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I don’t know where home is.
“Can I call my parents?”
“The answer to that question is there in that book. You should know this. It too was in the agreement you signed when you agreed to marry Mr. Anderson. Which means I can only assume you never bothered to read it.”
She would be correct in her assumption. Agreements are made to be broken. I don’t tell her this. Some things are worth keeping to yourself.
Her face is almost sympathetic. “Having trouble cleaving can be normal in the beginning.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Leaving the nest, leaving your old life behind. It can be tough.”
“Right.” I stare at my hands, and when that gets old I twist my wedding ring around my finger.
“How are you feeling about the surgery?”
“Fine,” I lie.
She folds her hands and places them in her lap. “Is there anything else about yourself you’d like to change?”
“So, it’s a choice then?” My tone turns bitter. “Because—”
“It was a choice, yes. When you signed the agreement, you opted into this lifestyle.”
“This lifestyle?”
She gives me a look that showcases her exasperation. “Read the agreement Mrs. Anderson. Please.”
“How about my husband. Can I call him?”
“I’m afraid not.”
My stomach sinks. “Can I call anyone?” I don’t know who I’d call, even if she said yes.
“You may write letters. In time.”
I look on earnestly, too eagerly, as she makes a note of something on her notepad.
“In the meantime, then what? How do I know I’m not going to just wake up with a new face? Or giant tits? You know, to go with my new vagina.”
“Are you unhappy with any of those things?”
“What?” I cock my head. “No.”
She nods in understanding. But I’m not sure she believes me. “We’re here for you, Mrs. Anderson. To make your life better. The sooner you understand this, the easier things will be. And the sooner you get to go home.” I watch as her fingers drum on her desk.
“How about lipo?” I change my mind. The drumming stops. I need to see how far this can go. “I’m not happy with my thighs. I really want that gap everyone is talking about.”
“That’s why you’re on the weight loss program,” she tells me. Then she bites her lip and raises her brow, and I realize anything is possible. “First things first.”
“Body sculpting?”
“Maybe.”
“What about my roots? Can I get a touch up?”
“Once you’re settled, of course.” She shifts. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
