Content Warning: This chapter contains references to homophobia/transphobia and gender dysphoria

“Wake up, Quinn. You have a big choice to make today.”

I do? I hadn’t planned on making any big choices today, just going on the book expo date with Celia. That’s nothing big, right?

“This is a huge choice, Quinn, get up.”

Did I say something? Who’s in my bedroom? I open my eyes. Doreen and Chuck are standing there, arms crossed. Both are still dressed in their attire from Non-Football Drinks last night - Doreen in a blue dress that accents her curves and Chuck in an orange polo shirt and slacks.

When the fuck did these two start getting along? Also, didn’t they both take a woman home with them last night? Oh no, what did I do last night, I didn’t think I got that drunk.

I do a brief gender check on myself. Hm. No penis, not what I expected… No boobs either? I peek under the covers. Nothing. Well, that’s weird. I hope I don’t have to pee today.

“Okay, okay, I’m up, just turn around or something while I throw some pants on.” Chuck turns around immediately; Doreen rolls her eyes at me first. I open my dresser and frown. My clothes are gone. All I have to wear are the gender-nonspecific boxers I currently have on.

“If you’re wondering, all your clothes are in there,” Chuck says, still averting his eyes but pointing to my closet. Its double doors are cracked open. Something about this feels weird to me, but not as weird as being without any genitalia.

I ask Doreen and Chuck what the “choice” they’re talking about it. They turn to face me, look at what I’m wearing, and share an amused look. Chuck says, “It’s time for you to decide whether you’re ready to give up all this gay shit.”

Doreen gives him a nasty look. “Or, are you ready to fully embrace the woman you’re becoming?”

There’s a full-length mirror on the outside of each of my closet’s double doors. The right-hand mirror shows me, as I was before this past week, with some minor, more masculine differences. I’m showing some of the muscles I had when I was in college, I have a couple days’ worth of beard growth, and my tight black boxers have a prominent bulge. The left-hand mirror shows a more traditionally feminine version of my female body. Her hair has fuller body, is well-styled, and falls to her shoulders. Her face has softer angles than mine, and wears subtle but well-practiced makeup. She is topless and wears pink boyshorts, and I can tell that her breasts are fuller than mine and her curves better defined. I raise my hand to my face, and she does the same. Her nails are painted with detailed nail art.

I turn back to Doreen and Chuck. “When do I have to choose?”

“Soon - before you leave this room,” Chuck says. He points to the mirrors. “All you have to do is smash the mirror of the one you want to leave behind.”

“How do I choose?”

“Go into the closets. Try things out,” Doreen says softly. “Keep the one that sparks joy, leave the one that doesn’t in the past.”

I go to the left-hand closet first. Doreen follows me in; Chucks stays in the bedroom. As I enter, I feel myself change. My hair and breasts grow, my hips widen. I look at my nails, see the nail art, and know that I now reflect the mirror on the door. I examine myself briefly. While my new curves are certainly attractive, but something feels off. When I first shifted, my new body parts felt unfamiliar, but they still felt like mine. These don’t feel like mine – they feel like being wired to someone else’s body.

The closet is huge, and I’m not sure how it fits in my apartment. It’s full of every kind of attire a woman could wear - party dresses, formal gowns, athletic wear, casual clothes; there’s even an area with different kinds of lingerie. Doreen helps me into each piece of clothing I want to try and compliments me on how each one flatters my eyes, or hair, or figure. It’s clear that she’s excited for me, and I’m thankful for her help, but as she zips up the back of a little black dress I’m trying on, I’m afraid to tell her how bad this all feels. Every single thing I try on fits well - perfectly, as though it was tailored to fit this body - but it’s fundamentally wrong. It’s a new feeling for me - when I got dressed as a woman for my date, things felt weird, but not wrong, and liked how I looked in the mirror. Now, it’s all different. I don’t like the way my breasts move. Everything I put on my hips feels like it should fall off. My fucking hair won’t stay out of my eyes. Pants feel too tight, and I feel empty down there. I check out each outfit in the mirror, and it looks beautiful on that woman, but she doesn’t feel like me. I’m trying to put on a brave face - being able to try all this on is a huge opportunity - but I’m just stressed and anxious about it. Is this what dysphoria feels like?

The last straw is when Doreen encourages me to try on some sexy lingerie. I look at it, look at my too-big breasts, feel my boat-wide hips, and long for my penis. I start crying. “I’m sorry, Doreen, I know you wanted this for me, but I just don’t think I can choose this.” She nods, sadly, and we leave the closet.

When I get back into the bedroom, I feel immense relief as I shift back into the body I woke up in - apparently I even prefer sexless to an oversexed female version of me. I feel slightly regretful as I move to smash the left-hand mirror, but I feel Chuck’s hand on my shoulder, stopping me. “My man, I have no problem with you leaving all this chick stuff behind, but you should try both doors before you choose.” He’s right. I follow him into the right-hand closet.

I’m feel myself shift as I enter this closet as well. My penis is back, I gain more muscle definition, and I can feel the stubble on my face as I reflect the man in the right-hand mirror - in many ways, the man I was in college. The contents of this closet are more familiar to me, since these are the kinds of clothes I grew up with. As a result, I start with the clothes I haven’t had as much opportunity to wear before - suits and formal wear.

Like the clothes in the left-hand closet, the suits fit me perfectly, as though I had a personal tailor working for me. And like the clothes in the left-hand closet, everything feels wrong despite my companion’s encouragement and compliments. Chuck compliments the look of a shirt, and my arms feel too bulky. I put on a pair of very nice and expensive pants, and I’m acutely and uncomfortably aware of the way my dick moves in the fabric. My stubble itches, my sweat clings to my body hair, and I just feel gross.

There’s a last straw in this closet as well. As I’m trying on a business suit, I look in the mirror to tie my tie, and I tighten it like I have dozens of times in my life. Today, it feels like a noose around my neck. I look in the mirror, and while I recognize the person there, he’s no longer familiar as me. This is wrong, too.

I rip the tie off and throw it at Chuck. He flinches and catches it. “Not your color?”

I rub my temples in exasperation. “This isn’t who I am, Chuck, it’s who I used to be.” I rub my face, and stop as my hands brush against my disgusting stubble. “I need to go.”

I leave the right-hand closet, Chuck in tow. My body shifts back into its sexless form. I’m still pacing and anxious. Both my reflections pace with me.

Doreen and Chuck look concerned. “Talk to us, Quinn,” Doreen pleads. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that it sucks that the two of you are forcing this gender bullshit on me when I’m supposed to be getting ready for a date.” I stop. “My date.” I stare at my reflections. They stare back. “Who would Celia want to see today?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Quinn,” Chuck gets between me and the reflections. “You can’t let a piece of ass, even a fine piece of ass like Celia, make a decision like this for you.”

Doreen steps in. “Mister Machismo is out of line, but he’s right. You need to make this choice for you, not for anyone else. Not for Celia, and not for me or Chuck. For you.”

I look at the left-hand reflection, who’s now dressed in the little black dress I tried on. “I’m not a curvy woman, so clearly I cannot choose the wine in front of her.” I close the left closet door and look at the right-hand reflection, wearing the business suit sans tie. “And I’m not a rugged man, so clearly I cannot choose the wine in front of him.” I close the right-hand door, then look at my sexless current body. I look back at the reflections, and bile rises in my throat as I remember how awful it felt to be each of them. “Why do I have to choose?” My hands ball into fists. “Why don’t I just smash both mirrors?”

“You could, my child, but I don’t recommend it.” I haven’t heard that voice in so long. I look behind me, turning my back on Doreen, Chuck, and both reflections, and see my mom and dad.

My parents, who died five years ago.

“What… ? How?”

My dad shakes his head. “That’s not important right now, Quinny. What’s important is that smashing both mirrors would be a huge mistake.”

My mom nods, and takes my chin in her hand. “Your friends want you to smash one mirror to preserve the other. That’s still an act of love. To smash both mirrors is an act of hate. That’s something you can’t take back. Quinn, do you hate yourself that much?”

She’s right. I don’t like myself in those bodies, but I don’t hate me. I take the opportunity to hug my parents while I still can. “Thank you. I love you. I miss you so much.” I turn around.

As I walk toward the closets, I hear my father’s voice fading. “We love you too, Quinn, and whatever you choose, we’re proud of who you’ve grown to become.”

I face my friends. “Quinn, what are you choosing?” Doreen asks.

I gesture to the closet. “You heard what my parents said. I can’t smash both mirrors.”

Chuck looks confused. “Okay, so what mirror are you choosing?”

I think, then reply. “I also heard what they didn’t say. And I noticed something.”

“What did you notice?”

“You’re both giving me a false binary choice.” I point at Chuck. “You want me to choose the reflection of the man I was in college, the one who let social pressures decide what being a man meant. But that’s not who I am anymore.” Chuck’s image fades like a ripple in a pond. I point at Doreen. “You say you’ll accept me as I am, but you want me to reflect an ideal of femininity and to make a full-fledged woman out of me, and that isn’t right for me either.” She shimmers and fades as well.

I face my closets and my reflections. “I can’t choose one reflection, and I can’t choose neither reflection. And that’s fine because my apartment doesn’t have two closets.” I put my hands on the mirrors. “I have one closet, and it has sliding mirrored doors. I slide my reflections together, one in front of the other. “If I can’t choose one or choose neither, I must choose both.”

The reflections, now overlapping, shift to become more similar until they display the same person twice, but with very subtle differences to distinguish male and female. The one body in two shapes I’ve become familiar with over the past six days. “I am a grown-ass adult, and that means I can define my gender the way I want instead of letting other people tell me how it’s defined.” I reach out to gently touch my combined reflections, and they reach back.

I wake up. It’s 7:30 AM on Saturday. I check my genitalia - penis. Thank God; I really need to pee.

After I’m done in the bathroom, I think about what’s in my dresser and closet - I have a casual shirt and pair of decent jeans I think that Celia wouldn’t mind seeing on her first in-person meeting with boy-me.

I smile, and start getting ready for my date.