Mom nods, squeezing my hand. “Of course, we'll do whatever is best for Jake.” She turns to me, her voice soft. “Baby, I love you no matter what. Regardless of what your father or grandparents might say or think, I’ll support whatever decisions you make.”

  A lump forms in my throat since I’m both grateful and overwhelmed by her support. “Thanks, Mom,” I whisper. “Can I please be your daughter?”

  Her eyes well up with tears again, but this time she’s smiling. She pulls me into a tight hug, her voice thick with emotion. “Of course, baby. Of course, you can.”

  ***************************

  On the ride home, Mom tries to get me to talk to her, but I’m simply too lost in my own swirl of thoughts. Most of them center on the fact she said I can be her daughter, which makes me happy. That said, I’m completely on edge as we drive since I’m well aware of how my dad is going to react.

  Due to my father’s and grandparent’s opinions on the matter, I’ve always hidden who I am. When I was younger, by acting more like a boy than other boys, and tely, by hiding out in my room and not interacting with my parents, which I’m sure they simply chalk up to me being moody. The only person I allow any sembnce of myself to show around is Kelly Anne. I truly love the time we spend together.

  Kelly Anne is a girly girl. She always wears skirts, dresses, or occasionally, a pair of shorts. As you can guess, over the years there have been many instances where she would have me dress as a girl. That seriously made me really happy, even more so when she would add a wig and makeup to complete the image. I actually thought I looked rather cute. Dressed like that, the two of us have even gone into town to see movies and such. Even if it’s just Kelly Anne and myself saying it, with a wig, I make for a rather cute and believable 13-year-old girl. I always found the experiences thrilling.

  After we pull into the driveway, she turns off the car and says, “Baby, I know you want to live as a girl, but are you sure about this? Are you willing to risk your retionship with your father and grandparents?”

  I sit there staring at her as I take a deep breath. A part of me wants to give in, to retreat back into the safety of lies. At the same time, I think about all those moments with Kelly Anne, how free and happy I felt when I was being myself. In my mind, there’s no choice to be made here. Thinking about the secret I’ve been carrying for so long and how much I despise living like this, it’s clear as a sunny day that there is only one choice. Now that I’ve told Mom and the doctor has confirmed that my body will continue to develop as female, I have no desire to hide anymore.

  I gnce down at my hands in my p. “Mom,” I murmur, “Please… I’ve been hiding who I am for years. It’s... it’s killing me. I can’t do it anymore. I want to be free to be me.” I look up at her, willing her to understand. “If they can’t accept me for who I am, then... then that’s on them. I refuse to keep living a lie just to make them happy.”

  Mom reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I just want you to be prepared for how difficult this might become.”

  I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat. “I know, but I have to do this. For me.”

  She merely nods and continues to hold my hand. “Then we’ll tell your father after dinner.”

  Rather than drag it out, I reply, “Okay.”

  She takes a breath and firmly nods, then we head inside. After dinner, we’re all sitting at the table talking about the situation. I’ll be honest here; Dad has a hard time accepting that I’m turning into a girl. Then, when I inform him that I am and always have been a girl, he just gets up and leaves the room. I suppose he thought I would immediately reject any option other than living as a boy.

  The next morning, I throw on a t-shirt and some shorts and head down for breakfast. Entering the kitchen, I tell Mom, “Good morning,” and take a seat. Then Mom hands me my pte. Dad soon comes in and sits down.

  As we eat, I steal gnces at Dad, trying to gauge where he stands. He must have noticed because he finally sets down his fork and looks at me. “So, why do you want this?”

  I keep my tone calm and reasonable as I reply, “It's not what I want; it’s who I am. I’ve never been your son.”

  He jerks backward as if I’d punched him, which verbally, I suppose I have. “I’ve tried to be what you wanted, and all that’s done is make me miserable. I’ve even considered taking my own life.”

  Mom gasps softly, her hand flying to her mouth. Dad’s face pales, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something in his eyes—fear, perhaps? Or maybe just shock.

  I gesture to myself. “I hate being inside this... this thing. It’s not mine; it’s not me, and not who I’m supposed to be.” I look between them for a moment. “Answer me honestly. Would you rather have a happy daughter or some miserable thing you call a son that hates any thought of continuing to live like this?”

  Dad's jaw clenches, and he looks down at his pte. The silence stretches for what feels like an eternity. Finally, he looks up, his eyes meeting mine. “I don’t know how to process this, Jake. I mean...” He trails off, running a hand through his hair.

  Mom reaches out and pces her hand on his arm. “Honey, we need to listen to our child. This isn't about us.”

  Dad nods slowly, his expression a mix of confusion and anger. “I hear you. I just... need time to understand. This is all so sudden.”

  I reach out and softly touch his arm. “Dad, there’s nothing more to understand. Nothing else to consider. I. Am. A. Girl. Excmation point. You have a daughter who is trapped in a body not her own. What more do you need to know?”

  Dad’s eyes narrow, and he pulls his arm away from my touch. “It’s not that simple, Jake. You can't just decide to be a girl overnight.”

  “I didn’t decide anything,” I say, frustration creeping into my voice. “I’ve always been a girl. The only difference is I finally told you.”

  Dad pushes his chair back from the table, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. He stands up, his face flush with anger. “This is insane. You’re my son. My boy. I’ve raised you for almost fourteen years, and now you're telling me it was all a lie?”

  I feel tears welling up in my eyes, but I force them back. “I wouldn’t say a lie, but it isn’t the truth either. I was just... hiding. Trying to be what you wanted me to be and killing myself in the process.”

  Dad shakes his head vigorously. “No. I won’t accept this. You’re confused, that’s all. We’ll get you help, real help, not some quack doctor who’s feeding you these ideas.”

  Anger boils up within me, and I sharply state, “The only one confused here is you. The doctor didn't put any ideas in my head. She only confirmed why I’m changing. I don’t need help to understand who and what I am. I’ve known that for a long time.”

  Mom stands up, pcing herself between us. “Please, let's all calm down. We need to approach this rationally.”

  Dad scoffs. “Rationally? There’s nothing rational about this situation!”

  I pce my hands on the table and stand up. I softly smile at him. “I get it. This is hard for you to accept, but please try to understand—for once, this isn't about you. It’s about me finally being honest about who I am.”

  Dad's face is a storm of emotions—anger, confusion, hurt. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again, shaking his head.

  I take a deep breath and say, “I’m still the same person. The only difference is you’ll have a complete daughter instead of a make-believe son. Don’t you want me to be happy? Or is that only allowed on your terms?”

  Dad's face contorts, a mixture of anger and frustration etched into every line. He sms his fist on the table, making the dishes rattle. “Damn it, Jake! You can’t just spring this on us and expect everything to be fine!”

  I flinch at the outburst, but I stand my ground. “I’m not expecting anything. I’m definitely hoping, though. I know it’s a shock, but I refuse to keep pretending to be something I’m not… Anyway, I’m going to continue to develop breasts; my hips will widen and my waist will get even more narrow. Like it or not, you have a daughter.”

  His face turns an arming shade of red. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Instead, he turns and storms out of the kitchen, smming the front door behind him as he leaves the house.

  Mom and I stand in stunned silence for a moment. Then she comes over and wraps her arms around me. “I’m sorry, baby. He just needs time.”

  I lean into her embrace, feeling the tears I've been holding back finally spill over. “What if he never accepts me?”

  She strokes my hair gently. “Let’s give him a chance to mull this over. He loves you, even if he’s not acting like it right now.”

  We stay like that for a while, until my tears subside. When we finally pull apart, Mom cups my face in her hands. “No matter what, you have my support, and if your father doesn’t come around, we’ll come up with a pn.”

  I nod, grateful for the distraction. “Thanks, Mom. I’m going to go py a game for a while.”

  As I turn to head upstairs, she says, “Honey, do you want to go shopping?”

  I stop dead in my tracks, look over my shoulder, and breathe, “Yes! Please!” then let out the biggest smile of my life.

  I’m not going to get into the whole shopping trip. There really isn’t any need since you know what I need: Bras (turns out my measurements are 30A-24-32), panties, camisoles, slips, skirts, dresses, blouses, shorts, socks, stockings, pantyhose, nightgowns, sleeping shorts, sports shoes, sandals, and heels. Plus the sundry other items a girl needs.

  She also took my hair trimmed and styled. They also gave me a mani-pedi and added a light touch of makeup as well, which I have to admit that I rather enjoy. Then we went shopping for jewelry and got my ears pierced.

  As we shop, I’ve slowly transformed myself. At the lingerie shop, I slip into a bra and panties. In a clothing store, a change into a cute little sundress we bought, and at a shoe store, I slip on some ballet fts. There I twist this way and that as I smile at my reflection in the mirror. Finally, I sigh happily and look at mom.

  Mom’s eyes well up with tears as she watches me. “You look beautiful,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion.

  I can’t stop smiling as I twirl once more in front of the mirror. “I feel beautiful,” I reply, smoothing down the skirt of my sundress. “For the first time, I’m openly me. No wigs, nothing but me.”

  As we leave the shoe store, I'm practically floating. The feeling of the dress swishing around my legs, the gentle pressure of the bra, the delicate weight of the earrings—it all feels so right. So natural.

  We stop for lunch at the food court and then head for home. Mom tells me to carry everything up to my room and that she'll be up soon. There I begin by dumping everything out on my bed and then begin removing the tags when Mom breezes in carrying a few of the contractor trash bags we use for leaves and such.

  “Alright, let's get all of your old clothes in the bags, then we'll hang up and fold everything.”

  I nod eagerly and begin pulling open drawers, grabbing handfuls of my old clothes and stuffing them into the bags. It feels cathartic, like I'm shedding the st vestiges of a boy I never was. Mom helps, and soon we have three full bags of clothes.

  As I tie off the final bag, I blow out my breath and smile as I gnce at Mom. “Thank you for this. Now that you know, I just couldn’t do it any longer, you know?”

  Mom smiles back, her eyes glistening. “I realized after breakfast, baby. That’s why we went shopping. Let’s get all this put away, then you can freshen up and come help me make dinner. Sound good?”

  I nod enthusiastically. “Mhmm. Sounds perfect, Mom.”

  We start hanging up my new clothes, filling the closet with a rainbow of colors and fabrics. As we work, Mom asks, “Have you thought about a name? Jake doesn’t fit the young dy I see.”

  I pause as I’m in the process of hanging a blouse up. I look over my shoulder and see her staring expectantly. “Yeah. I’ve always thought of myself as Jacqueline Annette.”

  Her smile gets a little bigger as she nods. “That’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” Then softly says, “You know, your father probably isn’t going to react well when he sees you.”

  I pause, a blouse halfway onto a hanger. “I know,” I reply in a somber tone. “But I’m not going to pretend to be someone else; I'm not just to make things easier on him either.”

  Mom nods, her understanding clearly written in her expression. “Okay, Jacqueline.”

  “Call me Jackie, Mom.”

  Her smile softens as she nods. “Okay, Jackie, it is.”

  We finish hanging up the clothes and fold the rest before putting them away in my drawers. My heart races in anticipation of what’s to come. I can't help but feel a mix of excitement and fear. If nothing else, him seeing me in a dress will decide whether my dad can accept me for who I truly am.

  Mom gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Take your time to freshen up, Jackie. Whenever you're ready, come downstairs.”

  After nodding in agreement, I take my time to neatly organize everything in my drawers before finally standing up. Before leaving the room, I make a quick stop at the bathroom to touch up my makeup and apply a fresh coat of lipgloss. As I look in the mirror, I try to smile, but it ends up looking more like a grimace. So, I take a deep breath and give myself some words of encouragement: “You can do this, girl.”

  Making my way downstairs, the aroma of garlic, onions, and breadsticks baking hits me, which tells me we're having spaghetti.

  “Jackie,” Mom calls out as soon as she sees me, “Could you grab the sad and dressing from the fridge?”

  “Sure,” I reply.

  The kitchen is a whirlwind of activity, with pots bubbling on the stove and Mom’s quick, efficient movements as she stirs the sauce and checks on the garlic bread. I pull out the sad and start setting the table, arranging the forks and knives just so. She asked me to help make dinner earlier, but looking at her like this, I feel like I’d only get in her way.

  As we work, we talk about things I’ve always left unsaid. The words flow easily now. I find myself telling her about the times I’ve felt most like a girl and going out with Kelly Anne to the movies or whatever dressed as a girl. She listens intently, nodding and smiling in all the right pces.

  The moment I hear the garage door opening, my heart begins to race. I gnce at Mom to see she has a worried expression she’s trying to suppress. This is it—the moment of truth. The door opens, and his footsteps echo through the house. He walks into the kitchen and stops in his tracks when he sees me. The kitchen feels like it's spinning as I hold my breath, waiting for his reaction. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Mom puts down her spatu and looks at him expectantly.

  Finally, Dad speaks, his voice low and strained. “What the hell is this?”

  Her voice is calm and measured as she replies, “We went shopping today, and Jackie picked out some new clothes.”

  Dad's gaze bores into me, his eyes narrowing. I can see the internal battle raging behind them—his love for me versus his own ingrained beliefs. “Jackie?” he repeats, as if the name tastes foreign on his tongue.

  Mom nods, her voice firm as she answers, “Yes, Jackie. That’s your daughter's name.”

  He looks at me, then at Mom, and then back to me again with his expression unreadable. “No, this isn’t happening,” he states, stomps off to his office, and sms the door.

  I sigh loudly and sit down. I turn to Mom and ask, “So, what now?”

  She arches an eyebrow and asks, “You’re absolutely positive this is what you want?”

  I snort and roll my eyes as I adamantly state, “I’m certain.”

  Her lips quirk for a moment. “First, dies don’t snort. Second, don’t roll your eyes at me, young dy, and stly, assuming the worst happens, I may have a solution, but I have a call to make before I can be sure.”