Jake had forgotten his phone at our lunch table. Morgan answered when I called to say I’d drop it off. “Stay for coffee,” she said. “Jake won’t be home for an hour.”
And then there was his older sister, Morgan. my best friends ts sister
For years, “Morgan” was just a title to me. Jake’s sister. She existed in the periphery—coming home from work, stealing the remote, yelling at us to turn down the music. I knew she was trans, but back then, my brain filed that away as simply Jake’s sister who is trans. I didn’t ask questions. Not because I was unkind, but because I was uninformed. I treated her with polite distance, afraid that if I said the wrong thing, I’d lose my best friend. Jake had forgotten his phone at our lunch table
Not despite being trans. But simply because they’re them. “Jake won’t be home for an hour