The following morning when Marty awoke, the first thought on his mind was his mom's dress.

He panicked, realizing he had fallen asleep last night while waiting for the dryer to finish.

With his heart pounding in his chest, he jumped out of bed and desperately headed towards the laundry room. He had to retrieve that dress before his mom discovered it.

Luckily he heard the shower running as he headed down the hallway. As fast as he could, he retrieved the dress from the dryer and headed back to his mom's bedroom.

Nearing the bathroom, Marty heard the shower stop. In a panic, he rushed into his mom's bedroom, and into the closet.

Hurry, hurry, hurry, he told himself, his heart pounding in his chest.

Marty quickly found the empty hanger he had left in the closet so that he wouldn't forget exactly where the dress had been hanging and returned the dress to its rightful place.

Just as he turned around, he heard the unmistakable sound of the bathroom door opening.

Marty tried to act a natural as possible as he walked out of his mom's bedroom and met her in the hallway.

"Oh, there you are," he calmly stated, while trying to hide how out of breath he was. "I was looking for you to . . . uh, to to ask you what you'd like for breakfast this morning. You name it and I'll fix it. My treat. You work hard enough."

In Marty's mind, he was picturing a plate of fried eggs with runny yolks, avacado toast, grits, and bacon. Although not the sugary cereal and milk they usually had on a Sunday morning, it was what he was desiring this morning.

After the day he'd had yesterday, he was ready to make changes, even if it wasn't as far as he had believed he'd need to go to succeed at real change.

Right now, because of the attack, he didn't want to have anything to do with trying to be a girl even if it might be the answer to being happiness and acceptance.

"Sweetheart, if you are willing to cook me breakfast, I'll eat whatever you make. Fried eggs and grits sound nice. And some turkey bacon."

Marty did a double take, before heading to the kitchen. How did she know what I was thinking, he asked himself.

Once in the kitchen, Marty sat out to create the best breakfast spread he possibly could.

As he worked, his thoughts continued to play back everything that happened yesterday. He couldn't get his mind off of the attack and how dirty it made him feel, but he also couldn't quit thinking about everything else about the day and how wonderful it had been. The way, he had been accepted as a girl and respected by two groups of people his own age and everyone else as well, almost overshadowed the attack.

Breakfast was almost ready when his mom entered the room.

He glanced up and nearly had a heart attack. He took a deep breath and swallowed a lump in his throat, almost losing his grip on the pan of fried eggs he had just picked up off the stove.

"You okay, son," his mom asked. "You nearly dropped the skillet when I walked in. Got something on your mind you wanna talk about?"

"No, mom. You just startled me is all."

Marty quickly turned away and began to sweat as he nervously scooped the eggs onto two plates.

His mom had on a black, knee-length dress with lace accents. The very same dress he had worn last night.

"What do you think," his mom asked, posing.

He avoided eye contact, fearing the worst. In his mind he believed she knew the dress has been taken out of the closet and was now just trying to make him squirm.

If that's what she was doing, it was working.

"It . . . It's a nice dress. I haven't seen you wear that in quite some time. Why are you dressed s-so nice?"

"Well, I went into my closet and this dress caught my eye. It was sticking out a bit. I don't know why. That's not how I normally hang my things up. Anyways, It felt like the dress was calling out, 'wear me, wear me.' I figured, why not, since I'm going for a day of pampering with Dianne from the diner, maybe I should dress nice. You really like this dress, do you?"

"Yeah, mom, it looks nice on you. Very classy."

"We're going to get our nails done, visit the hair salon, and then going to this nice tea room she was telling me about, for lunch."

"You could wear jeans to do that."

"Yes, but I work so much, when do I ever get the chance to dress this nice? Besides, if I'm gonna go do something to make me look beautiful, why wouldn't I dress to match?"

She continued to talk as she took her seat at the table.

"You know, you really are the spitting image of your father. You're just like him. Don't have a clue about women or fashion."

An image of Martina staring back at him from the mirror yesterday, in full makeup, and that dress, materialized in Marty's mind and he cut his eyes over at his mom.

If she only knew, he told himself before quickly trying to think about something else, afraid his mom really would be able to read his thoughts.