At the café

After class, I found myself walking alongside Tracy and a couple of her friends, the early afternoon sun filtering through the trees that lined the pathway. The air was warm, and my legs felt awkward under the light swish of my pleated skirt. I was still getting used to how the skirt brushed against my nylon-clad thighs, but I tried to act natural, blending in as best as I could.

Tracy was talking animatedly about our latest project in sex ed. "I mean, can you imagine being pregnant?" she giggled, her voice both amused and horrified. "All that weight, the cravings, and then the screaming baby that never lets you sleep!"

Another girl, Monica, rolled her eyes with a mock shudder. "Ugh, don't remind me. And then there's the whole feeding thing. My older sister had to deal with that, and she said it was like being a human milk machine."

The conversation was making me more uncomfortable by the second, and I struggled to keep my face neutral. My stomach twisted at the thought of pregnancy, of motherhood, of a life I could never experience. Yet here I was, surrounded by girls who spoke about it like it was both terrifying and inevitable. I tried to smile along, but it felt forced, like a bad imitation.

"And don't even get me started on husbands," Tracy added with a dramatic sigh. "You end up stuck taking care of a baby and a man! My mom says it's the worst."

They all laughed, and I forced myself to chuckle too, but my heart wasn't in it. The idea of being a wife, of living the future they were talking about, felt foreign and wrong. I was supposed to be a boy, yet these scenarios now seemed to be a part of my new reality, and I didn't know how to handle that.

We arrived at the local café, a small, cozy place with a friendly atmosphere. The familiar scent of coffee and baked goods calmed me a bit. We found a table by the window and sat down, the girls ordering iced lattes and pastries. I quietly ordered a tea, my voice still feeling odd in my higher-pitched Heather tone.

I was just starting to relax when I noticed a group of boys entering the café, laughter echoing from the entrance. My heart lurched as I saw James among them, his dark hair catching the light. He spotted us and gave a small wave, and I couldn't help but blush. I hated how my body reacted to his attention.

James approached our table, his smile charming and a little crooked. "Hey, Tracy, Heather, Monica." His eyes lingered on me for just a moment longer, and I felt my stomach flip. "Mind if we sit nearby?"

"Sure," Monica replied, grinning. "Just don't steal our pastries!"

James chuckled and led his friends to a table close to ours. I tried to focus on my tea, but I could feel his presence, the way he moved and laughed. It was disconcerting, especially because a part of me couldn't deny that I found him... appealing.

Our conversation continued, though I barely registered it. My mind was a whirl of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Was I really starting to feel something for James? The idea was as terrifying as it was confusing.

The café buzzed with conversations, and the air was filled with the mingling scents of fresh coffee and baked goods. Monica leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she directed her next question at me.

"So, Heather," she began, her eyes glinting with curiosity, "when you get married one day, do you think you'll take your husband's last name? I can see you married to James".

I nearly choked on my tea, the unexpected question sending a jolt of panic through my system. Marriage. Husband. Last name. Those words should have sounded completely foreign to me, but lately, everything was becoming disturbingly familiar. I struggled to keep my face from betraying the sheer terror that was now coursing through me.

"Oh, um..." I stumbled over my words, searching for a response that wouldn't give me away. The girls were all looking at me, waiting for an answer, and I could feel the pressure mounting. My palms grew clammy, and I nervously toyed with the bracelet around my wrist.

Would I adopt my husband's last name? The question was absurd. I wasn't supposed to be thinking about marriage or husbands in the first place. But here I was, being asked as if it were a normal, expected part of my future.

Monica raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Heather," she urged playfully. "What do you think? I mean, you're such a romantic—wouldn't it be sweet to have the same last name as your husband?" Imagine being "Mrs. Heather Eastman".

I felt my cheeks burn, and I couldn't help but glance over at James, James Eastman, who was laughing with his friends at the next table. The thought of marrying someone like him, of standing at an altar in a white dress, felt both terrifying and oddly real. The lines between who I used to be and who I was pretending to be were blurring too quickly, and I didn't know how to handle it.

"Maybe," I finally managed, my voice coming out softer than I intended. "I guess... it depends on the guy, right?" I added a forced laugh, hoping it would sound convincing. "It would have to feel right."

The girls nodded, satisfied with my answer, and moved on to another topic, but I was left reeling. The idea of taking a husband's last name, of fully embracing a future as Heather, had been more than just a casual question. It had felt like a glimpse into a world that was quickly becoming my reality, and I wasn't sure I was ready to face that.

We were almost ready to leave when the waitress approached us with a smile. "The boys over there covered your check," she said, nodding in James's direction.

Monica's eyes widened with delight. "Wow, seriously?" She looked over at James, who gave a nonchalant wave.

I felt a flush creep up my neck, a mixture of embarrassment and something else I couldn't quite identify. Gratitude? Attraction? I didn't know. But as we left the café, my heart was pounding, and I couldn't shake the odd feeling that maybe, just maybe, Heather was becoming more real than I ever intended.