What We Left Behind

by Robin Talley

  “Oh.” The jolts are coming faster and faster. I can’t believe all this has happened, and Toni—Tony—never told me. I know we were on our stupid break, but it still doesn’t feel right. “What was that like?”

  “It was amazing, actually. Audrey had a little minimeltdown while we were there, though.”

  “Oh, poor Audrey.”

  “Yeah. She’s okay now. Just needed some time to adjust.”

  I’ll have to call Audrey soon. Make sure she really is okay.

  “What exactly did you tell your mom?” I ask.

  Tony’s smile falters. “Well. Actually, that’s the problem. I kind of told her I’m going to transition. Start on testosterone sometime soon.”

  Another jolt. “Oh. I didn’t know you’d decided that.”

  Toni shakes Toni’s head. No, Tony shakes his head.

  “I kind of didn’t actually decide that,” he says. “But I told her I did. It just sort of came out.”

  “What?” I don’t see how that’s possible. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” Tony bites his lip. I sit back and take a closer look at him. He actually looks kind of miserable.

  God, it’s so hard to think of Toni as Tony. As him.

  “I’m actually kind of incredibly freaked out about it,” Tony says. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now. I need your help.”

  “Sure, of course,” I say.

  I don’t know how I can help with this, though.

  I can handle the name change. I can handle the pronouns. Tony seems to be handling those things just fine, too.

  But he flew down to Maryland and told his mom he’s going to transition to male—just on a crazy whim, apparently—and somehow I’m supposed to fix this problem?

  “Why did you say that if you didn’t mean it?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.” Tony slumps down on the couch. “Maybe on some level I did mean it? I don’t know for sure. That’s the whole problem.”

  Holy crap.

  “Um,” I say. “I’m not sure I can actually help with that. It sounds like you just need to think this through. Maybe, with. Um. A therapist?”

  Tony’s eyes flash with something that doesn’t look like affection, but it fades as quickly as it appeared. So quickly I probably imagined it. “I don’t want to talk to a therapist. I want to talk to my girlfriend.”

  Three weeks ago I wanted nothing more than to hear Toni use that word for me.

  No, not Toni. Tony.

  I replay that word in my head. Girlfriend. I’m somebody’s girlfriend again. God, it feels so good.

  “Anyway, we can talk about this later,” he says. “How have you been? It’s so weird that we haven’t talked in so long. I’ve missed you so much. Even though your hair is still freaking me out.”

  I smile and lean my head on Tony’s shoulder. He squeezes my hand. For a second it’s like we’re back the way we used to be. Like we’re in high school again. Like I can tell Tony what’s bothering me, and Tony will make me feel better.

  Him. I can tell him what’s bothering me.

  That’s going to be so hard to get used to.

  “I’ve been okay,” I say. “Except Carroll and I aren’t friends anymore. That’s been hard.”

  I choke up on the last part. Tony runs his fingers over the inside of my wrist. It feels so nice. “What happened?”

  “Well.” I hesitate, but there’s no point holding this back. I don’t want to keep secrets from Tony now that we’re finally talking again. “We actually got drunk and wound up having sex last week, and he’s having, you know, issues.”

  Tony lets go of my hand and jumps up.

  I fall back on the couch. My heart flutters.

  “You did what?” Tony asks.

  “It was after Thanksgiving,” I say because Tony looks furious. “Believe me, I know it was a dumb thing to do.”

  “You had sex?”

  “Yeah.” I can feel my face turning red. I don’t want it to. I don’t want to feel ashamed.

  “Carroll’s a guy,” Tony says.

  “So?”

  “So?” Tony’s pacing now. “That’s not—it isn’t—he’s so pathetic—”

  I stand up, too. My calm from before is gone. “You broke up with me, remember? You don’t get to be angry about this.”

  “I’m not angry.” Tony’s fists are clenching the way they do whenever Mrs. Fasseau is in the room. “I’m just shocked. He’s a guy. You’re gay, remember?”

  “I thought you were sick of labels. Whatever happened to revolting against the gender binary?”

  Maybe that was mean of me, but I’m not going to feel bad for saying it. Tony’s being mean, too.

  Tony sits back down, breathing heavily.

  “Fine,” he says. “Fine. It’s fine. Whatever.”

  I watch Tony’s chest rise and fall—under a binder, of course—and suddenly this all feels so familiar.

  It feels like it did that day back in August. When I took Tony to the swing set near my house and told the truth about going to NYU.

  Tony sat down, breathing just as hard as he is now, saying, “Fine, fine, it’s fine.” The same way he just said it.

  Tony was lying then. And he’s lying now.

  “You don’t think it’s fine,” I say. “Don’t lie to me.”

  “Oh, because you’ve never lied to me.” Tony’s breaths are coming faster now.

  “You’re mad at me,” I say. “Just say it.”

  Tony shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever this thing was, I’ll pretend it never happened. The past is the past and it can stay there.”

  I was ready to agree to that plan a few minutes ago. Now I’m not so sure.

  “What’s the point of pretending?” I ask.

  Tony glares at me. “The alternative is for me to keep being pissed about this. Is that what you want?”

  “I’m not allowed to have an opinion about what you do,” I say. “How come it doesn’t work the other way around?”

  Tony jumps up again. I stay where I am.

  “What do you mean, ‘what I do’?” Tony asks. “Are you talking about what I think you’re talking about? I’m going through something huge and life-changing, not experimenting like a little kid.”

  “Oh, so I’m acting like a little kid? I’m not the one flying all over the East Coast, coming out to people when I’m not even sure I mean what I’m saying!”

  Tony stares at me. I stare right back.

  “I’m not—” Tony swallows. “Look, I know you can’t understand what I’m dealing with, but this is the person I am.”

  “I want to understand,” I say. “But you hardly even talk to me about it. You only want to talk to your other friends.”

  Tony drops his head. I can’t tell if he’s angry at me or if he’s about to cry.

  “My other friends understand already.” His voice is quieter. “That’s why I want to talk to them about this stuff. They just get it, and...”

  And I don’t.

  “I know,” I murmur. I try to slow down. To think about every word before I say it. “I’ve been trying to understand, when you let me. The thing is, I’m a person, too. I have friends and a life apart from you. That’s why I came to this school. To start making decisions for myself. That means sometimes I’m going to do stuff you’re not going to like.”

  Our eyes are locked. We’ve never talked like this before. It’s kind of scary.

  But I have to keep going.

  “I used to think I’d done something wrong,” I say. “It turns out all I was doing was being me. Sorry, but that’s how it is. Who I am.”

  Tony sits back down. “You’re not really sorry.”

  “I’m not
sorry I’m not your perfect girlfriend who always says the right thing and who you can show off to your friends, if that’s what you mean.”

  “You are my perfect girlfriend.” Tony’s voice is soft. “You were anyway.”

  “Maybe in your head,” I say. “Being perfect in real life is way too hard.”

  Tony stares down at his feet. “I thought you could help me.”

  “You thought I was going to make everything better?” I shake my head. “I can’t make everything better for me. I don’t have the first clue how to do it for you. The thing is, though, you don’t need me to. You can do this on your own. You have to. No one can figure this out but you.”

  There’s something glistening in Tony’s eyes. I can’t tell if it’s tears or anger. Maybe both.

  “I’m not going to apologize for what happened with Carroll, either,” I say. “It was stupid, yeah, but I didn’t do anything wrong. We said we were going to see other people.”

  Tony looks at the floor. All I can see now is the back of his head.

  “I just can’t believe it,” he says. “I get what you’re saying about it not being officially against the rules or anything, but it just feels like this huge gut punch. It’s not even that he’s a guy. It never crossed my mind that you actually would’ve—I thought you’d—”

  Tony trails off. That’s when I figure it out.

  Tony said that stuff about how we should go out with other people, but it never crossed Tony’s mind that I might actually do it.

  He thought I’d just sit around, waiting, while he figured everything out for the both of us. Like Penelope in the stupid Odyssey, weaving her damn tapestry and waiting for her hero to save the day.

  Maybe that’s sort of what I was doing. With the freaking out and getting drunk and making a fool of myself. I was keeping myself busy while I...waited.

  Tony even said that, back at Thanksgiving. That he didn’t want me to be stuck waiting around. I should’ve listened.

  I don’t want to be Penelope.

  I thought we knew everything about each other. Maybe that was true once, but something’s changed. I’ve changed, and so has Toni. Tony.

  I don’t want to go back. I don’t want Tony to go back, either.

  “Do you know why I came here instead of Boston?” I ask.

  Tony stares at the wall behind me. “I think so, but I want to hear it from you.”

  “Okay.” I look down at my hands. “It was because I wanted to see what it was like to just be me. You know? Not half of me-and-you. We’d been together for so long, I’d forgotten.”

  Tony blinks. His eyes are definitely wet. “I never wanted that. To see what it was like without you.”

  “You were always you, though.” This is so hard to explain, but it seems so important that I try. So essential that he understands this. “You never seemed like you lost yourself. Even back home, in high school, everyone always saw you as just Toni. You knew who you were. You have this confidence about yourself that I’ve always been jealous of. I needed to figure out who I was, too.”

  Tony dabs at his eye. “So, what did you figure out?”

  “I don’t know.” I shake my head. Tears dribble down my chin. “I’ve still got a long way to go. I just think it’s important that I keep doing it.”

  Tony nods slowly. “Okay.”

  “I love you,” I say. For the last time.

  Tony leans back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “I love you, too.”

  I sit down. Tony squeezes my fingers. I bring Tony’s hand up to my face and kiss it.

  I’ll miss this. So much.

  “Did I tell you about when Chris came to visit me for the football game?” Tony asks.

  “A little.”

  “We talked about you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I told him I loved you, and I didn’t want you to ever be with anyone but me.”

  I smile. “Yeah?”

  “I said I didn’t know if loving someone and not wanting them to be with anyone else was enough of a reason to stay together, when I was too obsessed with my own issues to even be honest with you. Or to listen to you the way I should.”

  “That sounds very...mature, actually.”

  “Chris called me an idiot.”

  “Yeah, well. I’m not saying he’s wrong.”

  Tony smiles. “He also said I’d never find anyone else like you.”

  “That’s not true at all.”

  “You think? I’m pretty sure it is, actually. You’ve always been way too good for me.”

  “Tony. Be serious.”

  “I am serious.”

  I look down at our intertwined fingers.

  It isn’t like that night at the fountain. That night I felt as though I was sinking into an abyss. This time it feels like, even if I’m drowning right now, I’ll still be alive tomorrow. Part of me is going away, but there are other parts that will keep going.

  “So this is it,” I say.

  Tony squeezes my hand. “It doesn’t have to be.”

  “Are you saying it’s up to me?”

  “I think I am, yeah. I think I trust you with this decision more than I trust myself.”

  I smile, but I’m not happy.

  I reach in my pocket and pull out the top hat charm I’ve been carrying since Thanksgiving. I look at it for the last time. It’s been worn down over the months. It’s not shiny anymore.

  “I still love this,” I say. I smile and slide it into Tony’s palm.

  “Then keep it.” Tony puts it back in mine and folds my hand closed. The metal is warm against my skin.

  We sit there for another hour, not talking. At midnight, Tony stands up, leans over, and kisses me silently on the forehead.

  We don’t say goodbye.

  After

  AUGUST

  SUMMER BEFORE SOPHOMORE YEAR OF COLLEGE

  8 MONTHS APART

  TONY

  She’s not going to know it’s me.

  The phone rings once, twice, three times. She doesn’t pick up.

  Of course not. She wouldn’t recognize this number.

  This isn’t going to work. It was a stupid idea.

  The phone clicks.

  Oh, God. Oh, God. Maybe I should hang up. What if she hangs up once she hears it’s me?

  “Hi?” she says.

  It’s her. It’s Gretchen. I haven’t heard her voice since—oh, God.

  She sounds just the same. She sounds happy. She sounds beautiful. You wouldn’t think you could hear beautiful over the phone, but you can.

  “Hi,” I say. It comes out as a squeak.

  “Stacey?” she says. “Is that you?”

  Who the hell is Stacey?

  “Who the hell is Stacey?” Crap. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.

  Gretchen sucks in a breath. Oh, hell. Calling her was the worst idea I’ve ever had.

  “Tony?” Her voice is low. Almost a whisper. “Is it—hi. Is it you?”

  “It’s me.” I swallow. “Do you—should I hang up? It’s okay. I’m sorry. I should’ve texted first. I—I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry!” She laughs. God, I’ve missed her laugh. The sound always makes me think of that first night at Homecoming. Her blue-painted toes dancing over the polished wooden floor. “It’s so amazing to hear your voice. I’ve—I mean. I missed you. That’s okay to say, right?”

  I laugh, too. “I hope so. I’ve missed you so much.”

  “All summer, it’s been so hard, you know?” Her voice still sounds light and happy, but there are pauses between her words, as if she’s thinking hard about what to say. “Being around all our old friends and everything in DC, and you not being here. I’ve seen Aud
rey, like, twenty times, but not you.”

  I know Gretchen isn’t trying to make me feel guilty, but I do. Only kind of, though. Going to Oxford was the best thing I could’ve done. My job was amazing, and being in a different country was even better. No one knew me. No one expected me to be anything except who I felt like being. “Was it a good summer, though?”

  “Well.” I might be imagining it, but it sounds like Gretchen feels a little guilty, too. “Actually, yeah. I joined this pickup volleyball team that plays on the mall after work. The people are really cool. Plus Heidi’s in town, so I’ve been hanging out with her, and one of my professors helped me get this great internship at the Folger.”

  “Yeah, I heard about that.”

  “Oh, yeah? You been keeping tabs on me?”

  “Er, maybe?”

  We both laugh.

  “So, who’s Stacey?” I ask.

  “Oh, nobody. How’s Derek and the rest of the crew?”

  She’s trying to change the subject. I let her. “Derek’s great. His surgery went really well. He said he feels fantastic and he bought all new shirts for the fall. He got one with a picture of Dorothy Parker on it that he’s really excited about.”

  She laughs again. “That’s great. Did you know Nance and I have been emailing?”

  “Yeah. She mentioned.”

  “She’s actually turned out to be pretty cool. She pointed me to some online groups that have really great information.”

  “Yeah, she told me she was going to do that.”

  “She also said something about Eli staying in the US over the summer. What’s up with that?”

  I sigh. “I guess Eli’s dad is still having a hard time with things. His mom said he needed more time, so Eli stayed in Boston for the break. It worked out because Andy’s mom got him an internship at the last minute, but it’s been rough for him.”

  Gretchen sighs, too. “I bet.”

  “It could be worse, I guess. At least he didn’t have to de-transition to a girl and go back to Korea.”

  “Yeah. God.”

  We’re both silent for a second. Then Gretchen clears her throat.