At school, in the cafeteria, where everything smelled overcooked and well on its way to being slightly burnt. Filled with the kind of loudness that echoed until it became a cacophony of voices, shouts, and the scraping plastic utensils against metal. There was no privacy, not even an illusion of it, as Joy sat at a round table with her sister and three friends.

Clustered together, as close as the table would allow, heads bent toward one another almost as if in prayer. Words like “gentle” and “nice” but also “painful” and “intense” floated out of Kelly’s mouth and around their circle. Joy, already feeling confused and not understanding, watched everyone carefully—their faces frozen in rapt fascination, and even a little jealousy. She had wondered, Do I look like that? Then she saw the same looks on Grace’s face: awe and wonder and scandal. And then she thought, Oh shit. I’m supposed to look like that. Joy copied Grace’s expression as best she could before anyone could notice.

At home, Joy asked Grace about it because her sister wouldn’t look at her weird for asking obvious questions.

Their fourteen-year-old consensus: Joy hadn’t met the right guy yet.

Their twenty-year-old consensus: there would never be the right guy. Or girl. Or person of any gender.

“I started researching by reading romance novels before I moved on to forums and wikis. There were no two ways about it: I was different. Then college happened. I met Malcolm and he was like me. We fit together like we were tailor-made for each other, and it was enough. I didn’t need anyone else. Being with Malcolm was easy. That’s part of the reason I stayed by him for so long—it was easy and he understood me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Joy.”

“There is, though.” She tilts her head back to look at him. “I’ve been scared for a very long time. I know who I am and I accept myself, all of me. But all this time, deep down, I truly believed no one else would. If I took a chance on anyone else, it was pretty much guaranteed I’d get hurt, because I was different. I still am and always will be.”

“Hmm.”

“I don’t know what comes next. I don’t know if it’ll be good or bad. I don’t know if I’ll get to keep being as happy as I am right now. But I do know that every time I think about you, I want to see you. I want to talk to you. I want to hear your grumpy hmms and smooth out that little forehead wrinkle with a kiss.”

Fox kisses her temple. “Joy.”