Lottie interrupts. “Can we just—like not talk about this all the time?”

“Case in point,” Pete says kindly, gesturing with his knife to Lottie.

Lottie rolls her eyes, and I look back and forth between them.

“Yeah, I guess it takes some getting used to.”

“And it will continue to as I start to look different. Mind you, at first that’ll just be like watching me go through puberty—zits and everyth—”

“God!” says Lottie, her eyes bugging out.

I smile and gesture at the cutting board. “What are you making?”

“Chili,” says Pete, ignoring Lottie. “You wanna stay?”

“Oh, no, that’s okay, thank you. I’m sure that my mom has dinner for me.” I am sure this is not true unless Reg the Super Stud is there. I rock back and forth on my heels.

“So,” I say, forging ahead again, “I’ve been listening to a lot of Bowie.”

He looks up. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Sad that he died.”

“Sure, big loss, that one.”

“Yeah. He was a real trailblazer.”

Pete raises his eyebrows at me.

“You know, like in terms of gender,” I say.

“Ah. Yep, right you are, Stevie.” He smiles. “You think I should change my name to Aladdin Sane? It’s not too late. I haven’t done the paperwork yet.”

“Haha. Right.”

Lottie throws up her arms and leaves the kitchen, and I follow. We go to her bedroom, and I plunk soggily onto her bed. She is changing into dry clothes.

“What is with you?” she says, peeling wet jeans off and pulling on some comfies.

“What? Just trying to connect, here. You might try it yourself.”

“Oh yeah? Should I? Right. Look.”

Lottie grabs her phone from where she tossed it on her dresser and comes over to the bed. She opens Instagram and shows me Pete’s account, which I guess is private, but Lottie’s following him. I scroll through, pausing occasionally at a picture. There is a cute one of him with a coffee mug with a moustache painted on it held to his lips from yesterday. Below it, the hashtags #JOURNEY #TRANSITION #FTM #TRANS #LETSDOTHIS.

“Cool,” I say. “He’s really doing it.”

“Right. Very cool,” Lottie says, making a face that I guess is supposed to be me, sucking up.

I ignore it. “He seems pretty conservative. Like, with how he’s dressing and stuff.”

Lottie shakes her head, smiling slightly. “Not living up to your expectations, I see. Why? What were you expecting?”

“What? No, I— No.”

“I wish she hadn’t changed her name. He.”

“Rhonda isn’t really a man’s name. Not that that matters. Gender is fluid.”

“Whatever. He said I can still call him Mom if I want. Or, like, something else if I want.”

“He’s a nice guy. But, you know,” I say carefully, “you should probably make an effort to respect what he wants.”

“Excuse me?”