“So then why does it feel like you’re trying to separate them?” I asked, lathering up my legs. Ava turned, like stopped in mid-pluck, and looked at me. “Because that’s how you unlearn the fuckshit,” she said. “We are so much more than Harlowe can even comprehend. Her consistent linking of genitals to gender as an absolute is violent as hell. It’s a closed fist instead of open arms, you know? And besides,” she added, staring at herself unflinching in the mirror, “womanhood is radical enough for anyone who dares to claim it.”
