Chapter 21
Iris
The living room is washed in the glow of the Christmas tree, giving it a warm, festive feeling.
I used to be comfortable here.
But tonight, there’s a knot in my stomach, twisting tighter with every step. Every second we’re alone together, Savannah’s voice echoes in my head.
He doesn’t know, does he?
Nate shrugs off his coat, and I notice his hair glistening with melting snow. He takes my coat from me and hangs them both up. “You okay, Darlin’?”
“Of course,” I say, and even to me, it sounds fake.
He looks at me for a long moment, like he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he steps forward and wraps his arms around me, steady and sure, and I let him, pressing my cheek against the cotton of his button-down shirt.
His palm settles on my lower back, fingers splayed wide, thumb brushing slow circles into my hips that should be calming, but only make my heart ache.
Tell him, my mind shouts. Before she does. Before it’s too late.
Nate pulls back enough to look at me. “I, uh,” There’s something nervous in his voice that makes my heart skip. “I got you something.”
I frown, “Nate, you already—”
“I know,” he interrupts, “But this one…” He slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a gold locket.
“It was my mama’s. She wore it every day. I always liked it, wanted to see the picture inside when I was real little.” He chuckles at the memory. “She told me she’d keep an empty spot inside. For a picture of me and the woman I’d marry some day.”
Suddenly, I’m struggling to breathe.
Nate opens the locket and hands it to me. On one side, there’s a photo of his parents, young and bright-eyed. His mom was beautiful, while his father looks nothing like the man I met today.
On the other side is a photo of us from a few weeks ago, his arm around me, both of us smiling, our feelings evident on both of our faces.
Something inside of me permanently cracks.
“I love you, Iris.” He says, with a sweet smile that I can’t match. “I know we haven’t been together long, but I’ve never felt this way about anyone before and—”
My vision blurs. Staring down at the happy photo of us.
It’s not real. You don’t know. You wouldn’t say that if you knew.
I don’t even realize I’m shaking my head until I look up and see the hurt and confusion flickering across his face.
I can’t do this. But I can’t not do it either.
Love? Marriage?
He doesn’t even know who I am.
“Nate…” I brush my thumb over the photo of us.
I don’t belong there.
“Oh,” he responds quietly, like he’s figured something out. There’s a crease between his eyebrows, and his lips are tugging down in a frown.
He thinks I’m rejecting him.
“I love it,” I rush out, reaching for his cheek and tilting his face up. “It’s beautiful, Nate. And I’m touched that you want to give me something so special to you.” I place the locket back into his hands. “But I need you to hold onto it for me.”
“You don’t want it?” He asks, hurt in every line of his face. I hate that I’m putting that look there. My heart is shattering, but I have to get this out.
“I do,” I reassure. “But I can’t accept it. Not until you know everything.”
His gaze snaps back up to meet my eyes, the hurt changing into worry. “Everything?”
The word hangs between us like a blade, sharp and heavy with the weight of what I haven’t said. With what’s going to happen to us after he finds out the truth.
But he deserves the truth.
“Can we sit?” I ask, gesturing toward the couch.
He nods, following me to the couch. The cushions dip with his weight, the heat of his body radiating through me. I lace my fingers together, twisting them in my lap the way I always do when my nerves are too much.
“Hey,” Nate murmurs. His big, calloused hand covers mine, stilling my anxious fidgeting. It’s such a simple gesture, one he’s done a hundred times before.
But tonight, I flinch.
His hand freezes. “Iris?”
“Don’t. Please. Don’t touch me. Not right now.”
The silence that follows is crushing, and when he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. “You don’t want me to touch you?”
The pain in his voice cuts through me. I want him to touch me more than anything, but I don’t want to feel him pull away in disgust.
My heart can’t take that.
His hand drops to his knee, fingers curling tight. “I don’t— I don’t understand.” He shakes his head. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” I tell him adamantly, wiping away a tear I can’t hold in. “No, Nate. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me. I did. I should have told you sooner.”
“Told me what? Is there—” He pauses. “Is there someone else?”
“No! Of course there’s no one else, how could you think that?”
“Then what is it?” he demands, and I can tell his frustration is mounting. “What could be so bad that you won’t even let me touch you right now?”
“It’s me,” I say, twisting the ring on my thumb. “It’s who I am.”
“What does that mean?”
I pull in a trembling breath before I seal my fate with two words.
“I’m transgender.”
Nate doesn’t say anything at first. He stares, confusion flickering across his face, like he can’t make sense of what I said. “You’re… what?”
“I’m transgender,” I repeat, trying to keep my voice steady even though my throat burns from the effort to hold in the way I truly feel.
A tense silence stretches again as he mouths the word, testing it out.
He drags a hand through his hair, looking away, unsettled. “I don’t— I don’t understand. That means— you’re saying you’re—you’re not…” The air between us is fragile, on the cusp of shattering all that we are.
He shifts on the couch, his knee bouncing, his hand rubbing over his mouth. His eyes find mine, wide and confused. “Are you saying you’re a dude? Or you want to be one?”
“No,” I say adamantly, trying not to let the words hurt me. I knew he wouldn’t understand, I knew this was how it would go, but there was no way to prepare myself for hearing those words from Nate.
“I was born a boy,” I manage, forcing each word out even though it takes everything in me. “I transitioned when I was eighteen.”
Elbows braced on his knees, Nate drags his hands down his face before he looks back up at me, his face filled with turmoil. “You’re telling me the woman I love is a—” He doesn’t say the words, but the implication is clear.
“I’m not,” I bite out, fierce even though my face is burning. “Nothing’s changed.”
Nate scoffs, “Yeah. Nothing’s changed.”
“I’m still me, Nate,” I tell him, even though I know there’s no point.
He shakes his head, “Why are you just telling me this now? We’ve been together for months, Iris.”
“Because I was scared you’d look at me exactly the way you are right now.”
He looks up at me then, most of the initial shock gone from his face now, in its place is a mix of hurt and anger. But the longer we look at each other, something shifts.
His face softens, the change is subtle, but it’s there.
He pushes off the couch, tearing his gaze from mine. The movement abrupt enough to make me flinch.
He paces a few steps, then turns back, running both hands through his hair before gripping the back of his neck. “You should’ve told me,” he says, any warmth from that fleeting moment gone. “From the start.”
I stand too, not wanting him to tower over me, but my legs feel like jelly.
“There are no words for how sorry I am, Nate,” I tell him, because I truly am so sorry.
“I never should have let it go this far. I never should have gone out with you to begin with, I know that, okay? And I understand completely if you want to break up—”
“Damn it, Iris,” he shakes his head, letting his arms drop. “I ain’t saying that. I love you, I just—”
He cuts himself off, looking exhausted and frustrated, like this is too much for him to handle. And I hate that I made him feel this way, but his words make a spark of reluctant hope bloom in my heart.
I step closer, resting a gentle hand on his bicep. “Nate—”
He jerks, startled by my touch. “I’m— I’m not gay.”
The words are a painful blow straight to my heart.
My hand slips from his arm, leaving a cold space between us as I take a shaky step back.
His eyes widen when he realizes what he said. “I didn’t mean—shit—I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammers, clearly apologetic, but instead of stopping there, he keeps going, fumbling, twisting the knife even deeper.
“It’s just— I mean— Are you saying you have a dick?”
I don’t want to answer that. I want to go back four months ago and stay firm in my initial decision. To never go to his games, or the fall festival, or Halloween, or Christmas. To do anything in my power to avoid this moment happening.
But I can’t.
So I nod, once.
And like something out of my worst nightmare, I have to see the moment it clicks into place for him. The moment his eyes dart down to my crotch.
My face burns as nausea claws up my throat. I’ve never felt so exposed. Nate knows everything, and I’m wearing this stupid dress and every inch of my body feels wrong, and—
“Iris,” Nate says, louder, not for the first time, but I barely even hear him over the thoughts in my own head, spiraling out of control until—
“Fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. Damn it,” He seems upset with himself, and I appreciate that, somewhere deep inside, that he knows it was wrong.
But it’s too late.
I can feel myself shutting down, trying to build that wall back up that he tore down completely before using it against me. I need this pain to go away.
I don’t recognize my own voice when I whisper, “It’s okay.”
Nate takes a step toward me, but my heart is pounding, and I can’t be here anymore.
“Hey, look at me,” he says, gentle now for some reason. Probably the tears I can feel streaming down my face.
I shake my head, averting my eyes even more. “I have to go.”
“Just wait a minute, okay? We have to talk about this. How about we just sit down and—”
I can’t speak. The words are gone, buried under the roaring in my ears and the nausea twisting my stomach, and even though I’m not looking at him, I can feel him looking at me.
And he knows.
It feels like his eyes are burning through my skin.
He’s too close, and the air is too thin, and everything in me is screaming to get out of here. “I’m sorry,” I choke out, “I need to go.”
Before he can reach for me, before he can say anything else, I rush to the door. My heels clicking against the hardwood.
I don’t look back.
I don’t even grab my coat.
“Iris! Wait!” His voice follows me, but I slam the door shut behind me.
I’m barely even aware of how the freezing snow bites at my skin. My car is buried under a thin layer of ice, the door frozen shut from sitting unused all day.
I tug at it, gritting my teeth through the pain until my numb fingers slipping against the handle can pull it open.
I’m still crying when I make it inside my apartment.
My entire body is shaking, the barely there straps of my dress doing nothing to keep me warm. I kick off my heels and rip the snow-covered dress off my body.
I go into the bathroom, intending to take a hot shower to warm up, but the mirror stops me in my tracks, my reflection unforgiving.
I’ve spent a decade sneaking quick glances, enough to make sure my makeup and hair look good, but not enough for the intense feeling of disgust to settle in. Not enough to pick out every single detail of my face that reminds me of who I used to be.
Tonight, I look.
The image reflecting back to me isn’t a good one. My cheeks are chapped, and my body is covered in goosebumps from the cold. I know I should stop and take a hot bath before I catch a cold.
But I don’t deserve warmth.
I ruined everything.
I scan my face, ignoring the tears still falling. Nate seemed to think I was pretty before he discovered who I truly am. I’m sure now that he knows, he regrets every compliment he ever carelessly threw my way.
I have my dad’s eyes and my mom’s nose. My lips are full. I’ve always had soft features, even before my transition. My shoulders are wider than I would like, my collarbones, my arms, almost too thin, no matter what I do to try to fill out.
I look down at my small breasts, the natural growth from hormones. My dark nipples are pebbled and hard as stone, and I used to think they suited my body. I never considered surgery.
Now I can’t help but wonder if Nate would think of me as a woman if I had.
I’ve always been skinny, with narrow hips. Nothing like Layla’s full figure and curves or Savannah, with her perfect cheerleader body.
My gaze lingers on my stomach. I can’t give Nate a baby.
He said he saw himself marrying me. We haven’t talked about children, but after seeing him with his nieces and nephew, Alex too, I know Nate wants to be a father. And I can’t give him that.
He’s probably thinking the same thing right now.
He’s probably thinking about all the reasons he doesn’t want me anymore.
This is normally where I would stop. Don’t go there, my mind shouts.
But I’m sliding off my underwear.
The shame hits before the cold.
I force myself to look at the part of me that I can never accept. Usually, it feels separate from me, like something that if I ignore long enough, I’ll look down one day, and it’ll be gone.
But the truth is, that no matter how pretty I become, no matter how my voice changes, no matter how much I change to be who I’ve always been inside…
It will always be there.
My throat tightens, and my reflection blurs through the tears falling fast now, but I don’t look away.
This isn’t what Nate loves, my mind shouts, more cruel than it’s ever been.
He said so himself, I’m not gay.
He loved the lie I showed him, not this. How could anyone ever love this?
I close my eyes and press a trembling hand over myself, as if I can will it away.
Touching it only makes it worse.
I don’t know how I end up on the floor, curled into a ball, but that’s where I find myself.
Tears spill rapidly down my cheeks as sobs wrack my body until I can barely breathe.
He doesn’t love me anymore.
I’m disgusting.
I don’t deserve him.
I stay there, on the cold tile, trembling and naked, until there’s nothing left but silence, shame, and the hollow ache of knowing I’ve lost him.