“I borrowed one of your shirts,” I called as Emma untied her shoes in the front hall.
She walked into the living room and looked at me, “You can keep it,” she said, “It looks good on you. Besides I won’t be needing it.”
“So you’ve decided? You’re not transitioning?” I asked.
“I can’t,” she replied. “I want to be a parent so badly.”
I’d already talked to her about adoption and using a sperm donor. She’d vetoed both, wanting a baby that came from her.
I said the first thing that came to mind. “It’s a good thing I didn’t buy an Emma name card for your bedroom door.”
“Oh yeah,” she breathed. “I would have cried.”
“Are you changing because you really are male?” I had to ask.
She shook her head, “No. I’m female.”
I don’t know what to do now. She figures she won’t need to tell the family because they don’t use her name and pronouns anyway. I think they could use a head’s up. But then there’s Facebook and her doctor’s office and, well, me. I changed pronouns quickly when she started out with zie and moved to they. I even switched quickly when she went back to he for half a year. But switching back to male everything when I know she’s a woman? That’s harder. A lot harder.
So, from now on I’ll be doing my best to refer to Emma as Colin and using the pronouns he and him. And maybe someday I’ll be able to say Emma again.