In the months leading to Sam’s 26th birthday, unusual items began to arrive at the house: rubber breasts; colorful camisoles; stiff-paneled corsets; and pantyhose in hues spanning the color wheel.

Sam had moved home until he could find an apartment, accepting a dream job in anime – an art form he had loved since middle school. He was a fan of the art of cosplay, too – costumes depicting anime characters for mega-conventions like Comic-Con.

Cross-gender costumes are not unusual in cosplay, so the intimate apparel arriving daily was not particularly alarming. Make-up, too, was populating Sam’s vanity; I assumed he chose a female character for an upcoming convention.

One casual conversation shattered my theory.

“I’m excited about AnimeCon,” Sam said one evening. “I’m just not sure about my cosplay.”

“Hmmm,” I said, pausing. “I noticed that the last few conventions, you’ve chosen female characters.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “About that.”

Then, “I guess I just feel more like myself in women’s clothes.”

My heart races.

Don’t react, I tell myself.

Don’t judge.

Breathe.

I want to understand what Sam is telling me. I do not want to derail this important opportunity. Don’t blow it, I say to myself.

“I suppose lots of guys wear women’s clothes at conventions,” I say.

Sam nods.

“Is that something that you like to do… in private?”

Sam does not respond, so I keep yammering – an amateur blunder born of nerves.

“Or do you like to dress up in public, to try to ‘pass’ as a woman?”

More silence.

“I don’t know,” Sam finally answers, looking at once forlorn, uncomfortable, and relieved. And with a sweeping gesture from shoulder to knee, “I just know this isn’t right.”

*

“Sam! Come on! We’re going to be late!”

“Coming!”

We are headed out to celebrate his birthday with the same childhood friends Sam has had since third grade.

As I collect my coat, I hear the crisp swish of fabric.

I turn to see Sam, descending the stair in a dowdy turtleneck, a billowing midi skirt, and ladies’, flat-heeled boots.

In that moment, my heart stops.

I am so scared for how his friends will react to this new Sam.

Who will love my child? I wonder.

Who will hire my child?

As we pull into the restaurant parking lot, I glance at Sam in the passenger seat.

To my utter amazement, he looks, well, happy.