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Prologue: "Michelle? Did you lose a bet or something sweetie?" "Very funny, Jen. No, I have to stop at Uncle Randy's and pick up the suitcases Mom lent him. He won't even open the door for me unless I'm dressed the way god intended. I've got too much going on today to put up with that shit." "Sorry, as they say, you can't pick your relatives." "Yeah, I certainly wouldn't have picked him. Anyway, I've got the nail dryers we borrowed. Thank you so much, that wedding party nearly did us in. Who has that many bridesmaids?" "I'm going to miss your mom. Brenda and I have been friends since beauty school." "Well, ever since Dad retired last year, he's been bugging Mom to retire too. He wants to spend winters somewhere warm." "Where are they off too?" "They're leaving in a few days. Six weeks in Hawaii. Then moving into a condo when they get back." "So when are you officially taking over?" "We're meeting with the attorney later today to take care of all the paperwork." "Congratulations! Are you going to keep the salon name or change it?" "Keep it for now. 'Beauty by Brenda' is a neighborhood fixture. Did Mom ever tell you that when I started working there, she wanted to rename it to 'Brenda and Son'?" "That's hilarious, considering you're her daughter now!" Chapter 1: The Reappearance of Rachel I suppose attending cosmetology school part time while still in college getting a degree in business administration is not a typical choice to make. My college advisor thought it was downright stupid. He just didn't appreciate how much I loved going to my mom's salon growing up. I would watch in fascination, see how she could transform a person. Watched them walk in, often rundown and sad, but walk out glowing and alive. I always assumed it was a given that I would go into the family business. You might have noticed I said "person" and not "woman". Mom didn't discriminate. Some of her most loyal customers were men, mostly crossdressers. The ones she gave special attention to, were transgender. I once thought that was because of me. Now I think it's because Mom is just a very kind and compassionate woman. Dad was the one who insisted that I go to college, even though at the time I had my heart set on beauty school. I know what you're thinking. That my father disapproved. That it wasn't manly. That it was too gay. No, Dad wanted me to be able to help him manage the business. He married Mom while working for her as a hair stylist. He eventually took over all the day to day operations so Mom could devote her time making people beautiful. When he retired, it was my turn to run the business. With Mom retiring, I now have a worker shortage. I have to replace her, and I still haven't filled my old position yet. I'm wearing myself out doing two jobs. "I don't suppose you have any employees I could steal," I asked Jen, Mom's best friend and fellow salon owner. I wasn't expecting a positive response. "There are days when I'd gladly give you Rachel," Jen said sounding serious. "She's a top notch beautician, but she can be an opinionated bitch." "I don't think I know her. Which one?" I asked, being a little curious. "Over there, third chair." Jen pointed to a tall young woman, mid- twenties probably, and oddly familiar looking, but I can't figure out why. "Michelle...., earth to Michelle, you with me?" Jen waves her hand in front of my eyes. I guess I was staring, thinking for longer than I realized. "Oh, sorry. I was thinking I knew her from somewhere." Then I saw it. The tall woman, turned her head, giving me a clear view of her dangling earrings, adorned with panda bears. It came back to me. Middle school, dance team, mean girl, Rachel. What was her last name? I think it started with a B. Maybe, Brandt, no...., Burns, no...., wait, got it. Barnes. "Is her name Rachel Barnes, by any chance?" I asked Jen. "Yes, you know her then?" "Not anymore. We went to the same middle school. And she was a bitch even then." I was the only boy at the dance studio where I took lessons. There were a handful of girls who were better dancers, but I more than held my own. Especially in tap and jazz. But not ballet. I hated that my job as the boy was to stand around and hold the ballerina. I wanted to be the ballerina. It was around that time that I figured it out, that I wanted to be the ballerina because I was a girl. Anyway, when the school started a dance team, I tried to join. The school didn't care, they said it was open to any student. But Rachel and her mother cared. Rachel being one of the "popular girls" was made team captain. I think that was the only criteria for selection. That, and because her mother was a bigwig in the PTA. No matter what I did, Rachel found fault. "You're not doing it right because you're not a girl" was something I constantly heard. Rachel's mother was in charge of ordering the team costumes. She purposely did not order the "boy version" for me. So at the first competition, I either had to sit it out or wear the the same costume as the rest of the girls. Mom gave me the choice. I think she was pretty proud of me when I walk out onto the floor in the green sequined mini dress. Rachel was livid. For a thirteen year old, I was impressed by her command of vulgarities. Unfortunately, she called me the "c word" within earshot of the judges, and our team was immediately disqualified. Now I wasn't offended at all, considering it's a slur usually intended for someone who actually has one. Word spread quickly, and the boys at school started to harass me. Fortunately, it was short lived because I transferred to the arts and sciences school where gender bending was almost expected. So, how did I recognize her? The earrings. More specifically, the panda bears. Rachel was never without something emblazoned with a panda bear. Panda bear nap sack, panda bear sweatshirt, panda bear lunch box, panda bear hat, panda bear pencils, the variety of panda bear accessories seemed endless. I always thought her panda bear obsession distracted from the fact that Rachel was a very pretty girl. I even had a bit of a crush, despite her general bitchy-ness towards me. Yes, I like girls. Make that women. "Go over and say hi if you want," Jen tells me. "Although, one of the things she has an opinion about is men in beauty salons. She's against it." "So I bet you give her every guy walk-in then," I laughed. "Of course I do." "No, I doubt she would recognize me." I did go through puberty and I wasn't happy about it. "I'd better get going. I still need to suffer through an encounter with Uncle Randy. I'll have to count how many times he purposely calls me Michael, see if he can break his record." Uncle Randy didn't even talk to me. He opened the door, gave my rather oversized man bun a disgusted look, shoved the suitcases out through the door, and slammed it shut. It was the most pleasant encounter I've had with Uncle Randy in years. When I got back to Mom and Dad's house... when I got back to my house (it's going to take a while to get used to fact it's now mine, or will be after the meeting with the attorney, a meeting I'll be late for if I don't hurry up), I dashed to the shower, throwing off male clothing until I was in my bra and panties (screw you, Uncle Randy). While waiting for the shower to get hot, I did my daily check to see if my boobs had started to grow yet. I had finally started HRT last month, and I was impatient. After spending part of the day dressed like a guy, I think I over compensated. I showed up at the lawyer's office in a tight fitting long sleeved dress, heels, and glam makeup. I justified this by convincing myself that I needed to celebrate becoming a small business and home owner by heading over to a LGBTQ club after the meeting. Maybe I'd get lucky. Besides being a weekday night, it was also pretty cold out, so the place was pretty empty. I ended up sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of wine, for almost an hour before attracting anyone's attention. That is, any woman's attention. I had a few guys offer to buy me a drink. Only one of them seemed earnest. The other two were probably chasers and wouldn't acknowledge my existence outside this bar. Finally Jessica, a friend and fellow trans woman sat down next to me. (Have you noticed that there doesn't seem to be a feminine equivalent to 'fellow' in the English language? It's supposed to be gender neutral, but it just doesn't sound right.) "Hey Jess, how are you my dear?" "Slow evening. You look hot tonight. Too bad I only like men," Jess laughed. "See that guy, blue shirt, standing by the pool table? Check him out, he seemed nice," I offered. "Thanks. Ummm.... I can only advise you to stay away from that table of women over by the window. I was sitting with them until the one in the black and white top joined us. Definitely a real TERF." I was afraid to look. What were the chances I'd cross paths with Rachel Barnes twice in a day? Apparently rather good. I took Jess' advice and stayed clear of her. Not seeing any other women, cis or trans, anywhere near my age other than Rachel, I decided to call it a night. The next day, I mentioned this improbable event to Mom. "Ahhh, yes, the girl from the great dance team fiasco," Mom remembered. "Did you know she and her mother used to be regular customers until that happened?" Mom asked. "I think so. I'm think I remember seeing Rachel at the salon once or twice back then. I like that word, 'fiasco'. It certainly was one." "Did you know that I also knew her dad?" Mom asked. "That I didn't know. How?" "He was a closeted crossdresser and he used to come in for a makeover whenever his wife...., ummm... , I can't remember her name, and Rachel, went out of town for, I think it was for dance competitions. Unfortunately, one time she and Rachel caught an earlier flight home and found him fully dressed, makeup, wig, everything." "Wow, was this before or after the dance team fiasco?" I wondered. "Ahh, let me think..., pretty sure it was before. The wife threw him out. He still came in for makeovers until, oh about a year ago. Too bad, he was really a very nice person. I know he and his daughter were very close. I remember that he worked at the zoo, and would tell me how Rachel loved to help him feed the pandas." The next few weeks were pretty hectic. With Mom now wearing herself out taking hula lessons (or was it surfing lessons? Maybe it was both), I was wearing myself out trying to run a shorthanded beauty salon. Nobody had applied for my open positions, and I couldn't find the time to go out and recruit. It didn't help either, that I couldn't get Rachel Barnes out of my head. I kept debating the pros and cons of talking to her. Jen thinks Rachel has problem with men. But I'm not a man, my drivers license says so. So, point in favor. Then there was Jess' impression that Rachel is transphobic. Sounds like a point against. Maybe that's just due to ignorance and not bigotry. That could be fixed (maybe). She likes other women, at least she was seen at a table in a gay bar, surrounded by lesbians. I like women too. Then there was all that stuff about her dad that was piquing my curiosity. So why did I even care? Oh yeah, stupid childhood crush. Fuck. Chapter 2: Rediscovering Rachel I was on the salon computer, fidgeting, and playing with my hair, looking at one of Dad's old spreadsheets trying to figure out why every time I reordered MAC lipstick, I also received a bottle of Macallum single malt scotch. The only thing I had figured out was that I had split ends and it was time to make an appointment at Jen's. I would trust anyone of my employees to style my hair. But I enjoy gossiping and I might want to gossip about one of them. So I go to Jen's. I'm still staring at the computer while I dig my phone out of my purse and call to make an appointment. I'm not too particular, there are two or three stylists I like, so I try to rotate between them. More things to gossip about that way. The receptionist tells me I saw Angela the last time I was in. So I'm thinking, do I want Lisa or do I want Lydia this time. After I hang up, I realize I forgot which one I told her, not that it matters. But I also wasn't paying attention to the appointment date and time. I was too engrossed with Dad's little petty larceny scheme to hide the purchase from Mom. I was trying to decide if I should blackmail him or just give him the scotch for Christmas. I just hope there aren't more hidden transactions lurking in other spreadsheets. The last thing I need as the new owner is a tax audit. While I was worrying about that, my phone beeped. Good, that should be the appointment confirmation text. I took a quick glance at the text and put the phone back in my purse. Ten seconds later, I'm dumping out the contents of my purse as fast as I can to get to my phone. Still on the glowing screen I see.... Appointment confirmation Tuesday 3:30 pm Stylist: Rachel I immediately started to call back to fix the mistake my addled brain just made. But I stopped just before hitting the call button. I started to get a rather bizarre idea. So I decided to put off changing the appointment until I can think things through. I might open that bottle of scotch. I can always order more lipstick if I want to replace it. By the time Tuesday rolled around, I still hadn't changed the appointment. Around 2:30 pm I let my staff know I was leaving for the afternoon. I went back into my office in the rear of the salon, locked the door, and changed into the only male clothes I still owned (my placate Uncle Randy outfit). I had taken care not to wear very much makeup, just some tinted lip gloss, and a smudge of eye shadow. Removing it was easy. I wet my hair down a bit and pulled it back into a ponytail using a rubber band. I grabbed my phone, drivers license, cash, and debit card. For a moment I looked around for something to put them in. Then I remembered, 'pockets', I have pockets. What an interesting idea. After slipping out the back door and getting in my car, I sat there, looking in the mirror, making sure I looked ok. I don't like looking at my face without makeup. This time it wasn't as dysphoric as it usually is. I think the HRT is making subtle changes. But for now, I still pass as male. So, I start the engine, turn on the radio and head to Jen's. While I'm driving, a song comes on that I like and I start singing along. It took me a while to realize I was using the female voice I worked hard to get. I tried to slip into my old voice and couldn't find it. It took a few tries, but it did come back. I immediately panicked. What if I've lost my female voice. I pulled over and parked the car. All of this was too distracting to be driving at the same time. I was greatly relieved, when my Michelle voice came back without any effort at all. I went back and forth a few times, satisfied that everything was ok, before I started driving and singing along again. I parked in a lot near Jen's and texted her to meet me by the front door because I needed to explain my appearance. "What...., again? More Uncle Randy nonsense. You're a woman, just tell him to get over it!" That is how Jen greeted me. "That's not it this time," and then I tried to explain, or maybe justify my obsession with Rachel Barnes. "Ok, let me paraphrase what I just heard. You think that a girl you knew in middle school, might not really be the bitch she appears to be, because of panda bears. Did I hear that right?" Jen asked bewilderedly. "Well, yes, that's more or less it," I sheepishly answered. "And you plan to psychoanalyze her by pretending to be a guy?" "I never said that!" I might have implied it, but I never used those actual words. "Let me rephrase that, you've got the hots for her, and you want to make her like you, and you don't have a clue on how to do that," Jen said. I didn't know what to say. "Brenda used to come up with bizarre ideas. Apparently, like mother like daughter. Go ahead, I'll play along. But you'd better be careful." Fully admonished and warned, I followed Jen into the salon and to Rachel's station. "Rachel, this is Michael, a new customer. He's here for a hair appointment." I could hear the disdain in her voice as she greeted me and asked what I wanted done. However, her eyes gave off a different vibe, one of vulnerability. Also one of sadness. Up close, she was prettier than I remembered. I needed to snap out of it quickly and respond to her question. "I'm tired of this man bun craze. I need you to get rid of the split ends and trim the hair up to here," I indicated with with my hands that I wanted it shoulder length. "You can just let my tresses fall to the sides, keep it simple." I kept trying to start a conversation, first by asking about the panda bear pin she was wearing, but to no avail. I thought about bringing up dance as a topic, but discarded that idea fearing that the name Michael, along with dance would trigger her memory and I'd end up impaled by her scissors. I finally hit on a topic that interested her, the local women's pro basketball team. I'm not a particularly big sports fan, but I do follow women's sports. We ended up having a pleasant time. I wondered how many of the men that come in here, treat her as an object, make sexual advances, and that's why.... Oh my god, it hits me like a bolt of lighting. Am I doing the same thing? I'm just not being blatantly obvious about it. I'm being devious, which is worse. When she was done, she turned the chair around towards the mirror. My original plan was to complain, saying that she made me look like a woman, to elicit a reaction that could tell me something about her feelings towards transgender women. Which, ironically is what she had done. She had given me a perfectly executed long bob. I looked really cute. "So what do you think Michelle? I wanted to give you something sophisticated, yet easy to manage." "I really like it.... Wait, you know who I am?" "Of course I do, you fucking... I'll let you insert the word," she laughed, giving my shoulders a squeeze, "nice to see you again, by the way." "But, but how..." I stuttered stammering. "You do know that your picture was in the business section of the paper a few weeks ago when you took over your mother's salon, don't you? "I forgot about that. But that was a photo of me, I mean Michelle, not..." "I'm sure you tried, but as they saying goes, 'clothes do not make the man'. You forgot to hide your gestures and your speech patterns. Men don't use the word 'tresses'. Oh, and no facial hair. Bet you couldn't grow a beard if you life depended on it!" "I'm so so sorry, I just wanted to..., actually, I really don't know what I wanted now. Again, I am sorry," I pleaded. "Ok, but that's not going to do it. I expect a good tip, dinner, and an explanation. Pick me up here at 7:00 pm. You have until then to figure one out. Also, put on something cute to go with the bob I just gave you." By seven o'clock the only explanation I could come up with, was the truth. It was much easier coming up with something cute to wear. I had just bought a taupe sweater dress, so I paired it with black pumps, put on some makeup, topped off with a creamy crimson lip. "Ok, let me see," Rachel said as she exited the salon. "Good, you do have a fashion sense. Now, where are you taking me?" "You keep a dress and heels at work?" I asked. "Always. Don't you? Or do just keep men's clothes?" She said sarcastically. "Ha ha. So, I was thinking someplace quiet and casual. Ever been to Molly's?" "Yes....., you seem to know something about me," she said suspiciously. "We'll discuss that too," I assured her as I headed for Molly's, my favorite quaint lesbian bar. As soon as we were seated and drinks ordered, Rachel looks straight at me, "Ok, how did you know I'm a lesbian? No one at work knows. My mother doesn't even know." "Easy, I saw you at Cafe 101, sitting with a group of lesbians. Don't worry, I won't out you." "I'm not closeted. I mean, it's never come up at work. But nobody there would care. I was just thinking they couldn't have told you, that's all." "What about you mother?" "Ah yes, dear old mom. No, she would definitely care. She'd call her lawyer and disinherit me." "I take it that's a problem." "I certainly wouldn't mind having her money. But that's not the reason. If I'm out of the will, everything goes to her anti gay and lesbian church. That is the problem." "Now," she continued," let's hear your explanation for basically stalking me." A glass of wine later, and just as our food arrived, Rachel responded to my truthful but incomplete explanation. "I'm flattered and I can even understand about childhood crushes. If I spotted Hannah Schmidt from my high school biology class in this bar, you'd have to physically restrain me to keep me from jumping her bones. I also understand your reticence about my attitude towards trans women. But it's not what you think, and your approach wasn't necessary. We'll talk about that later. Finally, your interest in my so-called panda obsession isn't any of your business unless you're a licensed psychologist, which I seriously doubt, or you're not telling me everything you know. Which is it?" "I know about your dad." Rachel's face was contorted by anger, sadness, and perhaps embarrassment. Tears welled in her eyes as she stood up, said "excuse me" and walked out the door. I didn't know what to do. I was hoping she hadn't started walking alone, in the cold and dark, back to the salon. So I sat there giving her time to think. After about five minutes, the door opened and she sat back down across from me. "I'm fine," she began, "losing my Dad the way I did has been very, very hard for me. It's taken me a long time to realize it wasn't my fault." "How could it have possibly been...." I started to ask before she cut me off. "I'll explain, just give me some fucking time please. And I'm only telling you this because I owe you one. After this, we're even, got it?" She took a sip of wine, stared at the glass as she swirled the liquid around, "The minute Dad was out of the house, Mom blamed me. Said it was my fault because when Dad played with me, I'd make him, oh I don't know, wear a plastic tiara, put a dress on Barbie. Or the time he let me paint his finger nails." She looked up at me, staring incredulously back at her. Then she continued. "Pretty fucked up thing to accuse a kid of making her father a, what... Gay? Crossdresser? Trans?" "To me that sounded more like a Hallmark commercial with a loving father. From personal experience, whatever he is, he likely has been his whole life," I remarked. "Thanks for the insight...., of course I know that now! It wasn't until I was at the university and I got some mental health help, that I figured that out. According to my therapist my mother had really done a number on me. Any time I encountered a guy who was gender fluid... I like that term, 'gender fluid', I never knew what to say back then...., anyway, that would set off my feelings of loss." "Like me putting on that green dress?" "Yup. I'm better, but I still feel like a mess. You want to know why I can get upset when a guy comes into the salon? Because I keep thinking that somewhere there's a daughter who'll end up like me. Yeah, I know It's totally stupid and things are different now, but like I said, I'm a mess." "You said you were at the university?" I asked. "Yeah, I've got a degree in biology. Now I bet you want to know why I'm working in a salon." "Ummm, sure," I really don't know what to say. "Because I want to find my dad. Around the time I started college, I overheard my mother angrily telling someone, that she heard my dad was seen at a salon dressed as a woman. I forgot about that until I was in therapy. My therapist helped me realize that I needed to get closure, to talk to my father. My only clue as to his whereabouts was that salon sighting." "Question," I said, raising my hand. "Actually, two questions. Didn't he have visitation rights to see you? And, what about his work, did you try that?" Rachel began to tear up, before responding, "Yes, but one time when I was still in high school, after my mother had told me several terrible things about him, which all turned out to be lies, I told Dad that I hated him and to never ever contact me again. And he hasn't. I tried his work, but he had quit years earlier. Dad has no relatives that might know where he is. No social media accounts. I even checked academic journals to see if he had published anything. All I had was a salon sighting." "When I had the time, I began hanging around a few of the salons around here, hoping to see him. I eventually even took a part time job at one. I found out I liked working with my hands. I started taking cosmetology classes during summer breaks." I raised my hand again, "Ok, that is weird. I thought I was the only that one did that. I got my business admin degree while taking evening cosmetology classes." "Ok, we might be the source of your salon sighting," I said. "When I mentioned to my mother that I saw you, she mentioned your dad had been going to our salon, at least until about a year ago. She remembered that he talked about his daughter helping him feed the pandas at the zoo. I'm guessing that's why you seem to love pandas." "I do love pandas. Sometimes I still think about going back to grad school and become a zoologist like Dad. But I only wear panda stuff because I hope it might help Dad spot me someday." We finished our dinner, talking mostly about current hair styles and other beauty related things. We hadn't talked about Rachel's attitude towards trans women however. As I finished off the last few drops of wine in my glass, I realized that I needed to take care of something, "If you'll excuse me, I really need to visit the ladies room," pushing my chair back and standing up. "Wait up, I got to pee too," Rachel said following me to the restroom. There was no one in there, just two empty stalls, no waiting. I'm just about to tend to business when Rachel starts talking to me from the adjacent stall. "Hey Michelle, just so you know, I absolutely do not have any issue with trans women. What I have is an issue with one particular trans woman." "Ok, I hope it isn't me, because this would be a pretty awkward way to tell me." "No silly. I had just gotten out of a bad relationship with a controlling, abusive woman. I wasn't feeling good about myself, and I let another woman, who happened to be trans, take advantage of me. You don't need to know the details, but I was really hurt. If I hear or see anything that reminds me of her, I let my anger get out of control and say things I don't mean. Like I told you, I'm a fucking mess." When we were back in my car, Rachel asked if I could drop her off at her apartment. "No problem, just give me the directions." "I like to walk to work, weather permitting. My apartment is only two miles from the salon," she tells me. "Head over towards River Boulevard. My building is at the intersection with Twenty-second Street. Hope that isn't too far out of your way." "Ahhh, no," I chuckled, "I live only six blocks from there." As I turn onto River Boulevard, I throw out an idea, "Since you're so close, maybe you could come over to my house Sunday afternoon. My mom and dad are in Hawaii and every Sunday we have a Zoom call. I'm wondering if Mom might be able to remember more about your dad. Might be worth a shot. Interested?" "Yes! Thank you for thinking of that. Your parents won't mind will they?" "Actually they'll find you and I being friends hilarious. I mean, friendly." "I think we can be friends, I'm good with that. Nothing more serious though." "That works for me. I think it's safe to say my childhood crush on you has been, crushed." At least that's what I said. Chapter 3: Finding Julia "Hi Mom, how are the hula lessons going?" "Hi sweetie, I think I got my hips swaying right, look," Mom stands up, but all we can see is her butt filling the entire screen. Rachel is about to lose it. After she sits back down, I see that Dad is not with her. "Where's Dad?" "Oh, he couldn't make it, he's out golfing, but he says 'hi' and gave me this here list to give you guys. Is that Rachel? Move over sweetie, so I can see Rachel." "Hi Brenda, nice to see you again." "My, my. You've become a such an attractive young woman. Isn't she pretty Michelle?" "Yes Mom. Can we..." "Michelle! Your hair! It's gorgeous! Your dad is going to want a picture. Do you know how I can make this web camera thing take a picture?" I glance over at Rachel and she's having a hard time stifling her laughter. "I'll text a photo to you guys, ok. By the way, Rachel did the styling." "You should try to hire her, you're shorthanded you know. I really worry about you working so hard." "Yes Mom. Can we ask you about Rachel's dad?" "Of course. After we got your text Michelle, we both made a list of what we remembered about your dad, Rachel. I've got mine here. I'll read it to you," Mom reaches for her reading glasses, then looks back at the camera. "So it's ok if you hear about your dad's crossdressing then." "Yes Brenda, it's ok," Rachel affirmed. "He used to be very talkative, especially about you. That changed after the divorce. I was kind of surprised that he still came in after that. I do remember asking and he said 'I have to'. I don't know what he meant by that." "He used a couple of different feminine names, but I'm sorry, I can't remember any of them. The last time I saw him he made a point of thanking me, even gave me some flowers. Said he was moving and wouldn't be making any more appointments." "There is one other thing. He looked different. Thinner. Softer. Kind of like you Michelle." "That's all I can remember. Sorry, I wish I could tell you more." "Now Michelle, your dad's list is hard to read. He doesn't specifically remember Rachel's dad, but he has all of these computer files. You know your dad, he tried to keep records about all of our customers. Favorite hair products, cosmetics, lipstick shades, nail color, even flavored water to drink, he recorded it if he thought it would help provide better service. Unfortunately, most of this information is not organized. Anyway, if you've got a pencil and paper, I'll read you these file names, or do you want me to fax it to you. There might be a fax machine in the resort office." "No Mom. Take out you phone, take a photo of the list, text it to me. Do it right now so I can tell you if we can read it." It took Mom only two tries to get a clear photo sent. Rachel thanked her profusely. Then Mom signed off, but not before saying what I feared she would say, "You know, you two make a cute couple." "Sorry about that," I apologized. "It's ok. It's sort of nice to hear a normal, well-meaning mother for a change. My mother would never say anything like that." "I've got a proposal for you. How about we pickup some takeout and start going through these files? You wouldn't have any data processing skills would you?" I asked. "Yes, let's do that. I did a lot of data analysis in college, so, yes to your other question," Rachel responded. Letting Rachel see my dad's files might have been a mistake. He's always been so proud of the work he put in on them. If he ever finds out what Rachel thinks of them, he'll be crushed. "The only positive thing I can say is, your dad has collected a shit load of data that could be valuable to you. But the way he has it stored in spreadsheets and text files, it's totally useless. It all needs to be put into a single data base. I'll help you do it later, if you want." We eventually located a file that seemed to be a list of customers going back years. We were searching for any mention of 'James Barnes', since we had no idea what feminine pseudonyms he might have used, but we found nothing. However, we did find an entry for 'Nancy Barnes, Rachel's mother. Under a column labeled 'EC' (which we guessed meant emergency contact), Rachel spotted her dad's old cellphone number. Written next to it was a cryptic entry 'aka Holtz'. "I think Holtz was grandma's maiden name. They use maiden names for security questions. But this doesn't make any sense," Rachel mused. I took another look at the list of file names. One of the files was simply named 'AKA'. It was a small file, and we immediately spotted what we were looking for, 'James Barnes (Julia Holtz)". Under the entry were a couple of social media links. The Facebook link wasn't valid. The Instagram account was. Rachel stared at the page for over a minute, "I can't tell, the picture isn't clear enough. I wish it just showed her face." "Yeah, too bad it's a private account. She only has about a dozen followers. Let's look at them," I suggested. We had only browsed half of them when we realized they all had links to the same web site, a private liberal arts college in the southern part of the state. The links were to the school's faculty pages, where we found a page for 'Julia Holtz, PhD, Zoology'. On the page was a larger version of the Instagram photo, clearly showing Professor Holtz wearing a panda bear pin on her dress. Rachel seemed to be in a state of shock. I wasn't sure if it was because we had actually tracked down her father, or if it was because of his obvious transition. It was probably both. After several minutes, I tapped her on the shoulder and asked, "Interested in a road trip?" We both decided to take Friday off and get on the road early that morning. According to the college web site, Professor Holtz had a 3:00 pm lecture scheduled on Friday. We planned on sneaking into the lecture. On the drive down, Rachel was extremely quiet. When I picked her up Friday morning, we exchanged pleasantries, agreeing that it was a beautiful day for a road trip. And it was a perfect day. With near record highs predicted and not a cloud in the sky, Rachel had put on a comfy cotton maxi dress and sandals for the trip. I was wearing a tunic top, leggings, and ballet flats, hoping I'd look like a college coed (something that I missed during my own college days). Once we'd pulled onto the south bound interstate, Rachel fell deep into thought. It was impossible to know what she was going through internally. I wanted to say something, but finally decided that the best thing I could do was to be quiet and drive. "Are you getting hungry?" Rachel finally said. "There's a roadside bar and grill at the next exit, want to stop?" "Sure," is all I said, happy that she sounded cheerful. I pulled off the interstate at the next exit and followed a sign for 'The Rose Grill'. As soon as I pulled into the parking lot, I began to get very nervous. First the the grill looked a little too rustic for my urban tastes. Second, and more importantly, I was frightened by the rows of parked motorcycles. "I don't know about this place Rachel. A biker bar isn't the safest place for two women, especially for me." "It'll be fine, I've been here before. Look more closely at the bikes." I know absolutely nothing about motorcycles and couldn't imagine how that could make any kind of difference. Rachel finally had to be more specific, "Check out the little flags on them." 'Oh, ok..., so they're all 'Dykes on Bikes'. That makes it safe?" I asked incredulously. "Yep, just take my hand so that we look like a couple, and we'll be just fine," Rachel assured me. "Why..., oh, I get it, so no one hits on you," I said. "No. So no one hits on you!" "Me? Why would would a dyke biker hit on me? You're the gorgeous one!" "Gorgeous? Thank you! But I am too femme for them. You however, despite your cute tunic, might give off more of a butch vibe." "Gee thanks. I was going for coed." I did get a few winks and a few long stares, although those occurred mainly when Rachel wrapped her arm around my waist. At one point, with Rachel sitting next to me in a booth as we finished off our burgers, she had her hand placed firmly on my thigh. I had to whisper to her, "Better watch out or I'm going develop a new crush." She laughed, but did not remove her hand. Rachel was definitely more chatty for the rest of the trip. I think she was now more excited than apprehensive. As soon as we arrived at the college, Rachel pulled up a campus map on her phone and located the building with the lecture hall and a nearby parking lot. Shortly before 3:00 pm we made our way to the lecture hall and seated ourselves in the back row. There were less than thirty students in the large room and we were afraid we were a bit too conspicuous, so we moved down several rows. When Professor Holtz walked in and placed her notes on the lectern, Rachel grasped my hand and held it tightly. I glanced at her just as she turned her head and silently nodded 'yes'. Towards the end of a forty minute lecture for an introductory biology class, Holtz asked if there were any questions. Suddenly I felt Rachel's grip on my hand lessen as she began to raise her hand. "Yes, back row, you have a question," Holtz asked. Rachel asked an incomprehensible question (incomprehensible to me) about editing genes in DNA, something clearly (even to me) beyond the scope of an introductory class. Julia Holtz, taken aback by the question, studied the questioner, panda earrings still dangling from her lobes, then responded, "That is a very interesting question that perhaps we should discuss afterwards in my office. So, no more questions, class dismissed." As the room emptied out, Julia and Rachel continued to stare at each other. When the final student was gone, Rachel ran down the steps to the lectern and embraced her lost parent. Chapter 4: The Appearance of Robin Despite Rachel's protestations, I insisted that she go by herself. I planned on walking around the campus, maybe find the student union and soak up the atmosphere. Rachel agreed to call me, one way or the other, when she was finished. When an hour passed, I was guessing that the reunion was going well and I started to relax a little. I was sitting in the student union having a cup of coffee. Interestingly, now in my mid-twenties and older than any of the students surrounding me, I seemed to be an attraction. Even more so than for the dyke bikers. Eventually, a student, clearly a non-binary student, sat down at my table. "Hi! So what's your story?" He or she or they brazenly asked. "My story? Hmm, let's see, I was abandoned by my parents on a desert planet and I'm here with a friend looking for...." "Looking for your grandfather, the evil emperor, I bet. Try the math department. Ask for Professor Thomas," he or she or they suggested. "Well that helps a lot. Too bad I didn't bring my lightsaber. I mistakenly grabbed my lipstick instead," I joked, pulling it out of my purse and giving the tube a quick twist, exposing its crimson shade. "Red! So you have gone over to the dark side," he or she or they laughed. "Ok, ok, enough," I yelled. "Hi, I'm Michelle, and I really am here with a friend, but only to visit a relative of hers." "I'm Robin, and I can sense you're confused and don't want to make a mistake. I'm used to it. I'm very open about everything. So it's 'she and her' and I'm still early in my transition. What about you?" She asked without any hesitation. "Lucky for you I'm open and out too, or I'd scratch your eyes out," I teased. "To answer your next question, yes I'm on HRT, but it's only been for a couple of months." We chatted for about ten minutes about HRT when Rachel texted, asking me to meet her at our car. I excused myself. I hoped that I hadn't misread the situation and hurried towards the parking lot. I was relieved to see Rachel standing there absolutely beaming. She rushed over to me and gave me a huge hug. "A successful reunion, I take it?" I asked. "Yes, most definitely," she answered. "Mom has invited us to stay at her house for the night, so we don't have to find a motel. We're also going to have dinner with her and her fianc?." "Whoa, slow down! Mom? Fianc? ?" I questioned. "Sorry! I'm just so excited. Ok, I got the closure I needed. After which, 'Dad' really didn't exist for me anymore. Just a lot of good memories and a few bad. I asked if I could call her 'Mom'. Oh, and she wants you to call her Julia. She's really excited to meet you. Be prepared for lots of hugs and kisses." "After Mom transitioned, she became more and more aware that her sexuality was also in question. Since coming here, she's been dating another divorced professor, a male professor. He asked her to marry him last month. Guess what? I get to be a bridesmaid." We drove over to Julia's house, an older, rambler style house, a mile from campus, on a tree lined street. Julia had been watching for us, because as soon as we pulled into her driveway, she was out the door and headed straight towards me, and embraced me tightly. "Thank you, thank you, thank you for bringing my daughter back to me. I can never repay you enough, or your mom, Brenda, and your dad, especially your dad and I don't even remember him!" We grabbed the overnight bags we each had packed. Our plan had been to stay in a motel Friday night and then drive back Saturday evening, but Julia insisted we spend the entire weekend. Now I'm glad I overpacked (I couldn't decide what to bring, so I ended up with enough outfits for several days). The house had a single guest bedroom, which Julia had prepared for us. "I hope you two don't mind sleeping in a single bed. I know Rachel told me you're just friends, but you don't have to be polite around me," making sure to wink as she said this. I was about to offer to sleep on a couch somewhere when Rachel said, "No, this is just fine Mom, thanks." Julia turned to leave, allowing us to unpack, but not before saying the same thing as my mom, "You two make a cute couple!" I closed the door and gave Rachel a perplexed look. "Your new mom seems to have the impression we're more than just 'friends', what's up with that?" "While I was telling her about all you've done for me, I realized that you're my best friend. I've never had a best friend before. Hell, I've barely had any friends at all. Anyway, when I told her I'm a lesbian, which came as no surprise, I think she started to equate my saying 'best friend' to saying 'girlfriend'. She seemed so happy, I didn't say anything. I'm sorry, if this makes you really uncomfortable, I'll go talk to her and..." "No, it's ok," I interrupted. "I like that we're best friends now. Besides, don't best friends have sleepovers? We'll just sit on the bed and braid each other's hair. We can moan every time one of us adds a braid, 'Ohhh, it's feels so tight..., I can feel your fingers...', if you want Julia to think we're having sex. I certainly wouldn't want to disappoint her." "I might feel disappointed!" Rachel teased. As we were playfully pretending to kiss each other, we heard the doorbell ring. That must be Harold, Julia's fianc?. We opened the bedroom door and wandered out to the living room, where we saw a tall man, reasonably fit, with curly gray hair. He came over immediately and introduced himself, "Ladies, what a pleasure! When Julia informed me of this wondrous reunion, all I could say was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant!" Harold said with a distinct British accent. If I ever had a passing moment questioning my status as a lesbian, this was it. "So Harold, your turn, tell us about you," Rachel asked after both of us felt we might be dominating the conversation as we sat enjoying a few hors d'oeuvres and wine before dinner. This was certainly an upgrade from lunch with the dyke bikers. "Well, alright then. I am obviously from England. But I've been here for over thirty years. Came to the states for my doctorate and decided to stay. As Julia will attest, I am now a devote baseball fan, having abandoned cricket, a sin for for which my family in the UK has never forgiven me." "Oh, and I teach mathematics," he added. Thinking I might add a humorous anecdote, I asked, "So do you know a Professor Thomas?" "Well I suppose I indeed do know Professor Thomas, excellent chap," he laughed. As did Julia, "Sorry, guess we didn't do the introductions right. Harold is Professor Thomas." "So what about me? I'm quite curious." "I thought this was funny, now it's just embarrassing. While I was waiting in the student union, I struck up a conversation with a rather unique student who referred to you as the evil emperor. Sorry." Laughing uproariously, he said, "My, I haven't heard that one for a while. I wouldn't think any of my current students would know it." At that moment, the doorbell rang again. "We have a bit of a surprise for you Rachel. I asked Harold if his daughter could join us too. She also teaches here. I thought it might be fun for you to meet your future step-sister." The first words out of his daughter's mouth were, as the door opened, "Michelle? What the fuck?" With all eyes now on me, I pointed at her and then Harold, "Robin is the one I met who called you an evil emperor!" "Well now it makes perfect sense," Harold said walking over and hugging Robin. "I hope you're not telling your students that, I am also your boss if you will remember." "Of course not Papa," she said. "Yes, completely my fault. I failed to provide context," I tried to take the blame. "Michelle, you're such a sweetie," Robin said as she ran over to me and planted a kiss on my cheek. "My father and I have several, let's call them pet names, for each other. So don't apologize. What you may do however, is get a girl something to drink. See if Julia has any of that Pinot Grigio she opened last week." I apparently looked at her strangely, because she felt compelled to add, "Yes, despite my youthful appearance, I am over twenty-one." It was at that point that it occurred to me that Robin was not dressed like the androgynous non-binary student I had met earlier. Yes, she still looked young, but in a tailored gray dress, matching jacket, and kitten heels, she certainly could pass as a math instructor. Over dinner, I found out that Robin is more than the androgynous free spirit I encountered in the student union. That was almost a character she plays when traveling off campus. On campus, she's the young woman we're having dinner with. A balance of charming, funny, playful, and a quick wit, all designed to counter her scary intellect, a child prodigy who had her PhD by age eighteen. She found out, that persona coupled with transitioning, made her feel like an unwelcome presence in the surrounding rural area. The androgynous free spirit persona was apparently less threatening than a brilliant transgender woman. That at least allowed her to explore life and try to meet people her own age outside of academia. I learned all of this as the three trans women clustered together in the kitchen after dinner, while Rachel was getting to know her future step- dad in the living room. It certainly was an unique opportunity. Usually I only get to converse with other trans women in LGBTQ settings like bars or support groups. Actually having it occur at a family dinner was a delight. After the Thomas' had departed, and one last drink with Julia (it was milk, to go with the cookies she found in the cupboard), Rachel and I headed for bed. "You seemed to really hit it off with Robin," Rachel remarked, perhaps a little coolly. "I kind of feel sorry for her, going through transition by herself down here," I replied. "I suppose so. Harold told me that's how he met Mom, through Robin. Mom was the only other trans woman around and Robin had sought her out. She's pretty resourceful," Rachel pointed out. "Harold said she can be relentless. It's why she's a brilliant mathematician. She doesn't give up until she solves the problem." Chapter 5: Finding Love For Rachel and Julia, the rest of the weekend was mostly spent just getting to know each other again. By Saturday evening the euphoria was beginning to wear off. Robin had invited me to her place so that she could learn more about my transition. I thought that would be a good opportunity to give Rachel and Julia more alone time together. However, when I returned, I found Julia sitting alone in the kitchen while Rachel was ensconced in the guest bedroom. "Anything wrong?" I asked Julia. "Oh just some typical mother daughter issues I suppose. I should have known better than to ask about her long term career goals. I forget that she's an adult woman now. She had told me she became a beautician while trying to find me. And I was really touched by that. I never should have asked if she might look for a career in biology now that we are together again." "I'm sorry, I didn't find the right moment to ask if Rachel had discussed some of her mental health issues with you. I'm sure it's still going to take time for her to adjust." I said. "No, that's ok, I think she did tell me everything. I just sensed something else was upsetting her. Somehow Robin seemed to trigger her. I never mentioned Robin, but asking about pursing biology because it was her first love, caused her to yell that 'not everybody can be like cute, perfect, little Robin'." "Maybe she's just afraid that Robin will become your favorite daughter. You know, a sibling rivalry thing," I throw out. "Perhaps." Speaking of Robin, I had an interesting evening with her. When I stopped by her dad's house, where she still lives, she met me my the door and said, "Let's go someplace else. Dad's grading papers. There's a bar and grill on the other side of campus, let's just go there. Have a drink and talk, ok?" The first interesting thing I noticed was how Robin was dressed. Not the androgynous non-binary look and not the professor look either. More the cute coed look. And she was pulling it off far better than my attempt. She had on a tight fitting tank top, barely covered by a denim jacket, a short denim skirt, black lace anklets, and black pumps. Her hair was in a high ponytail and she was wearing pink lipstick. I just had on a variation of what I wore the day before. I wish I had at least packed a dress. The second interesting thing was that I was sure Robin wasn't wearing a bra. Her nipples were clearly pushing against the fabric of her top. "Hey, eyes up here," she giggled. "My contribution to our ongoing discussion on transitioning, HRT and boobs." And that was the last mention of transitioning. Mostly she questioned me about where to go out and party back in the city. In an attempt to narrow down my recommendations, I decided it was ok to inquire about her sexual preferences. "I totally do not discriminate, I'll fuck any homo sapien. Well, of legal age and I prefer those close to my age for conversational purposes. I'd put you in that subset," she said, devoid of any embarrassment. "So no gender preference then." "Nope. Male, female, intersex, cis, trans, all ok with me." "So you're very experienced then?" I prodded. "Not in the least. Almost impossible to get any action around here. Like I told you earlier, everybody in my prospective dating pool steers clear of me. The town folks are afraid of me and the students here are terrified of me. Everyone in this bar knows I'm on the faculty. Why else do you think not one guy or girl has hit on me, given my slutty coed look. I could walk in here nude and not get a date." "Ok, here's what I can do for you. Come up to the city on a weekend, and I'll take you clubbing. You can even stay at my place. Just before you do, you need to tell me what you really want. Your subset needs a lot of filtering. I will not expose you to danger. Deal?" "Yes, thank you," she smiled. "So, since no one here knows you, would you be ok, being seen dancing with a slutty coed?" With Robin in heels, we were the same height. That meant when we slow danced, we were eye to eye. For Robin, that apparently equated to lip to lip. When the music ended, she kissed me. I would be lying if I said I didn't expect it or that I didn't enjoy it. "Thank you for the dance," she said, taking my hand and leading me back to our table. Once we were seated, she addressed the kiss. "I'm not sorry I kissed you. I like you. You haven't mentioned a girlfriend. My future step-sister clearly stated you two are just friends. So, are you interested in..." "Ahh, hold on a second. I clearly understand that you might be sexually frustrated. I know I am. But a one night stand is definitely not a good idea. So as much as it pains me to say it, let's take that off the table. Also, my relationship with Rachel is more complicated than just friends. Don't ask me what that means, because I don't even know. That said, I do like you and maybe we should get to know each other better, perhaps when you come up to visit." "A fair and well reasoned response," Robin critiqued my answer. "I suppose fucking my step-sister's best friend, would not be not be good for family dynamics. So I accept your proposal, with the caveat that I am allowed to seal the deal with another kiss." "Of course," I agreed. On the way back to Julia's house, I contemplated what I would say if asked about my evening with Robin. Lying was out of the question because Robin is definitely not a discrete girl. She'll tell the truth if asked (it must be a math thing). Now finding out that Rachel is sitting alone in the guest bedroom, upset about something related to Robin, had me deeply worried. "Hi, how are things?" I started talking as soon as I opened the bedroom door. Rachel simply shrugged her shoulders. "Julia tells me she might have upset you. Want to talk?" "No, but I should go out and apologize. Remember, I'm a mess. Just another example I guess." Rachel said sadly. "Rachel!" I yelled. "You are not a mess! A little unkempt maybe, but not a mess." That brought a small smile. "Thanks, I'll be right back." Rachel gave my arm a squeeze and left the room. I started packing. We planned on heading back after lunch on Sunday, so I thought I'd get a head start while Rachel was out of the room. She was gone for a good fifteen minutes or so, and she at least came back with the same smile on her face. "We're good. Mom is going to come up and visit next month and I'm going to take her to Jen's for a makeover. Have a mother daughter bonding outing." "So, how was your evening with Robin?" "Interesting. She's going to come up and visit too, sometime," then I told her everything, including the kiss. I did leave out the second, deal sealing kiss. Rachel just gave me a blank stare. "Ok, we should get some sleep." She then crawled into bed still in her yoga pants and t-shirt. The drive back the next day was marked by extended periods of silence. Our friendship was really only a few weeks old, and I feared it was starting to slip away. After all, it was pretty much built on finding her dad. We have other things in common besides the dance team fiasco. But for the time being, Rachel didn't seem interested in pursuing them. Two weeks later I got a text from Robin asking if it was ok for her to come up on Saturday and go clubbing. When she arrived, it was the first time I saw her dressed as a typical twenty-one year old woman. She had on a white cowl neck sweater, jeans, and sandals. "Hi," I said, as I let her into my house. "You look really, ummm...." "I think the word you're looking for is 'normal'," she sighed. "You should have seen how happy Papa was about the change!" She put her suitcase down and gave me a friendly hug. After she got settled in mom and dad's old room (I haven't gotten around to redecorating it yet), we sat down in the kitchen over a cup of coffee. "I actually took you seriously and thought about what I wanted." "In my teenage years, when I should have been discovering my sexuality, I was in college with kids five to six years older than me. Trying to discover it now via promiscuity is not the answer. I was lucky you were the one I approached. I started to realize the risk I was taking. My slutty coed might have gotten herself raped and or killed by someone who didn't know who I was. Guess I'm not as brilliant as everybody thinks I am." "So, even though I have no experience, I do have fantasies when I pleasure myself. By the way, is this ok for you?" She paused and asked. "Yes, absolutely, I'm all ears," I giggled. "Ok then, I like to use a sex toy, a dildo, specifically one shaped like a penis, and I usually close my eyes and imagine I'm with a man. I don't know if that's sufficient evidence, but I think I might be a straight woman, like Julia. Maybe that's what I want. Except, obviously, not with my dad, ewww." "So I'll scratch all the lesbian dives off my list then," I laughed. "Since I'm a lesbian, I don't frequent straight bars looking to meet someone. I also don't feel comfortable yet in those places. Friends tell me I pass, but until I can look in a mirror and see it myself.... well, maybe after a year or two of estrogen, we'll see. What's left is not ideal, but probably the best place to start. There's a large LGBTQ club here that also attracts a lot of straight guys and girls. They come with gay friends or for the entertainment. You can easily meet a guy who likes trans women. The trick is, weeding out the ones that fetishize you. I know plenty of trans women who can help you with that." "Sounds perfect, thanks!" She said enthusiastically. "Should I go change into my slutty coed outfit?" "That doesn't even warrant a response." I said, rolling my eyes. Since we were going to the club, I gave Rachel a call to see if she wanted to join us. We really hadn't talked more than a couple of times since our little excursion. "No thanks, I have plans. You two enjoy yourselves," was all she said before hanging up. I was feeling awful. I could hear it in her voice, that our friendship might be over. "Hey, why the sad face?" Robin asked, as she came down the stairs from mom and dad's bedroom, dressed in a rather pretty blue, A-line party dress and black heeled sandals. Her hair was in a short bob and although it looked cute, I really want to take her down to the salon and give her a professional cut. Maybe next time she visits. "Oh, nothing really. Thought I'd see if Rachel wanted to join us, but she's busy." "That's too bad. I really haven't gotten to know her yet, considering with a wedding coming up, we'll soon be related. Did I tell you, Papa wants me to be his 'best woman' at the wedding? Is that really a thing?" Well, since Robin had dressed up, I decided I'd better put some effort into my appearance too. The last dress I wore to the club did nothing for me, so I dug deeper in my closet until I found an adorable one shoulder floral print dress that I bought on sale and never wore because it was a size to small. My spirits were lifted immeasurably when I effortlessly slipped into it. I then found a pair of red sling-back pumps that are reasonably comfy for a long evening on one's feet. I then decide to go all in and picked the reddest lipstick I could find in my makeup bag. I had to admit, that when I inspected myself in the mirror, I felt pretty euphoric. Then I realized that Rachel's hair cut was one of the reasons for how I felt. Since Rachel wouldn't join us, I gave my friend Jessica a call. She's my resident expert in men. Maybe 'expert' is too strong of a description. Considering we both used to be one, neither of us really learned anything from the experience. But Jessica happens to be attracted to them, so she knows far more about them than me. I have trouble seeing the appeal. On the way over, Robin asked if I would not mention her unique background, and just say she had a sheltered upbringing, which was totally true. When we arrived at the club, Robin acted like I had taken her to Disneyland, albeit a LGBTQ Disneyland. Between the drag show on the first floor stage, the band on the second floor, or the jazz singer in the piano bar, the girl didn't know where to start. Good thing I did. I found Jess in her usual spot, near the back, in one of the few quiet nooks in the place. Robin and I grabbed a couple of lite beers and joined her. Now Jess is a few years older than me, and with age, comes experience. She had stories, good and bad, about dating men as a transgender woman. She was able to give Robin several tips and words of wisdom, like her 'panty rule'. If the guy wants to know what's in your panties, dump him! As she was finishing up her dating 101 lecture, Jess had an idea, "Say, Michelle, do you remember the last time we were here, the day you took over your mom's business, and you pointed out that guy you thought I might like?" "Sort of," I said. "Well, he did turn out to be a great guy, just way too young for me. But he would the right age for Robin here. And I think he's here. I'm sure I saw him over at the drag show. I recall him saying his brother performs here. Let's see, what else..., he struck me as the social justice warrior type. I think he said he was a first year teacher. So basically young and idealistic. But he is definitely a very hot guy. Interested, if I can find him?" Robin gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. While Jess was out looking for this hot guy, I took Robin up to the second floor to listen to the band and maybe do a little dancing. "Your friend is so sweet to do this," Robin said. "And your really sweet too. She gave me a warm hug, and kissed my cheek, grabbed my hand, and led me onto the dance floor. After two dances, I spotted Jess coming up the stairs along with a very attractive guy (who I now definitely remembered). "Ok, introductions. Robin, this is Ethan, and I remembered correctly, he is a teacher, high school math." "Hi," Ethan held out his hand to Robin, "yeah, I'm a bit of a geek, I hope that's ok." Robin's eyes opened wide, and she bit on her lower lip, and started giggling. "Hi, that is more than 'ok'. Umm.... so, I am sort of a math teacher too. But maybe we could talk about that later. Right now I could go for another beer, Michelle here was just teaching me some dance moves," she said, winking at me, "and I'm pretty thirsty now. Care to join me?" And with that, they disappeared into the crowd, holding hands. "Nice job of match making, Jess," I smiled. "Now can you do that for me?" "Probably not," she sighed. "But if you want to hear something really weird, remember after you pointed out Ethan to me, I told you about the TERF you should avoid? Well, as we came up the stairs, I saw her near the dance floor and I could swear she was watching you." "Where is she?!" I yelled, "Where is she? Do you still see her?" Jess was speechless. Finally, all she could do is point in the direction of the ladies room. I pushed and shoved my way through the crowd, looking at random faces hoping to spot Rachel, until I reached the wall on the far side of the room. Hoping against all hope, I opened the ladies room door. There were three or four women there. There was also the sound of weeping coming from one of the stalls. "Rachel!" I screamed. "Are you here? Please answer me, please." I waited, but no response. I tried one last time before turning to leave. "Yes," a faint tearful sob came from the stall. "Let's give them some privacy," one of the other women said, and they left. I pushed open the stall door. Rachel was standing there shaking. "I...., I...., I once told my dad I never wanted to see him again. It was the biggest mistake in my life. You helped me find Julia, helped me feel good about myself again. Then I tell you, tell everybody, you're just my friend. Then when I see you with Robin, I realized I've made even a bigger mistake. I pushed away the woman I love. I came here hoping that you weren't in love with her, that there was still a chance. Then I saw you together...." Rachel started crying, slumped against the stall wall. "Did you say you love me? Because I love you, Rachel Barnes. I love you!" I said as I wiped the tears streaming down her face, only to be replaced by my own tears as I kissed her." With our arms firmly wrapped around each other and gazing deeply in each other's tear filled eyes, we slowly exited the ladies room. "This is kind of an awkward place to find out we love each other, but I suppose it will be a fun story to tell our kids someday," I whispered in Rachel's ear. She just smiled and held me tighter. "Well, I'm going to count this as another match making success," Jess said after Rachel and I laid out our journey from fiasco to love. In the meantime, another romance seemed to be in the making between Robin and Ethan. Afterwards, Rachel and I decided not to tell Robin about her role in all of this. Best to let the bond between the sisters start as a strong one. Epilogue: A month later, Rachel moved in with me, but only after we redecorated Mom and Dad's, I mean our bedroom. Both our moms were right, we do make an adorable couple. I did try to hire Rachel, but she reminded me that despite our love for each other, deep down she was still an opinionated bitch, and I would probably end up firing her. At least that was her excuse. The real reason came in the mail. A letter of acceptance to grad school. Robin has been coming up every weekend to see Ethan. She was still trying to hide her identity, thinking erroneously it might bruise Ethan's delicate male ego. Ethan, on the other hand, had long since Googled her, and was bemused by her attempt. Apparently, after an intense session of lovemaking, he asked if she would mind if he read in bed, and if she could hand him the paperwork on the nightstand. When she reached for the papers, she screamed, "You fucking bastard," upon seeing it was her doctoral dissertation. It turned out that Ethan is even more enamored with the real Robin. Especially after meeting slutty coed Robin. They make an adorable couple. Anyway, the two adorable couples are now on our way to the wedding. We expect to have a wonderful time.