Later that night, as I walked the three blocks to the train that would take me home, a man on a bicycle slowed down as he rode past me.

“You’re the woman of my dreams!” he yelled, then stopped, and walked his bike as he matched my stride. “Can I get your digits before I end up in an accident?”

I couldn’t help but smile, which egged him on even more, but I continued to look ahead without saying anything while he kept asking for my number. He sounded casual, unthreatening if overeager, with a pronounced Boston accent and wearing some type of sports jersey, I spied out of the corner of my eye. I heard Ben’s voice in my head and wanted to be bold like him, introduce myself with a boy’s name. But I was not Ben and kept walking until my stop on the aboveground Green Line, as the guy peeled away and shouted, “Your loss!” which left me wondering whether that might be true.

Several men on the street gave me compliments over the next few days, which left me pleased that passing myself off as a woman wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought. I saw Richard at the lab, Lenora in the darkroom, and they both told me I looked good. I was still racked with jealousy but simulated a kind of disappointed equanimity, normal for someone who was adjusting to their new situation. But I was relieved that Richard didn’t seem perturbed when he saw me, even though we only interacted briefly at a lab meeting.

I came home Friday for dinner and a movie with Ralph on our usual date night, ready to leave as soon as I got home.

“Aren’t you going to change?” he asked. I was wearing a stretchy black turtleneck and a long tan skirt.

“Don’t you think I look beautiful?” I asked as I twirled around.

“Your face looks strange in makeup.”

He’d seen me in makeup before, but I didn’t want to argue, so I looked inside my closet to change. I took out a bright purple button-down, and as I went inside the bathroom to take off my makeup, I found myself staring in the mirror for at least a minute and thinking I didn’t want to go back to how I usually looked, until I finally turned on the faucet to wash my face.

—