“So let’s talk about… this,” Mum said, unsure about how to address the corset literally wrapped around me. She seemed skeptical about the whole story. “You said the Smith girl asked for your shirt and gave you a corset…?”

“Mhm,” I nodded.

“And you… enjoy wearing it?”

“Y-Yeah…”

“Honey, please, chin up,” she whispered, lifting my head with her hand. “I just want to understand what this is. You’re lucky it wasn’t your father who found this.”

“Please don’t-”

“I’m not going to tell him, but I need you to talk to me. I promise that whatever we talk about will just be between us, but I’d start talking before Mark comes home.”

“You’d send me to the asylum,” I mumbled. I knew what they did to people like me, who didn’t fit the common mold. Straight into my very own cell and getting my head sawed open.

“Adam, I am your mother,” she said firmly. “Who was there when you took your first steps?”

“You…”

“Who taught you how to make bread, cakes, and biscuits?”

“You did…”

“Who got you a job working with candy instead of letting your father drag you off to help build porches or back sheds?”

“…”

“The point is that I’m your mother, Adam. I’m going to make sure you’re safe and happy no matter what…” Mum said softly, putting her hand on mine. “Just please, tell me what’s going on here.”

“Ok…” I sighed. “I… I don’t think I’m really a man.”

“Um…” She definitely looked like she had more questions than answers. “Do you care to explain what you mean?”

“It’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t know what it feels like… But it’s like… I feel like a woman who was born in the wrong body. My masculinity just feels completely wrong.”

“So… you relate to women more than men?” she asked, confused.

“I don’t just associate with them. I feel like I am a woman, but… just not in a woman’s body, if that makes sense.”

“This is all hard for me to understand,” Mum said slowly. “But if I understand what you’re saying… You’re not a man, but a woman who’s trapped in a man’s body?”

“And that’s the part I was afraid you’d send me to the asylum for…” I coughed nervously. Honestly, I didn’t expect Mum to understand any more than Dad. The difference is that she won’t beat me within an inch of my life before sending me to my lobotomy.

“So I have a daughter, not a son?” she carefully asked.

“Um… Yes…?” I said nervously.

“That’s relieving to hear,” she sighed with a smile. To say I was surprised would be a gross understatement, and my face probably showed it. Mum glanced at me fearfully. “Oh dear, did I overstep by calling you daughter?”

“No, no!” I quickly exclaimed. “I just… never expected to be called that… Since you and Dad used to tell me how you were both so set on having a son and all…”

“Truth be told, Mark was the one who always wanted a son,” she wearily smiled. “I hoped for a daughter, but… I’m glad that my prayers didn’t go unanswered after all.”

“So you’re not offended by… this?” I asked, gesturing to myself.

“Oh, goodness, no! I should be apologizing that I had sprung you into a confession instead of letting you come to me in your own time.”

“Well… it’s not like you knew I was dressing up in my bedroom,” I dryly laughed. “But, um… about Dad…”

“Mark’s not going to know anything about this,” Mum promised, putting an arm around me. “If it’s all the same to you, then we can keep this a lady’s secret.”

“I-I’d like that a lot,” I nodded, tearing up. I had to be dreaming. This was my absolute dream scenario! Maybe I couldn’t be a real woman, but being a daughter to my mum was better than nothing.

“Honestly, this explains quite a lot,” she giggled.

“Huh?”

“Well, you always do look uncomfortable whenever your father wants to do anything with you, or when he calls you a fine young man. And I’m guessing it explains why you don’t want to go into his line of work?”

“I’d just rather stay at home with you, cleaning and cooking,” I explained. It felt really good to get everything off my chest for once. I finally had someone to talk about all these feelings with! “Although, I really don’t mind working at the candy shop. It’s just how people address me that I have a problem with…”

“Well… how would you feel about letting you grow your hair out?”

“R-Really?!”

My hair was something that Dad was always on my ass about nowadays. It was getting pretty long, down to my shoulders now, and he wanted Mum to finally cut it. A surprising amount of mornings started with him asking about it.

“Mhm, I’ll even tell your father that the shears broke and we’ll have to wait to be able to get another pair.”

“Wh- I…” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I would be able to grow my hair out? That was something I’d been longing for years now. “Yes! I’d love to grow it!”

“Calm down, calm down,” Mum smiled. “I’ll do my best to keep your father alright with it, but I’ll do anything to make you feel more comfortable.”

“Th-Thank you,” I mumbled, embracing her in a hug. “This is… maybe the best night of my life.”

“I can make it better,” she offered. “How about you come upstairs and I’ll take some measurements from you?”

“Measurements? For what?”

“Your dress, of course,” she smirked. “That is, unless you’d rather not have one.”

My heart skipped a beat. Actually, I think it skipped two. Maybe even three. It might’ve stopped altogether and I wouldn’t have cared. Even if the whole thing was over just one dress, in the moment I felt like all my dreams were coming true.

“I-I… I would love that…”

“Come on, honey,” Mum smiled, holding out her hand. “Let’s get you measured, and I’ll make you a dress worthy of Queen Victoria.”

As I took Mum’s hand and followed her to her room, a new feeling welled in my chest. Was it gratitude for my mother’s understanding? Or relief that I wasn’t to be cast out for my differences? Or even a positive glee for her promise to treat me like a daughter? For the first time in years, I was looking forward to my future.

*   *   *   *   *

I woke up the next morning with an excited little smile. My steps had a certain bounce to them and my timid walk had transformed into an excited stride. I looked into the mirror to see that my hair had not radically grown overnight, which was disappointing, but it made me happy to know my shoulder-length waves were here to stay.

When I went downstairs, Dad was already at the kitchen table with the breakfast that Mum had made for him. Of course, the moment he saw me, he put on a frown.

“When’s that hair of yours going to get cut?”

“Remember, dear?” Mum asked. “Our scissors broke and I need to go get new ones.”

“Hmph, I don’t remember them breaking,” he mumbled.

“They did, dear. And it could take a while to find a good pair.”

“Matilda, you don’t need to meticulously look for a ‘good pair’ at the market,” he criticized. “Any pair is as good as another.”

“Oh is it now?” she asked, a tad annoyed even if she was the one lying about the scissors. “And I’m sure that means you can do your job with any old tool bag?”

“You know that’s different, Matilda-”

“Do explain how, then.”

While Mum and Dad debated about the validity of good tools, I got myself breakfast bread and meat without getting in the way. The discussion ended up in Mum’s favor, and Dad had to retract his statement about scissors. It was all quite silly, but made for great entertainment in the morning. Plus, it was less time for Dad to yell at me. Before I could get out the door though, he blocked my path with a scowl.

“If you’re not going to get it cut, at least look respectable,” he scoffed, grabbing my shoulders. I completely froze up, and he grabbed a ball of twine, snapped off a piece with his teeth and tied my hair back into a short ponytail. “There, now you won’t look halfway between man and woman.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I mumbled. “What would I do without you…”

“Be thankful I’m here to prevent you from making a fool of yourself,” he scolded. “Of course, when you grow into a fine young man, you’ll probably look like me.”

“Really?” I asked, freezing up.

“Mhm, in a few years you’ll have a real man’s widened shoulders and sharp face. I’ll praise the day when I don’t have to worry about people thinking we have a daughter.”

“Honey, let our child go to work,” Mum frowned. “And you should know the roof of the shed fell in last night.”

“Again?! But I just fixed it a couple days ago!” he exclaimed, grabbing his tools and running into the backyard.

“Run while you can,” she chuckled, sweeping my hair to the side. “Have a good day at work, honey.”

“Thanks, Mum,” I smiled, giving her a big hug. “I love you…”

*   *   *   *   *

I made it to my job just as the sun finished arriving above the horizon. The small bell chimed playfully when I opened the front door, the owner, who was putting some small candies on the shelves, gave me a smile. She was one of Mum’s nice friends who owned a candy shop. She used to do it alone, but Mum convinced her that some help would be good, since one person could make candy in the back and the other would sell it to customers.

“Good morning, Adam.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Lada,” I sighed, scratching the back of my head and feeling my tied up hair. Nothing would bring me more joy than to just pull the string and let my hair fall.

“Your hair looks nice,” she commented. “I think it looks better put up like that. It makes you look like a French militia man.”

“Thanks…” I mumbled. “Am I making the candy today?”

“No, I’ll be in the back today,” she said. “You’ll be handling customers again.”

“Got it.”

Being put in the front of the store to deal with customers was a lot harder for me than just making the candy. I threw on the plain brown apron hanging from a hook and went behind the counter. All I had was a paper with all the prices listed, a few blank pieces of paper and pencil for complex math, and the till drawer to take and break money. My job was just to sell candy and make sure people don’t steal, not that I could exactly stop them.

Once I made sure that all the signs were in front of the right candies, I flipped the “closed” sign around to the “open” side and mentally prepared myself. Since Mrs. Lada owned one of the only candy shops in the city, we got customers from all walks of life. Young and old, rich and poor, everyone loved candy.

“Excuse me, but do you have these but yellow?” an elderly man asked me a little after noon, holding up a small ball of chocolate.

“Um… hold on,” I requested, leaning into the backroom. “Mrs. Lada, can you make yellow chocolate?”

“What do I look like? A witch?” she sassed. “Tell him I can make it red or green, but the red ones might taste a bit nutty.”

“Alright,” I said, coming back to the customer. “We can make you red or green ones, but not yellow.”

“Eh, forget about it,” he mumbled, putting the chocolate down on the counter and walking out of the shop. I just sighed and popped the small chocolate slab in my mouth. People had remarkably little patience when they didn’t get what they wanted.

“Did they buy anything?” Mrs. Lada asked from the back.

“Nope, he walked out.”

“Bah, cheap.”

I was about to take a break right before the small bell rang again, drawing my eyes to the door. In walked two siblings: Reginald and Angel Hawthorne, both in their 20s. The Hawthorne’s were one of the wealthiest families around. Their father was an incredibly smart businessman, which made them all very well off. Well off enough to have eight children. The combination of a large family with insane wealth made them some of the most frequent customers here.

“Welcome to our candy shop!” I greeted.

True to her name, Angel Hawthorne had a positively angelic figure with wide hips, flowing brown hair, and soft facial features. She had such a sweet shine in her beautiful green eyes. All the Hawthorne’s had green eyes, but each one’s were just slightly different.

Reginald, on the other hand, held himself like a strikingly serious man. He looked to be the closest looking to their father, with short, but soft-looking brown hair. He stood taller than me, with a wiry but muscular build. Compared to Angel, his eyes were a dim green.

“Hello, Adam,” Angel giggled. They visited enough that they called Mrs. Lada and I by our first names most of the time. “Do you have any of that licorice candy?”

“There should be some bundled up in the jars back there,” I said, pointing to a shelf and watching her happily investigate them.

“Tell me, Adam, have you found a woman?” Reginald asked.

“No, I can’t say I have,” I shook my head. “Why?”

“I’ve found someone, but I’m not sure what candy to give her as a gift… What would you recommend?”

“My own Mum likes the sugar plums,” I mentioned. “Why not ask?”

“Then it wouldn’t be much of a surprise, now would it?”

“Oh, true…”

“Hm… Tell me, how much would all of the candy in this store be worth combined?” Reginald asked, looking around. “Both in your storage and out here.”

“Um… I don’t know,” I admitted.

“Could you give an estimate?”

“Perhaps… $130-$140 worth?”

“Then maybe I-”

“You’re not buying all the candy in the shop,” Angel frowned, bringing a handful of licorice strands to the till. “I talked with Maxine and she mentions that she likes mint.”

“Alright then, how much for all of your mint candies?”

“Reginald Hawthorne, you’re going to break my business if you buy all my candy,” scolded Mrs. Lada, coming out of the backroom, wiping her hands. “You want all our mint candies?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded. “I would.”

“And you’re ready to pay?”

“I am.”

“Then get your purse ready, because it’s going to cost,” she warned, getting a bag.

“I assure you, Rena, the price isn’t any concern to me.”

“It never is though, is it? Adam, count up what six dozen mints would cost.” While passing by, Mrs. Lada whispered in my ear. “And add 10% to the price. I’m going to get as much out of these Hawthornes as I can.”

“I’m on it,” I nodded, starting to tally up the price.

However, I had somehow skipped over one important Hawthorne. I almost jumped out of my skin when the woman tapped her nails on the counter. She laughed at me while staring at me with those alluring emerald eyes.

“Please, Adam, be at ease,” Mrs. Hawthorne giggled. Everyone I knew just called her Mrs. Hawthorne. Not Christina Hawthorne or even a hint of using her first name like her children. They were just Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne. That should show how respected they were.

“Sorry, sorry,” I sighed. “Are you looking to buy anything?”

“Just these lemon candies, please,” she asked, pointing to some on display.

Once I counted up the prices of all their candies, got the pay, and gave their sweets, a sigh of relief escaped my lips. Serving rich people was stressful.

“You can go home, Adam,” Mrs. Lada smirked, counting the money in her hands dollar-by-dollar. “I’m closing shop early today.”

“Why?”

“Because I just made more money in a day than in a typical week,” she smiled, still starstruck. “I’m going out with my husband to celebrate!”

“Oh, I suppose that’s fair… I’ll just be going home.”

“Here, take $20 for yourself as a bonus,” she said, handing me a bill.

“This is almost half a month’s pay!” I exclaimed.

Mrs. Lada could be a stern and shrewd woman, but in the end, she cared about both her customers and employees… and money. Especially money.