To anyone else it might’ve seemed like she was a supportive mother, ready to take her son’s transition seriously. But to me, it was overwhelming. She was making decisions for me, posting about me online without my consent. She never did her research into what it means to be the parent of a trans teenager, never went to support groups of her own.

Not to make this all about myself, but the fact that Wyatt came to me to talk about this, it makes me feel good.

I tell him, “You don’t have to settle on a label now. You can just say you’re nonbinary; it’s an umbrella term too. Or not; you don’t have to be just one thing. You can play around with pronouns too.”

“Maybe. I don’t even hate that, just not being on the gender binary. I don’t even mind most pronouns. Back home I’ve accidentally been called ‘she’ by old men who see my hair from the back.” He lets out another low, awkward laugh. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Another favor,” I tease. “Seriously?”

“Be nice to me. I’m emotionally vulnerable.”

“Fine, fine. What’s your favor?”

“Can you use ‘they’ pronouns for me?”

“Yeah, of course. Just me? No correcting anyone?”

“Just you for now. I think that’s what I’d be comfortable with.”

“Of course,” I tell them. “Thanks for trusting me with this.”

“Sorry to unload all of that on to you.”

“Don’t apologize. I’ve got some resources I can send you. There are loads of trans creators on YouTube whose videos might help make things less confusing. A lot of those videos helped me.”

“Yeah, maybe. I think I just want to get a feel for myself.”

“That makes sense.”

I look at their lips, so close to mine, and I remember how good it felt to kiss them today, how badly I’ve wanted to kiss Wyatt again, how I want their hands on my body just like Josh’s were, how I want to feel their skin against mine.

“Hey, um … Wyatt?” My mouth feels so incredibly dry right now.

“Yeah?”

Their voice.

I could just undo this, dive right into the pool or something, drag them in with me to distract them, to change the subject.

But no, I know I should do this. It feels like the right thing to do.

“I think that I should apologize,” I say. “For the kiss.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I breathe in and out slowly. “I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. I should’ve asked if you were actually comfortable.”

“It was for the act, though,” they say quietly, their feet moving back and forth in the water. “I understand.”

“Well, still. I’m sorry.”

They smile. “I accept the apology. As long as you accept my apology for it being a bad kiss.”