“Hey.” Vera took out her ponytail and redid it tight. “I know you have a lot of friends. But you can always crash with me, okay? Or if you wanna try bartending. It sucks, but we could set you up.”

Zoe laughed. “I’m too clumsy for that.”

“Fuck do you mean?” Vera smirked. She mimicked opening a bottle. “Can you do this?” Did the same with pulling a pint. “Can you do this?”

“I worked at three cafés in high school and was gone each time within two months. If I broke only one thing a week, it was a miracle.”

Vera lit a cigarette. “Yeah, but you’re a woman now, which means you’re better at everything.”

“I was always a woman,” Zoe said automatically.

Vera stopped, her smoke an inch from her lips. “Of course …”

“All I’m saying,” Vera resumed. “You change your mind, you know who to call.”

“Thanks. If it’s that or living with my mom, I might.” Vera exhaled. “What’s your mom like, kid?”

“A mess. We didn’t talk for a bit after. You know—” Zoe gestured to her body.

“Yeah.”

“And we had trouble besides that stuff. But we’ve been talking more now. It’s actually better? Maybe she finally grew up, who the hell knows.”

“How long,” Vera said carefully, “did you two go without speaking?”

“Six months? It sucked, but like I said, she and I have other bullshit besides transsexuality. She’s not a bad person. I love her; she loves me. She’s just a lot. She’s just a mess, that’s all.”

“I see.” It had been about that long since Vera’d talked to Connie. Vera was starting to not have a lot of hope there. On the one hand, it made her unspeakably despondent, in a way that took her guts out. On the other hand. Well. It didn’t happen for everyone.

That night, Vera worked in Williamsburg and it was dead. She sent Leah a silly mock photo of herself sleeping on the bar. I miss the hell out of you, she said. I’d really like to talk to you one of these days. Call me?

Then two T-girls she knew rolled in, Lucy and Annie. There was no event or anything, no support group, no benefit. They were just … hanging out.

Despite what Zoe said, it seemed like every week Vera met another one. She had begun the year knowing zero trans ladies here, and now they seemed everywhere. Some of these girls had lady’d up years ago and were just now emerging from stealth or isolation. Some had just come out of the closet and were emerging from, well, mostly isolation. And these girls were making trans stuff, like … funny? They threw around the word “transsexual” in good fun, like it was slang, and not a relic of True Trans gatekeeper bullshit. And the world was so fucking small! One night, Vera heard about this comedian named Red Durkin (a trans comedian? Even just the phrase sounded wild) and watched all her videos, cracking up and mesmerized. And then the following week, Zoe dragged her to this show and Vera met Red herself?! Red did a hilarious bit impersonating a Chaz Bono wannabe, and then Vera smoked with her out back. Later that night, some dude screamed at her on the train that she was a faggot and this whole town was filled with fucking faggots, and Vera smiled like a jerk and pretended to laugh while praying, Don’t-hurt-me-don’t-hurt-me, and then she bolted out at the next stop while—it only occurred to her afterward—none of the other passengers had looked up. Her days so often felt like this, a mélange of excitement and embattlement.