Tom/Kiara: Tears

After my dalliance with Donovan, I got to experience the awkward dynamic of being the girl in the equation after a one-night stand. I certainly wasn't going to text him, and I knew it would be easier if he didn't text me either, but every day that passed without a message left me feeling a bit sour. What, was I not good enough?

I don't want to have feelings for a guy, or be in a relationship of any description, but I'm also pretty prideful, and plus I let him have hi way with this body, so perhaps some communication was in order, even if I kind of astral projected out of it and don't remember what it fully felt like. Sorry, it turns out sex isn't a mind-blowing experience for everybody all the time on this side.

Then he actually did message me -- three days later, right on cue. I was bathing Sienna and helping her play with her rubber duckies when the phone buzzed. Just a simple 'hey what's up.' Despite anticipating this, I had no idea how I was going to respond. What was I supposed to say? He doesn't know I have a kid, and I don't want him to know. I could say that I'm looking after my sister. I could say that I'm the one in the bath, if I wanted to drive him wild.

I literally just said 'nothing, having an average night.'

"Yeah, same, just thought I'd check in."

Okay, then. What am I supposed to do with that? What would a girl who wanted to date do with that? What do I, who should not date, do with that? Do I tell him my big plan for the night -- after I put the kid to bed -- is to finish my homework and masturbate?

I told him nothing. I flat out didn't answer, I had to pay attention to the kid. I toweled her off and put her in her jammies. I let her walk around the house to say good night ot everyone...

And then, when we were in the kitchen saying good night to Mama Kelly, she was using a chair to stabilize herself and she fell flat on her face.

Now we have a problem. I've seen this girl crash plenty, but it always hurts me to see, because that moment when she erupts in tears -- which I know are going to take a while to calm down -- breaks my heart. Makes me feel like a failure, even though it happens to every kid that age, it's part of experiencing the world. But I'm supposed to protect her, I'm supposed to keep her steady. I can't all the time, but every time I fail I feel, well, like a failure.

Crying, crying, crying, wailing, I'm fanning her, offering her a soother, rocking her, she's squirming and fussing and won't go to bed. And that's my night. and I'm cursing under my breath the whole time because at times like these I remember I'm not supposed to be a parent!

When she finally did settle down and nod off, I barely had any time for homework, let alone the other stuff I'd planned. I looked at my phone, at the abortive conversation between me and Donovan Decent Guy, and I thought, that's about right. I can't bring another person into this. No man should get caught up in this mayhem. There's no room for dating or self-serving anything.

I see it all laid out before me. I take whatever low-paying job this town has to offer, I raise Sienna on my own and hope to heaven she turns out better, that she has a fighting chance. The kind thing for me to do is keep everyone else at arm's length at least for, oh, the next ten to fifteen years.

The fact that Mother's Day followed shortly after that just put me into a deeper spiral. The day was a total blur, not that anyone really acknowledged me with Cerie's pregnancy being the headline.

I never did hear back from Kiara/Lisa about taking her life back. It's appalling in a way, but if I was a 18-year-old with a chance at making it big, I might feel the same way. If you can live with the guilt, it doesn't sound like a bad deal at all, even if she doesn't become the next Kacey Musgraves.

There's still about two weeks for her to change her mind, and if I don't hear back, I guess that will be the end of tagging these posts "Tom" because he'll be gone forever.

Until then...

-Tom/Kiara

Toby: Dunia's May schedule

I've kind of been wondering how we were going to return to the Inn and our own lives without losing Dunia and the next Alicia these jobs, especially Dunia, as I/we haven't been employed long enough to have a lot of slack.  I'm not sure that what we've hit on quite works, but it's the best we can do:  Basically, we've managed to get assigned to the Miami/Boston route for May, and somehow managed to work out that we're overnight in Boston most of the time, as there aren't many red-eye flights going that direction.  We rent a car at Logan, drive up to Old Orchard, hopefully arriving before whatever happens overnight happens (I guess it's usually around 2am), and then drive back to the airport the next morning.  With any luck, we'll text the airline about how we're really sick, and hopefully that will get us to the week or so that we've blocked off on the schedule, during which Dunia and a new Alicia will return to normal. 

It's not really a great plan; it kind of relies on the idea that the first couple groups at the Inn will be folks trying to get their lives back and will show up the first chance they get.  It also probably wouldn't work at all if the lady who is living as Alicia's mother Magda hadn't gotten a promotion that put her in the scheduling department.  Or if folks from Canada were visiting Florida as much as they used to (I guess a lot transfer at Boston) and they needed us for more than just one round trip a day.  Honestly, I kind of wonder how many folks get changed and then stuck in their new lives because they just can't afford the trip back.  If someone has become me, there's a good chance that, once the reservation is made, gas money is tight and they're not exactly enjoying the Maine restaurant scene while they wait for something to happen. 

But it's the plan we've got, and so far, it seems to be working out.  Nothing happened last night, but we aren't really expecting the place to fill up before the weekend.  Heck, so far as we could tell, there were only five out of 13 there, and it was kind of a weird vibe. It felt like we should have breakfast together or compare notes or something, but nobody really wanted to dwell on the lady seven or eight months, and there was a lot of fretting about explaining how and why we'd been missing.

It is kind of strange being with Lambert outside of work, though.  You might think we'd have bonded or something over all this, but that never really happened.  Instead, we were mostly quiet on the drive north, before taking turns in the bathroom removing our makeup and changing for bed.  I kind of kicked myself when I saw what a big nightshirt she was wearing over loose boxers with a drawstring, while I was wearing the same panties and belly shirt as when I'm sleeping in Miami.  I can joke about how my butt may wind up smaller when I'm a white guy again, but other parts of those panties would squeeze and I'd probably shred the top like the Hulk or something.  I suppose i could sleep in the nude, but boy would that get uncomfortable with a roommate! 

But, nothing happened, so we showered, got dressed and made up for work, and I've been writing this during the drive back to Boston to try and tune out Lambert's podcast.

It's crazy that we probably won't be friends after we get back, but I'll know there's someone in town who went through the same really weird thing as me. 

- Toby/Dunia

Arthur/Penny/Millie: So Happy and Furious

I was going to just use this post to talk about some book stuff, which I've kind of neglected over the past year because talking about writing and publishing is boring for other people.  Basically, I write two books a year:  There are the Lynn Ashford mysteries about a lady sportscaster who has a bad habit of running into murders when she blows into town for the Olympics, the Women's World Cup, the NBA Finals, whatever, which I've been writing for almost as long as I've been Penny, and I've usually got some other, more fantastic series going on, generally pitched toward young adults and often involving identity and transformation to some extent, sometimes under a pseudonym (or a different one, considering what you think of "Penny Lincoln").  You may remember Annette liking the Pygmalion series; after winding that down I did something more science-fictional whose second of three volumes is due out in August, and I've been trying to work on a comedic high fantasy since then.  It kind of started from a joke about how dragons don't hoard gold so much as they shit it out because they expand their cavern lairs by eating rocks that pass through their alchemical digestive systems, with the hero a princess who got swallowed whole and winds up a muscular Adonis after traversing the monster's intestines.  As you might imagine, it's been kind of tough writing that one in my current situation, although I've had a ton of ideas for age-regression stories!

Anyway, this year's Lynn Ashford is World Cup of Murder, and while I think it's pretty good, the lead time on publishing novels is enough that I had to deliver the final draft for this story meant to tie into the 2026 World Cup being held in North America in late 2024, when we were pretty certain that Kamala Harris would be president, and everything even vaguely related to the border and boycotts and foreign relations has made my book with its international cast of characters look more and more like it takes place in some far more pleasant fantasy universe.  It's not the first time this has happened, even recently - the publisher was insistent I not mention that Covid quarantines happened in my last one - but it means that the release and tie-ins got a little more low-key.  Truth be told, that's been the case generally over the last few years - making less from writing is why I took the job as an English teacher in my daughter's middle school, and that makes it a bit harder to do publicity.  It's kind of a self-reinforcing loop, but what can you do?

What that all means is that the release has been relatively quiet and the "book tour" has mostly been New England bookstores during April vacation, when schools of the region, or at least Massachusetts, take a week off around Patriot's Day.  Without a lot of sports practice taking up my time that week, I'd been "assisting" Harmon on these stops.  Part of it's the usual things that adults have their kids do to keep them busy at events like these - fetching water, having a fresh pen ready, getting books open to the title page and passing them over - but also interrupting in my best annoyed teenager when someone asks a question Harmon can't answer.  Everyone laughs and finds the kid who remembers stuff better than her mom adorable as opposed to Harmon alienating fans by not having read my entire output.

Anyway, we were doing an event in Harvard Square when a couple of college students made it through the line to the card table, and I'm kind of half-zoned out making a little pile of hardcovers ready to be signed when I hear Harmon snort-laugh at something, which isn't necessarily bad reader interaction, before she shakes my shoulder.  "Oh, Millicent, you've got to hear this - this guy says he saw new layers to my work after staying at a hotel in Maine!"  I look up and see this boy of about twenty with an extraordinarily silly mustache sweating bullets mouthing something like "you call her Millicent?", his girlfriend standing behind him with her arms crossed, kind of keeping him from fleeing.  My eyes go wide in realization and I shift into Mom Voice for the first time in months.  "Oh, we've got to talk, young... man!"  I slam the book he was getting autographed and drag it to the side, walking to the door, knowing that they're following me without seeing, vaguely hearing the rest of the line murmur in confusion.  I pull the phone out of my back pocket and dial Ray's number on my way out the door, saying a curt "Millie's at the signing, get down here now!" when it goes to voice mail.

When we get to the sidewalk, I turn around and take them in.  They both look even more nervous, and the knot in my gut tightens a bit as I see that the young woman is wearing a Northeastern University sweatshirt.  At that second, they're looking over their shoulders at Harmon chuckling at the commotion in a way that's not very maternal before turning back to me.  "Wait, are you--  Mom?"

I look up at him (her) in frustration.  "Of course I'm your mother!  What, did you think I was going to let just anyone step into your life and decide that they just might want to keep it for their own because you're so pretty and talented and have such a bright future?  That your father and I would just trust some stranger with your well-being?"

I hadn't really meant to attack the other person, but she turned a deep crimson.  "I'm sorry, I was under the impression that she had been communicating with you--"

I pointed vaguely down the street.  "I will deal with you later!  Right now I have things to discuss with my daughter!"  The other person nodded and backed away, and I crossed my arms to await an explanation.

Millie was crying, and I felt bad about that - neither Ray nor I are big yellers and she probably hadn't been hit with this for the past year.  "I don't know what I was thinking!  I just heard you say you might not really be my mom and that it had something to do with that Inn so I figured I had to get to the bottom of it even though I didn't know what I was going to find there!  And then it did this to me and I was still so mad that you'd kept something so important secret..."  I kept staring.  "Okay, I should have told you, but then it felt so good to be grown up and have people trust me..."  She sniffled.  "And then, every time I came to look at how the new me was doing, maybe offer some help, it freaked me out that she... you...  that nobody would be able to tell that I was gone or different!  You didn't seem to need me so I just threw myself into being Griff--"

Despite myself, I snickered.  "Griff?"

"Yeah, Angelo Griffin; everybody calls him Griff, which I guess is better than 'Angelo'.  He found a flyer for the place in his roommate's mail--"

Something clicked.  "Ande.  You're roomates with Ande."

Her eyes went wide.  "You know Ande?"

"Yeah, he comes to this little thing Auntie Ashlyn does at the Changeling was a month for Inn people.  He used to be his twin sister."

"That maybe explains something--  Wait, does that mean Auntie Ashlyn...?

"Used to be a guy too, yes."

"Is anyone we know who they're supposed to be?"

I gave it some thought.  "I think that's it.  Although, don't ever imply to Auntie Ashlyn that she's not who she's supposed to be!"  And though I thought it went without saying.  "And don't ever even think that I'm not supposed to be your mother!"

I guess she really needed to hear that because she grabbed me for a bear hug, which was kind of awkward because this Griff guy is taller than I am as Millie, but then, the other moms who aren't freakishly tall women say that's just part of having your kids grow up.  We got a lot of concerned looks from people on the sidewalk, but fortunately that was when Ray showed up, panting a bit as he ran from wherever he'd parked the car.  Millie still had her face buried in my hair when he said "is this...?" and I nodded, so he grabbed us both. 

Millie turned to look at him.  "Are you mad?"

"So mad.  But more relieved.  We love that you're stubborn and want to handle things yourself, but you have to ask for help with something this big!"

She nodded and said she had help, which is when we finally relented and waved "Griff's girlfriend" over.  She seems nice, and has done what she could to keep Millie's head above water.

We considered going to grab something to eat and maybe invite Harmon along, but Millie decided she didn't want to see her looking like me more, that it's different seeing your own face or hearing your own voice, because she doesn't really spend that much time looking in the mirror, and I get it.  We've at least been able to text and email recently, so that all the arrangements for turning back could be made.

It's been a tremendous load off our shoulders for the past week, though!

-Penny/Millie

Tom/Kiara: You up?

The week after my birthday was pretty much a cycle of freeze-outs and shouting matches between myself, Cerie, and Jen. Personally, I don't want to have any feelings whatsoever: if she wants to ruin her life the wait Kiara was going to -- and the fact that she felt the need to run away and seemingly stay gone indicates she does think she ruined her life -- it's technically none of my business. She's right that she and her as-yet-unborn baby have as much right to be a drain on the house's resources as Sienna and I do. I think that's the frustrating thing, that I don't have a leg to stand on, even though in principle I'm right that we shouldn't have any more babies in this house.

But it's what she wants, and for some reason her no-good boyfriend, Kiara's babydaddy Byrd, is supportive, even though he's already putting nearly every dime he makes into an account for our little rugrat. I feel like every day brings some new twist on this nightmare. I wish my biggest problem was that I don't have the sexual organs I'd prefer.

So I let Cerie and Byrd take Sienna for the weekend, even though it was not Byrd's weekend, because they want all the practice they can get. I don't love that it's my baby being used as the crash test dummy for those little idiots, but what are you going to do?

They and the baby being out of the house Saturday night gave Jen the opening to tear a strip off me and tell me to get in line, and to stop acting like a brat. I told her I was being anything but a brat, that I was the adult in this situation... which I didn't say, but may have included Jen herself. She said that whining and crying and calling Cerie "irresponsible" might feel good but it doesn't do anything for the reality that this baby is coming. Okay, fair enough, but I need to make myself heard.

It probably doesn't come across in text like this, but I really notice sometimes how these female hormones, especially the ones that cause me to produce so damn much milk, probably color my ability to keep a cool head in times like these. Like, sorry if that sounds sexist but I am now a woman and I am a lot more demonstrative of my thoughts and opinions than I used to be, and I suspect those two things are connected.

Anyway, I told her that now that I'd said my piece , I'd do my best to help the little dum-dums, although in slightly kinder words than that. It was something of a diplomatic achievement, but I was so rankled I just had to leave the house.

The problem is: I didn't have anywhere to go. My entire life in this town is under this roof, or at school. My "friends" are a much older married Indian woman (who is very sweet but probably doesn't need her disaster-teen classmate dropping in on her) and some people whose home lives are probably even less stable than mine.

There was one name in my contact list that I do have something of a personal relationship with, and I had to bet that he was available on a Saturday night: Donovan. I hadn't been in touch with him since our little encounter a month earlier, because I was both a little disgusted and a little afraid of initiating a snowball effect. But I have to admit every so often on nights when I hate life, I find my thumb lingering over that name, like, "Hm, maybe this would help things." From the night we had together, he seemed all right, non-objectionable, stable, a far cry from the types of people Kiara is meeting in her world. I could do worse, right? If nothing else he seemed to be capable of conversing.

I had simply never quit gotten to that threshold though.

So I messaged him, "Hey, this is probably kind of weird, but are you doing anything right now/tonight? Need to get out. Even just to drive around or whatever."

After I hit send, I realized, holy shit, that sounds so pathetic and desperate, and like my life is so chaotic and sad. Which sucks, because I am pathetic and desperate and my life is chaotic and sad.

After a moment, he said "Sure, where can I pick you up?"

Damn, I thought, the plan had already worked too well. I didn't want this guy to come to my house. So I told him we should meet at the coffee shop and go from there.

So we went, and we had a drink -- he a decaf americano, I a machiatto. He politely asked what was up that made me want to call him out of the blue. I told him I didn't really want to talk about my home life or anything like that.

"Okay, what do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know. The Holy Roman Empire."

"It was neither holy, nor Roman," he noted.

"And not much of an empire," I added. Shit, we were on a wavelength. Was it wrong to consider screwing a guy for the first time because you both knew the same corny old joke?

"What would you be doing if I hadn't texted?" I asked.

"Probably the same thing I did last weekend," he sighed, "Trying to work things out with my ex."

"Oh, I see," I nodded, somehow put off that he had an ex in the picture. "How's that, um, going?"

"Not great," he said. "Between the long distance and her boyfriend of six months, I think it might actually be over between us."

"Oh, you can't think like that," I said, "Maybe she'll wake up tomorrow and realize you're what she wanted all along."

"Maybe," he said, "If I woke up tomorrow an entirely different person."

"Don't even joke about that," I scolded reflexively. When he raised an eyebrow, I said, "I had an uncle who had, um, a brain injury. One day he woke up and... woosh. Totally different guy. Less racist, though."

Uncertain how to react, he said "Um... sorry... about your racist uncle? I guess?"

He was still kind of new in town so he asked if I knew any attractions. I said not really, but I saw they had just opened up an escape room in the next town over, if that was something he'd be into. He said that sounded kind of random for a first date, and I said luckily this isn't a date.

So we went, and unfortunately you're supposed to have a group of four, so we linked up with two random strangers. It was a crazy haunted house situation, with, like spring-loaded ghouls jumping out at you to give you the next clue or whatever. It was surprisingly fun, and he was good at interpreting the riddles. I'm a little more spacey, which I'm tempted to blame on baby-brain, not that I wanted to tell him that.

After that, he asked if I wanted to go to a bar, and I said I was sure there was beer at his place, so there we went.

And again, it was not exactly the tidiest, most impressive place. A handful of dudes in their twenties living together -- I get it. I remember it.

He cracked us a couple of beers, and took me into his bedroom, and we sat on his bed. He had his hand on my thigh, and there's a very small, Tom-Shaped part of my brain going "This is not right at all!" but a larger Kiara-shaped one going "Girl, just do it, don't be a chickensh**."

We start kissing, and his scratchy stubble is messing with my head a little bit, but I'm also kind of enjoying the "man" smell, and I'm dizzying myself wondering who I am and what I like and what is even the plan here. While I'm having an identity crisis, he's got his hand up my shirt and -- eventually -- he gets my bra unclasped and starts tentatively feeling around.

And then suddenly... it's like he found the 'on' switch.

Fuck. Fuck. My nipples, dude, are so sensitive. I didn't realize that would happen, but I guess with a night of warming up and just the tiniest bit of alcohol, all the tumblers fell into place and unlocked me. I was ready to spread wide open. My body was purring. "Yes... yes..." I whispered, surprising myself.

Before I knew it, his pants were off and so were mine, my legs wrapped around him like my life depended on it. I was barely even thinking -- I mean, I had the presence of mind to make sure he put a condom on first, but after that it was like a whirlwind of limbs and appendages mingling. Something was making me feel pretty good inside, and the part of my brain that was aware it was attached to someone else -- a man -- was on the fritz. All I remember was thinking "It's happening, it's happening... and I don't hate it..." I mean, yes, I've toyed with myself, but having another body there changes the game.

And then, before I could get another notch up the ladder from "I don't hate it," it was over.

(Price is Right trombone of sadness.)

We disentangled ourselves and I had this very sour, unfulfilled feeling. A lot of positivity suddenly evaporated. It was sobering. Oh crap. I just had sex with this guy. It was dangerously easy. And part of me suspected this might happen when I began the night and part of me was sure I would come to my senses and bow out. Even afterwards, I was trying to do the mental calculus on it to confirm I had actually, literally, just had sex as a woman, because on paper I sure did, and I know what it felt like, but my brain wouldn't compute that what had happened to me was sex.

Anyway, the spell as kind of broken after that. He was apologetic, and I had to kind of be like, "Don't worry about it, it was good" which was kind of a lie, although for about 30 seconds or so we were soaring, yeah.

We cleaned up and got dressed and I had him drop me off a block from my house, which I could sense he wanted to say something about but was probably too embarrassed.

And I went home and laid in bed and just stared up in the darkness wondering what the hell had just happened.

I don't know. Part of me felt like not doing it was a way of staying "pure" and, I don't know, male by proxy. Part of me felt like on the off chance I am going to return to a male body -- which I'm not counting on -- it would be sad not to have an experience like that if it was available. And part of me just wanted to get some understanding of what lies in my future if and when it turns out that I'm staying as Kiara.

Reality check: I'm in the body of an 18-year-old mom deep in the heart of Dixie. I'm not particularly wowed by most of the males I have encountered in my time here. Until recently I genuinely had not had occasion to consider what might happen if I wanted to do this, and in the end, I just followed my body's lead.

Then I look over at the empty crib and I think about what "following this body's lead" has gotten us.

I guess that's a macrocosm of life. We're all just doing out best, and we can have ideas how we'll behave in certain situations, but you never know until it happens. I'm not mad, I'm not sad, I'm not relieved, I'm not happy. It's just a fact. That happened.

I'm keen to pretend it simply did not.

But there are worse things in life........

-Tom, feeling Extra-Kiara Today

Marc/Dustin: Heading Out On My Own

With our return reservation to the Inn still months away, I was thinking there has got to be some way to fill the summer besides punching the clock at the front desk of the gym.

Dustin's ambition in life is to be a phys. ed teacher. We agreed at the outset that there was not much point in me doing much to pursue that on his behalf -- sure, it might feel like a viable shortcut for his resume but it doesn't help his development. So I've been fairly idle this year. But we managed to put our heads together to try to figure out something I could do that would suit "him" without taking experience he should be having for myself.

We wound up finding a youth soccer program I could coach. There's a two-week training course, which of course I will be needing because I've never coached anything in my life, before the kids arrive. It's a weekend-and-after school thing until school lets out, and it runs until July, meaning I'll be free of commitments by the time we go back to Maine.

It's not the world's greatest career opportunity, and without the financial backing that my not-so-bottomless war chest provides, it probably wouldn't make sense to do, but it's fine.

Thing is, it's kind of a ways away -- over state lines -- meaning that to work there, I'll have to move out of the house.

And that's fine! Aside from Mary, who has assured me she will be okay, there isn't anything there for me. I'll miss hanging out with Ifena and Charly watching cheesy reality shows and procedurals, but it's best if I find a reason simply not to be there anymore.

It just feels a little weird to have been bunkered down for so long, and then to leave just as we're getting close to the end. I'm moving on Thursday, so I have a few days to get settled in before training starts.

Koti, meanwhile, has been incommunicado. Which is worrying to me, because I can never speculate where her head might be at, if she's going to do something a little out-of-pocket as the kids say. I've let her know what's up with me, signaling that it's safe for her to return to the house, which I would love because it would mean that one of us, Mary, could keep tabs on her until it's time to go back. I'm hoping that this shakes something loose in that situation.

That's all for now

-Marc/Dustin

Ainsley: Out Of Bounds

Nobody told me going on my first first date in three years would be this nerve-wracking!

OK that's a lie, everybody told me that. My friends, kind of my roommate, musicians, those reality TV ladies who've had enough of their exes' bullcrap but also haven't had enough of Netflix's bullcrap. And even kind of me, but the last time I'd just gotten over a breakup was... I don't even wanna think about it! So, it turns out it's just another one of those things you have to learn firsthand no matter how many times people try to warn you.

Tinder hasn't gotten any better since I was fresh out of college, that's for sure. But it's not like I had high expectations in the first place? I'd just like to know at what age I'll see fewer pics of guys holding up a fish than of them. I don't know. Golfing? From what I hear at work there's a point when a set of golf clubs magically zaps into a man's bedroom and he starts having opinions about who's going to win The Masters.

You know it had to be a dog pic that got me. Yeah yeah, I'm so predictable, I get it!!! But what am I supposed to do, just turn down the chance to meet an adorable Dachshund? Hey guys-- bigger isn't always better when it comes to dogs! It leans in to the whole inoffensively cute vibe the guy -- Erik -- had that let me feel comfortable enough to roll the dice. Don't want to get back into dating on a bad note, after all.

We met up outside the restaurant he picked and that's when it hit me how I hadn't really had a one-on-one conversation with a man in. Well over a year, I think? Not counting work stuff.

But dinner went really well actually, and not just the surprisingly great Korean/Mexican fusion food! I would've been happy to let him do most of the talking, just to put the pressure off since I'm still a little nervous about everything. Instead he seemed really interested in my hobbies instead of just wanting to go on all evening about the rock climbing gym he's at half the time. Not that I have a ton of interesting hobbies right now, lol. But it was a good excuse as any to bring up SugarBunny and the dog talk carried us the rest of the way through dinner.

Erik's a busy guy, and before we met up he told me about another hobby of his and invited me to come with. Contra dancing. Really?? I didn't know anything about it but I figured the average age would be like, 50 so it seemed pretty harmless and I said yes. I can handle a little dancing, right? It won't be a nightclub this time, I should be able to have fun somewhere like that.

My first impression was the crowd was actually pretty young, so I was wrong about that! Maybe I'm not as in touch as I like to think. Dinner ran kinda late so we got there with only a couple minutes left of everyone standing around and Erik giving me a rapidfire explanation of how to contradance before the music started and everyone paired up. There was some kind of emcee on stage saying random phrases that correspond to dance moves but I had no idea what any of them went, so I just kind of let Erik guide me through whatever we had to do and tried to follow along. Then before I know it everyone switched partners and I stood there staring around at the crowd of strangers before this other guy made eye contact and came up before I could say anything. He tried twirling me around but before I could even think about where to put my feet everyone switched partners again, this girl with a pixie cut looked at me, and the same thing happened again! Finally it was back to Erik, where I hoped I'd get at least a couple minutes to catch myself.

But I didn't get any better. Erik kept telling me to just relax, try not to move so stiffly, and I wasn't able to make myself do it. The others who wanted to dance with me seemed just as unimpressed. It's like, no matter what I tried, I was always out of step with everyone else. We lasted fifteen minutes before Erik took me aside and asked if I was having a good time. I think Mel would have a good time at a place like this. Sara would act all embarrassed about going somewhere this wholesome and have some choice words, but she'd find a way to have fun with it anyway. And Ainsley... Ainsley...

Okay, look. I know that I owe any of you readers who may happen to be concerned a real explanation for what's going on with me. I'm going to say it up front: I know I'm not Ainsley, I don't believe I'm Ainsley, I didn't wake up one morning so unable to cope with the reality of the Inn and my own body's uncertain status that I convinced myself I'm someone else. Regardless of what anyone else does, I'm going to Old Orchard Beach when the reservation receipt says I am.

But if everyone kept telling you there's something wrong with you, whether they know the truth or not, and you start to believe it, and you kind of always did. And there was a hole in the world, one whose shape you suddenly fit, one you become immersed in every hour of your life for months, and you can tell how badly everyone around you wishes it were never there, and what left it behind had a better life than you... Wouldn't you eventually want to fill it? Just to see what it's like? Would it really be so horrible to try more than just the minimum of what the world expects?

That's what I realized, lying in my bed late one night. I hated the idea of giving in to the shit Sara and Marvin keep throwing at me, and a lot of Ainsley's choices weren't exactly ones I'd make on my own-- but I knew what those choices are! I had a guidebook, embedded into this entire life, for what's expected of the person shaped like Ainsley Thomas.

So I followed it-- more than the amount I'd been that's just enough to keep her from losing her job or (more of) her social life. I didn't wake up the next morning thinking I'm Ainsley, but I kept telling myself I did. I went to the gym, immersed myself in her interests, made small talk, annoyed my roommate, cooed at dogs, and generally tried to act like a happier person. And, to my shock, it sort of worked? Maybe it's the forced optimism but I think people have been nicer to me since I started doing this. The air of confused concern surrounding I used to get from Ainsley's circle lessened, even if it didn't go away. And over time, I got these moments where I could just, stop thinking about it and coast off the inertia of my own Ainsley impression. Like I've previously said, the important thing is keeping myself too busy and immersed to run out of momentum.

It essentially became a game where I'd ask myself how far I could take this. That's probably how I managed to talk myself into getting on Tinder, the prospect of which would've caused the me of even two months ago to spontaneously combust. Even still, I didn't intend taking it any further than going on one date and saying whatever I needed to to end things after that. I'd assumed that a random Tinder guy would give me plenty of reasons to regardless. But no, somehow my date turned out to know how to treat a lady.

That's a lot of what I thought in the back of my mind as I ran down my standard Ainsley small-talk script at Erik, being treated that way. How big his arms are compared to mine, getting the door opened for me, they way his speech was weird combination of respectful and slightly patronizing. He kept looking at me. Obviously I've experienced all this one way or another just by existing in public but that was always in situations where I could just leave or, at worst, zone out. But there, we both signed up for it, and I, Ainsley Thomas want to be treated that way on a date, I reminded myself. It's normal. Maybe I actually did kind of like parts of it once the sense of danger wore off a bit, but it's hard to tell whether I've Pavloved myself at this point. Or it was the novelty. I don't know.

The point is, I'd mentally prepared myself for my date to be the one to ruin it, but no, I had to ruin it when I finally hit the limit of my Ainsley persona. I just can't bring myself to dance. It's more funny than sad, compared to the nightclub from the bachelorette party. Clubs like that are high-pressure environments full of stressors that would've set me on edge even if I didn't have Ainsley's relationship with her best friend on the line. But I still can't find it in me to move freely in an all-ages group dance in a brightly lit gym? Come on. It makes it feel unreachable, that sense of fluidity and gracefulness (or enthusiasm, if the first two aren't great) all the women Ainsley's age I meet seem to have. Not that I could dance as a guy either but at least then it felt like there's lower expectations. Everyone at the contra dance could tell, they looked concerned, they were right to be!

I held off Erik's requests that we could seriously just chill out by the side and talk if I wasn't having any fun for about ten more minutes of dancing before I caved. But it felt like there wasn't anything to discuss. The momentum left broken and how un-Ainsley I really am returning in full force. Soon enough I left, telling him I'd had a good time (not completely a lie) and I'd talk to him later. We haven't spoken since, and now I don't know who I'm going to be in three days, in a different sense from how I don't know who I'm going to be in three months.

Tom/Kiara: Happy Birthday

April 25 was my birthday. That is to say, it's Kiara's birthday, which means it's "mine" for the time being. I knew this, because I've spent time looking at plenty of documents as Kiara -- and I did look into when I would finally be "an adult" at 18 again -- but it wasn't as if I was eagerly awaiting the day, counting down to it on the calendar. It took me a moment to realize what was happening when Jen woke me up and told me to get ready for our day.

"Our" day? Not that I'm on bad terms with Kiara's mom, but we don't exactly spend a lot of time together. If she's at the house, I'm usually not and vice versa. Our text conversation is a never-ending stream of who is taking care of Sienna when. I'm grateful and all, I just haven't been able to foster much of a personal relationship with her.

With so much constantly going on at the house, you won't be surprised to hear that I'm not accustomed to being in the spotlight. And that's how I like it. The less people acknowledge my existence the easier it is for me. But I guess "my" birthday was going to be the one day we focused on me.

Jen treated me to a one-on-one brunch, which was a nice gesture but also an awkward one. Here we were, sitting eye-to-eye at the table for once and I have nowhere to hide. Luckily there are plenty of conversational topics -- Sienna, of course, and school.

"You thinkin' about what comes next?" she asked me over something sorta like "eggs benedict."

"Yeah," I sighed, "There's, um, a lot up in the air right now." There's obviously still an outside chance that the real Kiara, aka "Lisa Brown," will relent and come back to her own life, but the time is running out for that.

"I'd be happy to show you the business, help you pay for beauty school," she said, "But I get the feeling that's not what you want."

"No," I said sourly, "No offense, it's not for me."

"I haven't heard you paly your guitar in a while, is that dream dead?"

"I... had to face reality," I said, "Motherhood and musical aspirations don't mix."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she said.

The conversation -- which continued to a manicure where I let my nails get painted with spring pastels -- couldn't help but take on a dour tone. Simply talking about life as a teen mom in a dead-end North Carolina town with no prospects didn't really fill me with excitement.

Next was shopping. It was just at a discount store, but it was Jen's idea of a nice gesture, and it was. "I don't even know your size anymore," she confessed, "So I thought it would make more sense if you just pick something out and I pay for it. Don't worry about the price. If you want it, it's yours." I was hesitant, but she was insistent and I was moved by the gesture. I picked up a decent jacket and -- don't laugh -- a miniskirt. Summer's coming, after all.

We brought home take-out for dinner and sat down as a family. The younger sibs had made me a homemade card, which was adorable and really moving. After cake, Cerie had an announcement.

She's pregnant.

As you may recall, Kiara's younger sister been dating Kiara's babydaddy Byrd, which would make our kids half-siblings (three-quarter siblings?) Jen and Kelly were actually congratulatory, albeit in a tentative, restrained way. The littles were thrilled that there would be another baby. I did a terrible job masking the fact that I was aghast.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I hissed, "What is it about the way that I live that makes you want some of that? The exhaustion? The anxiety about my future? The financial burden? What about mom and grandma -- you think they have the bandwidth to take care of another kid?!"

"Kiara, hush!" Jen reprimanded me.

"Why you mad?" Cerie sneered in her Gen-Z-or-is-it-Alpha tone. "You think you're the only one who deserves attention just because you had a baby first?"

"God, that is so not what this is about..." I huffed, sounding every bit the teenager I appear to be, albeit maybe one from the 2000's, rather than today. "It's so short-sighted, especially knowing what I've been through."

"So why's it okay for you?!" Cerie shouted back, while Jen and Kelly tried to wrangle us with cries of 'Girls, please!'

"It's not okay for me, that's the point!" I was practically in tears, but more of rage than anything. "It's irresponsible! I fucking ruined my life, and you're about to do the same!" ("Language!")

"I can't believe you would say that about your own daughter! And mom too, like she ruined her life having you?!"

"No, I...!" I sputtered, "Can't you see how fucked up this is?!"

"That's enough!" Jen shrieked, "Kiara, don't speak for me, don't try to tell me what I have the 'bandwidth' for! If Cerie wants this, I will help her just like I helped you! You ingrateful little bitch!"

("Ingrateful" isn't even a word, but it's not like that was the headline at the time.)

"I don't belong here!" I screamed, which probably came out of nowhere as far as they were concerned. I stormed upstairs to where Sienna was asleep.

Soon after my arrival, she awoke and started crying, so I held her to my breast and fed her. I'm trying to wean her off that soon, but it was as much for me as anything else I guess.

After she finished, she began babbling. "Amma... amm... a... mama... mama..."

It's not the first time she's spoken, and not the first time it's come out sounding that way, but it was pretty clear and pretty repetitive. As galled as I was that people would treen a teenage girl getting pregnant as a good, exciting thing, there are definitely moments of beauty, and I always try to do right by this innocent little baby. I do love her. After all this time, how could I not?

As tears streaked down my cheeks, I gathered myself and took a video of the little girl, holding on her until she finally said it again.

I texted it to "Lisa Brown."

"Happy birthday," I wrote.

-Tom/Kiara

Arthur/Millie/Penny: Jumpy

It's been a while - almost 19 years! - since I've booked return tickets to the Inn, so I'd kind of forgotten the combination of giddiness and panic that comes with it.  I think most folks feel the same; there's this genuine relief that things are going to get back to the way they should be, and I have met a lot of folks who actually enjoy this phase of the Inn experience more than anything else.  "Okay," they seem to say, "now that this has an end date, I can stop worrying what enjoying this says about my inner self, and I don't have to worry about feeling trapped by this thing I don't like."  You would not believe how many people who've become the opposite gender really step up their sexual experimentation in those last couple months! 

The flip side, though, is that you can get extremely paranoid about anything going wrong or amiss.  This is my first time waiting to return to the Inn since I started writing fiction, so now I've trained myself to extrapolate everything down every path it could take, so there are a lot of things that could go wrong in my head, and that's on top of being a kid.  Ray and Harmon and I have tacitly agreed that unless I do something really stupid or dangerous, especially with other kids involved, they're not going to make much show of parental authority, even if it's somewhere that Ray and I would try to rein Millie in, but the rest of the world isn't in on this, and I've spent a few nights worrying about how things could get messed up if I draw someone's ire as a "misbehaving teenager".

Because that's really easy to do!  This weekend after tennis practice, for instance, "Venus" (not her real name) and I were hanging out on the Common, drinking Dunkin iced coffees with enough caffeine for full-grown men even though it was pretty chilly because we're New Englanders (well, Millie is, and I've been here long enough, right?), taking selfies and scrolling through TikTok, laughing and squealing when we hit a particularly funny one.  I was maybe acting my apparent age than usual - I had endorphins from a good practice and a lot of coffee! - but at most, we were being annoying.  Still, a cop came over and asked what we were up to, we both got a little mouthy for different reasons (I do occasionally react to stuff like I'm both an adult and totally white while Venus loves rap battles almost as much as tennis and her parents have insulted a deep distrust of authority in her), and while nothing actually happened, his hand was on his nightstick the whole time and he shooed us away from the group that I guess was giving us the stink-eye.

Which led to like a half hour of us doing increasingly mocking imitations of the puffed-up tyrant. 

After a while, we started wandering around Downtown Crossing (the new Japanese pop culture shop isn't open yet, alas), when Venus stopped outside the fancy Legal Sea Food and pointed inside.  "Is that your mom?"

I was already starting to say something about not thinking so before looking up and realizing that, yes, it was Harmon, all made up and wearing a cardigan and a camisole that showed some cleavage, talking to some man I didn't recognize.  He was about my real age and kind of good-looking, although he probably should just let his gray hairs show rather than try and cover it up.  They were laughing and looking more than chummy, so I whipped my phone out and took a photo before walking off.  Venus and I did a little more window shopping, but it wasn't a much fun anymore and started to drizzle, so we went out separate ways. 

Naturally, I was waiting for Harmon when she got home, looking as stern as I could, although I've seen this look on Millie's face as well as a bunch of students, and so I know that there's a hint of "kid upset she has to eat her vegetables" to it.  I pulled the phone out and showed her the picture.  "Who's this?"

Harmon looked and busted out laughing.  "It's the new editor, Rob Giordano!  Remember, Lucinda is starting her maternity leave, so Rob is going to be our point of contact with the publisher.  He and his son were visiting colleges this weekend, so he texted to see if we could have a quick sit-down to meet in person."

I raised my index finger to start making points.  "One, you're not supposed to do anything publisher-related without involving me; two, you're looking awful friendly for having just met!"

She rolled her eyes and pulled her (my) phone out of her purse.  "Millicent, the text came while I was at that fundraising dinner with Ray, and I had forgotten about it when we got home.  You were out the door by the time I got up, and though I planned to demur, it seemed like bad form.  As for how we looked, I suppose that I may have seemed more relaxed around someone who did not know you, but that is all there is to it - I am certainly not looking to entangle myself with your life more than I already am during the next month!"

As much as i hate being called by Millie's full name at school even more than she does, pulling that at home is just openly insulting.  Still, I knew she was looking for a reaction and hopefully didn't give him one more than clenching my jaw.  "You should still have given me a heads-uo; you're way past using 'I never got used to the way young people text' as an excuse."  Am I proud that I responded by emphasizing that he's an old man underneath his skin?  Well, maybe it's adolescent pettiness, but I'm not ashamed.  "So, what's he like?"

We talked shop for a bit, and the new guy mostly sounds like someone I'll be able to work with.  I must admit, I'm kind of worried that it will be more than an interim arrangement, because while my publisher probably won't lay Lucinda off while she's on leave, we all know how it works now, that the corporate higher-ups will see that the imprint doesn't collapse with one fewer editor, so if someone else leaves, they just won't fill the position when she returns, but might do a reorganization where everyone gets shuffled to look after a little more. 

Which would be a bummer; I've been working with Lucinda for years and we've got a good relationship that I don't think Harmon has sabotaged.  I suppose that would be the case no matter what, unless some butterfly effect thing means that her working with Harmon rather than me - say, things running long because I'm feeding him answers - changed circumstances just enough that she and her husband conceived when they otherwise wouldn't have.  Still, I would have liked to say goodbye. 

Ah, well, it's school vacation week in Massachusetts and I'm actually not booked solid with sports, but might instead get to spend a couple evenings "helping mom" stay book signings, which folks find adorable.  I am ready to be on the other side of that again! 

- Arthur/Penny/Millie

Marc/Dustin: Internal Affairs

I guess you can say life has been on a low simmer for the last couple of months, which is why you haven't heard from me. I've been working: I picked up a job working the desk at the gym, which is great because gym membership is pretty much my main expenditure (along with rent for 2 people and the enormous grocery bill this body generates.) That's kept me busy and away from posting, and also away from moping about my life.

Koti took my declining of her proposal to be a complete rejection and breakup, which was not really what I was going for, but at least acknowledges that we had an expiry date. I would love to make peace before we leave these lives, but there's a lot of time for that. We haven't booked into the Inn until August, because of the number of people in our "chain" who want their bodies back.

After that, Koti left the house. Left town, in fact, and went back to Dakota's family. I personally thought that was absurd and immature, but I figured it was best to give her the space she needs. By now, I've earned the kind of goodwill from the house that I don't need Koti to be living here to justify my presence. It kind of came out that I was paying both of our rents and that turned sentiment... not against her per se, but certainly toward my favor.

In a possibly unintended side-effect of Koti's absence, Mary and I have been hanging out a lot. I don't know how Koti/John would feel about me and their (ex-?)wife bonding, but that's out of their control. We spend a lot of evenings together, given that when she gets off her shift, PJ is usually working. We hang out in my room or her room, always with the door open so that nobody thinks anything shady is going on. I will admit to providing the occasional back or foot rub.

Even though we've made connections with the others in the house, being the two who share a secret means that we're going to lean on each other a fair bit, because sometimes you just need to let the mask down and talk to someone who knows you're not who you look like. 

Mary, for instance, has very mixed feelings about what she describes as her "fake" relationship with PJ. "Don't get me wrong, they're a lovely person," she sighs, "And without realizing it, they've taught me so much about the world and young people today. But if I were choosing a partner for myself, it wouldn't be them. But it's what they and Cassie want, and I didn't see any reason not to. I needed something to take my mind off of what was happening between you and John."

"I understand that," I said with a sigh, feeling guilty. "I feel a bit like what Koti and I had... what John and I had... was a bit of a runaway freight train. Once the momentum started we just had to let it go until it crashed. I got so caught up in it, I worry I didn't think about your feelings..."

"John and I have felt like a lost cause for years," Mary said. "But he hates to lose, hates to give anything up. He wouldn't divorce me. He just stubbornly insisted we could make it work. He and PJ are a lot alike in their forceful nature, which is probably what turns me off about them, actually. It bothers me to think I have a type like that. Sometimes I wish it had been you and me, Marc."

"Hm?"

"I mean, fate, and the Inn, put my husband in the body of Dustin's girlfriend and you into Dustin. And that's the only reason anything sparked between you two, because you had to pretend. Suppose I had become Dakota. Would we have had the same spark? You're such a kind person."

"I'm... I'm not, really," I said modestly.

"Don't sell yourself short," Mary chuckled. "Even now I'm lying here on your bed, and you won't make a move because, well... because it's not for Dustin and Cassie to do. You won't even consider it because of who you are and who you think I am, maybe because in spite of everything you've done with my former husband, you still think of me as John's wife. You dating Koti... that was a kindness, and it had the fringe benefit of her being a cute little thing. And maybe you can forget she's a man inside, and an irascible one at that. Or maybe it doesn't matter, I don't know."

I said nothing.

"I kind of want you two to be  together, but... I also want my own Marc, you know? When he disappeared, and it was clear he wouldn't be back soon, I... I got on the apps, I'll admit. I flirted, I went out. I wanted to see what life might be like as a divorcee. But when John came back, I thought, this is safe, this is right, this is what I know... even thought it's hard to put up with at times. My whole adult life has been wrapped up in him and it was hard to let go of that."

"And now?"

"I think that, one way or the other, when we get back to ourselves... if we get back to ourselves... we'll have to talk to some lawyers. I'm done, and I need him to admit he's been done for a long time. Maybe having you will soften the blow... if he still has you."

"I... I don't know about that."

"Well, I want you to be happy," Mary said. "And I want him to be happy. And if you can be happy together, that's great. And if you would be happier without him, but he's miserable... I think I could live with that." She smirked. "This isn't anything he doesn't know, but I think he thinks I'm not serious when I say it."

I said nothing, I just stared up at the ceiling.

Then after a while, she giggled. "I don't suppose I could convince you to become a 62-year-old man? Just long enough to sign some papers."

"I think it's probably best if I go my own way after this," I said tentatively, "If I had a choice. Let you two work things out amongst yourselves."

"Smart," she nodded. "Get out of this black hole we've sucked you into."

"Cheers to that," I sighed.

"And take me with you," she added, then sat up. "PJ'll be up soon. I think they'll want a little attention."

"You shouldn't have to force yourself," I said sympathetically.

"I've done worse for worse, and less in return," she sighed, then smiled wryly. "Plus, that non-binary sucker can screw."

"Okay--!" I guffawed as she departed and left me on my own.

-Marc/Dustin

Heather/Sara: Got some explaining to do...

Watching my roommate over the last couple weeks is the most unsettling thing I've ever seen.

Is what I would say if I didn't spend the last twelve years working at a high school. I've seen some shit, okay? But it's in the top 10. Probably. Definitely 20, I'll give 'em that much.

But yeah. I don't really pay a ton of attention to the blog, but no matter what my roommate might think I like to keep an eye on it, and when I saw the post earlier I felt like I should let you guys in the loop on what I know. And also. Who else am I even supposed to talk to about it!? The real Ainsley? Hell no am I gonna be the one to have that conversation. (For her own sake, I hope she doesn't read the blog!)

The other day Isaac, late at night (for him but not for me anyway) told me he's gonna try to be Ainsley "for now" and that I should call him that and not mention Inn stuff unless I absolutely have to. Looked all teary and out of his mind. I was kinda high and didn't really process what he just said so I just went "yeah sure OK" and set him back to bed. The next day I didn't see my roommate-- okay, I gotta add, I don't even know what name or pronouns to use here, I mean I don't really get the whole thing but I try to be respectful about it but also this is a different kind of thing, get what I'm saying? Like it's not the same situation with the crap I get from parents over a teacher using the ones the kid wants them to use, or not using the ones the kid wants and-- It's different. So I'm just gonna stick with he, and Isaac (I'm not gonna put "Ainsley" in quotes everywhere that'll just get old) at least until he lets me have a real conversation about this!

But yeah, if you saw what he wrote you get the picture, he's gone the full Ainsley. Finally went and snapped, and I gotta admit part of me was just surprised that it took this long. Okay I was surprised about the shape he snapped into, if I were a betting gal I would've put it on him losing it enough to take a pill from some stranger at wherever that bar he's been disappearing to is ("The Lounge" isn't its real name, apparently, kid covers his tracks!), who happened to offer it to him at the exact wrong moment. Honestly I was looking forward to it. That kid just hates himself, it got sad to watch before we even got on the plane, he would've needed to let off some steam even if he wasn't stuck impersonating Miss Perfect here while that weirdo's dangling his own life over his head. I've never seen anyone that permanently uncomfortable.

Only now he's really impersonating Miss Perfect instead of having the fun breakdown I'd regret wishing for once I had to clean up all the vomit (wouldn't be the first roommate who pulled that on me, but at least she had to return the favor. Or maybe it was me returning the favor. Whatever, long time ago, and also I did that for three kids so a hungover roommate is a breeze!!). And it's just. Uncanny! He's got the impression most of the way there (or at least I think he does, I never met Ainsley) but you can still kind of see the Isaac in there if you know him, which only I do, so. Point is, I hate fake smiles and forced cheeriness and all that crap, and I say that as someone whose job description includes lots of it so I know what I'm talking about! Now Isaac has the combined powers of a self-loathing anxiety case and the worst PTA moms I have to politely throw out of my office, and even "in character" he went out of his way to admit he likes how much it fucks with me. I've seen those smirks. I'm not self-centered enough to think I'm the main reason he's doing all this, but I'll give him that if I were, it'd be working. Never would've bet he had it in him to act that passionately about reality TV, or that dog, or really anything besides his plants, for anywhere near that long.

It's rich that Isaac's spent the last eight months going all "wow Heather, you like Sara's life too much, you're getting addicted to being too young and too cool and having too much fun" and now he goes off and throws his personality on the altar of someone who actually has a life. But look, I used to hang out with girls like Sara. I used to be girls like Sara. And I made mistakes in my life, but I know what it's like to be someone like her-- I saw Nirvana live, ya know? I've been cool!-- and what am I supposed to do, sit around all day feeling guilty about how I got one of the better curses the Inn can throw at you? Apologizing? Panicking about every little choice? Obviously that doesn't work, Isaac knows it, and now the whiplash got him so hard it's got him trying to date men. Good luck, kid! He doesn't know how shitty men can be. He thinks he does, we all start out thinking we're so smart, but he doesn't. He's like a teenage girl. Assuming he doesn't snap out of it and/or chicken out, of course.

Welp, at least losing his mind gets him out of the house more.

Ainsley: Rebound

Hey everyone! Just wanted to give you guys a couple updates on what I've been doing to get my life back together.

I know I've been in a funk for awhile, since I got out of the denial stage about the breakup, really. I wasn't feeling like myself and it took me too long to really realize how much it was hurting me and my friends. So one day, I just decided-- I've had enough! I can choose to be different! And so I told myself, and the world, that Ainsley Thomas is BACK!!!!!

I started by getting back into my old gym routine before work. Bringing back the habit of getting up that early was an adjustment but I've learned that keeping myself too busy to really think about anything is just part of the process, lol. It's also an adjustment for SugarBunny, who I think was finally getting used to having to get up before me for his walkies, but I can tell he's really happy about not having to practice his patience like that. I've neglected him more than anyone else lately and now I'm always giving him extra belly rubs to make up for it.

Like I said, the secret is just keeping myself busy. I got my hair done without waiting for the absolute last minute, volunteered to be a presentation lead at work for the first time in months, and best of all, quit it with the excuses for skipping Brunch With The Girls every now and then. These ladies know me better than anyone and I hate that I somehow lost sight of that. Well, them and my parents. I'm working on it but I don't know if I'm ready for that one yet.

I've even been having Mel over to help me catch up on Love Island. I hate how withdrawn I got from my bestie and it's been too long, even before the whole thing with my ex, since we just kind of chilled out on a couch together with a bottle of wine like we're back at the Gamma house. And god, the look on Sara's face when I started inviting someone over without telling her beforehand? Priceless. And she knows she can't complain about it, at least Mel always goes home before midnight!!

Sara and I for sure have our differences and rough patches, but I love the girl and she's been more on my case about how I'm not doing anything fun anymore than anyone else I know. And she was right! Which is why it's so weird to catch her staring at me like something's wrong every now and then. This is what everyone wants, right? For me to get over myself? Maybe I should just be flattered to get the hint that underneath the sarcasm she really does care about me, but it's still pretty weird.

I'm still getting those weird looks from some of the other girls, too. I'm not at a hundred percent yet, I know, I forgot in front of my friends about when we all went to an Eras Tour show and I had to spend a quarter of it consoling one of them in the bathroom when she got sick-- we all have our moments, you know? And I had to see the same concerned looks I've gotten ever since the breakup, and haven't really lessened since I decided to get my act back together.

I love my friends but maybe what I need is to meet some new people, people who haven't seen me at my worst. That's why I bit the bullet and finally redownloaded Hinge even if it makes me a little nervous to get back into things. Okay, a lot nervous. I'm definitely not ready for anything serious-- how can I commit to anything when I don't know what my life will look like a few months from now? But it'll help me train some muscles I haven't used in a long time, and maybe I'll come away from it with a couple interesting stories. That doesn't make updating my bio any less nerve-wracking though! All the pics are 3 years old at least and I don't have a lot of good recent ones. It's not cheating if I use ones from before last summer, right?

We'll see if anything happens. Or maybe I'll just get run over by how awful casual dating can be now that it's been long enough that I forgot about it. But really? I'm just glad I'm doing things on my own again-- really trying to be happy and enthusiastic and affectionate and all the things about myself I'd lost in that fog! And at the end of the day, all the hours I spent in front of the mirror teaching myself how to smile again are gonna be worth it.

Toby: Dunia's Boyfriend (among other things)

So, how awful is it to look at my situation, and the world at large, and be kind of relieved that a bunch of military leave is canceled so that I probably don't have to worry about actually meeting Dunia's boyfriend Hector before we go back to the Inn?  Dunia had said I didn't have to have sex with him when he was originally scheduled to be here this week, but I'm still a guy at heart, and I'd probably find myself identifying with his frustration if he got back from defending America overseas and his girlfriend blue-balled him.  He seems like a nice guy, so I hope he's not going to wind up in real danger, but I'd rather not feel a man inside me. 

Dunia says I should try it, and she wouldn't think any less of me if I hooked up with someone at the other end of a flight just to find out what it was like.  The way she figures it, I can't cheat on Hector, since I'm a different person, even if the world would perceive Hector as being cheated on.  I asked if she's tried her equipment out, and she said just on her own.  She actually doesn't want to cheat (and I believe her, from the way her friends tease me about being kind of goody-goody) but also says it's weird at her new age:  She's actually pretty good looking for an older guy, and I gather the guy she looks like is kind of popular among the widows and divorcees, but even the hottest MILF feels too old for her.

Plus, I gather Lambert has a really bad experience the other week, enough that he's stopped flirting with pilots and says the next Alicia can start fresh, without him giving her a leg up.  Indeed, he's really been head-down for the past week or so, as opposed to bossing folks around, and I think it's just stress from the folks looking for us. 

We're apparently still an open for for the FBI, though we haven't dealt with them since that first time.  Not sure how I feel about them apparently having better things to do, to be honest.  Lambert's father has hired a detective, or a firm, to look for him (people with that sort of money apparently hire companies that have offices all around the country rather than some guy with a seedy office), and he's been poking around.  More around me than him, I guess, because I didn't think to set up a VPN to make it hard to trace when I'm being Toby online.  I only kind of vaguely knew what one was and he acted like everybody uses them all the time, and I'm like, what kind of weird porn are you and your rich friends looking at that you've got to hide it?  I've set one up on Dunia's laptop, and let my phone drain without recharging it and found a decent hiding place, but I'm still kind of wary about trying to be myself online, even in a VPN; anybody nosing around me is going to see me using that and figure I'm doing something suspicious.

Maybe I can say I'm "just" pirating movies or something.

I don't think folks are following me or anything, or at least more than normal.  Worrying about it has maybe made it a little more clear how much I am being watched, though.  There's cameras everywhere, and even when I'm just sort of browsing in a shop in an airport, while wearing my uniform, like I'm going to endanger my job by shoplifting a soda, even I could hide it anywhere in that dress.  It kind of makes me appreciate the guys who stare because they think I'm attractive a little more; it still feels sort of weird, but I feel kind of curious about something specific rather than just vaguely worried, or feeling upset that they're suspicious of me for my skin color or sex, which also makes you kind of feel bad about the initial reaction that they shouldn't because you're really a Midwestern white guy.

Just another month of this, at least.  Remind me to get together with Lambert so we can come up with an explanation for where we've been.

-Toby/Dunia

Ande: Last Movember and the Last Summer Vacation

Hey, sorry to leave you all on that big "Movember" cliffhanger there, but I just got reminded of it because Griff and his girlfriend were arguing about his facial hair the other day.  He apparently really likes not just having a beard, but playing with it; he came out of November with a bushy thing around his face, and has been trying different styles ever since.  He had a goatee for a while, then shaved it off but kept a mustache that made him look like a cop until someone at No Kings pointed out that he looked like a cop, and has lately been using wax to curl the ends like some sort of French thing.  I think it was starting to do little Instagram reels that got Lucille's goat, saying this was embarrassing for her, and that they would follow him for the rest of his life, and did he want to be responsible for that ten years down the line?

For my part, I've got to admit, I enjoyed it on a sheer "man, there is no pressure at all for dudes to worry about their appearance" level - I'd spent something like five minutes every two or three days shaving in the shower, and then checking to make sure I hadn't left one of those little lines of stubble down my cheek, and now I wasn't even doing that! (well, I did kind of even things up when the left side of my face looked a tad shaggier than the right) - but as the month went on, where I gather some people start liking what they see and feeling more manly or whatever, I just saw less of me.  Andie and I were never opposite-sex versions of each other before the Inn, at least not more than any brother and sister - that's not really a thing because genetics don't work that way - but it just sort of seemed to be covering up the elements of our face we had in common.  I was glad to be rid of it on December 1st.

That was after Thanksgiving, though, where I flew home and dutifully let Mom, Dad, and Andie tease me about it.  It was fun, and Dad had decided to grow his own beard out too, although he's not fond of how much more gray there is there than up top.  Andie and I hung out with some old friends who also had a laugh, but it was nice.

Anyway, that's a whole term ago, basically, which means now I'm planning for summer break.  The idea of heading to the Inn is kicking around my head even less than it did last year - Andie and Chipper are planning on backpacking through part of Europe, and it's not like I'd want to become anybody else.  I kind of wish I had something like that to do with Hildy, but she's secured a super-cool internship at a radio telescope in New Mexico.  She's  really excited about it, as she should be, but I don't have anything like that lined up, so I'm probably just going to be working my little retail job all summer, trying to save up for after graduation.  I'd kind of like to take a cool trip or do a cool thing, but I'm not sure how to fit it in.

I'm working on a few things to fill the time, though - you're starting to see sign-up sheets for various summer activities, Hildy and I are researching when the best time would be for me to visit and not, like, spend the week hiding inside to avoid dying of heatstroke, and apparently they're cutting the price of the commuter rail in half for the summer to make day trips easier.  I don't exactly expect to be hanging around Massachusetts much past graduation, so maybe this would be a good way to check out some stuff while I've got the chance.  It might be more fun to go with Hildy, but she's an MIT girl and (pardon the stereotype) likes looking forward more than back, so she isn't quite so big on history as me.

Anyway, it's April, so we're into the semester's homestretch, and then just one more year of school before graduation!

-Ande

Tom/Kiara: Freaky Friday

After my January summit with "Lisa Brown," I went back to my life as Kiara. I could already feel things changing. I left the door open for her to return to the life she left behind -- I really want her to -- but her attitude makes me think there's a strong chance she won't, that she's got this idea that she can make it big in that life, and there's no going back.

With that knowledge, suddenly this weird, blurry life I've been sleepwalking through started to come into focus as I was forced to confront the idea that... this may be it for me. This may be the rest of my life. This body, these clothes, this place, this child. I had to start looking at all of it as if it belonged to me, because it might.

I don't think I have a problem with being a woman. I'd rather be a man, but I'm not mad about it. If anything, I'm more mad I'm not mad. I want to see being a girl-woman-person as being torture, something to escape at all costs, not something I'm making my peace with. Not a passive fact of life. I'm quite literally in the wrong body -- not to mention the wrong age and the wrong race -- but 23 hours a day it feels normal. My body does what a woman's does, and that's different from what it used to, but it's all... fine. I don't have to be girly, womanly or ladylike -- I can throw on sweats and a soft bra and whatever and nobody is going to chastise me for not having my hair be perfect or not wearing a skirt and high heels and stockings. This isn't Mad Men. So that's an arrangement that's fine for me.

It's the age, the mommy, and the North Carolina of it all that weighs on me. Plotting my escape and wondering whether Sienna belongs with me, or if leaving her with Grandma and Mama Kelly is going to screw her up royally.

(You: 'If you're just going to leave the baby with the family members why stay as Kiara?' Me: 'Because putting a stranger in the mix still seems worse!')

Okay, I've potentially got a new life and I've got to figure out who to be. That's clearly not going to be a Japanese-American male journalist. Hell, looking at the landscape it won't likely be anything with words. How the hell are you supposed to make a life for yourself these days?

Whatever. That's long-term, Future-Tom/Kiara stuff. Today I have a bunch of homework.

Which is what brought me to a coffee shop on Friday the 13th (March version.) I was supposed to be meeting with some of my classmates to go over some readings, but for a variety of reasons they didn't show and I was left to leaf through my textbook alone.

I don't necessarily mind -- I'm a pretty solitary dude when I'm myself -- but it sucked to put some faith in people and be let down.

So there's me and my little coffee and my huge textbook, highlighting what I could, continually glancing at the door in case anyone did show up. I try to stay focussed, but I can't help people-watching. The mom who lets her twelve-year-old get a "fro-cho," the thirty-somethings on their first date, the high schoolers on their way out to a party (Thankfully, none of them acknowledge me, because I didn't know if maybe they would know Kiara.) And the guy in the corner just reading his book.

Eventually my little coffee felt a lot bigger in my bladder. Being alone in the place, I had to put all my stuff in my bag before using the restroom.

When I came out and sat back down, the reading guy had shuffled to the next table over from me.

"Homework?" he asked.

"No, actually," I said, "I'm getting ready for a date. I just like to be super-prepared."

"What is that, calculus? Are you dating Will Hunting?"

"It makes for really great conversation," I said.

I cursed myself. Was I flirting? I didn't want to be flirting. I didn't want to be flirted with. But I also kind of did. I was annoyed that this guy had insinuated himself into my night but I was also -- in a flicker of thought I've been trying to untangle ever since that night -- glad. As I've said, because of my general air of "Do Not Engage," people don't seem to see me as a female at all, which means I don't get flirted with. That means it was rare enough to be... not unwelcome.

I looked over at him. Older than Kiara, not older than Tom. Decent presentation, nothing that screams "beware of this jerk," but, I realize, I have no idea what signs those are. He just... looked like a guy.

I can't explain it. But I couldn't explain it when I hooked up with Lizzie DiFaccio at the sophomore mixer when I was 19, either. It wasn't attraction so much of lack-of-aversion. He kind of looked like a younger Glen Powell, without the weird upper lip thing going on, and a worse hairline.

He had broken the ice and I had gone alone with it. Rebuffing him would take effort I didn't feel like expending. So I ideated, how to play this situation. How I wanted to play it. For the first time in a long while I felt like I was being looked at not like a kid or a teen mom, but as a grown person.

It wasn't unappealing.

"Hey, listen," I said, "Give me an hour with this book, and then we can talk, okay?"

He smirked, and accepted my terms, pointedly putting a timer on his phone.

Once the term was up, I closed my book. "Ground rules," I said, "Don't ask me for any personal information. No last name, age, address, Instagram handle. If you're good, you'll get my phone number."

"Uh, okay," he said, confused but open.

I held up my phone and took a picture of him.

"Woah, what was that?"

"I just sent your picture to my mom. If I go missing, she'll know who to look for."

"Damn, you're not kidding around," he said, half amused. "Can I at least get a first name?"

I inhaled sharply and thought. God, why was it still so hard to do this? I almost tripped over it. "Ki-iara. Ahem. Kiara."

"Okay, Kiara," he said, "I'm Donovan." I almost snorted. That wasn't a name you hear often.

"Well, since so many things are off-limits, what can we talk about?"

"Calculus," I shrugged. "Trends in calculus."

"I'm afraid I don't know anything about that."

"Good, I like to have all the power in a conversation," I said. (Ooh, flirty Tom/Kiara is feisty. I like her.)

I asked if he was new in town because he didn't have the same accent as everyone else, and he confirmed he was from out of state but "Won't say where, because that's personal info." Touche. We talked about the book he was reading, I talked about how I spend much of my time, tactfully omitting that it's largely spent reading nursery rhymes.

We had a surprisingly good conversation, considering the guardrails I had put up. He seemed to get a kick out of it, like I was a puzzle he could figure out. I caught his eyes occasionally drifting down my baggy gray sweatshirt, which featured the logo of the local community college (I think one of Jen's exes left it at the house.) I wanted to tell him Don't worry, they're a good size, if a bit saggy, but in the name of good taste I pretended I didn't notice. 

At 9, the place was closing up.

He asked, "Do you... want to go to a bar or something?" I had left my fake ID at home -- I should know better than to leave home without it but in fairness I really did not intend to meet anyone or go anywhere besides the coffee shop.

So I said probably the stupidest thing any man-trapped-in-a-girl's-body has ever said and asked if he had anything to drink at his place.

He kind of sucked in his breath. "Well, there's a lot of people there... it's kind of a bro-y house,"

"I don't mind," I said, "You're going to let them cockblock you?" Now I was being bold, invoking the C-word. What the hell was my endgame?

"No, I..." he sighed, "I mean, I just want to warn you."

"I'll be fine," I said.

The whole drive over, I stared out the window and thought this is stupid, I'm going to get murdered or worse. I'm an idiot, what am I doing?

We get there, and well, at least it's in the nice part of town. It's a little one-floor place. He leads me in and, yep: sparsely decorated, functional furniture, messy kitchenette... and some dudes in gaming chairs who are barely fazed by our presence. I pause in case he wants to introduce me, but instead he just gestures toward the back bedroom.

By now, I'm starting to come to my senses. What am I doing here? What's my endgame, my exit strategy? 

We sit on his bed, which is in the corner of the room against the wall, because of course it is, all guys do that. He asks if I want to watch something, and at this point I'm kind of over needing a pretext, so I just say no and put my hand on his thigh.

He leans in for a kiss, and, well... it's a kiss. I'm kissing a man. I'm nervous and uncomfortable and... and thrown by how okay with it I am, especially judging by the pulsing between my legs. Shit, I think, there's no denying this. Kiara's body wants this, and I kind of just want her to take the wheel, so to speak.

So we make out for a while, and I'm kind of aware that he's got a hard-on in his jeans, and eventually he gathers the courage to wind his hand up my sweater -- pausing just long enough for me to voice any objections if I have any. I don't, and he proceeds.

And it feels good. Not necessarily the fondling itself, which was a little weird at times like "Oh, I have something to touch there, and it feels not-bad," but -- and here's where I curse Marc for putting this thought into my head with all his posts -- the connection. The being wanted, the being touched. That, I liked. His hands went other places too, and so did mine. He had an okay body for a guy.

Then he started to toy with the waistband of my pants -- which are really not what one would have worn on an intentional date -- and I just reared back. Totally instinctual, saying "Oh, time out."

"Oh, sorry," he said.

"Yeah, just... not ready for that yet," I said. Truth was, if you had asked me a half-hour earlier back at the coffee shop, I probably would have said yes, I can go all the way, but as he had predicted, the house kind of was a turn-off, although it may have just been the feeling of really physically being present that reminded me I was in deep.

"Okay, good to know where the limit is," he said gamely, then went back to kissing my neck and stroking my hair.

"Well, that's my limit," I said, "What about yours?"

"Mine?" he asked, muffled by my shoulder.

"Yeah..." I said, "I mean, I could..."

"Could what?"

I reached down for the fly of his jeans. I don't know where my head was at, except obviously all these months of Kiara hormones have been steering me toward this kind of behavior. I open his jeans and his erect cock pops out at me.

Funny looking thing from this angle. We-e-eirdly big, but maybe it's because my hand is small.

He gives me a look like, "Are you sure?" Maybe he said it out loud, I don't remember.

But yeah, I was sure. I started rubbing and touching and... putting my mouth on it. Stuff I liked girls to do when I was with them, when I was a guy. Trying to find my own limits on that... and to my surprise, I didn't have one.

I played with him, I played with myself, I had him play with me a little bit, and then he... finished.

And it was all right, a little surprising. Some of it got in my hair, which was annoying.

After that happened, I felt Tom get back into the driver's seat. I felt my face get hot with shame and confusion.

He clearly couldn't read it on me, because he asked, "So, did I rate getting your number?"

I blew out a tense exhale.

"You give me your number," I said, "And I'll figure it out."

I called a ride and went home, and have spent the days since with my finger hovering over his name in my contacts.

I don't need someone right now, but it's nice to know I could have it if I wanted it.

***

I wrote the above a few weeks back, but I didn't post it at the time because it felt distinctly TMI. It's one thing for Marc to post about his ongoing relationship with a fellow transformee he has a history with, but another for me to cross that boundary with a guy I just met.

Anyway, every day that goes by I feel that pull a little more strongly, but if there's still even half a chance I'm going back to the Inn I should probably stay on mission.

-T/K

Jordan: Better Not Regret This!

It's kind of silly to wait for Dominic to be asleep before posting this, but I kind of don't want him looking over my shoulder more than usual, silly as that seems.

Tonight...  Last night?  When's it flip between feeling like today and feeling like tomorrow? So, technically last night was the wrap party for Dominic's latest movie.  It's kind of a big deal for him, not a big part and he actually fucking dies, but he's got a couple good fight scenes and maybe more dialogue than a few of his parts put together, and it seems like it will get people to consider him for bigger things.  A lot of people initially joked about me being his date to a wrap party because my job is just starting, because there are a bunch of wires to digitally remove and half a car chase to render.  But, it turned out there was a point to it! 

Just as the evening was starting to get to the point where people start to leave, Dominic stood up, started talking about how everybody on the set had been really kind to a guy like him still finding his feet, raising his glass before mentioning me, and how I not only made extra sure that he looked good in post, but opened my apartment to him when he was injured, even though I clearly liked my space, looking out for him and encouraging him all through rehab.  It felt good, but I figured everybody already knew all that shit, and was quite taken aback when he said he never wanted to go without that again, got down on one knee, and pulled out a ring, asking if I'd marry him.

I don't want to repeat too much of what Krystle has said about how absolutely surreal this feels, but it took me a second to respond.  It's not just the tiny kernel deep inside me that thinks that I'm a straight man and another one asking this of me is just gross, it's...  Look, I was not always a great guy.  Annette and Krystle will sugar coat it with things that are technically true but not nearly as positively-motivated as they make it sound, but even after being with Dominic for a couple years, I tend to think people hang around for access to the great tits I inherited and because I encourage getting manhandled a bit, though I stop short of liking it rough.  The idea that a potential movie star wants to tie himself to someone who is Jordan Chang inside is insane.

So I said yes, obviously.  Everybody cheered, he put a ring on my finger, and we kissed like there was nobody else around.  Then they told him to to take me home and...  Well, Cantonese can be a really filthy language.

We were on the sidewalk with me getting my phone out to call a rideshare so we could go home and do that thing, when I realized we were unusually alone for this city, and on neutral ground, so to speak ("our" apartment is still kind of "my" apartment, after all).  I took a deep breath, said there were things about me that I could only have him believe now, starting with how I wasn't the original Lee Yuan-Wei.  Then we got into Jordan Chang, and the Inn, Ravi, Annette, Benny, and finally Missy Lee.  He laughed, of course, and I said he didn't have to believe me, but I was going to call the Changs in New York before Wang Chen-Ai in London, and wasn't it weird that she couldn't speak Cantonese or that I was so close to these New Yorkers even though I went to college in Boston?  The timelines didn't add up for me to be Max's ex-girlfriend, even though that's the explanation we usually used to explain how I knew my family.  Me being born a Chinese-American guy explains a lot about me, doesn't it? 

"So, you're really a man?"  He had that look somewhere between disbelief and queasiness.

"No, I was a man.  Now I'm a woman, and have been for years."  I shrugged as questions appeared on his face.  "I know, that's not how it usually works, most trans folks talk about always knowing who they really are and doing what they can to align their body with it.  Trust me, I've read everything about the biological basis of gender identity and sexual orientation that someone who got a B-minus in high school Bio can understand, and there just hasn't been a lot of research on people who have their bodies changed by a cursed inn!"

I probably sounded too flippant to be serious, or maybe he just figured this sounded like the sort of weird fantasy I'd be into.  "So I'm marrying a cursed American man."  He sounded more like he was playing along than absorbing something shocking. 

"Well, that just kind of how people refer to it; I personally don't believe in magic and curses and shit like that."

"Then how...?"

I shrugged.  "Dunno.  I used to be big into simulation theory, figuring that the computer program for which we're all NPCs had some sort of exploit or bug that redirected the pointers to the data for our physicality, but that's kind of just describing how magic works in the simulation.  These days I kind of figure there's some sort of machine under the Inn that releases a bunch of nanobots meant to alter time travelers or aliens so they could fit in among the locals, but if I read a book like that, I'd say it was full of holes.  It just kind of doesn't matter.  What's important is that I like who I am and don't want to hide any of it from you."

I stood on tiptoe to kiss him, and he didn't pull away or seem noticeably less into it than usual.  We'd both had enough to drink that he didn't second-guess himself when I stripped down to my undies and led him to the bedroom.  Maybe he finds this kind of exciting and flattering, knowing that he's so desirable that he figured I must be overriding my instincts to fuck him like this; I gather a lot of straight partners sort of use that as justification once they know the truth.  I wore him the fuck out, though, which made it easier to call Mom & Dad and "Doris" (the English name that the current Chen-Ai decided on) and not have them ask him to get on the phone and talk about who I "really" am enough to give him doubts. 

And then I came in here to write this.  There's a whole bunch of other people to call - Annette, Krystle, Kareena, Romain and René - but I kind of had to get this out, maybe exorcise my worries that he'll have second thoughts after he sleeps on it, or he'll try and poke holes in the story (I do sort of have a lot of lore for someone who lives pretty simply these days).  Heck, maybe I'll think I'm nuts once I've sobered up.  But for now, I'm pretty excited! 

-Jordo

Isaac/Ainsley: Get a life!

As if two wasn't enough. One and a half? I'm not gonna go even lower and say one and a quarter, my self-esteem isn't that bad. I don't think I'm fully living Ainsley's life either but that number's gone up over time. Wouldn't call that part a one, though. Maybe I've got more than two if you count my increasingly tenuous claim on whatever that maniac is getting up to in Charlottesville.

I've been going to a bar, lately. I realize what that sounds like after what I just said but I swear, it's not like that. I have to drive there and back anyway.

I felt like I had to get out somewhere, anywhere, just to prove to myself I'm capable of doing something of my own initiative. I wanted to pick somewhere Ainsley likely hadn't been before, and the kind of place Isaac wouldn't go to either (he's not drinking age yet). Also didn't want to run into Heather there, even though I ended up going with a spot she'd probably like.

It's called The Lounge. It's forty or fifty minutes away from the apartment, which, while annoying, serves the dual purpose of assuring me that nobody connected to any version of Ainsley or Sara will show up and guilt-tripping me into actually going inside. "You drove that long and you really think you're allowed to bail now? Come on." The place is more of a music venue with a bar attached, which is one reason I've never gone on a Friday or Saturday night, but the artists on weeknights are small-time enough that the back of the bar doesn't get too crowded those days.

It's also a convenient distraction, even though whether I actually like the band any given night is a crapshoot. The music gives me something to think about other than the situation I've put myself in to avoid thinking about things: being a woman alone at a bar. I don't think the combination of Ainsley's preppier looks and my general vibe are in line with what the vaguely punk-y regulars here are looking for, and I dress pretty conservatively when I go here. But, not doing anything besides sipping on my one see-I'm-not-a-freeloader cocktail and checking my phone makes me come across as easy pickings, I suppose. Nothing actually bad has come close to happening, it's just that whenever some guy grabs the seat next to mine I'm almost intrigued and even weirdly flattered, and then within two seconds I immediately regret not instantly telling him off. Even the ones who aren't weird about it. Being in these conversations is just too stressful, and things pretty quickly get awkward enough that either they leave or I do.

What I wasn't expecting was how often women approach me to ask if I'm doing okay. It happens whether I'm in the middle of being picked up or not; a couple times a woman came up to me as I was staring at the drink selection and told me I could meet her in the bathroom if there was anything I needed to talk about. Are my vibes that fucked!? Twice, some guy was trying to talk to me and then a woman walked up and started acting as if she knew me, which obviously makes me freak out even more since I have to figure out if this is some friend of Ainsley's I've never met before, and then she just thinks I'm too oblivious to get what I'm trying to do, and it's... It's a mess to get out of. Twice! These were completely different women! I've only been going here for a few weeks!

Going to The Lounge isn't all like that, of course. I usually don't regret going. The bartenders make small talk with me, and in that profession you have to get good enough to have an at least okay conversation with pretty much anyone. Sometimes I'll get roped into conversation by a livelier group that happens to be sitting nearby that night, or I'll overhear a topic I actually know how to talk about. Last time I went a group of girls Ainsley's age came up and asked for my thoughts, as an impartial observer, on a dispute over pet care duties one of them had with her roommate. Conversations like that are easy mode compared to keeping up with Ainsley's friends, but I left the bar that evening feeling like those girls didn't like my answer anyway.

I find myself asking "What would Ainsley do?" a lot when I'm here. But that shouldn't be relevant, right? I'm somewhere she's never been, she wouldn't even want to go to, and at which she has no relationships or reputation to worry about. The whole point of going here is to escape Ainsley, to do something on my own terms, to live life for now while I don't know which body I'll have in several months. But Ainsley is the obvious point of comparison for everything I do, as I'm reminded every time I look down at myself or catch a glimpse of my reflection. And I can't escape the thought that even in a totally new situation for her she'd just be better at this. If she ever went to bars by herself (which I doubt), she wouldn't draw concern and pity in every direction from total strangers, I bet. It's one thing to get those reactions from the people who know Ainsley best, but to see it from random observers just sets me off.in a way I don't know how to describe.

I think she'd be happier than me. I wish I knew why.