spotlight: Trans, a love story
Re: Trans, a love story
Trans, a love story is the the story of two people (one striving to be the best version of themself for their partner; the other possibly believing they are currently the best version of themself) trying their level best to love each other. In his debut novella, author Finnegan Shepard gives us a thoughtful exploration of a first time queer relationship, spotlighting the challenges and assumptions we have about relationships in general.
Excerpt from Trans, a love story
Part One
Amy is regretting the jitters from her post lunch coffee when she sees Lucas for the first time. It’s like the movies: she looks up from her desk at the PR firm she works at in Soho and there he is, talking to Stacey Donahue, wearing cuffed work pants and a jean jacket, his hair and face golden-brown like they’ve been double dipped in summer, and she thinks, There he is, as though she’d been waiting without knowing it. Amy is twenty six, has slept with twelve people, and has been in love three times. She disagrees with her friends, Laura and Evelyn, who have revised their love resumes as they’ve grown older and into what they call real forms of love. Amy believes every love story is real while it’s happening, and that that’s all that matters.
It isn’t clear to Amy what Lucas is doing in the office. Delivery? New colleague? Consultant? Maybe they are being audited. She imagines Lucas calling her into a room, closing the door behind her, and asking her to take a seat. Her fingers, hovering over the keypad, are quivering. There is an easy confidence in the way he holds himself while talking to Stacey, as though he is in control, and knows it, and doesn’t need to play any of the obvious games. Amy thinks this is particularly admirable, because he is about the same height as Stacey, and she rarely meets shorter men whose energy doesn’t feel like a trapped animal.
Amy stands. Lucas’s eyes shift from Stacey to her, and he smiles. Amy smiles back, and as she passes them on her way to the bathroom, they exchange a small nod. His scent is hovering in the air, a small cloud of vanilla, bergamot, and the smell of skin when it’s been in the sun all day.
In the hallway, she hears a voice call out, “Excuse me!” and turns.
It’s him, walking towards her with hand outstretched, a hair pin between his thumb and middle finger. “Did you drop this?” he asks.
She accepts it. Their fingers brush. “Hi,” she says. She can’t help but laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever dropped something before.”
He is grinning. “Surely that can’t be true.”
“No, obviously, I’ve dropped something, but like—” she runs her hand through her hair. “I’m Amy.”
“Lucas,” he says.
“This is a bit surreal, isn’t it?” she says. No one else is in the hall. “Do you want to get a drink later?”
Vulnerability stretches the half second into a minute as he regards her. When he nods and says, “Sure,” she feels what seems like an inappropriate amount of relief, as though she had received good news about blood work, or had just made it to an airport gate before the doors closed. “Are you a wine or a beer person?” she says.
“I’m adaptable.”
“Okay,” she says. “Seven, at ABC on Ave C. You know it?”
“I’ll find it.”
They look at each other. “Did I just ask you out?” she says.
“Seems like it.”
“It just happened.”
He smiles, adjusts himself in his jacket, and turns towards the exit. “Don’t go dropping anything else,” he says. “I’m attached to that being our thing, now.”