I poked my head out of the changing room, took a deep breath, and stepped back into the world of people. Get it together, I told myself…again. I could do this; just because I was frustrated by my own awkwardness and irritated at the entire human social framework for being so damn complicated didn't mean I couldn't be a grown-up long enough to get through it…right?
Still, I felt plenty uneasy. Partly over that, partly re: my clothes; it'd been weird enough seeing myself like this, but being out in public added a lovely glaze of self-consciousness to the experience. It seemed hard to screw up "solid-color tee and gender-normative butt-covering," but the part of my brain that never did grasp this stuff had a nagging suspicion that I'd manage it. What if I couldn't navigate these new layers of arbitrary nonsense? What if I wasn't even competent to dress myself like this…?
And, partly, because I couldn't stop wondering where I'd gone wrong. I kept running it over on instant-replay; was it when I teased her back about Caitlin? I could see, with crystal hindsight, that I'd been indulging my inner troll, but it wasn't meant in a mean-spirited way; but then, IRL communication and online banter are very different things. Well, nothing for it but to man up,° swallow my pride, and admit that I'd gone too far and hurt—
° (Yes, yes, I know.)
"Oh, you're back, Miss Kit," Alex said, as if nothing was wrong.
I stumbled over that, mentally. Had I misread things earlier? I'd felt like I must've accidentally tripped some unexpected trigger, but she didn't seem deeply hurt or anything. Was I just over-thinking it? Was the whole thing in my head? Gahhh, why did this stuff have to be so opaque!?
While I stood there frazzling, she eyed me up, taking in my outfit with a curiously analytic expression. I doubted she had any more interest in clothes than I did; had I gotten something wrong? Was I unwittingly making a spectacle of myself? But she didn't seem amused, either; more than anything, she smelled…a little wary, but curious. I had the sense that I was being evaluated as a potential ally for…something…
Before I could wonder too much, Nicole glanced over. "Mya, it's standard prrractice to tuck your shirt in," she said. "Just so's you kniaow."
"…Why?" I asked, puzzled; I didn't usually bother, in casual dress. I felt a little prickly at having her weigh in, but then I really didn't know much about this stuff.
"Keeps your bellybutton from showin', nyand hides it when nyewr underwear rrrides up," she chuckled. "But they're too coy to say that, so they just tell you it's 'nyat ladylike.'"
Being sufficiently "ladylike" was hardly a major priority; as far as underwear, the prospect of people seeing it felt less embarrassing than half the things I'd been through lately. I didn't really get "feminine modesty," the whole eek, people might see a fraction of the layers concealing some part of myself that prying eyes may want a gander at stereotype; in my experience, the contents weren't of public interest to begin with. I wondered, uneasily, if I ever would grok it…
…but, for the sake of argument, I tucked the hem into my waistband. I shifted my hips around experimentally; like yesterday, it highlighted my waist a bit more than I was used to, which I wasn't sure how to feel about. (The denim was less fluttery, at least.) I had no obligation to really care, but it'd be nice if this kept any stares or awkward interactions to a minimum.
I dug Nicole's skirt from my bag,° handed it over, and started putting what hadn't fit back where I found it…and quickly discovered the flip side. Having it tucked in made the skirt follow my posture more, shifting a bit every time I bent over to put something on a table or lower shelf – the opposite of plumber's-butt – and my tail wasn't helping matters. Slightly flustered, I took a moment to smooth it out, and tried squatting instead.
° (It didn't escape my notice that clothing stores provide bags proportionate to how much they hope you'll buy; the damn thing was almost half as tall as I was, now.)
Nicole churred in amusement. "Mya, you get used to that."
I was about to reply when we both flicked an ear toward the sound of someone approaching. I smelled Frank, but I wasn't prepared for this version. Not to oversell it – her outfit was perfectly reasonable by normal, life-before-plagues-with-major-gender-implications standards – but it was clearly selected with an eye toward what actually worked for her, as she now was.
(Funny; I hadn't thought about it 'til now, but what she'd been wearing wasn't Nicole's style…but was coordinated for someone lighter-skinned. I wasn't sure what to make of the implication that she'd been borrowing cast-off bits of her ex-wife's wardrobe.)
A black skirt hung in folds about her knees, rippling with every motion of her tail; it was just snug enough at the hips to outline her curves without clinging. A burgundy top, along with her bra, smoothed the contours of her bust into a very flattering curve – and yes, it was definitely lower-cut than mine. I could see her straps peeking out from the collar – black, which made sense for her skin tone – and felt a need to glance down and make sure mine weren't showing.
It wasn't quite picture-perfect – she was still in stretched-out crew socks and ill-fitting men's shoes, which didn't do her any favors – but it was difficult to look at this and not feel…stunned? Confused? …a little intimidated, even…? I didn't know how to react; okay, yes, a beautiful woman in a nice outfit, but this was Frank, for God's sake. Not that I'd ever interacted with him that much, but I remembered her when she was a man, and it was still weird trying to reconcile the two. And that aside, was it even kosher to find your neighbor—
I stomped the brakes on that train of thought before my brain got off on a tangent trying to define "beautiful" (in the abstract) vs. "hot" (wanna do something about it) and work out which this was and what that'd imply; I was not ready to deal with that, yet. "Nyew're, uh, rrreally leaning into this, huh…?" I said, then felt like an ass for saying it; it sounded judgier coming out of my mouth than it had in my head.
She chuckled awkwardly, and I was surprised by how self-conscious she smelled; this might've been further out of her comfort zone than I thought. "Well," she said, one ear ticking back and the other flicking nervously, "it's nyat like I can hide this…"
"…S'pose nyat," I replied, feeling slightly annoyed for reasons I couldn't put my finger on. I forced myself to get a handle on it; how she dressed was her business, wasn't it?
"Mya look grrreat," Nicole said, in exactly the kind of positive, supportive way I wasn't any good at. Then, to my surprise, she turned to me. "That's a nice choice of colors for you, too."
"Thanks…?" I said, feeling a little weird at getting complimented. It wasn't like I'd made an effort; blue is just standard for denim, and a white tee is the Most Basic Thing. Besides, with the gray fur, it put me more in mind of a dialogue window from some old JRPG than anything.
A hint of confusion wafted over, and I turned to see Alex assessing her dad uneasily. It was probably a lot for a kid to take in, I supposed, coping with a big life change while your parent(s) were going through changes of their own. (Not that I could talk; while I wouldn't use the word "normal" to describe any of my family, we'd been pretty drama-free…my own awkwardness notwithstanding.)
Finally, she spoke. "I'm nyat wearin' nya dress," she reiterated out of nowhere, ears ticking back; the fur on her tail puffed out slightly. She didn't quite stamp her paw on the ground, but I could see her leg tense, toe-claws slipping out from their sheaths.
Frank gave another uneasy chuckle. "We'll see what we can do," she repeated, in the tone of a parent trying very specifically to de-escalate without making any specific promises. "But nya have to wear something, kiddo." Her own tail gave a telling lash.
"I'm gonnya wear shorts." Alex cast a furtive° glance in my direction, and I realized, uncomfortably, that she'd been sizing me up as an ally in the battle for her wardrobe. I wasn't sure how to feel about that; the part of my brain that felt residually guilty over maybe/maybe-not crossing some mystery line kinda figured I owed her, but I had no desire to stick my nose into anyone's child-rearing.
° (Damn it.)
"I…think that might cramp myewr tail, honey." Frank shot me a look of her own, to my astonishment; I could understand Alex casting about for support, but why would an adult turn to someone like me for backup, let alone her actual parent!?
"It WON'T," Alex huffed, said tail standing out straight, at a sharp angle to her body – and this time she really did stamp her foot.
I gave Nicole a pleading look, but she responded with a what-can-I-do? expression and a shrug. I stifled a growl. I could grasp her logic – if she told Alex to give in, she'd come off as a typical teacher taking the grown-ups' side, so I was the closest thing to a neutral party here – but she was so paying for lunch…
The part of my brain that'd prefer a quiet evening in Hell to dealing with people stuff was imploring me to nope out, but I was stuck, since I'd ridden with them; I could've stalked off elsewhere, but it'd only make things awkward later. But how was I supposed to deal with the awkwardness now…?
"Mya, Alex," I said, glancing over at the girls' section, "is…what you've got on niaow…okay with you?"
I could tell from her reaction that she'd been hoping for more direct backup; she glanced down at herself and had to think about it. "It's kid stuff," she said disdainfully, "but it's better'n nya buncha frilly crap."
I didn't ask, not wanting to make her second-guess, but she probably thought of her hand-me-down jumper as overalls, and never mind the part where it was kind of a skirt; not the most iron-clad logic, but we could use that. I nodded to the other side of the aisle. "We can get more of those, then. That'll do for niaow, and by the time myew outgrrrow them, they'll have more stuff designed for people like—for people with tails."
A very strange feeling crept up at the back of my mind at that. People with tails – this was how things would be from now on, wasn't it? Five-plus millennia into recorded history, and suddenly the world had a whole new kind of people in it. What would that mean, going forward? What would "human" civilization look like in twenty years? A century? A millennium…?
"That's nyat a bad idea," Nicole chimed in, seeing a chance to steer things in a productive direction without seeming to take sides. "Prrrobably better for playclothes, anyaway." I shook my head, trying to get my focus back on the present; where had that thought come from…?
Frank thought it over for a moment. "Mya, that does make sense." We all turned to Alex; okay, kid, I thought, ball's in your court…
Alex's ears were ticked back, but not by as much; she still smelled annoyed, but giving her some agency apparently helped this feel less like something the adults in her life were forcing on her. She pricked her claws on the carpet again, then sighed. "I guess."
"Alrrright, then," Frank said, with a palpable sense of relief. "That and some nyew shirts should be good enough for today."
Nicole shot me a knowing grin; I rolled my eyes in response, flicking one ear irritably. One productive interaction didn't by itself form a compelling case for making a habit out of this. Still, though…at least it'd put things back on a positive footing. I couldn't entirely suppress a smile at that.