“Good. Because I want to show you something else.” Katie scrolled through her iPhone. Nick leaned against her again, grateful for the distraction.
“You know who Midtown is, right?”
“Of course,” Nick said. “The New Jersey scene was incredible back then. Bouncing Souls were just first in line in my heart.”
“Of course. Well. I know you were slightly skeptical about tonight and its lack of integrity.”
“That’s not what I said!” Nick groaned. “I really did like the show.”
“Yes, but I want to tell you that these two feelings and scenes aren’t mutually exclusive, you know? Midtown was huge for the Jersey music community, especially the emo scene later on, along with Jimmy Eat World, as I’m sure you know.”
“Yeah, go on.”
“And the emo scene, much like Bouncing Souls, is pretty focused on punk DIY, and also feelings. A lot on feelings.”
“Sure. Some of that is pared down, but I’ll give it to you.”
“Well, Gabe Saporta, the lead singer of Midtown, ended up forming a band called Cobra Starship, which is basically all dance albums. For kids in the scene. Have you heard of them?”
“No!” Nick said. “That is . . . totally not my genre at all.”
“No, but that’s the point. It is your scene. Gabe Saporta—the emo rock legend—eventually wanted everyone to chill out and just have fun.”
“Sure. But I’m still going to—”
“Oh, just listen!” Katie held up an earbud stretched out towards him. “Please? Have I led you astray tonight at all?”
Nick knew she was right, so he took the headphone without qualm. As Katie squealed and wriggled closer to him, he understood even more why he was listening to this. All for her. Just to see her smile—especially after he’d already seen her pretty low. He realized he’d do anything to keep her happy like this.
The beginning of the song was filled with fast-paced beats and rather quick lyrics. Katie explained a little behind each track as she gestured to the album art cover of a woman kissing a cobra. Nick suppressed a groan.
“Okay, this next one was used in the movie Snakes on a Plane. It’s the theme song.”
“Nope. I’m done.”
“No, you’re not. Listen, listen.” She scooted even closer. “You have to hear this part.”
“I don’t need to hear it! I know it’s gonna be trashy.”
“So?”
“I just don’t get why you like it!”
“Because it’s amazing. That’s all.”
“We’re allowed to have different tastes, you know.”
“I know that, but objectively speaking, things like this have to matter. We can’t always agree to disagree because then all the connection is lost. I have to try and sway you in some way or else there’s no point.”
Nick sighed. He was already being swayed far more than Katie even realized. His stomach tightened each time she got close, and he felt his dick react. He wanted to argue with each rush of butterflies in his stomach, but he couldn’t fight it. He’d liked the kiss they shared and he wanted so much more. So he let her convince him to put the headphones on yet again. And tried to focus on nothing but the music.
The first song didn’t strike him as anything good or unique; it was easy enough to write a song that fit with a movie. Snakes on a Plane had become a funny meme, but it’d gotten old and didn’t have substance. When Katie flicked over to “The Kids Are All Fucked Up,” Nick started to pay attention. The lyrics were simple—about not sleeping alone—but they struck him right in the heart. Right where he had been afraid: he didn’t want to go home tonight, didn’t want to go out to a club, because he’d be sleeping alone no matter what he did.
“Okay,” Nick said when the song was done. “I think you may have swayed me.”
At about five in the morning, Katie said she’d had enough.
“I’ve had a great time with you, but Ilana is going to kill me if I’m not there by at least seven, and I would like to have one hour of sleep. Is it cool that I leave you?”
“Of course.” Nick rose from their makeshift little cubbyhole. His body still felt utterly exhausted, and he was sure he’d have a bruise from leaning against concrete all night, but none of it really mattered. Katie worked on picking up some of the coffee cups and bag of chips they had shared and adjusted her purse over her shoulder.
“Ilana lives around the GO Bus station. I can walk you there before we part ways?”
“That sounds perfect.”
After throwing out their garbage, Katie led the way past the Eaton Centre to the Yonge Street terminal. Nick soon fell in step beside her, unsure what to do with his hands or how fast to walk. The streets were empty, save for a few homeless people and street workers they easily avoided on the large sidewalks. When they stopped at a crosswalk, Nick realized he was bouncing along to one of the Cobra Starship songs she had made him listen to. He laughed.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” he said, taking Katie’s hand. She grinned, squeezing his.
When the walk signal came up, the two of them didn’t break apart. They even seemed to walk slower, dragging on how much longer they could spend together. Nick had gotten so used to being semi-afraid to hold hands in public that this act felt like a revolution. It was still dark out, and no one was around, so there really wasn’t much to be afraid of, but Nick still liked the freedom the act gave him.
“So what are you going to do today?” Katie asked.
“Oh, sleep. Lots of that on the bus. And then . . .” Nick sighed, remembering his car. “I have to find a way to raise at least a grand.”
“Whoa. Who died?”
“No one. Just my car. I need a new a new battery and brakes.”
“That’s shitty. No wonder I’d never seen you on the GO bus before.”
“Yeah.” Nick laughed. “At least if it takes me forever to raise the money, it won’t be too bad taking the bus.”
The two of them turned the corner on Yonge and spotted the green sign of the bus terminal. Their pace slowed yet again. Nick struggled to bring out more small talk about Katie’s plans for her weekend with Ilana in Toronto, and then her plans back in Waterloo.
“Can I see you again?” Nick asked as they reached the curb and couldn’t prolong this anymore. “When you’re back in Waterloo?”
“You know, I think I may have a job for you in Waterloo. If you’re interested.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Nothing big—not enough for your entire car bill, but it’s something, right?”
“Totally. How can I get it? And more importantly: can I see you again? You never really answered the first time.” Nick felt desperate asking again, but if there had been anything he had learned about Katie in the last few hours, it was that she needed to be asked several times before she gave anything approximating her real answer.
“Yeah, I would like to see you again,” she said. “Find me on campus when you’re back. Then we’ll talk.”
“It’s a big campus.”
“True, but I also have a feeling that you just don’t explore it, so maybe you should. Like, you ever hear about the Grad House?”
Nick shook his head. “Wait, maybe? I think I sometimes get emails about the place. It’s a café, right?”
“And a bar, mostly maintained by grad students. Along with me and some other undergrads who are older and don’t want to hang around with the kiddies who are experiencing their first time away from home.”
“Huh. I had no idea. I thought it was a place for a bunch of science students to go after defending their dissertations.”
“See?” Katie said, tsk-tsking playfully. “You have no idea what you can experience unless you leave your comfort zone.”
The double entendre in Katie’s voice made his stomach flip again. He wanted to kiss her—the urge was so strong and sudden that he was sure his desire was written all over his face. When Katie smiled and stepped closer to him,
he took the lead. The kiss was short and chaste, but nice.
“So the Grad House,” Nick said, still reeling after the kiss. “That’s where I’m supposed to find you? No phone number instead? Nothing else?”
“Nope.”
Nick let out an exasperated sigh. This is a bad sign, right? Or is playing hard to get what women do? Nick shook his head. Cheryl and Shannon both would have chastised him for even thinking that. “But what if we just miss each other?”
“Then there’s an Open Mic night two weeks from now. Everyone has to work it, so you know I’m gonna be there. Busy with drunk grads thinking they can sing, but I’ll be there. If you can tolerate me when I’m wearing a work uniform and my hair’s pulled back, then maybe we have something here.”
Nick nodded and imagined Katie just as she described—flustered with drunk dudes in sweater-vests singing from a teleprompter. He saw her in a boxy uniform that took away her curves and made her look generic among a sea of people. Would that same feeling he had now come back to him then? His gaze must have become calculating, because her cheeks reddened and she spoke her next words in a brisk manner.
“But if I don’t see you then, at least I’ve still had a good night. Right?”
“Yeah, okay,” Nick said. When Katie opened her arms for a hug, he went into it willingly and rubbed his hands up her back so he could hold her close. The same familiar-yet-foreign feeling overwhelmed him, but he let it stay around. “I had a good night too.”
Nick was squinting at a word his student had completely misused in the first paragraph of the essay when a Facebook notification pinged. How could anyone not know the difference between inconsistent and incontinent? Nick dismissed the error as lack of proofreading, when another Facebook notification pinged. He always tried to keep the windows on his computer minimized as he graded, but he swore the Facebook noises were getting more intrusive. When he opened a window in Chrome, a new friend request was glowing in red along with a message request from someone named Sheena Miller.
Oh. Katie. Nick’s heart pounded. He swallowed, unsure what to do. He wondered if there was now a green light by his name, signalling that he was online and ready to mingle with the world. Leaning in close to the screen, he tried to assess Katie’s profile picture without touching Accept or Deny, or anything on the keyboard. Her hair was only to her shoulders, which made her seem so much younger than before. Her jawline was sharper too, and her body was skinnier under the purple spaghetti-strap tank top she wore. She stood in front of a graffitied wall in downtown Toronto, a wide smile on her face. Nick’s heart sunk. She was cute here. But was she cute because he could see the stronger jawline—the jawlines he normally desired in men—or because he understood that she was trying to become Sheena from all those punk rock songs? Nick wasn’t sure, and the uncertainty made him close the window yet again, without even reading the message.
Once Nick had come down from the high of meeting her and the small make-out session, the reality of the situation—she was trans, and he had no experience with that—had set in on him. Three days later, Nick still wasn’t sure about his feelings or what he wanted to do. He’d tried to forget about their night together, maybe even pick up a guy on Grindr, but short-term hookups weren’t for him. After tossing and turning the night before, he’d woken up at eight in the morning and figured he might as well start grading some of his student assignments. But of course, even that work was disrupted by his thoughts on Katie and Katie herself. He glimpsed the message she’d written to him, without accepting the message request.
Hey, I’m sorry I was being obtuse before. Even Ilana said I was being ridiculous about not giving you any contact info, so I decided to add you here. If you still want to hang out and go to that job I mentioned before, just let me know. If not, no problem.
Nick read the words several times. There was nothing about a romantic date or even their kiss. Maybe she didn’t want to be with him. Maybe she was already seeing someone casually and it’d become serious over the weekend. The scenarios and circumstances piled up in his mind, and he knew there was no point whatsoever in trying to get grading done. Talking to Katie still felt like walking a tightrope, so he started to google.
After reading a couple of puff pieces in the local paper about trans people, commentaries on the specific terminology used surrounding gender and pronouns, and finding a dozen articles on Caitlyn Jenner that didn’t hold his interest at all, he was about to give up. Everything about trans identity seemed fraught and complicated, something he thought he could relate to as a gay man, but it turned out it wasn’t what he’d envisioned at all. He was about to go to Netflix and pretend none of this had ever happened, when he remembered Against Me!’s latest album was called Transgender Dysphoria Blues. The lead singer had transitioned to a woman, and she’d written this entire punk rock anthem about the experience. Nick had been a fan of the band on and off in university, but never enough to really care that much about the members. Now he pored over the lyrics and tracks written by Laura, trying to understand. He was in the middle of an entire AOL series she’d done on transgender identity, when Tucker walked by his open door, doubled back, and stood in the frame staring at Nick.
“What do you need, Tucker?”
“Nothing. It’s just . . .” Tucker made a show of looking at his wrist, as if there were a watch there and not his pale skin, and then back at Nick. “Isn’t it early for you? I mean, it’s still the morning.”
“It’s 11:45. But yes, you’re right. It’s early. I’m just grading, you know . . .” Nick mumbled as he pushed the laptop screen away so Tucker couldn’t see Laura Jane Grace. But would Tucker really care? Maybe, maybe not. But Nick knew it was getting easier to explain to himself.
“Yeah, sure. And grading requires headphones?”
Nick was about to argue that he often listened to music while reading essays, but it was pointless. When Nick shrugged, Tucker nodded astutely.
“So are you going to tell me what’s up? Or are you going to slump in front of your computer with a confused look on your face all afternoon? If so, I’m going to completely close your door because it’s a little creepy.”
“I’m not creepy. I’m just . . . thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
“Just things.”
“Ah, ‘things.’ Very specific.” Tucker chuckled. He still lingered by the doorway, no sign of leaving anytime soon.
With a sigh, Nick realized he didn’t want to hide this anymore. “I have . . . I’ve been watching a bunch of YouTube videos on trans identity.”
“Oh.” Tucker was silent for a moment. “Should I be calling you something else?”
“No, no. Not for me. Really?” Nick made a face, half caught between shocked and offended. “You thought I could be trans?”
“I don’t know. Maybe? It’s not that weird to me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“It’s not?”
“No.”
Waves of guilt washed over Nick. Had he hidden his night with Katie from Tucker because he worried about transphobia—or was it because he was ashamed? Was he offended at being thought trans because he was cisgender (a word he’d learned more about today), or because he thought it was something you only did because there was no other hope? More conflicting feelings bloomed inside of him, and he was relieved when Tucker started to talk again.
“So you were watching videos about trans people. And what have you learned?”
“A lot of stuff. But what was most useful was from this woman I met this weekend.”
“Right. Your tux fitting. I forgot to ask about that. How was it?”
Nick waved off Tucker’s question and provided a few stories about the clip-on ties and Levi’s antics. “But after all that, I went to a concert with a trans woman, and we talked and hung out. Now she’s messaging me on Facebook, and I’m not entirely sure I know what to do.”
“Oh. Okay.” Tucker nodded a few more times, as if letting the information sink in. When
the Facebook alert pinged, he seemed just as startled as Nick. “Is that her?”
“Probably. I’ve ignored her message so far.”
“Well, you should talk to her. Have fun. I won’t keep you.”
“Wait. Wait.” Nick reached out, signalling for Tucker to not walk away. “Is that it? Really?”
“What do you want me to say? I asked you a question and you answered it. I was also prying, probably, so I should leave you alone.”
Nick laughed. Tucker always pried, more or less. Nick didn’t mind it ninety percent of the time, even if he didn’t ask for it. But the one time he did want Tucker to be nosy, Tucker was walking away. Nick checked his Facebook app on his phone quickly and realized the ping was a birthday announcement—nothing important. “Tucker, stay. I like it when you pry, actually. I realize you’re doing the whole Socratic method by asking me a question to elucidate my reasoning, or whatever you call it. I end up feeling better most times after we’ve talked.”
“Good. Coffee, then?”
“Please.”
Nick followed Tucker into the hallway and their kitchen. Tucker ran water into the kettle and set up their French press for coffee after grinding the beans. He worked silently and methodically, like he did with most tasks. By the time Tucker sat down at the table with their drinks, Nick had rehashed all the details of the weekend, including his tossing and turning over his small-but-definitely-there attraction.
“So now that you’ve confessed your secrets—” Tucker slid Nick a black cup of coffee and affected a German, Freud-like accent “—how do you really feel, Nick?”
“Oh, man. Don’t shrink me. Because I’m fine, really. This is just all so new. Can I ask you something first, actually?”
“Sure.” Tucker shrugged.
“What do you . . . like, identify as? Can I ask that?”
“You want to know whether or not I’d bring guys or girls back to our apartment?”
“Yeah, I guess. Or if you even want to bring anyone at all, which is also an option and totally cool. I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you with anyone, and you don’t leave that often, so I’m unsure what to . . . you know.”
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