It was later in the morning, just as I'd almost gotten myself back on an even keel through the quiet zen of pruning the alerts – no RAID failures, no persistent backup issues, a couple servers running low on disk space due to that dumbass Dell partitioning scheme, which I could tidy up later – that I got the notification I'd been dreading since I first contemplated returning to work.
Bryce:Got time for a 1&1?
My inner pedant chafed, but I'd long since had to accept that there was no point trying to get through to him that it was "one-on-one;" anyway, that was the least of my worries. But this was another thing there was no getting around, unless I were to just bail and look for another job…
Kit:Yeah, I suppose.
He e-mailed the link for the video call; I licked the back of my hand, gave my hair an antsy once-over, and joined, feeling all self-conscious again. I never liked these things to begin with, but there was an extra layer of uncertainty now, and it was me that was the unknown, the X factor…°
° (I'm going to beat any of you people thinking "…the XX factor!" to the punch just to spite you.)
"Mister…? Robinson," Bryce began; he usually managed a tone of Generic Professional Cordiality with these things, but it was obvious that he was just as uncomfortable as myself. "Good to have you back…?"
"…Thanks," I replied warily. I had a general idea of what he'd insist on covering, and I didn't imagine either of us were looking forward to it.
There was a long moment of awkward silence; I could practically see him racking his brain for what the management handbooks recommended by his golf buddies said about Best Practices for dealing with employees who've undergone a sudden, involuntary sex/species reassignment thanks to a globe-spanning epidemic. Unfortunately for him, that'd probably be in the next edition.
"…Well, I expect there's a lot you're still adjusting to," he said at last, with the confidence and conviction of someone stepping onto pond ice in April. "But I do want to reassure you that we're fully committed to fostering a diverse and equitable workplace here at Fulcrum."
"…Of course," I said through my teeth, trying not to point out that our staff was entirely white and (until recently) male. In fairness, I'd never seen any indication that this wasn't just the kind of statistical anomaly you got when taking a sample size you could count on one hand from the population of low-level IT grunts. Besides, I was more annoyed at being addressed like I was some new hire instead of the same person he'd been haranguing about server replacements Thursday before last.
"And of course if you have any preferences with regard to, er, pronouns or…anything of that nature…we want to make sure you feel heard," he continued, reading off his mental teleprompter and wavering between discomfort and a little frisson of novelty at (I assumed) finally getting around to a flavor of managerial liturgy he'd never had the chance to recite before.
"For sure," I said, feeling extremely Heard and Welcomed.
I kinda had to pity the guy; it didn't help that he was inevitably clammy when he shook your hand in what was meant to be an assertive manner, but he'd always exuded an aura of being almost aware that he was out of his depth. He'd ramble through meetings with blithe quasi-confidence, but in one-on-ones you could tell he was trying not to acknowledge that he didn't know what he was doing in a leadership role any more than we did. But the position was his by divine right, as Company Founder, and to abdicate would be to admit inadequacy before the golf buddies…
"I, ah, did notice," he said nervously, as if he wasn't sure what our nonexistent HR department would say, "it looks like your account's showing as 'Kit…?' I'm sure you're aware, but our Best Practice is—"
"Yes," I said, as firmly as I could manage without hissing outright, "it is." I tried not to roll my eyes so hard as to stare at the back of my own sockets, but my ears told the whole story. Typical Corporate Caring, I thought; all that hoopla about pronouns, and you can't even lay off about proper nouns!? Did I seriously have to go through a sex change to get you to accept this!?
There was another awkward silence, as Bryce sat frozen in malfunctioning-robot mode again. I could sense his palpable unease at the violation of Best Practices from across the Sierras; no doubt he was worried we'd anger the spirits with this transgression.
Finally, without so much as an acknowledgement, he pivoted. "W–well," he said, picking up a stack of papers and shuffling them not very authoritatively, "I thought we should also run over the sections of the employee handbook that are…er, relevant to you, now that, uh…"
"Brrryce…" I said, putting a hand to my forehead and failing to suppress a groan.
"…ah, of course you'll still have insurance under the company health plan," he said, sounding slightly less uncomfortable as the conversation turned to paperwork, "but our provider is requiring documentation of the change before they'll cover medical needs arising from—"
"Mya, that's fine," I said hurriedly. No doubt that'd be its own carnival of joy and wonder, but I could worry about it later; I had, overall, been blessed with a mostly healthy body° and a hardy immune system.°° "Niaow, if that's all…?"
° (Vision issues aside.)
°° (Except in one critical instance.)
"And, ah, of course you know that we have a zero-tolerance policy toward s–s–sexual harassment and, er, discrimination." He stammered through the litany, right back to looking as mortified as we both felt. "And in the unlikely event that anything were to…come up…I hope you'll—"
"I kniaow, yes," I said, still trying to keep from hissing. I doubted he was ignoring me so much as just sticking to the script because he couldn't conceive of doing otherwise, but I was more than ready to be done with this.
It was hard to tell over the webcam, but he might actually have been sweating nervously; he gave his papers another meaningless shuffle. "I, ah, I should a–also explain our policy with, with regards to matern—"
"BRYCE!" I snapped, ears flat and tail puffed out. He stopped short and stared into the camera with a stunned-fish look.
I took a deep breath, flexed the claws I didn't have out of instinct, and tried to get ahold of my temper. "Can we please," I sighed, "take it as rrread that…that I have a copy of the handbook, and will rrreview as needed? Please…?"
You could watch his face and see the gears turning in his head, as the Points That Must Be Covered heuristic strove doggedly against the fact that neither of us wanted to be having this discussion. "…Ah, y–yes, of course," he said at last. "A–and obviously, if you need anything, my door's always, er, open…"
"…Of course," I said, measuring out the syllables. Keep your head about you, I told myself; that's what it means, to be a…an adult…
More awkward silence.
"I, uh, a–also wanted to talk to you about getting some of our, ah, overdue BPAs—"
I hung up.
With another deep breath, I went to the living room, grabbed my guitar and powered up the amp, cranked the gain right to the edge of feedback, and spent the next little bit thrashing out snarling chords and yowling vibratos high up the neck, dragging my fingernails down the strings in horrible Godzilla screams, even just batting the damn pickups for percussive thumps like bombs dropping on the kitchen linoleum. I wished I'd bought an amp with a spring reverb, so I could kick it and get that spine-cracking KSHOWWW at max volume.
Stupid Bryce. Stupid Management Culture. Stupid HUMANITY! The hell of it was, this wasn't even actual prejudice, just awkward conversations about stupid shit that lay in the intersection of stuff I've been through and feel all weird about and stuff my boss feels Professionally Obligated to grind his word-mill over and I Just. Did. Not. NEED. That. right now. And this after that earlier altercation – stupid customers! Stupid COW! – had already spiked my blood pressure…
I knew it was irrational to let it get to me this much – it was the same kind of nonsense I'd dealt with every weekday for my entire adult life – but dammit, it really was sticking in my craw more than usual. I hoped it didn't mean I was just "more emotional" as a woman, partly because that'd always felt like a hackneyed stereotype, but mostly 'cause if it was the case it'd get old real fast; this better be some last symptom of my hormonal balance settling after a major upset.
Or…was Nicole right? Was I habitually stressed all along, and just having trouble keeping it contained, now? I didn't like that notion, either; maybe "girl-Kit" wasn't exactly the same as the original model, but the thought that she might be some hair-trigger hell-bitch was not a thrilling one. I don't wanna be that, goddammit! I thought, raking my hand across the strings. I'm an adult, aren't I? AREN'T I!?
The universe, possibly deafened, didn't answer.
When I was done caterwauling° and felt like I'd gotten it out of my system, I switched off the amp and returned to my desk, though I kept the guitar in my lap to fiddle with as I tried to get my brain back into Work Mode after a week-plus of unplanned and extremely novel vacation. Mike had jumped on the grenade with the Cow; I felt a little guilty over that.
° (That…I'm not sure that's even a pun, technically…? Well, I'm still irked by it.)
- - - - -
I'd more or less cooled my head by lunchtime; I made a tuna sandwich with chives, and almost managed to justify having a beer with it before remembering my reduced tolerance. Like it or not, I did have hours left to go, and I'd probably need my brain.
Later, as I was falling down a Wikipedia hole on trobairitz, my phone pinged; the screen showed it was my mother. I took a deep breath; it didn't take a psychic to divine what she was texting about. Switching the sandwich to my off hand, I pulled up the SMS client.
Mom:Hey, kiddo <3
Mom:Your sister tells us you've, shall we say, been through some things lately…?
Well, that wasn't the worst way to start off, I thought.
Kit:That's a mild way of putting it.
Mom:No doubt. Just wanted to tell you that we love you very much.
I hadn't exactly been dreading this conversation, but I didn't know how to feel; it wasn't one I'd ever imagined having. Despite that, I found myself smiling; she was particular about wording, and the omission of a still from that sentence was doubtless meant to avoid any suggestion of an in spite of your deformity that only she and I would ever think to read into it.
Kit:Thanks.
Mom:Would you like either of us to come stay with you for a bit?
Mom:Just to put that out there.
I considered it. I'd have to face them like this sooner or later, and I had no reason to think it'd go horribly wrong – she might kibitz over my low-effort wardrobe revamp, but we'd long since reached an understanding on my being a slacker. And I did kinda feel like it'd be good to see them – but then, another part of me wanted to maintain a certain amount of distance…
…and while I never quite understood that, I couldn't think why I'd need them to haul across the country on short notice. The day-to-day was mostly a matter of things I'd been used to for decades suddenly feeling all different, and of coming to terms with the raw fact of it all; and if anything serious did come up, I'd apparently have a support group right next door.
Kit:Think I'm okay, for now. Just a lot to wrap my head around.
Mom:Need the space to sort yourself out?
I let out a soft sigh; it was a relief when they understood without me having to explain it.
Kit:Yeah.
Mom:Understood.
Mom:We were thinking about coming to visit in summer/fall, if you're comfortable with that.
Kit:Sure you don't wanna wait 'til it's 105° here and send photos from the Lakewalk instead?
(I smirked; there'd been much mock-consternation a couple years back, when Caitlin sent them a photo of herself sitting in a roommate's parents' hot tub, drinking local wine, while they were caught in a freak April blizzard.)
Mom:Have to do that before we leave, I suppose ;)
Mom:We'll touch base with you two when we've narrowed things down.
Kit:Copy that.
Kit:And thanks.
Mom:Wouldn't trade you, kiddo <3
I felt a twinge in my chest, at that, and stared down at my phone for a minute, feeling maybe just a little bit verklempt…but I couldn't think of a reply, and that seemed like as good a place to leave things as any.
There wasn't enough of my lunch hour left to get deep into MUDding, so I went to check the mail. I hadn't ordered anything, so it was just a week-plus worth of the usual: too early for donation pleas from my alma mater, but plenty of corporate ghouls trying to sell me life insurance, statements from my credit union, fliers from "home energy" and HVAC contractors who never seemed to grasp that this was a rental property…
I saved myself a step and went straight to the dumpster, which walloped me in the olfactory bulb with a panoply of scents: myriad flavors of decay, from empty tuna cans to discarded fruit rinds to little bits of egg white clinging to the broken shells, plus scents that weren't organic enough to turn rotten, but had steamed within various containers in the heat of the day long enough to burst forth with the rush of air when I lifted the lid. Ye gods, I could even pick out Parker's cologne…
As I staggered back, breathing deep in an attempt to clear my nostrils, I spotted one of the neighborhood strays sunning on the hood of the Bug; it was just the right color° to get good and warm in the sun rather than searing hot, and the roof afforded a higher vantage point than Nicole or Parker's sedans. I didn't usually pay them any mind, but for some reason I found myself approaching slowly, cautiously.
° (Red faded nearly to orange.)
The cat, a bushy black tabby, regarded me warily, not sure how to function around this strange creature that was both like and unlike herself; I could relate. After a moment of mutual uncertainty I held out my hand, and she consented to sniff it curiously. Satisfied that I wasn't a threat, she relaxed; I beckoned gently, and she nudged her chin up against my fingers for a scratch.
I obliged, and she leaned into it. Running my hand over her flank, I noted the burs and bits of debris tangled in her coat; I'd always felt sorry for longhairs on that score, and it'd only gotten keener and more instinctual now that parts of me had fur. I felt an urge to pick them out, but when I tried she gave me a Look and pulled away. Alright, I thought to her, some other time.
Satisfied that I'd gotten the message, she sidled back up to me in that it's-not-as-if-I-care way that comes so naturally to cats. Funny, I thought, ruffling the fur around her neck and smoothing it back down, how they can be at such pains to not look like they want something, and yet be so comically obvious about it…
She rolled onto her side, inviting me to rub her tummy, but got twitchy when I did; I left off, and she calmed down. Then she rose and leapt up the windshield to the roof. This wouldn'tve been a problem before – but I was shorter now, and parts of me got in the way when I tried to lean across the top of the car. It was the first time I'd actually knocked them into anything, though it was a low-speed collision and not so much painful as just weird.
While I grappled with yet another Oh-Right-I'm-A-Woman-Now moment, she eyed me like I was the jerk for leaving off with the attention. Annoyed at Miss Didn't-Care-A-Minute-Ago's attitude, I stepped onto the running board…and quickly stepped back off. Rust is just a fact with classic cars, and I'd bought the Bug down by the Bay, where the salt air hadn't done it any favors; even at my reduced size, I could feel it flex beneath my toes.
I was just weighing the possibility of clambering onto the fender against the question of why I was even doing this when she tensed, leapt from the car, and darted off into the shrubbery. I wondered what triggered her, but I could hear someone approaching, and I smelled Parker's cologne again. I turned, and—
—holy SHIT was he tall now.
He'd been taller than me before, but having shrunk, it was impossible not to notice. For that matter, it was hard to stop noticing his frame in general; he was more a fitness freak than a bodybuilder, but he kept himself in shape and no mistake. I'd always been put off by his young-sales-type intensity and mutually-incompatible sense of personal space, but this was the first time I'd found him physically imposing.
"Man," he said, in the same aggressively-confident-and-positive tone as always, "it got you, huh?"
For a moment I just stared, not sure how to respond to that. "Seems that way," I said at last; I felt my cheeks flush, and glanced away in embarrassment.
"Wild, bro." He stepped towards me; I inched back, trying to ignore my brain's efforts to discern his scent from the one he'd doused himself in. "Got one of the seniors in my office, too; out sick for a couple weeks, and came back in total furry mode." He shrugged and shook his head. "Seems like he's takin' it well, though – never woulda guessed…!"
"N–nyo kidding," I said uneasily, trying not to study his features too closely as I attempted to disengage. I wasn't in the mood for small talk about the kind of Big Life Changes I'd just gone through myself, and I was feeling all self-conscious again at being seen like this by someone who knew the old me. It was one thing with Nicole or Frank or Alex, who'd been through it themselves; but what did he make of me? Did I even want to know…!?
"Man, though," he mused, studying my features closely, "you're the spittin' image of yourself. Never really thought about that. D'you have to get your license updated, or what?"
"Mya, uh, maybe? yes? I–I think so…?" I sputtered, edging my way around him and backing into the entryway; he followed. It was weird enough sorting out my reactions here, and that just muddled additional flavors into the cocktail of confusing feelings; DMV aversion I was used to, but the thought of having official legal acknowledgement of what I'd become was deeply strange…
"Probably still stick you with a lousy photo," he said, with an annoyingly gregarious chuckle. "Reminds me, you seen the new iPhones yet? The camera's really something – here, lemme show you…"
He fumbled in his pocket and produced his fondleslab, closing in to begin the gadget-display ritual that'd consume the next half-hour if I let him. I breathed a sigh of relief – yes, please, remind me of all the regular reasons I feel prickly and irritable around you – then felt novelly awkward again when I succeeded in picking out his personal scent and had to process my reaction to that.
"A–actually," I said through my teeth, smiling nervously and backing up against the door, "I…gotta get back to work. Lunch hour's almost up, myakniaow…?"
Parker got a sad-puppy kind of look at having his display interrupted, triggering another newly weird and discomfiting set of reactions somewhere in my chest, then reasserted his usual breezy confidence. "Ahhh, back to the daily grind, huh?" He shrugged, stowing his device. "Well, no helpin' it – next time, then. Good to see ya, bro!"
He waved goodbye, and I slipped inside, shut the door, and took a deep breath in through the nose and out through the mouth. Gahhh, as if I didn't have enough weird new Life Stuff to deal with…!
I heard his car fire up and drive off. I felt very annoyed at him for…for just being him, but part of me insisted on being reasonable and fair and I knew that wasn't either; he didn't mean anything by it. A nagging inner voice wondered if that didn't make me the jerk here, but what was I supposed to do, tell him to back off!? He'd get that damn sad-puppy look and then I'd really feel like an asshole…
Heaving a sigh and trying to put it out of my mind, I stalked to the fridge and had that beer after all.