Never Make the Last Out at Third

Finally, his house snapped him from his trance. "Master, the time is fifteen-thirteen, local daylight time."

Frank sighed. "Cease the verbal alerts regarding fifteen-thirteen and fifteen-forty-three."

"Yes, Master."

"And contact Miss Forbes," Frank demanded. "If she’s home." He cycled three substantial breaths as he awaited the structure’s reply.

"She is home, Master," the house said. "Establish connection?"

"Yes," Frank barked impatiently.

"Connection established."

The distinctly feminine voice the man had come to cherish followed the mechanical voice of the computer. "Hello?"

Frank’s eyes fell as he heard the anguish in her tone. "Hello. Can I come see you?"

"Now?"

"Now is as good a time as any."

"Ok," said Charlie. "Bye."

"Call terminated, Master."

"Really?" Frank questioned sarcastically.

"Yes, Master." the house replied. "The other party distinctly said ‘Bye.’"

"Shut up!" Frank snapped.

Across the courtyard that other party's eyes roamed the boxes containing her few belongings. Charlie had spent the night working off her nervous energy packing. She considered how she had moved following every past rejection. Before she had told herself it was for the sake of her next beau; so that no one would likely be in town to spread rumors about her. Now, she realized it was for her own sake as well.

Charlie still had some hope she had packed for naught when the house startled her, "Mr. Marshall, Milady."

Charlie sighed. "Let him in." She walked out of her guest room and down the corridor.

"Hi," Frank said, his face cloaked in a laconic expression.

"Hi," Charlie replied. She paused to lick her lips, and then tilted her head a bit to one side. "So...?" she prompted cautiously.

"It’s a Catch-22." Frank announced.

Charlie twisted her left cheek. "What?"

"An old book," Frank explained. "From the 1900’s I think. The phrase refers to a theoretical situation that is impossible in practical terms due to an inherent dichotomy."

Charlie shook her head slowly. "Please don’t play games."

Frank stood and walked to the woman, running his fingers gently through her golden locks. "What I’m saying is, you can’t ever become fully female for the right man, because the right man would never ask you to do such a thing. Your parents were absolutely correct; it should be your choice, and yours alone. And you really don’t want to, do you?"

Charlie pressed her lips together and nibbled at the seam. She shook her head side to side, trying not to cry. "No."

"Ok, then," Frank said. "I’ll never ask you to."

Charlie’s mouth gaped. "You mean..."

"Did you really expect," Frank began, "that after you admitted to the cardinal sin of being a Yankees fan, that a little thing like a dick was going to scare me away?"

Charlie’s features wilted. "Little?!"

Frank smiled. "I didn’t mean it that way. I meant it this way." He reached out and grasped the girl, moving her body to his and his mouth to hers. Although far shorter than their first kiss, both knew instantly this second exchange was by far the more important of the two.

Charlie looked apprehensively into his eyes as they parted. "What now?"

Frank put his palms on the girl’s shoulder and held her at arm’s length. "That depends. Do you really like who you are?"

Charlie nodded. "Yes, I do."

"I like who your are too." Frank smiled. "I can’t promise any more just now, but I am willing start there and see what happens."

Charlie blinked back a tear. "I knew you were the right man. I just hope I’m the right girl." She paused to sigh. "You can always change your mind, you know. I’ll still become a real girl, if that’s what you want."

Frank pulled the woman's to head to his shoulder, initiating a firm, yet gentle embrace. "No," he whispered. "Part of loving someone is accepting them for who they are. No matter what else happens, never imagine that you aren’t good enough for me or anyone else; just the way you are."