Tiffany texts me as I'm leaving work. Her parents are coming over for a bit. So, sure enough, when I get home, a large maroon Buick is blocking my space in the driveway. I park in front of the house and walk through the side door. "Hi Grandma and Grandpa!" I greet my in-laws, Marty and Aileen, as I kick off my shoes and put my work bag in the coat closet. "Just let me wash my hands before I say a proper hello."

Spencer is crawling on Marty's head and Nora is happily showing Aileen her Elmo stuffie. I don't get my usual exuberant jumps and hugs when the grandparents are visiting.

"Thank you, dear," Tiffany says. "While you're at it, why don't you go get changed? You're covered with kid germs."

"Of course, my love," I say with almost cartoonish positivity. When I come back out of our room, wearing jeans and a tee instead of slacks and a tie, I take a seat on the couch.

"So, how's work going?" Marty asks, jovial, upbeat. Spencer is slung over his grandpa's shoulder, hanging upside down, and whacking at his wide back. Marty just calmly holds Spencer's thin legs in his meaty grasp, not flinching, barely reacting to his grandson's attack.

"Well," I begin. Tiffany knows what the plan was for today, and she shoots daggers at me with her glare. It's strange how I spent the day coming out to people at work, but here in my own home I'm placed back in a closet of sorts. "Nothing too interesting. Just the usual shenanigans. How's retired life?"

"Keeping busy." Marty used to be a contractor. He now stays occupied by always doing projects around his house and yard. His lawn is always manicured. There's never a weed in sight in his garden. The paint on their walls always looks fresh. Therefore, he always seems to notice any imperfection with our property. "Need any help with those leaves? We'll be getting our first snowstorm anytime now."

"Snow? This early in November? I hope not," I say with a laugh, "But, they are piling up, aren't they? Don't worry, the leaf guys should be coming this week."

"Paying people to rake your yard?" It's impossible not to feel judged by his tone. "Hmm. Well, pretty soon this guy can do it for one of his chores." He flips Spencer over and starts tickling him, causing a series of loud, happy squeals.

"Oh Dad, not everyone has as much free time as you! Between work and these guys, Xander has two full time jobs," Tiffany defends me.

"How are your folks?" Aileen interjects, changing the subject.

"Oh, they're doing fine. My dad's thinking of retiring himself. Wants more time with his model trains, less time crunching numbers behind a desk. But Mom still loves her job at the library." Tiffany is the baby of her family, and as such, her parents are older than mine. Aileen worked for the Post Office once all her kids were in school full-time, but she retired as soon as she was eligible for a pension, and that was several years ago now.

"Bet they miss the kids. They should come up, join us for Thanksgiving!" She bounces Nora on her knee, and Nora reaches for her glasses. "Oh, you're quick, but Grandma's quicker," Aileen says chuckling, pushing the rim of her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

"Oh, that would be fun," I lie. It would not be fun. It would be, if not a disaster, then, at least painfully awkward. My dad, who's a total pencil-pushing nerd, always seems to freeze up around the more extroverted Marty. Like-father-like-son, I guess. "But they always spend Thanksgiving with my Gran. They might come up around Christmas, though."

"It would be nice to see them."

"Well, I'll extend the invite the next time we speak," I say, even though I have no plans to actually go through with it.

"Yes, please do."

The kids both seem to get bored of sitting on their grandparents' laps at the same time. Spencer dashes over towards Nora and I start to stand, expecting him to grab the Elmo stuffie that she's holding. Instead, he continues past Nora and starts to rifle through the toy box. She happily joins him.

All four adults just sit and stare at the kids in silence. I watch in anticipation of a blood curdling scream when they both reach for the same toy, but based on the dulcet smiles plastered on Marty's and Aileen's faces, they are just being entertained by the overwhelming cuteness of the moment.

Nora finds a drawstring bag filled with chunky toddler jewelry in shades of pink and purple. She holds the bag up by the end of the strings and bounces it, making the cinch tighter. After a few bounces she starts to become visibly frustrated.

"I help you," Spencer sweetly suggests, taking the bag from her hands. Then, like a fucking miracle, she relinquishes possession of the bag and actually allows him to help.

I sit there dumbfounded as he opens the drawstring and spills out the goods. They actually sit and divvy up the bracelets. Who are these sweet angels, and where are my children?

For at least a minute they just sit there in happy harmony, putting on bracelets and taking them off again.

"Those are Nora's bracelets, Spencer. Why don't you go grab that football so we can play catch?" Marty's voice breaks the spell.

After an initial hesitation, Spencer obeys, grabbing a ball.

"No! Ball!" Nora screams and tries to take it.

Here come the tears. Yup, these are definitely my kids.

"What the hell, Dad? They were playing together so nicely. Who cares if Spencer wants to put on a pink bracelet. He's not even three yet." Tiffany barks at her father.

Aileen gives Marty a tight-lipped and stoney look. He doesn't say anything else, but he glances my way. Like he blames me for Spencer momentarily playing with something too girly.

I don't think of Marty as a misogynist. He raised four badass daughters afterall. And while I've heard some not-so-nice slurs slip out of his mouth in the heat of watching an intense hockey game, he also has some choice words for our current Cheeto-in-chief. He's not some knuckle-dragging asshole.

Yet, what does he say about me behind my back?

Tiffany's parents might not know that I am trans, but they do know that the kids are donor conceived. How that was explained to them, I'm not sure. Tiffany confessed our "fertility struggles" one drunken New Year's Eve after I had already passed out in a guest room. This was before we had kids, and were just looking into starting a family. At that point we weren't even sure what route we would take. I never got the whole story from her. She claimed that she had been too drunk and now couldn't recollect it clearly. In one version of the conversation I simply "didn't produce sperm," but in a later iteration I had a "hormonal medical issue." So, God knows what she actually said or what they think. Or suspect. Or even remember themselves. It was a very libatious night.

But if Marty had such a knee-jerk reaction to Spencer briefly playing with a pink bracelet, what would he think if he knew the whole truth about me? Maybe it is better if I never find out.