“No,” I tell him adamantly, wiping away a tear I can’t hold in. “No, Nate. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me. I did. I should have told you sooner.”
“Told me what? Is there—” He pauses. “Is there someone else?”
“No! Of course there’s no one else, how could you think that?”
“Then what is it?” he demands, and I can tell his frustration is mounting. “What could be so bad that you won’t even let me touch you right now?”
“It’s me,” I say, twisting the ring on my thumb. “It’s who I am.”
“What does that mean?”
I pull in a trembling breath before I seal my fate with two words.
“I’m transgender.”
Nate doesn’t say anything at first. He stares, confusion flickering across his face, like he can’t make sense of what I said. “You’re… what?”
“I’m transgender,” I repeat, trying to keep my voice steady even though my throat burns from the effort to hold in the way I truly feel.
A tense silence stretches again as he mouths the word, testing it out.
He drags a hand through his hair, looking away, unsettled. “I don’t— I don’t understand. That means— you’re saying you’re—you’re not…” The air between us is fragile, on the cusp of shattering all that we are.
He shifts on the couch, his knee bouncing, his hand rubbing over his mouth. His eyes find mine, wide and confused. “Are you saying you’re a dude? Or you want to be one?”
“No,” I say adamantly, trying not to let the words hurt me. I knew he wouldn’t understand, I knew this was how it would go, but there was no way to prepare myself for hearing those words fromNate.
“I was born a boy,” I manage, forcing each word out even though it takes everything in me. “I transitioned when I was eighteen.”
Elbows braced on his knees, Nate drags his hands down his face before he looks back up at me, his face filled with turmoil. “You’re telling me the woman I love is a—” He doesn’t say the words, but the implication is clear.
“I’m not,” I bite out, fierce even though my face is burning. “Nothing’s changed.”
Nate scoffs, “Yeah. Nothing’s changed.”
“I’m still me, Nate,” I tell him, even though I know there’s no point.
He shakes his head, “Why are you just telling me this now? We’ve been together for months, Iris.”
“Because I was scared you’d look at me exactly the way you are right now.”
He looks up at me then, most of the initial shock gone from his face now, in its place is a mix of hurt and anger. But the longer we look at each other, something shifts.
His face softens, the change is subtle, but it’s there.
He pushes off the couch, tearing his gaze from mine. The movement abrupt enough to make me flinch.
He paces a few steps, then turns back, running both hands through his hair before gripping the back of his neck. “You should’ve told me,” he says, any warmth from that fleeting moment gone. “From the start.”
I stand too, not wanting him to tower over me, but my legs feel like jelly. “There are no words for how sorry I am, Nate,” I tell him, because I truly amso sorry.“I never should have let it go this far. I never should have gone out with you to begin with, I know that, okay? And I understand completely if you want to break up—”
“Damn it, Iris,” he shakes his head, letting his arms drop. “I ain’t saying that. I love you, I just—”
He cuts himself off, looking exhausted and frustrated, like this is too much for him to handle. And I hate that I made him feel this way, but his words make a spark of reluctant hope bloom in my heart.
I step closer, resting a gentle hand on his bicep. “Nate—”
He jerks, startled by my touch. “I’m— I’m not gay.”
