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“Charming. I’m not a fashionista, by any stretch of the imagination.”
“He means that Max is cross-dressing,” Laura said.
“I know what he means. You’re asking Grizzly Adams to judge a man’s clothing choices. I’m impressed that his eyeliner is so perfect.”
“My daughter did that,” Alison replied.
“What about you, Andy?” Max asked eagerly. “You noticed it last week.”
“I want Max to do whatever he needs to be himself. It might take some getting used to. I’ll miss Max if I can’t tell him all my secrets.”
“Nothing will change unless you want it to, Andy,” Max replied. “Your secrets are safe with Maxine.”
“Maxine!” the women chorused.
“You look like a Maxine to me,” Pam said.
Andy looked around to make sure the children were out of earshot. “I’d like to know how far you’re going to go.”
“You asked me that before,” Max answered. “I’m not getting bottom surgery, if that’s what you mean.”
“Oh, man. Shut up!” Dan yelled, grabbing his crotch with both hands.
Max and Ryan snickered, elbowing each other.
“Will you and Alison stay together?” Pam asked, looking confused with her palms up, eyebrows askew. “I mean, like a man and woman?”
“Yes,” Max said. “Alison supports me, one hundred percent.”
“Can I interrupt this delightful conversation by asking parents to prepare their kids’ plates and get them seated?” Kassandra asked. “Then we can all eat.”
She couldn’t help it. Something about discussing Max’s cross-dressing outfit at a holiday dinner rubbed Kassandra the wrong way. There wasn’t a judgmental bone in her body. She embraced all lifestyles and supported them to the fullest.
But Max coming out at her party pissed her off. She decided it was pregnancy hormones. No one had said a word about the beautifully set table, the gorgeous pans of food, the flower arrangements. Even her appearance. She wore Hermès white wool dress pants with a matching sweater set, and Sarah Flint flats. Maybe she was being paranoid, but it felt like a personal affront and selfish.
That was until Max came up to her.
“I’d kill for those shoes,” he whispered, bending down to look at her feet. “Sarah Flint? Five hundred dollars.”
“Two hundred on Poshmark,” Kassandra whispered back. “Do you want to try them on?”
“My big toe might fit,” he said, tittering.
She slipped the left shoe off. “Size nine, wide. I have big feet.”
He was right, three toes on his foot fit, but when he lifted his left up, they both giggled, holding on to each other so he didn’t fall over.
“I’d kill for these.”
“I’m telling you, Max, Poshmark. They have all sizes. What size shoe do you take?”
“Eleven in a man’s size,” he said, frowning. “It’s a thirteen in a woman’s shoe.”
“Anytime I see a thirteen when I’m shopping, I’ll get it.”
Max gently grabbed her by the arms for a hug. “Oh, thank you so much. Alison tries to help, but she’s so busy with four children and the coffee shop.”
“Why’d you wait so long?” Kassandra asked.
