I woke up with my breasts feeling sensitive, almost sore. Uuuugh. It’s not like I squeezed them too hard last night. One more girl thing? I’d ask May.

  This time I made it downstairs first, claiming Right of The Apron to make the egg-on-toast that had become my and Carl’s specialty (perfect sunny-side-ups with pepper and chives, on thick toast with blackened edges, and now I was thinking about prepping bacon the night before to add chopped bacon to it). Toast, banana, and sliced fruit for May. Morning conversation and I was swiping my last bite of toast through the yoke on my plate when Carl surprised me with a gentle side-hug, arm around my shoulders and a kiss dropped on my head. He and May smooched over Steph’s head as I blinked, and he was gone.

  I rubbed my head as May gave me an arched eyebrow. “Okay, what was that?” I asked.

  “That,” she said, handing me Steph and grabbing our plates, “was Carl trying to display a little family affection that didn’t involve fist-bumping. How did it feel?” She rinsed the plates and put them in the dishwasher while I bounced Steph and tried to think about it, getting everything else cleaned up.

  “Okay, I guess? Why?”

  She dropped back onto the stool beside me and I surrendered Steph. “Things were odd at dinner last night,” she said lightly, “and I asked Carl about it. He said something happened between the two of you and he had no idea what it was.”

  “And so . . . the hug.” And the hair-kiss—so not Carl. Well, not for me, anyway; he kissed Steph all the time, always giving his little princess smooches, pecks, absently loving lip-to-skin contact. I could imagine him giving her hair-kisses when she got older.

  “Mm-hm,” May confirmed as I turned the thought over. “And so the hug. He walked me through yesterday, and I thought, perhaps, that he was out of his usual behavior with you and it startled you.”

  Well, that was a good way to put it. “He’s—he treated me like David. Mostly.” But the hair-kiss had been . . . nice.

  Leaning forward, May put her hand on mine where I’d gripped them between my knees. Pulling my hands apart, she held one. She gave me a deep look, like she was searching for something, and then smiled softly. “So, what happened?”

  For just a second, I clung to the idea of sticking with He startled me yesterday, that’s all. But it had been so surprising, I’d been so confused. I still had no idea what to think about it.

  May sighed, seeming to almost read my confusion. Turning my hand over on my knee and lacing our fingers, she gave them a little squeeze to break the dam. “Carl didn’t do anything,” I said. “I—I was studying and he sat down by me and asked how it was going. If Hadley was what I wanted. How he could help. That’s all.”

  She nodded. “And?”

  “And I—God!” I looked around the room, searching for something that could give me the words. “I—Carl smelled nice! And he was close! And, and, I felt—I was attracted to him!” I sucked in a breath. “That’s why I freaked out and ran upstairs.” I couldn’t look at May, but she didn’t let go.

  “Hun? Hun? Look at me.” Finally I did and she was still smiling. “Come on.”

  Tugging me off the stool, she stood and led me into the living room where she put Steph down in her crib while I stood there fidgeting. And what was up with that? It really felt like the teenager act was taking over my brain; I’d been an adult for forty years and I felt like the child in the room, not much older than the little lump. Straightening, May turned and gave me a tight hug that caught me completely off guard with my whirling thoughts, trapping my arms at my sides as she rubbed my back. Taking two hitching breaths I slumped, dropping my head on her shoulder.

  Her gentle stroking and the sounds of Steph kicking and laughing at her spinning mobile pulled me out of myself, but May didn’t let go until all the stiffness went out of me. Drawing back and taking my hand again, she pulled me down on the couch beside her.

  “First,” she said, leaning in to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear, “I’ll just ask, with the way you felt would this be a sign of your orientation?”

  “May! One-track mind, much?”

  “April!” She threw back, laughing at my gaping and widening her eyes at me comically. “It’s one of your main tracks, right now. It is for every teenager as they figure out what their minds and bodies are doing all of a sudden. What you’re going through isn’t unique and just because you remember going through it before in a different way doesn’t mean it’s going to be any easier for you now. If anything, it’ll probably be harder because the change was so fast.”

  “But I was attracted to Carl!” I suddenly felt like crying, my rationalization yesterday seeming much less convincing now. I was so messed up.

  “Okay.” May patted my arm reassuringly. “Just to check then, were you sexually aware of him at dinner last night? This morning?”

  “No!”

  “And did his hug this morning bother you?”

  “No. I was just surprised.”

  She nodded. “I thought so. Sweetie, what happened to you yesterday, what you felt, is nothing to worry about. It’s Hot Stepdad Syndrome.”

  “Huh?”

  “I have a cousin.” She stopped and laughed. “So many of my stories start that way, don’t they? But I have a cousin whose parents got divorced and my aunt remarried. My cousin was thirteen, fourteen when her new stepdad moved in, and he was a pretty hot guy for someone in his thirties. Long story short, she crushed hard on him, it was horrible and hilarious, and she survived it and she and her stepdad have a great relationship today.”

  “I’m not crushing on Carl!”

  “I know, hun. Believe me it would be obvious—you have no control of your face. My point is, Carl’s not your biological father, he didn’t raise you, and if your sexual compass is making men your magnetic north now then it’s perfectly natural if you experience an attraction. He’s male, he’s yummy, and you might not know this, but there’s practically nothing a woman finds more attractive than a man expressing concern. Being supportive? Showing empathy? It’s hot.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “Oh.” Put that way it made sense even if it wasn’t exactly comforting. Still— “That sounds less pathetic than what I—I mean—never mind.”

  “No, what were you thinking? It’s your head, I’m just an outside observer of what’s going on in there.”

  “I—” It really was stupid but when I opened my mouth my idea of confusion over familial affection tumbled out.

  She didn’t laugh. “Oh, honey. That’s, well I think it does tie into what I said, maybe makes it stronger. And it’s fine. Also, your surprise this morning was kind of my fault. I suggested to Carl that he just might have shocked you with Dad Mode and you didn’t know how to handle it. I suggested baby steps. Little demonstrations. That was one of them.” She looked thoughtful.

  “That does lead me to a question, though. Physical demonstrations of affection. How are you doing with those? I’ve just been hugging the stuffing out of you the last few days, and you said you were okay with Carl this morning, but has any of it made you uncomfortable? Should we dial it back? Are you really okay with it, or are you just tolerating us because of the spot all this has put you in?”

  I was shaking my head before she finished. “No! No. It’s fine. More than fine. Really. I think, sometimes it’s been the only thing holding me together.”

  “Mm-hm, and when you’re not in crisis mode? Is it still okay?”

  “Yes! I, I like it.” I was blushing hotly, which was ridiculous.

  May searched my face and then hugged me again before sitting back. “Okay then. Now I suppose you’re set for studying? Hitting the books? Working those problems? Throwing your pencil at the wall?”

  I nodded, stopped. “Actually, there’s something else. The blush had barely receded and now it heated up again. “I’m . . . my breasts are sensitive this morning.”

  She blinked. “Ah. Well. I was wondering when to expect that.”

  That didn’t sound good. “Expect what?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You still haven’t read Dr. James’ brochures, have you? Okay, for some women, as we near our menses, we get breast sensitivity, a little swelling, even some soreness. It’s triggered by a decrease in estrogen and progesterone, and it sounds like you’re about four or five days out from your first period.” She said it so matter-of-factly it took a moment to set in.

  “My period?”

  “Mm-hm. At your stage of development you’d have started experiencing periods five or six years ago at least, and—at least in my family—most of us girls get titty aches as part of our cycle. You might also experience cramping soon. It’ll go away after your bleeding starts. Whatever your symptoms, as you get older they’ll get lighter. Probably. We can give you pain killers for it if it’s bad, and warming pads, that will help, but it’ll happen every month.”

  I was, just, stunned. Not that I hadn’t thought about it—but no I hadn’t thought about it. At all. I’d thought about the possibility I might get pregnant one day, but not about the inevitability of periods, of bleeding from my new vagina every month. It was an amazing act of denial considering May had already given me a sanitary pad for something else. Well that was dumb. I slumped down on the couch, overwhelmed. “Being a girl sucks.”

  That earned me a final hug. “It’s paying for motherhood in advance, darling girl. And yes, it can suck. I’m glad you discovered the fun side, first, hmmm?” Pulling away she cocked her eyebrow, making me blush again. She knew it would.

  When was I going to stop blushing over the littlest tease? Because I was horribly certain that May wouldn’t stop until I did.

  ***************************************************

  After the post-breakfast drama of the day—and I was getting a little tired of it; after passing through puberty and into adulthood once, even if it had been as the opposite sex, I’d have thought I’d be a little better at handling change—I dived back into forgotten math.

  I watched Steph and studied on the living room floor, keeping the little goblin’s grasping hands away from my laptop and occasionally marveling at being able to sit cross-legged on the floor for hours without pain (on top of everything else, my sixtieth year had been marked by the first real twinges of arthritis). Steph was my job while May baked cookies. Dozens and dozens of cookies. She packed a bunch for gift-wrapped delivery to accounting clients but reserved six decadent chocolate-chocolate chip cookies (even dusted in chocolate) for next door, plating them on one of the plates I’d brought back yesterday and giving them to me wrapped, beribboned, and ready to deliver.

  I thought it felt like a We’re not going anywhere so you might as well surrender, sort of gesture, but I still found myself on Mrs. Thompson’s doorstep ringing the doorbell. “Mrs. Thompson? I see your door-cam, I know you can hear me. I come with lethal chocolate cookies and if you don’t at least let me see you’re not still limping then May—Mom—won’t let me back in the house and I’ll be homeless and it will all be your fault.”

  And I waited. May had told me about the door-cam and I’d changed into my summer dress and put on the cutesy Alice band; I was struggling with the hair curler (Nichole had made it look so easy), but I couldn’t look more girly and non-threatening if I tried and that was my whole fiendish plan. I waited, getting more than one glance from passing neighbors I knew but who didn’t know me anymore, the breeze brushing my skirt around my bare legs feeling very different, and was almost ready to give up when the door clicked loudly. Okay, she had an electronic lock, too. “You can come in,” she let me know through the speaker.

  The door hinges were sprung so it opened against resistance and when I stepped into her entryway it swung shut behind me with an ominous click and the lock reengaged. Right, okay. May knew where I was—our neighbor wasn’t going to kill me and roast me in her oven. I immediately felt bad at the thought; Mrs. Thompson wasn’t a wicked witch joke.

  “In here,” she called from the front room, and stepping past the high-security entryway, it was a normal living room. There were enough shelves for it to be more of a home library and it was maybe a little dark, but it had a bright corner with a very comfortable looking chair where she could read and watch the street out the windows. She stood in front of them now wearing long khaki shorts and a knee brace.

  “As you see,” she said, giving me a look, “I’m fine. My son came by to check on me, he’s a doctor, and as you can imagine I long ago installed a home elevator in this four-floor monstrosity.” Her hair completely gray, standing there Mrs. Thompson reminded me of an older Katharine Hepburn (the Old Hollywood star was way before my time, but Mother had adored the classics and the actress so I’d seen every one of her movies on video). Without the Mid-Atlantic accent, of course, but definitely with her grace, poise, and confidence. “Well?” she said, eyebrow raised, and I blinked, clearing my throat.

  “Thank you for allowing me into your home.” I held up the plate of cookies with both hands. I’d worked out my lines in advance, and yes, I was going for as meek as I could, but it was an act. Mrs. Thompson didn’t intimidate me. Much.

  She pointed at the side table where I could put it down. “Very polite. Lethal chocolate?”

  “One step beyond Death by Chocolate. I think so, anyway.” Having sampled them before, I was pretty sure that, next to May’s professional competence, they were the biggest reason for her accounting-practice success.

  “I see,” she chuckled. “Then I shall enjoy them, thank you. And are you satisfied, now?”

  “I don’t know. I only see you standing. Could you walk across the room?

  “Cheeky.” But her stern face showed a dimple, and I found myself grinning back.

  “Yes, well you said so yesterday.”

  She full-on smiled. “And my first impressions of people are never wrong.”

  I gasped theatrically. “You’re Gwendolen Fairfax?”

  Now she stared at me. “You’ve seen The Importance of Being Earnest?”

  “It’s only one of my favorite plays. So, are you going to walk for me so I can go home and report to dear Mama—who’s as formidable as Lady Fairfax—that our neighbor is ambulatory?”

  She chuckled again. “I should refuse on principle.” But she glided across the room without a wobble. Slowly, but gracefully. “Are you now satisfied?”

  Nodding, I dropped the theatrics; I had gotten what I’d come for. “Thank you. I’m glad you’re not badly hurt. I’ll go, now.”

  Her smile softened. “Come again. And bring your mother over next time.”