his hand. “It'll all be alright, Min.” I looked at it. I felt kind of sweaty and restless, so I shook my head. He nodded again and put it back in his pocket.

When we entered the lift, I stood facing the mirrors to fix my lipstick and my eyeliner and try to do something about my hair. I looked fucking terrible, as usual. Definitely not in form to punch Canada's project lead.

“How do I look?” I asked Henry, anyway.

He had been watching me with concern and it was a little claustrophobic. “Gorgeous, of course,” he said. “But like someone who could use a holiday. How many annual leave days do you have? I was thinking we could go across to New Zealand for a week or two. There are some great landscapes there...”

I knew he was just being nice but I actually felt a little patronised, like he was suggesting I wasn't able to cope with my job and that I needed him to help me find ways to relax. “It doesn't matter, I can't use them until after this pitch anyway,” I said, and then winced as I remembered Diane's expression. “Fuck, how the fuck am I screwing this up so badly?”

He put a hand gently on my back. “Min,” he said. “You are fantastic at your job and the CEO would not have hand-picked you for a key project if you weren't. You'll work things out, and that mix-up back there was clearly all my fault, anyway. Let's leave work at work and relax for once. Sarah seems very nice.”

He was right, she was nice, but that didn't really help me feel better about how I was doing at my job. Once we were out in the fresh air and walking towards the restaurant, though, I did feel a little better. Henry was right, and I had the whole weekend to work solidly on that stupid document. Additionally, Sarah had been really looking forward to this dinner so the least I could do was try and forget work and enjoy it. She was fun, I decided. It would be okay.

The restaurant was just off Darling Harbour and the outdoor dining area had palm trees lit underneath by real torches. All the furniture was heavy, rustic wood, too. It was very atmospheric.

“Hey, guys!” I recognised Sarah's voice and looked over the sea of tables for her. She was already up and walking briskly over to us. A big, burly man was following her.

He couldn't have looked any more like a tradie if he tried; he had the shaggy hair, the only-just-barely-dressed-enough-for-dinner look, and a walk that said, 'I do manual labour for a living and check out my real muscles, eh?' He had a bit of a pot-belly, too, but because he was already so stocky it didn't look out of place. His broad smile I recognised from the photos on Sarah's desk.

Sarah had changed for dinner and she was wearing jeans, boots and a big loose t-shirt that fell perfectly everywhere. Beside him she looked incredibly slender and stylish. “Min!” she said, touching my arm like she usually did and standing aside for her boyfriend as he caught up to her. “This is Rob, Rob, Min Lee, my boss, now!” I flinched as she said that, but took Rob's hand when he offered it to me to shake. He was taller than me and his hands were as big as dinner plates. I managed to smile at him, despite how shit I was feeling.

Henry leant forward as well and shook Rob's hand with an incredibly practised, smooth movement. “Henry Lee,” he said.

Rob's eyebrows went up. “Oh, 'Lee' as well? Are you two married already? How long?”

“Since birth,” I said, and was about to explain that it was just a really common name, but Rob clearly took what I'd said literally.

He just kind of squinted at me. “One of those arranged marriages?” Sarah was already trying really hard to smother her amusement beside him. I watched her, thinking that if I'd been in a better mood, I might have played along to see how far I could have taken that 'arranged marriage' thing.

Henry ruined it, though. “No, no. 'Lee' is just like the South Korean version of 'Smith', there's a lot of us.”

“Oh, right,” Rob said, and then laughed openly. “Sorry, I'm a bit of a dick when it comes to all this cultural stuff. I grew up in far north Queensland. But don't worry, I didn't vote for One Nation,” he added as we started to move back to the table. “So what do you do, Henry? You remind me of the guy who hires and fires at the mines.”

That made Henry laugh. “That's my job in a nutshell,” he said. “I'm guessing you don't work in an office?”

Rob held the chair out for Sarah; it was actually very, very cute. She looked delighted, accepting it as he sat down beside her. “Is it that obvious?” He grinned at Henry. “I'm a fitter and turner. I work at Frost Energy up in Broome, FIFO at the moment but we'll see.” He put his arm around Sarah.

Henry deliberately copied Rob's chivalrous chair-move with me, giving me a little smirk. I accepted it and sat down, but I felt a bit weird. Henry and I didn't have the sort of relationship where that happened very often and to be honest, I kind of didn't like it. I wondered how much of that was to do with me being stressed and irritable, though.

Sarah caught my discomfort and I shrugged at her. She didn't say anything about it, though, she just leant into Rob's arm. “Rob has got this amazing place up in Broome,” she gushed to us. “It's just out of town and it's practically on the beach. I spent all my three and a half months of annual leave up there. It's like a different world, I love it.”

My smile fell. Broome? Sarah's long-term boyfriend actually owned a house in Broome and wasn't just up there for work? I panicked for a split second before I remembered that there were no offices out there. I doubted Sarah would be at home in a mining town, so Frost International probably wasn't going to lose her just yet.

While I was stressing about that, Henry was already looking at the wine list and had flipped over to the reds. He didn't drink red. “I hear Broome has some beautiful natural scenery,” he said, leading the conversation. I knew what he was alluding to and really wished he would stop trying to look after me, even if he was just trying to be a good boyfriend.

However, in doing so he'd apparently asked the right question because he set Rob off. “It's fucking beautiful, you should see it.” His very broad accent was quite entertaining to listen to. “Like, I grew up in a real leafy area, you know? And out west is completely different. You're there and you're like, 'Yeah, I'm definitely in Australia'. The colours, man.” He laughed. “Not that I get to see them during the day much, because I'm down the mines from sunrise to sunset.”

Hah, that I could relate to. “I hear you,” I said. “I basically haven't seen daylight since 2007.”

Sarah had the wine list out, too. “Min works a bit too hard,” she explained to Rob, who had been looking confused and like he was about to ask me if I worked in mines, too. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, apparently, but his big open smile made up for it. I decided I quite liked him, despite the fact I wasn't really in the mood to like anyone.

Henry nodded, smiling briefly at me, “Yes, Min's work ethic is a little intimidating. Though it's why she got flown up here from Melbourne so I can't complain too much about it! How did you two meet, anyway? At work as well?” He was looking back at the lovebirds.

They both laughed and looked a little sheepish. “You go first,” Sarah suggested, making an 'after you' gesture with her perfectly manicured hand.

I could feel Henry looking at me as he opened his mouth to speak, and I couldn't resist the urge to mess with him. I spoke instead. “I was an impressionable young intern fresh out of university,” I said to them, knowing Henry hated the way I told this story. “I didn't know anyone in Sydney when they flew me up here, but, boy, did the guy in HR really take care of me.”

Henry laughed nervously. “It didn't happen quite like that, I'd never use my position to take advantage of anyone,” he said. “Plus, I wasn't a manager then, and we were friends well before anything happened, anyway.”

It was just too much fun working him up. “But I was up here all by myself... I mean, what would have happened if he'd decided for some reason not to help me? I couldn't risk it. I had to do whatever he said.”

Henry gave me a measured stare, and I waggled my eyebrows at him. “Excuse me,” he said neutrally to our dinner guests as he turned bright red, and then pretended to strangle me.

They both laughed, and that made me feel better. Sarah flagged a waiter from across the patio. “Just as I suspected, it beats our story. I saw Rob at my local and we only made it as far as his car.”

“Yeah, now she's stuck with me,” he said, sounding chuffed. He hugged her up against his side so he could kiss the crown of her head. He was so strong that her thick chair actually tipped sideways as he did it. It was like watching a Rottweiler trying to cuddle a kitten. He left his arm around her as we all kept chatting.

After we'd ordered our wine and food and gotten stuck into the complimentary bread, we spoke about our respective hobbies. Rob was a bit of a sports nut—no surprises there—but since neither Henry nor I were at all interested in sport we had to look for something else to discuss.

Sarah sat up in her chair. “Oh! That's right!” She fished around in her pockets for her phone. “Min's like this mad artist. What's that website where you put your stuff again?”

I had finally managed to start relaxing, but as soon as she mentioned my artwork, that all faded. The painting of me as a guy was still the first thing in my gallery. I suddenly had awful visions about what they would both say if they saw it.

Before I could stop him, Henry told her, “Deviant Art dot com.” He smiled at me, obviously not realising that I wasn't just panicking because I was shy about my art. “It's 'Min Lee' with an extra 'e' at the end. She has some amazing landscapes on there.”

Rob was leaning over to look at Sarah's phone. “You sound pretty proud of her,” he commented to Henry.

Henry beamed at me. “You bet.”

Just you wait until you hear what they have to say about that painting, Henry, I thought, wondering about the possibility of just running off with Sarah's phone before my profile loaded. I obviously couldn't do anything so melodramatic, so I just sat there bracing myself for their reactions.

“Oh, wow,” Sarah remarked as she watched something load on her screen. “I haven't seen this one before, it's great. When did you have short hair? It really suits you.” My heart almost stopped; she was looking at the painting. I kept waiting for her to say something about the fact my chest was flat in it, but instead of commenting on anything to do with that, she just looked up at me. Her eyes went straight to my hair, I think trying to judge whether or not it could have grown that much in the months that I hadn't been working with her.

I didn't know how to answer her question, though. How do you say, 'I haven't had short hair since I was fourteen, but I just felt like painting myself as a guy'? I couldn't speak at all; I felt strangely disconnected from everything.

For all that Henry had been subtly annoying me with his over-attentiveness, he did actually rescue me there. “It's been a few years since her hair was that short,” he said vaguely, and then shot me a bit of a quizzical glance about why I hadn't answered that one myself.

Sarah looked between us, and then back at the phone. Rob took it from her so he could get a better look. “Fuck, you painted that?” I nodded mechanically. “Jesus. I can't even draw a map of how to get from the airport to my house and it's three roads. That's fucking impressive. What else is there in here?” He started tapping at the screen, presumably flicking through my gallery.

And that was it. There was no shock, no disgust. No anything, really. Rob didn't seem like the sort of person who could diplomatically gloss over a bad reaction to something. So, they thought that painting was a genuine self-portrait, and the fact I was clearly cross-dressing in it didn't even warrant a mention. The only thing they'd been judging was the quality of my art. I should have been relieved, but I wasn't. Deep in my gut I felt like there wasn't a more dangerous reaction they could have had than being fine with me in that painting.

It meant I could do it. I could actually do it, I could be that cool. I remembered those clothes I'd bought yesterday and how I looked in them. I could do it, I thought, all I'd need to do is cut my hair and deal with my breasts somehow and then holy mother of fucking god, Min, what the fuck are you thinking?

Had I forgotten I had a boyfriend? A job? Family? How did I really think that would actually go? And it wasn't like I just wanted to cross-dress, either; how the hell did I think I was going to 'deal with' my breasts? Magically make them disappear? God this was so fucked up. And where did it stop? If I somehow 'dealt with' my breasts, then what? I remembered fantasising about being a guy punching Canada's lead, and I felt so, so sick. No, please no. Please don't let this be it.

“Oh, hah!” Rob said really loudly, mercifully distracting me. He looked around as he startled people on nearby tables. “Sorry,” he said more quietly. “I'm used to yelling at people in mine shafts. Anyway, you play World of Warcraft? I haven't played that in ages.”

I guessed he'd found a painting I'd done of one of the locations in the game. “I used to,” I said, trying very, very hard to focus on that instead of how shaky I was suddenly feeling. “I don't have the time now. Mainly I just play first person shooters.”

“Xbox or PS?” he immediately asked, leaning forward and giving the phone back to Sarah. Sarah rolled her eyes and leant back, a long-suffering smile on her face. She kept tabbing through my paintings while Rob waited for my answer. “I hope you say Xbox, because Halo is unreal.”

I kind of wanted to hear what Sarah had to say about my art, but I didn't want to be rude. “Playstation, actually,” I said a little apologetically. “Although I do have an Xbox that I never use. And I think I actually have one of the Halos, too.”

“Is it Reach?” he asked. “Fuck that was good. I never stop replaying that. I tried to get Sarah into it, but no dice.” He hugged her.

“Not a game person,” she said, looking up from her phone. “Sorry, guys! Although it's pretty hilarious watching him flip out when he gets killed.”

Rob looked indignant. “Which is hardly ever,” he said, puffing out his thick chest. “I'm a pro.”

Henry had been watching me with a smug grin. “That sounds like a certain someone I know.”

I scoffed, feigning being absolutely fine. “You're just jealous you can't beat me.”

For all Rob looked like a bit of a simple creature, he had some great things to say about various game series. It was particularly amusing to sit and listen to him rant about what he didn't like about Grand Theft Auto and why the franchise was 'losing its way'. I wasn't a big fan of the series myself—I hadn't even finished the last one—but what he was saying made me want to play it again to see if he was right. That, and listening to him meant I didn't have to think about myself.

He didn't stop when our food arrived, either. In fact, he quickly forgot about his dinner. Henry had asked him some questions about the Arkham series and he needed to passionately list all the ways in which it had ruined one of the characters.

I wasn't really that big a fan of that universe, so I'd been picking the bits of food I liked out of my pasta and half-listening as I tried not to let my mind wander. Sarah had been eyeing off Rob's food, but every time she'd tried to ask him for some, he hadn't noticed because of how loudly he was speaking. The last time she tried, I made eye-contact with her and we both laughed silently.

I lifted my fork and made a very subtle gesture with it towards Rob's plate, mouthing, 'Go on'. I looked up at him deep in conversation with Henry.

She smirked, and reached carefully under his arm to steal a prawn. He didn't notice, and I pretended to applaud her. While the boys were talking, Sarah slowly escalated her food stealing until she just took his plate and said casually, “Mind if I take this for a sec?”

He sat back automatically to let her, still talking to Henry, but halfway through her putting it in front of herself, he double-took. “Hey!” he yelled, again startling the other patrons around us. “I've got a figure to maintain.” He patted his pot-belly with a grin. The two of them proceeded to play tug-o'-war with the plate. He let her win, but she gave it back to him, anyway. I laughed right the way along with them until they leant in and started kissing. Then I stopped.

Henry and I just kind of sat there awkwardly, not looking at each other. Under normal circumstances I might jokingly have given Henry a really exaggerated kiss, but I just couldn't face doing that right now. I kept thinking about the whole cross-dressing thing, and worrying about what would happen if Henry found out. I sighed, took my wine, and poured it down my throat.

Rob caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and stopped kissing Sarah. “Whoa, did you just drink all of that in one go?” I looked from him to the empty glass, and swallowed. He was clearly impressed. “Respect,” he said with conviction. “I dated a girl up on the mines who was the same. She could do a pint in under four seconds and she drank us all under the table, she was basically a bloke in a skirt. I always thought I'd end up with a tomboy like you guys, you know, with the video games and stuff.” While the colour was draining from my face, he looked affectionately at Sarah, and ruffled her beautiful hair. “Somehow I fell for Miss Girly, here, instead. What are the odds?” She gazed up at him adoringly.

They kissed briefly again, while I just sat there with my mouth open. 'Basically a bloke in a skirt'? He hadn't meant it as an insult; in fact, it sounded like he meant it as a compliment. It didn't feel like one, though. I looked down at my own skirt, feeling all that adrenaline that I'd managed to quell before starting to surge back.

The worst part was that he was right. Everything just fit into place in my head like a completed jigsaw puzzle. I got it, and it made me feel sick.

At what point was I going to actually address how looking like this made me feel?

My heart started going again, and I panicked. No. No. Not at this point, I thought, not with work. Fuck! Not at this point. I took a few deep breaths while I stared down at my half-eaten dinner and tried to conceal my anxiety. Not now, I couldn't have a personal crisis right now. I had too much going on, I could worry about whatever issues I was having in a few weeks when the project was complete. I just didn't like my chances of being able to cope with this and the shit that was going on at Frost. I tried to calmly tell myself that I was probably jumping to conclusions and maybe when work wasn't so crazy it would all make sense. I could deal with all of this much later after I'd had time to think and reflect and god fucking damnit why wouldn't my heart just chill the fuck out?

I needed to not be around anyone. “Excuse me for a second,” I said as evenly as I could, standing up.

They stopped kissing, and Sarah wiped her mouth. “Sorry, that was pretty inappropriate, wasn't it? I think I've had too much wine.” She laughed.

I smiled tensely, stepping away from my chair and heading straight for the restroom.

It was empty, thank god. I went and shut myself in the far cubicle and leant on the door. My heart was pounding in full force, so much so that I could even feel it in my neck.

I can't do this, I thought, over and over. I can't. I can't do this. Every possible scenario started to crystallise in my head: Henry and I breaking up over it and me having to go to work every day and see him, me having to leave Frost because of it... or even me just needing to leave Frost anyway because if they didn't respect me now, would they respect me if they found out what I wanted to do to myself? I'd be the laughing stock of the work place, just like high school. They were probably all either laughing or grumbling to each other about me already. What would they say if I just rocked up in a suit? What was I fucking thinking about dressing up like a guy anyway? How the fuck was that going to solve anything? It didn't change reality. It didn't change the fact I was in this stupid female body. It didn't change anything, it just fucked everything up a hundred times worse than it already was. Why did I want to do that?

And why couldn't I just forget all this, accept that it wasn't possible and just be happy with myself? Why?

I leant against the wall and closed my eyes, trying to slow my breathing. Now was really the worst possible time ever for me to be flipping out, just when I needed to be able to focus on working really hard. Could it all just fucking go away? Could everything?

The restroom door opened and I stepped against the back wall so no one would guess what I was doing in here.

“Min?” Henry?

“This is actually the women's toilets,” I pointed out, noting the irony.

He ignored me. “Min, are you okay? You've been in here for a while.” I could see his work shoes underneath the door of my cubicle.

I sighed at length; my breath wavered. “I just want to be alone for a few minutes.”

The door rattled as he leant on the other side of it. “You've had a few minutes. What's up? Work?” God, he was being so lovely and all I could do was being irritated by it and wish he'd go away.

You want to know what's up? I thought. I closed my eyes and imagined actually being able to say it to him: ‘there's something wrong with me. Henry, there's something wrong with me. Please, please, make it stop.’ Fuck, now I was crying. Could I get any more pathetic?

“Min,” he gently prompted me.

I didn’t tell him. “I just want to go home,” was what I actually said. The depth of resignation in my voice surprised even me.

Henry didn't say anything for a few seconds. In the end, he didn't argue with me. “Okay,” he said. “I'll tell them you're not feeling well.”

I didn't want to sound like I was crying, but I think I did, anyway. “And... Is there a back way out of this place?”

When he spoke there was so much compassion in his voice that it hurt to hear him speak. “Oh, Min,” he said through the door. “I'll sort it out.”

There was a back way out of the restaurant, and it was through the kitchen. It meant I needed to be herded past a series of chefs, sous-chefs and kitchen hands who all stared at me like I had three heads.

Henry didn't tell me what Sarah and Rob had said about me leaving early, but it didn't matter. I was convinced they both thought I was crazy. This was the second dinner I'd walked out of halfway through because of my stupid issues. I couldn't even get a fucking dinner right.

Henry offered to hail us a taxi, but I shook my head. We walked.

Despite having failed to comfort me so far, he still insisted on trying. “Everything just seems worse at the moment because of how much pressure you're under at work,” he told me as soon as we were walking alone. “I know you've got a big project running, but I really think for your own sanity you need a week off. Everything will be okay, Min. You just really, really need a holiday.”

From myself, I thought. “I can't,” I said. “If I blow this it's over for my career.”

We'd walked nearly the whole way home before he spoke again. “I know work is one of the main issues here, but are we going to talk about why you left dinner? The timing was pretty specific.”

I swallowed. That was the last thing that I wanted to do. Not with Henry. “No.” When he went to speak anyway, I stopped walking for a moment to accentuate my point. “Please,” I said, interrupting him. “I don't want to discuss it.”

This time, he pushed me to talk. “Because I know you have some serious self-esteem issues which are linked to how you look, and I know that Rob said you were a—”

“—Henry!” I said, throwing my hands up to stop him from speaking. There was a really raw edge to my voice, and I was too tired to disguise it. “Can you stop being so fucking understanding for like two seconds? You have to be fucking sick of my bullshit by now, you really want to hear more detail about it?”

He watched me, not reacting to what I was saying.

I didn't want to cry again. “Yes, I have some fucking 'serious self-esteem issues that are linked to how I look', and if you knew the half of them you'd run a fucking mile. Do you really want me to go into all of that? Really?”

His eyes swept my body and then ended up locked on mine. He took a step towards me. “I want to do whatever makes you feel better, and you're obviously desperate to tell someone,” he said, and went to reach towards my face. I shook my head, and he let his hand drop. “And not that I've ever particularly cared what my girlfriends looked like, but I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it: Min, I've always genuinely loved how you look.”

I could barely speak, and I lost my fight against tears. “Henry, I just hate it.”

He held his arms out to present himself, looking down at his shoes for a second and then back at me with a gentle smile. “And look, I'm still here with you, regardless of how much you hate yourself. Or why.”

Just that image of him standing there on the side of the road with a gentle, accepting smile. Loving me despite everything. God, it hurt.

“I don't understand,” I said, and meant it, about everything. About Henry loving this, about the fact I was doing so badly at work suddenly, and most of all, how wrong I felt about how I looked now. “I just don't understand anything, and I don't know how to explain it.”

“Do you want to try?” he asked me very carefully. I shook my head. “Don't forget I'm a psychologist.”

I shook my head again. He respected that, and we just walked home together. He did pause in the door of my apartment as he gave me my handbag, though. “I know you want to be alone right now,” he said, “but I'm not sure I should leave you alone. You're not in a good place.”

I rolled my eyes. “Henry, I'm not going to kill myself.”

He looked a little alarmed. “Well, that's good,” he said, I think satisfied that I wasn't, “but I meant in general. No one should have to feel like you're feeling and also be alone.”

And yet that was exactly how I wanted to be. “I'll be okay,” I said. “I'm just going to go to sleep, anyway. I'm exhausted.” It didn't look like I'd managed to persuade him, so I added, “Literally, I've had a really long week at work and I'm going to have a shower and then go to bed. I'll feel much better after I've slept. There's no point in you staying.”

“There would be a point,” he said, but he stepped out of the doorway anyway. “I'm not going to force you, though. I know you like your space. I hope you won't be too upset if I decide to check on you over the weekend, though.”

I shook my head. “Goodnight, Henry.”

He put a warm hand behind my neck and kissed my forehead. “I'm here for you,” he said simply. “Whatever's going on.”

I didn't actually end up having a proper shower. I was too exhausted, I just kind of ran the water over myself and then at some point realised I should probably get out.

I had to face myself naked in the bathroom mirror when I was done, and it was still so weird. My hair was plastered against my neck and shoulders. I had a vision of myself just going 'fuck everything' and taking scissors to it. They were right there on my bathroom vanity, beside some makeup that I'd left out. I looked down at them for a second. They were new, they'd be really sharp. It would be so easy, I thought, but, fuck, who was I kidding? I couldn't do that, I had my job to worry about. In one movement I just swept everything off the vanity and listened to it clatter across the tiles. Whatever, I thought, and went to put on my pyjamas.

The track-pants hadn't come back from the wash, yet, so I just put on the jeans with Henry's big old t-shirt and shut the wardrobe to a reflection of myself in the door. I looked like an 18 year old guy.

“Are you happy now?” I asked the mirror. “Is this what you want?”

I watched myself for a few moments, completely not understanding why this was how I felt comfortable. In the end I was the same person, so why was how I looked so critically important to me? I exhaled and shook my head. I had no idea how I was going to sleep. Wine might help.

I was so busy glaring down my front that when I went into the kitchen, I'd forgotten about the flowers Bree had gotten me. I looked up just as I passed the kitchen bench and found myself staring straight into the gaping maw of one of the bigger ones.

There was already so much adrenaline in me that it gave me the fucking fright of my life. For about a second I literally thought there was an alien creature jumping at me from the bench.

I'd backed against the oven with my heart going again when I realised that it was actually just a flower. The rest of them were sinisterly lit by the glow coming from the city outside, and because they'd started to die, all their colour had faded and they looked slightly skeletal. Who the fuck buys these?

“Fucking Bree!” I said aloud, putting a hand on my chest. Those fucking flowers. Even as I said it I could hear her saying soulfully, 'But it's not their fault!'

God, it was so ridiculous. I ended up drinking a few mouthfuls of red wine out of the bottle while I stared at them and tried to calm myself down. They were hideous, and I kept discovering new hideous things about them as they withered. I remembered Bree had said they'd reminded her of me, and I was feeling pretty fucking hideous right now, so it seemed apt. Shit, and I hadn't replied to her before, either. I should do that quickly unless I wanted to add another person to the list of 'casualties of Min's issues'.

I put the wine back in the cupboard and then grabbed my phone from my handbag and went and lay on the bed.

Sarah had texted me, 'Hey Min, hope you're feeling okay. Rob's a bit sick, too! Must have been something in the food. Had a great time anyway, great to finally get you out of the office! See you on Monday!'

I exhaled at length; at least she didn't think I was crazy. On one hand I was glad I could keep her quarantined from my personal crap, on the other hand I hated lying to her. I closed the message and opened Deviant Art, going straight to my notes.

Bree's latest message just read, “im sorry if i said something wrong again i didnt mean it :( :( :( pls dont ignore me :( :( :(“

I took another deep breath. Fuck, I couldn't do anything right; now Bree thought I was angry with her, too. To be fair, I had been, but it all seemed extremely hypocritical now. I sighed and ran my hand over my face. I wasn't sure I had enough energy to comfort her, to be honest. I was too fucking tired to deal with my own crap, let alone anyone else's. But, in all honesty, I couldn't leave her feeling like that, could I?

I hit reply and thought for a second. “Sorry, Bree, I'm not deliberately ignoring you! Things are just crazy for me at work at the moment. We'll talk soon.” I read it a couple of times to make sure it seemed chirpy enough, and then sent it.

It took her literally two seconds to reply, “before we met u used to reply really quickly :( :( :( so like u can say its about work all u want but yeah.........:(“

I had really only been planning to tick the 'replied to Bree' box so I didn't feel like shit about it. I didn't want to start a conversation with her, but the thought of her being heartbroken and thinking I didn't like her was awful. God, she needed to just not open herself up like that to people, she was going to get hurt.

Since I didn't want to be the one to actually hurt her, what should I say to make her stop feeling like everything was her fault? I could make something up, but I'd been grumpy at her for lying to me so that wasn't a great option. On the other hand, I really didn't want to confide in her. I'd have to be vague.

“I've been having a hard time recently over some personal stuff I don't want to discuss. It's not you at all.” As soon as I sent it, I regretted it. Why would I share that with a 17 year old?

She took a bit longer to reply this time, saying, “hang on a sec im gonna make something for u,” and leaving me in limbo.

I didn't know how long she wanted me to wait, all I really wanted was to go to sleep and just pretend today had never happened. Unfortunately, she was quite unpredictable and the thin slither of me that didn't just want to go to bed forever was curious about what she was up to.

It took her about five or ten minutes to get back to me, and when she replied, it was with a link and several wink emoticons.

I tapped it, and my media player opened. That made me raise my eyebrows, but not half as far as they went up when I heard her voice blaring out of the speakers of my phone.

“Hey, Min!” she said. “I'm sorry you're feeling like crap, but I bet I know something that will cheer you up!” She giggled. “I don't know how good your Korean is because you sound like a total Aussie, but on the off-chance that you actually speak it, I spent all evening learning something for you. I hope I don't screw it up too much!”

Then, she began to sing.

She was terrible. All her high notes were just a little bit flat, and her timing was way off. Despite her abysmal musicianship I could still understand her: she was singing Kpop. A Girls' Generation song, I think, but Kpop always sounded completely generic to me so I couldn't be sure. I had no idea if she knew how bad she was, but she was so darn enthusiastic about it that it was hard to criticise her.

Towards the end of the song, the second-hand embarrassment factor was just so high I ended up with my pillow over my head, laughing from the pain.

She finished off by saying, “Hope I didn't do too badly and I hope you liked it!”

When my phone fell silent, I took the pillow off my head. She hoped she hadn't done too badly? She could not have done worse. That was almost a YouTube infamy level of terrible.

I didn't really know how to tell her she was potentially one of the world's worst singers, so I decided not to comment on the song at all. I just typed, “You're silly ;)”.

“I know ;) ;) ;)” was her reply.

I decided to leave the conversation there and get some sleep, and when I leant up to put my phone on the bedside table, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and everything that had happened just hit me again. I flopped back against my mattress and pulled the doona up under my chin. Whatever, I thought, the wine will kick in soon.

NINE

 

Because I hadn't gone to bed before ten since I was about eight years old, I did end up wide awake at 3 am after all. And because I was awake in the dead of the night and there was nothing else to do, I discovered I had two choices. I could either lie in bed and rehash yesterday over and over again until I felt like just cleaning up all the wine in my cupboard, or I could get up and work solidly on the framework docs and give myself a fighting chance at getting ahead. God, though, it was early and my eyes hurt as I got up and turned on my laptop. Fortunately, I was too tired to focus on anything except who was buying pink diamonds, so when the sun came up my first thought was, 'Wait a minute, aren't the days getting shorter?' It was 7:30 and I was nearly done with the statement.

I was also kind of hungry, but rather than interrupting my work I opted just to push through it and by 10 I had the statement and the target consumers defined. After some deliberation I decided I didn't have time to stress about whether or not Russia was the right direction; leadership was apparently about having to make risky decisions so I just needed to call it. After I'd set up the stupid encryption software on my laptop, I emailed the docs through to everyone's private emails and CCed Jason.

I had sat down on my bed with the full intention of ordering room service to shut my stomach up, except somehow I fell asleep and woke up after midday. I sat upright, feeling fucking awful like I always did after daytime naps, and had the misfortune of catching sight of myself in the mirror. I looked like that chick out of The Ring if she'd been cast as a guy instead. I put my hair up so I didn't look like I was ready to haunt anyone.

Swinging my legs over the edge of the mattress, I just sat there for a few seconds, slowly remembering everything that had happened yesterday. It felt really far away, like I'd dreamt it all. I hadn't really run out on dinner with Sarah and Rob, had I? And that conversation with Henry? All the adrenaline was gone and, even looking at myself in these clothes, I felt numb, as though I wasn't awake enough to hate myself yet.

I looked so much like I used to in high school before I started wearing makeup. Without any of it on I seemed younger; I could easily have told people I was 20, or even maybe 18 and gotten away with it. I'd definitely get carded if I tried to buy alcohol looking like this. I swallowed. Younger, and, well, guy-er.

'Bloke in a skirt', Rob had said, and I'd felt that assessment like a tonne of bricks. I knew why, and for a second, I was scared to even think about the question. I forced myself to.

Did I actually want to be a guy? Like really, not just, 'Yeah, it would be easier'?

In finally just asking myself, I had kind of expected to get a really definite answer. I didn't have one, and I couldn't separate those questions from oh god what happens if I really do and Henry and Mum find out. My brain felt like scrambled eggs and as soon as I'd asked myself one question another twenty were waiting to be answered. I settled on, 'I think so', and then felt like an idiot for not knowing for sure. The best I could manage was that I liked how I looked in these clothes, I liked how I felt in these clothes, and it was a welcome change from hating myself and my reflection.

I stood up stiffly and got a better look at myself in them. Wow, I could seriously pull off the guy look, especially when I tried to. I experimented with different postures and expressions and, feeling a bit disconnected and scientific, analysed the results. I looked quite feminine when I smiled with my teeth—not that I did that very often. Also, the fabric from the t-shirt was brushing on my nipples and when they were hard it was a dead giveaway I was female, too. Men didn't have nipples like this. I thought about that for a second. I actually used to wear a really tight crop-top to the gym downstairs to stop them from standing out so much. I probably still had it somewhere...

I actually did, and I found it when I burrowed all the way down the back of my underwear drawer. I put it on and put the t-shirt back on over it and my nipples were gone, and actually I looked a lot flatter, too. That felt better, I preferred there being absolutely no sign there was anything on my chest at all.

I wasn't sure what to do now, though. What did people do when they felt like this?

I went to go get myself a drink of water and fantasised about living alone on a desert island and wearing whatever the fuck I wanted forever and not having to worry about it. I drank half the glass and gave the rest to the evil flowers. Well, I guessed there was no harm in just wearing this stuff around the house, as long as Henry wasn't around. I kind of had been for years, anyway, I'd just never really understood what the appeal was until yesterday.

Ugh, yesterday. Just thinking the word was exhausting. It did remind me that my team would probably have replied to my email by now, though. I went and sat at my laptop and read through them; my colleagues were all giving me indications of when their components would be done and none of it was before Sunday. Jason had even sent me a one-liner: “I guess my book came in handy after all.”

“You fucking prick,” I said at the screen, conflicted as to whether I should be flattered by the fact he was saying I had good time management, or pissed off by what a snide bastard he was. At least he might give Diane good feedback about me for once; maybe I wouldn't get demoted to admin after all.

While I was updating the timelines and really struggling to ignore my loud stomach, my phone went off next to me. I checked the screen: Henry. I hesitated before I answered, momentarily panicking about my clothes. Then I laughed at myself. Min, you idiot, I thought as I answered it. He can't see you, it's a telephone call.

I put it to my ear. “Told you I wouldn't kill myself.”

He made pained noise. “I'd prefer if you wouldn't joke about that,” he said, in his serious voice. “Are you alright, Min? You were in a pretty bad way last night. I hope you slept more than I did.”

I sighed internally; it looked like he wanted to talk again. Leaning back in my chair, I went to run my hand through my hair. It was something I used to do when I was fourteen, and it didn't work because I had long hair now and it was tied back. My fingers got stuck near my hair-tie and I disentangled them from my hair as I answered. “I slept okay, considering.”

He didn't say anything straight away, and there was an unspoken question that kind of hung in the air: he wanted to know what had been upsetting me. My immediate fear was that he'd figured it out and just wanted me to say it for confirmation. He had to have some idea, because I'd told him about high school and he did know what Rob had said that had upset me. What if he had guessed? Would he know what to do? Actually, that was a stupid question. He would know exactly what to do, he always did. But this wasn't just some client of his, this was his girlfriend. I could just imagine him politely trying to pretend he wasn't upset about the fact his girlfriend had some strange desire not to be a girl anymore.

When he eventually spoke, he didn't ask me what was wrong, he just sounded relieved. “Okay, well, you do sound a lot better. Fuck. You have no idea how many times I wanted to just get in the car and show up at your place just to make sure you were alright.”

It was completely left field, but at the mention of ‘showing up’ I smiled at the memory of Bree waiting for me with those awful flowers. “Don't forget to figure out what you're going to lie about to get in.”

“Min.” He didn't sound pleased, which was actually a bit of a surprise. He usually would jump right into joking around with me. I felt a bit guilty.

“I'm sorry,” I said quickly. “That was kind of inappropriate. It's okay. I'm okay. I only brought her up because she sent me something terrible before I went to sleep last night.”

There was a pause. “Terrible how? Is she crossing lines again?”

“No, actually,” I said, leaning back towards my laptop and opening Deviant Art. I copied the address and emailed it to him. “Click that,” I said. “She made it to cheer me up.”

I could her him thumping away at the screen of his mobile. “Shit, it says I can't while I'm on call,” he told me. “I'll do it in a sec.”

“Okay,” I said, still feeling guilty about joking around when he'd obviously been really worried about me. I would have been so lost without him last night, he'd been wonderful. I didn’t tell him how much I appreciated him often enough. I really should. “Look, Henry...” I began, feeling uncomfortable, “thank you for being there yesterday. I'm sorry I ruined our evening out by having a mini-meltdown.”

He chuckled. It was a quiet, gentle sound. “It's my turn to sound inappropriate,” he said. “But I can't hear the word 'mini' now without feeling pangs of hatred for everyone who calls you that.” I smiled at that. He sobered. “But, Min, regarding last night... I need to ask you something important. I went home and kept thinking about how you'd brought up killing yourself right out of the blue and just worried that the idea was already in your head. You've never mentioned it or joked about it before and it scared me. You'd talk to me about it if you had those thoughts, right?”

At least I could be completely honest. “This time you are over-analysing me,” I reassured him. “I don't have those thoughts. I just thought it was what you meant about not leaving me alone.”

“Okay,” he said, and then laughed a little nervously. “Just don't you do it and leave me alone, okay?”

Don't you leave me alone, either, I thought, looking down at the knees of my men's jeans. God. Please don't figure out what's going on for me and just leave. “I won’t, Henry,” was all I said.

Fortunately he changed the subject. “Okay. Speaking of alone, I hope you don't lock yourself up and work all weekend.”

I glanced at my laptop. “I can't anyway,” I said. “Because unfortunately I've delegated stuff to my team and I have to wait until they send me their components before I can keep going.”

“Good,” he said. “Sean's wife's huge baby shower is tonight, which I totally forgot about until Outlook reminded me this morning, and unfortunately I think I'm obliged to go. Would you like to come? It's casual dress, apparently, so that's something.”

I looked down at my t-shirt and jeans. How casual? Casual enough for me to rock up in this? Hah. “Yeah, I think I'll give it a miss,” I said. “Have fun, though.”

He snorted. “Yes, 'fun', that's definitely one word I associate with Sean Frost. At least his wife is quite nice. Well, you make sure you have fun, too, okay? Call your Melbourne friends or your Mum or see Bree or something. Playing multiplayer for twelve hours straight doesn't count as social interaction, especially when you mute everyone.”

“Please, I don't play for twelve hours straight,” I scoffed. “I stop for food. Actually, speaking of which, I'm really hungry now.”

He laughed. “I'll let you get to that,” he said. “And I'll listen to this 'terrible' thing Bree sent you. Bye, Min. I’m glad you’re okay.”

I didn’t feel very okay, but I did grin at the thought of him listening to Bree’s sound file. “Thanks again, bye.”

After he'd hung up, I decided to have another listen to Bree's agonising singing so I could imagine what Henry was thinking as he was, too. I clicked the link on my laptop and played it again; god, it was even worse through proper speakers. It was all I could do to not just put my hands over my ears and try and sing over her so I couldn't hear it. Despite the fact it was making me laugh, I had to stop halfway through. The bridge of the song had some really high notes that Bree was just spectacularly missing and the pain was too great.

After a minute or two, Henry texted me, “Oh, dear.” I laughed. 'Oh, dear,' was about right. He followed it up with, “Oh, and thank her for the handbag tip on getting you to restaurants when you next see her. Much appreciated.”

I groaned. “I don't think so,” I said at my phone as I closed media player on my laptop and opened my browser. “I don't want to give her any ideas.”

I decided to forgo room service in favour of an enormous cheesy pizza and a garlic bread from up the road, and before I'd ordered, I opened a new Google tab.

I stopped for a second. I wanted to search about the whole man-thing, but I didn't even know the terminology. Was it 'transsexual'? Wow, okay, no, I was not searching for that. Fuck, I couldn't even imagine saying that word to Mum, she didn't even like it when I didn't match my lipstick with my blouse properly. Whatever, it didn't matter what it was called because it didn't change anything. I was only going to be like this at home, anyway. Fuck. Time to drown my sorrows in grease.

After I'd ordered it, I had to wait forty-five minutes for them to bring it up. That wasn't really long enough to get any serious gaming in, and I didn't really feel like painting.

I stared at my laptop. I could just do that search.

Since I really couldn't bring myself to type 'transsexual', I just typed, 'I think I want to be a guy', and hit enter. There were a lot of results from forums and blogs, and I clicked quickly through them. People asking themselves the same question... but they all seemed to be young teenagers. Even people answering their questions were teenagers. They were using the term 'transgender' or 'trans' which was happily less clinical, but when they started to discuss ‘transitioning’ and 'coming out' I could feel my pulse start to race again. Coming out? Fuck that, seriously. Never. When I read the terms 'medical diagnosis' and 'surgery' and then saw some pictures of it, that was the final straw—no. Just no. No doctors, no one was examining me or injecting me with anything and no one was cutting into me. I'd rather live in limbo forever than that. I closed the tab and sat back in my chair, taking a few deep breaths.

I was 25, not 13 like these kids. They all talked about ‘just always knowing they were men’. If that was the case, wouldn't I have known by now if I was like them? I looked down at my jeans. Apparently not, because here I was wearing men's clothes and searching the internet about wanting to be one. I had a sudden thought about how Mum would react if I told her and my throat tightened. She'd ship me off to every therapist in the fucking country, and, regardless of how often Henry sang praises to counselling and psychology, just no. I was done with counselling. Henry... fuck. Fuck. What would have happened last night if I hadn't had him? God, and work. I would be infamous at work, I'd never live it down. It would be worse than high school. No, there wasn't going to be any 'coming out'. I was going to wear my fucking uncomfortable, fucking godawful work clothes at work and I could deal with whatever this man-thing was in the privacy of my own home.

I could feel my pulse in my hands, my heart was beating so hard. I was getting so sick of that feeling. Was I going to get like this every time I thought about it? I was going to need a hell of a lot more wine in my cupboard if that was the case. God, it was too hot inside.

I stood up and went out onto the balcony. It actually wasn't any cooler out there because the sun was directly on it, so I came back inside and just stood restlessly in the centre of my living room. I'd lose all of this if work found out, I thought, looking at my home. I couldn't stay living here if I left Frost. Thinking about that made me worry about my timelines again, and again I checked to see if anyone had sent me their components but my inbox was empty. I sat and refreshed my mail constantly for about five minutes before I realised that wasn’t going to make work magically appear there.

I was stuck until people emailed me their components; stuck stressing about work, Henry, Mum and whatever the hell was going on in my head.

When my eyes fell on those withered, evil flowers, I remembered what Henry had said and had a bit of an odd thought: I could invite Bree over. She was completely crazy and would definitely give me something else to think about, and I'd also be able to boast to Henry that I'd had human-to-human interaction. I hoped the shock wouldn't cause him to drop dead on the spot. Plus, the idea of someone getting really excited about seeing me was actually kind of flattering. And, honestly? I'd enjoyed myself last time. She didn't need to stay that long, either.

I'd picked up my phone to message her, but before I sent one I had second thoughts. Goddamnit, I'd need to change back into those other clothes. Could I be bothered? Maybe I should just watch a couple of TV shows I'd downloaded, instead. I probably shouldn't be around people now; look at what I'd done last night with Sarah and Rob.

I went and flopped down on my couch with my phone, and just as I'd done so, it vibrated in my hand. There was a notification in the corner of the screen for Deviant Art. Really?

I selected it. It was from Bree. I'd started to think, 'Great minds think alike', and then laughed to myself about using the term 'great mind' to describe Bree. She probably wasn't stupid, but 'ditzy' was understatement of the century. I opened it.

“uh so dont kill me but im in the city and i kinda thought i could come up and say hello??”

I frowned at the screen; she was asking? That was progress. Well, maybe she could come over for a bit after all; those pizzas were really big. “Okay. How far away are you?”

“ummmmm...........”

There was a knock on my door.

I sat straight up on the couch, my jaw open. Looking up at the clock, I realised it couldn't be the pizza guy yet, it hadn't even been half an hour. In case I was wrong, though, I jumped up and rushed over to the door, looking through the peephole, and there was a blue eye staring back at me on the other side of it.

I smothered a startled noise and stood away from the door, putting a steadying hand on my chest. I was about to have a go at her for breaking her promise and just showing up, but she beat me to it.

“I'm sorry...” she said meekly through my door. “I promise if you'd have said no I would have just snuck away!”

I groaned and ran a hand over my face. Min, you'd actually been about to invite her, I had to remind myself, ‘crazy’ is what you wanted, remember? I very nearly opened the door before I realised what I was wearing. I needed to change first. “You're going to have to wait out there for a sec.”

“Why?”

I sighed at her through the door. “Because I need to hide the body and clean up all these bloodstains,” I said flatly, and then rushed off to change while she stood giggling in the passageway.

I rushed into my bedroom, pulled off the t-shirt and jeans and just stuffed them into a shelf in the wardrobe. Pulling on a blouse and my skinny jeans, I was just zipping up the fly as I closed the wardrobe door when I saw myself. My legs looked so weird in these stupid tight jeans. I stopped doing them up halfway, groaned, and then opened the door again to look for something else. I eventually gave up and settled on a cotton skirt because I couldn't leave her out there forever.

I put on as much makeup as I could in a few minutes, and by the time I opened the door, Bree was standing there having a deep and meaningful with the pizza delivery guy, holding the pizza box in her arms.

She looked me up and down with a bit of a strange expression, but then gestured at the delivery guy. “This is Sandeep,” she said. “He's a qualified dentist but Australia doesn't recognise his qualifications so he's delivering pizzas for a living.”

Sandeep gave me a bit of a pained look. I felt for him as I reached over and took a couple of notes out of my purse which was hanging by the door. “Don't worry about the change,” I told him. I figured he'd earned it for keeping Bree entertained. He nodded and then looked at me with pity as he left.

Bree was still busy frowning at me. “Did you seriously go and spend 15 minutes getting dressed and putting on makeup to eat pizza with me?” I didn't know what to say to that. “Because, like, I'm flattered, but that's really weird?”

I looked down at her. She really couldn't lecture me on clothing. Being Saturday, she wasn't in her uniform, and she'd switched her pleated skirt for what I assume should be described as shorts, but I wasn't sure there was really enough material to call them that. And not to say she was chubby — because she wasn't, really, just short — but she wasn't very slender like I was and her thighs had volume to them. That, in combination with her thin scoop-neck t-shirt, looked almost pornographic. How the fuck did her parents let her leave home like that? I felt uncomfortable just looking at her.

She noticed my line of sight. “Bit different than a Cloverfield uniform, yeah?” She was grinning. “How do I look?” She did a little turn.

Like you're ready to lap-dance someone. “Older. But not old enough to wear that.”

She laughed. “I still can't believe you made me wait out here while you put on makeup. That's so hilarious.” Something occurred to her and she stopped giggling. “Not that you look bad or anything! Although that is kind of heaps of makeup. Can you smell that?” She looked down at the pizza box in her hands. “Oh my god, I can't believe you invited me over for pizza! Let's eat. I'm starving.”

She ducked under my arm on the doorframe, kicked off her thongs and then went straight into my kitchen. Chuckling to myself, I followed her in there to find her already banging around in my crockery cupboards. She had one of them open and was apparently planning on splitting our pizza between two plates, but instead of taking them she just kind of looked back at me.