Halfway. More or less. Joyce stood back and looked in the full-length mirror. Her breasts were fuller, her hips more rounded, and Aureus had been right—the outfits she'd chosen now looked far better on her.

Almost a year of hormone treatment, as well as laser hair removal and a final round of electrolysis, and Joyce was, well, a woman. She smiled at herself. Finally she felt satisfied when she looked in the mirror. At least she did as long as she was dressed. The other thing was something she chose not to think about much. It was so foreign to her new identity that she ignored it. Only in the shower or at a toilet did it become an issue, and then she was alone and could close her eyes to not have to see it.

She wore a cream pantsuit. Feminine, but not too much, the outfit flowed beautifully. Her hair was styled just so, and her understated makeup appeared close to perfect. She felt confident. Right now she did, anyway. Standing in front of her bedroom mirror waiting for Aureus to get ready, she felt she could take on the world. But it wasn't the world she was taking on—it was Sandton.

Little Christina was almost six months old, a happy and placid child Joyce couldn't get enough of. The girl's milky, warm smell and tiny hands had a special place in Joyce's heart. She couldn't very well refuse to go to her niece's christening, even though it meant facing pretty much the entire town she'd grown up in. She tried not to think about it—her father, too.

Her mother had been fantastic as soon as the shock wore off. Sure, she made mistakes, and she definitely had a hard time with the name for a while. Nowadays, though, she was treating Joyce more and more like a daughter—going shopping, swapping recipes, and even indulging in gossip now and again. But she always came to Chapel Hill to visit; Joyce never went home. Accepting Joyce in liberal Chapel Hill was going to be a lot different from embracing her in small-town Sandton in front of all her friends. Joyce knew this, but she also knew her mother would do her best. True to her word, as long as Joyce was happy—and she was—her mother swallowed her judgment and did what she could to make things easier.

Joyce's father was a different issue. She knew her mum had spoken with him, continued to speak to him, and he'd even had words with Joyce on the phone, though Mum had to force the receiver into his hand, Joyce suspected. He'd flatly refused to see her, though. She assumed he didn't want to be confronted with the reality of what she was doing, and after a lot of thought had decided that she couldn't blame him. He and she were a lot alike, and Joyce knew that her own penchant for trying to ignore things until they went away came from her father. Now, though, there was little choice. Devon, Sophie, her mother, and even Aureus had all begged her father, and in the end Devon had laid down the law. Either they both came to the christening, or Joyce came, and their father stayed at home.

Threatened with the thought of missing his only grandchild's christening, their father had admitted defeat and would be attending. Along, of course, with half the town. Joyce groaned. She looked good, definitely good, but the thought of facing all those people at the same time was horrifying.

"Hey, maybe it's better this way," Aureus had said. "I mean, at least you get it over with in one go, right?"

Right. Christ. She slipped on her new shoes and went to knock on Aureus's door. Smiling to herself, Joyce thought how a few months ago, she'd have waited for Aureus to drag her out of the apartment. Now she was nervous but confident enough to get the ball rolling herself. It was a good feeling.

***

Outside the church, Joyce moved from one foot to the other. It was a beautiful day, not too hot but clear and bright and fresh.

"Lesson number 453," said Aureus, looking at Joyce's feet. "If you're going to wear new shoes, you either break them in at home or come equipped with plenty of Band-Aids."

"Hm. Doesn't help much now," Joyce commented.

They both knew what they were waiting for, and when the maroon car pulled into the parking lot, Aureus reached for Joyce's hand. Her mother was first, coming straight to kiss the girls, beaming and happy and excited. She doted on Christina and had been looking after her granddaughter while Sophie completed her studies.

Behind her, eyes down, came Joyce's father.

"Dad," Joyce said flatly.

He grunted in reply, studiously avoiding looking at her.

Putting a warning hand on Joyce's arm, her mother whispered, "Give it time."

The arrival of Devon, Sophie, and the baby broke the tension. Joyce, who hadn't seen Christina for a couple of weeks, was astonished at how much she'd grown. Picking the infant up from her mother's arms, Joyce thought it felt like her niece doubled in weight. Joyce cradled the little girl, cooing and inhaling her sweet scent as they walked towards the large double doors of the church.

It was the shoes. The stupid shoes. She really should have gone with an inch less on the heel, but she was too vain. Still carrying Christina as she mounted the stairs, the heel of Joyce's shoe slipped, and with a scream, she felt herself fall. Instinctively, she pulled the baby against her body for protection. As crashing to the steps seemed inevitable, she was stopped, a hand under her elbow saving her. Shaking, Joyce looked up and saw her father peering back. From the look in his eyes, he was as surprised as she was.

"Watch it," he said, nodding once and letting go of her arm.

"Thanks," she said. Then, not wanting to lose the delicate thread of contact that had been spun between them, she added: "Maybe you should take Christina."

He accepted the child, holding her naturally, supporting her head, and Joyce suddenly saw what he must have been like as a young man holding his own children. Holding her, holding Devon. And he wasn't the grumpy guy who liked to throw ball or drink in his recliner, the one who yelled and complained. He was a father.

"Dad, I'm sorry."

She wasn't apologizing for her decision, wasn't justifying who she was or had been. She apologized for his pain, the anguish she'd caused him, because she was sorry he'd been hurt.

"I know." His face looked older. His eyes dimmed. His hair grayer. He gently bounced the baby to quieten her. And then, so quietly Joyce barely heard it, he said: "I'm sorry, too."

Again, it wasn't an apology for what she was. It was for everything else. For all the football games he'd taken her to, all the times he'd berated her for not being masculine enough, for the fact he was finding it so hard to deal with who she'd become.

It was a detente of sorts, and as Joyce followed her father into the church, she knew they'd taken an important first step. She didn't think her father would ever like who she was, but maybe, just maybe, he'd accept her.

***

With Christina officially named and baptized, there was only one thing left to do. The party was held at the country club once more, paid for by Sophie's parents, who'd been very blasé about Joyce's change. Maybe Sophie had spoken to them already, but both mother and father had simply shaken Joyce's hand and welcomed her to the party. End of story.

Joyce smiled. A long time ago when she was a different person, she'd have agonized over what they were saying behind closed doors. Now, this public acceptance was enough. Whatever they chose to say or however they felt when she wasn't there was their business, not hers, and she wouldn't waste her time thinking about it. Besides, they were nice people, and they obviously adored both their daughter and their granddaughter, so they couldn't be all bad, right?

"Champagne, red or white wine, beer, or something a little stronger?" Aureus asked, nudging Joyce in the direction of the bar.

Thus far, only family had arrived, so Joyce was dealing with the known. It wouldn't be long until others came, though, and her stomach was already bubbling with nerves. Deciding it was best not to add to the bubbles, she opted for red wine.

Standing at the bar with Aureus, Joyce felt a little like she was on display. It was like when she'd been a child and had done something wrong and was certain everyone knew by looking at her.

"Relax," Aureus said, handing her a glass. "I'm here. Everything will be fine."

Many of Devon's friends came from Sandton High, and Joyce was acquainted with them. Most of her parents' friends had children who had been classmates of either hers or Devon's, so avoiding people who had known John was impossible. As she sipped her wine, Joyce thought how strange it was she'd consigned John to a different person. He was like someone she had once known well but fallen out of touch with. Some feelings, thoughts, and actions were his, not hers; every now and again, she found she berated herself, thinking such and such action was something John would have done.

Tony, her therapist, was unconcerned by the arrangement, though Joyce found it a little schizophrenic. But John didn't live inside her; he literally seemed like a different person. She sighed and drank a little more.

"Aureus!"

A tall, blonde girl whom Joyce identified as a cheerleader and member of John's Spanish class swooped down on Aureus and kissed her on both cheeks.

"It's so good to see you!"

Joyce bit back a giggle as she saw the look on Aureus's face. They'd both barely known the girl, and as a matter of fact, Joyce couldn't even remember her name.

"Hi," said Aureus, obviously not remembering the girl's name either.

"It's Melissa, Melissa Woods, but I'm a Carter now. From Spanish?"

The woman spoke with an annoying intonation that made everything sound like a question.

"Yes, of course," Aureus said.

"And this is...?" Melissa asked, looking at Joyce and trailing off.

Aureus put a protective hand on Joyce's arm.

"I'm Joyce," Joyce said, smiling politely.

Melissa's eyes went down to Aureus's hand on Joyce's arm, then back to Joyce with confusion, then to Aureus with a look of sudden understanding.

"Oh, er, yes, nice to meet you, Joyce." Suddenly the woman had an almost hunted look in her eyes. "So nice to see you again, Aureus, but I have to run. I think I hear my husband calling."

S]he was gone fast enough that it seemed she'd disappeared on the spot. Only then did Joyce begin to laugh, the irony of the situation making her almost hysterical until she was honestly worried she might wet herself.

"What . . .?"

Joyce shook her head and delicately wiped a tear from her eye. "Aur, she had no idea who I was at all. Well, she thought she did, but she didn't recognize me. She thought I was your girlfriend."

Aureus paled. "Seriously?"

Joyce nodded, still struggling to control her laughter. "It's why she got all weird—she thinks you're a lesbian."

Aureus knocked back the rest of her drink, her face flushed. Soon, she gave a short laugh, then a longer one, which started Joyce off again, and after a moment, both of them were in hysterics.

"Looks like I should have been way more worried about coming here than you," Aureus said finally, holding her aching stomach.

"No shit," Joyce said, calling the bartender and ordering two more glasses. "You do realize that this little bit of gossip is going to be all over the party within the next half hour?"

Aureus frowned, then shrugged and smiled. "I guess I wasn't really looking to pick up a potential husband from a pool of Sandton residents, anyway."

Joyce spluttered with laughter again. "You don't stand much chance even if you did. By the end of the evening, they're all going to think you're gay. In the meantime, I'm a mysterious stranger. A sort of femme fatale. I like that."

"You would," retorted Aureus.

"I think I can handle the mystery," Joyce said.

In fact, as the evening wore on, very few people recognized Joyce at all. It was a mark of exactly how much she'd changed and not only in appearance. Thinking about it later, she understood how difficult it must have been to equate the attractive, confident woman she'd become with the lonely, socially inept boy she'd been in Sandton. She ended the party by enjoying it a lot more than she'd anticipated. A few of her mother's friends, who obviously knew who she was, were somewhat awkward, but for the most part, she was treated like a stranger—which was what, of course, she'd become.

Leaning back on the bar and surveying the room, Joyce wondered how she had ever been so terrified of all these people. Smiling, laughing, drinking, eating, they looked so harmless that she couldn't believe she'd hidden herself from them for so long. She closed her eyes for a second to banish the thought. The little pangs of regret about how long it had taken her to know what she needed came seldom now, but she did still have them sometimes. The important thing, she reminded herself, was she was now Joyce. And as much as she would've liked to have been Joyce a long, long time ago, she was well into her transition journey.

"Happy?" Aureus asked.

"Very."

And strangely, she was about to get an awful lot happier.