When they pulled their jeans down, I saw the angry red lines they left on their skin, and I bit my lip. I knew this entire exercise was perhaps more for my benefit than Sam’s. That not everyone cared about clothing, put so much emotional investment in it as I did. But I could not wait until Sam’s skin was covered with soft, stretchy, rayon-cotton blend instead, a fabric that held their body in with care instead of punishment.

I handed over the bundle of clothes. Watched quietly as they pulled on the forest green leggings. The charcoal grey pencil skirt, dotted with small white polka dots.

I had to bite back my pride. My guesswork on fit had been even better than I hoped.

They looked divine.

But Sam only looked down at themselves and sighed.

“Oh,” I said, blinking back sudden tears, feeling absolutely ridiculous that they had appeared at all. “It’s okay Sam! It’s okay if it’s not transformative, if they don’t fit. I’ll take them back. You can keep the sweater, it’s—”

“Lily,” they interrupted, shaking their head. I thought maybe they were smiling, just a little, but my brain was panicking too much to fully believe I wasn’t making it up. “Stop. Okay? Breathe. It’s okay. I like them. They feel good. It’s just...as I thought.”

They ran their hand over the top of the skirt, where it hugged the soft bottom of their belly.

Oh. Okay.

My brain recalculated, and I couldn’t help myself. I reached out, covered their hand with mine.

“I like that,” I said. “That’s your body, Sam. That’s just how it’s shaped. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

Their eyes met mine. My own body felt overly aware of everything: the pulse in my fingertip, pressing against Sam’s knuckle. The slight unsteadiness of my breathing. The way Sam’s lips were just barely parted. How small their office was, that glow from their lamp. It felt like we could have been a tiny pod, rocketing toward outer space, no one else around but us.

I stepped back.

Trying to steady my breath, I turned around and reached once again into the bag.

“I brought an alternate, though.”

I brought out a different skirt: same charcoal gray, although this one was patterned with little pink lightning bolts. The cut was still simple, but more free flowing, with an asymmetrical hem.

I could tell as soon as Sam slipped it on that this one felt better to them. They swung their hips a bit. They were staring down at themselves, and the light was dim. But I was pretty sure they were blushing.

“Swishy,” they said. “Fun.”

I exhaled. Swishy seemed promising.

I still wasn’t entirely sure if this was going well, or if everything was awful.

But time to stop messing around now.

I took a tiny step forward.