I
The seventh month arrived with an uncharacteristically bright and sunny start, far removed from the usual overcast skies of early summer. But then again, much about this year had been unusual for Judy—and even more so for her husband, Pat. Early morning sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, coaxing her into wakefulness with its gentle warmth. Rolling over, her hand landed on the empty space beside her. It was a sight that had become increasingly familiar over the past month, though it still caught her off guard from time to time.
With a soft sigh, Judy slipped out of bed, rolling her shoulders to shake off the remnants of sleep. Such a beautiful morning couldn’t be wasted indoors. She decided on a bike ride, something she hadn’t done in far too long. Humming to herself, she wandered into the kitchen and prepared a light breakfast—just some fruit and yogurt, a quick boost before she headed out.
Helmet fastened with a quick snap under her chin, she stepped outside and took a long, deep breath of fresh air, savoring the crispness of the morning. The world around her felt alive, vibrant, as though the day itself was begging to be enjoyed. She waved a quick, half-hearted goodbye to her maid, who barely looked up from his tasks. How anyone could be so glum on a day like this was beyond her understanding.
Judy had always been a free spirit, but today, she felt an even greater appreciation for life’s little joys—the breeze tugging at her hair, the sun warming her skin, the steady rhythm of pedaling down the street, greeting the neighbors who waved back warmly. Most of them were familiar faces, yet she hadn’t really taken the time to get to know them before. It was strange, she thought, how she’d missed out on all these little connections.
Mrs. Robbinson, for example, the ever-nosy neighbor, was out in her garden as usual, watering her roses. She looked up and called out to Judy, extending her usual invitation for tea—a thinly veiled excuse to gossip about how Judy could afford full-time help on a teacher’s salary. Judy stifled a chuckle, waving her off with a breezy smile.
"Not today, Mrs. Robbinson! Maybe next time," Judy replied breezily, pumping her legs harder to speed away. She stifled a chuckle, thinking, It’s easy; just put Mr. Robbinson in a dress.
A bit farther down, Hank Peters, the neighborhood handyman she’d once had to call upon almost weekly to fix whatever broke around the house, spotted her. Leaning against the front of his old, beaten-up truck, he raised an eyebrow. “Hey there, Judy! Haven’t seen Pat around lately,” he called out, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Oh, he’s upstate, in some intensive course,” Judy replied easily, though she kept pedaling, flashing him a friendly smile as she sailed past. "Teaching’s keeping him busy." He just grunted in acknowledgment, tossing an empty beer can into the pile of others that clinked beside his porch. Judy smirked as she rode on, thinking Hank’s place could use the kind of "intensive course" Pat had mastered. Maybe she’d lend him her husband in exchange for all the plumbing favors over the years.
As she neared the end of the block, she spotted Billy, the local paperboy, already making his rounds. Judy raised her hand in greeting, and the boy waved back, but his gaze lingered just a beat too long. His bike swerved slightly as he glanced over his shoulder at Judy’s porch.
Curious, Judy followed his line of sight and spotted her maid stepping outside to retrieve the morning paper. Poor Billy nearly toppled off his bike, his jaw hanging open at the sight. Judy let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head as she continued toward the park.
What neither Mrs. Mitchell, Hank, nor the gawking paperboy realized was that the demurely dressed woman they occasionally glimpsed wasn’t hired help at all but Judy’s very own husband, who had fully embraced the role of her servant in the record time of 30 days. Even Judy sometimes found herself doubting whether there was a trace of the old Pat left behind the layers of fabric, makeup, and duty—especially after last week’s events.
Not many husbands and wives go shopping together, both attired in summer dresses, pantyhose, and heels, and even fewer—if any—would go on a double date with two eligible bachelors as naturally as if it were any other weekend activity. But Judy had discovered that unconventional solutions could resolve the common woes of married life more effectively than date nights or couples’ therapy.
Pat, with surprising ease, had slipped into the part of a perfectly poised woman, and it didn’t take long before he’d stolen the heart of his new partner. Judy herself had been momentarily taken aback at the sight of “Patti” in the arms of Mike, caught up in a passionate kiss on the dance floor. Despite Pat’s insistence otherwise, she knew there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to make a man—a real man—find that kind of pleasure in the arms of another.
And yet, Pat had looked completely lost in it, melting into Mike’s embrace.
Stopping to catch her breath by a water fountain after a few miles, Judy allowed herself a little smile. She’d always felt that a good bike ride could lift her mood, though today she suspected the pleasant memory of her own kisses with her very own man might be adding to her good spirits. Tom had been exactly what she’d been missing these past five years—kind, attentive, a gentleman through and through, and she hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed him since their breakup.
In college, everyone used to say they’d end up together, and for a while, she’d believed it too, right up until the day he announced he’d be moving overseas after graduation. Tom had always been driven, prioritizing his ambitions, and as hard as it was, Judy respected him enough not to try and tether him down.
She’d watched him leave, waving goodbye not just to him but to the life she’d imagined for herself over their last semester together. She would have gone with him at the smallest sign that he wanted her to, but she knew better than to clip his wings. The sky was his limit, and even though it broke her heart, Judy had understood she had no place beside him on that journey.
Resigned to her small-town life, it didn’t take long for her to settle into her role as a PE instructor at the local high school. It was an easy enough job, even if it didn’t pay particularly well or offer much in the way of advancement. The kids were hardly brimming with athletic potential, but she did her best with the few teams the school could afford, even if they were barely scraping by to meet the minimum state requirements. Sports weren’t taken seriously there, and the dusty, trophy-less cabinet in the hallway was a constant reminder of the school’s—and her own—modest ambitions.
With little left to achieve in the gym, Judy had extended her responsibilities to running detention. The other teachers, unable or unwilling to take on the challenge of taming the school’s rowdy troublemakers, had gratefully turned them over to her. Like it or not, it was the only thing she found she could truly do well there.
And so, during fifth-period detention, Judy would sit and watch her life slip by through the barred window, hour by hour, trapped in a secure job and a life that lacked flavor. An existence of monotony stretched before her, a predictable future in a town that offered so little. Judy gradually grew accustomed to leaving her dreams for something brighter behind.
Then, as if from nowhere, Tom reappeared one evening at the mall, shaking Judy from her stagnant statement and reminding her that she was far from finished. She could do more, be more. That same night, as she drove home, she decided to make a sudden turn toward a new, riskier direction, and whether he wanted to or not, her husband would be joining her.
What had initially started as harmless fun at the expense of her docile husband soon morphed into the chance of a lifetime, and this time, Judy wasn’t going to let it slip by. She knew it wouldn’t be any easy, but now was more than ready to step out of the comfort zone she and Pat had built over the past five years. She started with simple steps, convincing herself to leave the house more often, reconnecting with old friends she’d lost touch with, and spending time with Tom. Pat no longer protested, and even if he did, he posed little threat now that he had all but surrendered to womanhood. In the weeks that followed, Judy barely used the house for anything other than sleeping, focused instead on rebuilding herself and chasing what she’d missed.
She was living life to the fullest again, feeling like she was back in her twenties, her heart brimming with ambition. She spent so much time working out at the gym—during hours that used to be for mere laziness—that Tom soon offered her a spot at one of his fitness centers as an aerobics instructor, a role she gladly accepted. She was rusty at first, but it didn’t take long for her to get back into shape, surpassing even her former fitness level. She’d catch glimpses of her reflection and almost wished Pat would challenge her again—though there wasn’t much left of him to challenge.
Still, the extra income was a welcome relief, compensating for the recent expenses incurred from her husband’s feminization process. She hadn’t mentioned it, perhaps too wrapped up in her own amusement to care, but the last payment for the dresses she’d bought for their recent double date had maxed out the credit card, and they were nearly in the red. Judy had even considered calling the whole thing off before they went completely broke.
Fortunately, money was no longer an issue. Between her two jobs and no major expenses—thanks to Tom taking care of everything during their outings—Judy made sure her dear husband received all the top-tier beauty treatments he deserved but didn’t necessarily want.
Facials, manicures, hair appointments—Pat was a regular at every establishment dedicated to beautification in town. With no room to object, he attended every appointment, venturing alone into a world where no one doubted his womanly lifestyle.
“I’m telling you, that’s a guy,” the Victoria’s Secret clerk insisted to her coworkers, nodding toward Pat as he strutted through the mall, trailed by a small entourage of men eager to help him with his shopping bags, mostly filled with shoes and lingerie.
It made sense, though. He was clad in the latest scream of summer fashion, likely inspired by his growing collection of Cosmopolitan magazines, sporting a short halter dress with wedge sandals, his makeup light but largely obscured behind oversized cat-eye sunglasses.
“O-M-G, I love that nail color! What is it?” a girl squealed behind him on the escalator.
“It’s ‘Rose Dust’ by Chanel,” Pat answered without hesitation, confidently naming the shade he’d chosen for both his hands and feet. He extended his hand as a model, though he winced slightly at the tan line where his wedding ring used to be. Moving on, he paused briefly, thinking the girl looked like Emily Taylor from his literature class. Unsure, he dismissed the thought and continued on his way.
“So, what’s the deal with Judy these days?” his trusted hairdresser asked while working on his perm. “Did she finally lasso that stallion of hers?”
Pat pretended not to hear the question beneath the familiar hum of the hair dryer. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to gossip about his wife’s relationship with another man—he definitely didn’t—but honestly, he didn’t know.
Judy barely spent time in the house anymore, and the little she did say to him was mostly barking orders. Pat knew everything a maid needed to know about home maintenance by now, and the job had become less demanding over time, requiring only a bit of organization. He’d learned to schedule his chores and still leave time for himself, which he mostly spent in his eternal beautification. It wasn’t a complicated job, but it was certainly more demanding than his former one. A sudden career change might not look good on his resume, but with no control over the pen, Pat had come to accept the scribbles his wife made all over it—even when she crossed out “M” and wrote “F” in the gender section.
He spent his days taking care of a house that was supposedly his but dedicated mostly to his wife’s needs. Everything there spoke of her. The daily meals he prepared early in the morning, which she barely touched anymore. The loads of laundry he’d need to iron so she’d have plenty of outfits for her evenings out. The daily messes she left in the bathroom in her attempts to make herself presentable—presumably for Tom. Judy was stunning, and Pat longed to tell her so. He wanted to remind her she didn’t need to try so hard to earn any man’s attention; she already had his, completely. But then again, Judy didn’t seem to think of him as much of a man anymore.
Pat didn’t know what to think at this point. He clung to the hope that their marriage still meant something to her, but each evening she stepped out of their home, she distanced herself further from the bond they’d built over the years.
Late at night, as he secured his freshly set curls with a cap, he’d sometimes catch muffled sounds of laughter and moans coming from her—of course, still locked bedroom. That’s how much she respected him these days, ensuring he remained ignorant of what she considered her private life, as if those cries didn’t speak volumes. He wanted to tear that damn door down, to confront her, to demand answers, but he couldn’t summon the strength. Physically, of course, he couldn’t; ever since the, for lack of a better term, "change of look," he had noticed a significant decrease in his muscle mass, as if those dresses and heels had magical properties to whittle down his figure. But those powers failed to seep into his brain, where the mindset of a faithful man was too powerful to be taken down—yet cursed, haunted by the echo of his wife’s pleasure from down the hall in what could only be described as a festival of love.
The mornings that followed those nights needed no words. Judy’s barely disguised cheerfulness as she floated down the stairs, practically glowing, was the last clue Pat needed to piece together what had become of their marriage. It was clear she no longer wanted him tagging along, and Pat felt at least relieved to be out of public sight.
Social interactions were rare for him, with Judy spending most of her time with her boyfriend and Pat’s own on yet another business trip somewhere in Europe, his encounters were mostly limited to casual run-ins with people who cared little about the absence of the man of the house.
The package delivery guy certainly took his sweet time pretending to check and recheck the order, all while actually triple-checking Pat’s bare legs beneath his summer dress. The paperboy even brought his friends along to prove he wasn’t lying about the lady who seemed like she’d stepped straight out of one of his dad’s adult magazines. Pat dismissed by the twelfth time the attempts of flirtations from the postman, who hadn’t ever been nearly as interested in taking him for a drink back when Pat had answered the door in pajamas and a robe, instead of a leather skirt and pumps.
II
Pat groaned as he stepped back inside, slamming the door shut behind him and flipping through the mail. Most of it was random ads and household receipts, which he tossed onto the kitchen counter for Judy to deal with. A postcard from Mike in Rome caught his eye, showing him posing as if he were holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Pat couldn’t help but smirk at the silliness of it, but his smile faded when he moved to the next letter—Pritzker signed the return address. Harold Pritzker was an arrogant, pain-in-the-ass know-it-all who had little to talk about except his so-called success—built mostly on luck, but more than enough to inflate his ego to a size dangerously close to the third floor of the semi-mansion he called home. And yet, he was family—his brother-in-law by fate alone. Somehow, Harold had managed to convince everyone that his wealth was due to hard work and persistence, including Judy’s younger sister.
He didn’t even bother looking inside before tossing the envelope into the trash. If it was money, as Harold “generously” sent now and then (given the “mere wages” Pat and Judy earned in their teaching jobs, as he liked to point out), he could shove it somewhere unpleasant. They were fine; they didn’t need any money—especially now with Judy’s boyfriend in the picture.
“Anything for me?” Judy called from the other room as she fastened a gold pendant onto her left ear.
Pat shook his head dismissively, and she shrugged, giving herself a final once-over in the mirror as she readied herself for yet another night out. Just then, the phone rang, and Pat answered it instantly, fingers crossed that it wasn’t the gardener’s wife again, accusing him of trying to steal her husband.
The moment Pat picked up the phone, he greeted as he’d learned to, softening his tone, “Residence Platt, how may I assist you?” But as soon as the voice on the other end came through, his heart sank.
“Pat? Is that you?” Anne ’s familiar voice rang out, followed by a giggle. “You sound funny.”
He froze. Of all people who could’ve called, it had to be her—Anne , his sister-in-law. Pat held the receiver at arm’s length, his face flushed, almost as though she could see his painted lips and powdered cheeks right through the speaker’s holes. For a second, he considered hanging up.
Judy, catching sight of his discomfort as she spritzed perfume on her neck, plucked the phone from his frozen hand. “Hey, Anne!” she said brightly, sliding the receiver between her neck and ear. “I figured you’d call earlier—you almost missed me!”
Pat watched, heart pounding, as Judy’s tone shifted to its usual casual warmth. “Yep, that was Pat,” she said, glancing at him with a sly smile. “He’s still adjusting, you know how it is. But trust me—” she giggled, raising an eyebrow at him—“you won’t even notice there was ever a man here.”
Pat stood rooted to the spot, watching her stroll through the living room, fully immersed in a conversation that seemed to have begun even before the call—had he just exposed himself, however subtly, to Anne ? What was she saying to Judy now?
It had become second nature for him to adopt a tone that matched his appearance, but cruel fate had brought it out at the worst possible moment, with one of the few people who didn’t know about his feminization—or so he thought.
“So… any updates on Maria’s situation?” Judy asked, leaning against the couch. The little bit of sense Pat could make out of her half-listening suggested it was bad news related to Anne’s household staff. “Gee, bad timing, huh? I mean, especially with the baby and all.”
Anne had given birth to a healthy baby boy early in January, during the last family gathering they’d attended. Since then, Pat had used her post-pregnancy recovery as an excuse to avoid further gatherings, at least for a few months. But time flies when your manhood is being stripped away, and now they’d crossed paths in a vastly different dynamic.
“Oh, you’ve got nothing to worry about, Pat knows the drill,” Judy laughed, casting him a sidelong glance. “I’ve got him whipped into shape; she’s more than ready.”
A chill crept up Pat’s spine. There was no denying that something was going on—something he wasn’t aware of but was undoubtedly part of, and she was clearly enjoying keeping it just out of his reach.
Then it hit him: Pat ran frantically to the trash can where the letter had just been tossed. Fishing it out, he smoothed the crumpled paper open and found it was an invitation—one of those annual summer reunions at the Pritzkers’. Pat winced as he gripped the thick paper, his long nails digging into it.
With Judy’s ever-growing list of social obligations—and his own newly assigned ones—Pat had assumed they wouldn’t be attending the reunion this year. And if they did, he figured Tom would naturally be her plus-one. It had never crossed his mind that she might expect him to attend in another role. Maria’s, to be precise.
The shared giggles between Judy and her sister persisted, but Judy’s focus shifted to the wall clock, her smile fading slightly. “Oh, shoot!” she muttered, realizing how late it was. “Anne, I gotta go—it’s getting late.” She tossed the phone toward Pat but caught it midair, bringing it back to her ear as Anne ’s gossip continued on the other end.
“I told you! Tom’s taking me out tonight,” Judy called between giggles.
“Yes, that Tom,” Judy repeated, rolling her eyes as she handed the phone back to Pat. He hesitated, glancing between her and the receiver until she gave him a nudge.
“Well, if it isn’t my dear brother-in-law!” Anne ’s voice came through brightly, loud enough to make Pat hold the phone slightly away from his ear as Judy resumed her primping.
“Oh, you’re a lifesaver for us,” Anne continued, in a slightly more calm tone. “Good help’s impossible to find these days. But I guess you know that firsthand, don’t you, Patti?”
Pat’s face paled. Patti. She had actually used that name.
He glanced toward Judy, who was casually adjusting the cups of her dress at the mirror, completely unfazed.
“N-No… I mean, yes, I’m…” Pat stammered, fumbling for words.
“Phew, it’s going to take some getting used to, calling you that,” Anne remarked lightly. “ “And don’t worry, I haven’t breathed a word to Harold yet. He’ll be thrilled to see the new you, let me tell you,” she said, laughing through the receiver.
His brother-in-law had always found endless ways to assert his supposed superiority over Pat, handed to him by cruel destiny on a silver platter. And now, Pat was expected to be the one holding it. Losing a wrestling match to his own wife would be the undeniable proof of Pat’s failure to live up to Harold’s standard of manhood—let alone if he ever found out about Pat’s current career change—or, worse, saw him in the uniform that came with it.
Being a high school teacher had hardly impressed that side of the family, but at least it had never risked bringing the level of humiliation that serving and attending to that pompous jerk’s needs as a female servant would provoke.
“Now, I’m sure you have plenty of chores to do,” Anne recalled, pulling him back to the conversation. “So, let’s get back to the reunion…”
Pat’s breath hitched at her casual, almost dismissive tone—laced with unmistakable authority. Not only had she accepted his new role, but she was perfectly comfortable taking advantage of it. His sister-in-law wasn’t just inviting him to the event; she expected him to attend as the help. Not as a butler, which might have left him a shred of dignity, but as a full-fledged maid—complete with a black dress, pumps, and every humiliating detail that came with the uniform.
As he had come to see on previous gatherings, the Pritzkers always ensured their household staff looked the part, dressed impeccably in crisp, professional attire. Meanwhile, Pat had been making do with borrowed castoffs from his wife’s wardrobe—at least in these early weeks. Clearly, Judy had shared at least a significant portion of what had been going on over the last few months, enough for her to assume he’d fall right in line.
“It’s nothing too big—just a little get-together… around 30 or 40 people,” Anne assured him. That was more people than any of his classes, and back then, at least, he had been the figure of authority. None of those students had ever expected him to strut through the aisles serving food and drinks.
“Don’t worry,” His sister-in-law continued, either oblivious to—or completely unmoved by—his growing discomfort. “We’ve got catering, so all you have to do is make sure everyone has a drink and serve a few hors d'oeuvres. Easy peasy, right?”
Pat swallowed hard. Easy, she called it. As though this wasn’t about to put him on display, cementing his position as the family’s submissive, sissy husband.
“How do I look?” Judy mouthed as she glided past the lobby, striking a playful pose in her sleek, curve-hugging dress. Pat opened his mouth to answer but found himself tongue-tied, distracted by Anne ’s incessant chatter in his ear.
“Quite the guy you are,” Anne chuckled, sounding as though she were munching on something. “Who’d have thought my own brother-in-law would be such a... oh, don’t mind me,” she giggled, swallowing whatever she’d been eating. “Just thinking out loud.”
Pat opened his mouth to say something, turning to Judy. “Judy, I… I—”
Judy moved back and forth through the living room, applying mascara, then blush, then a little more mascara. “What is it?!” she snapped, impatiently.
“I just… I don’t think I’m—”
“Save your thinking for later, will you?” she scolded, tearing her gaze from her compact mirror just long enough to shoot him an irritated look. “I’m running late, and Tom gets moody if I take too long.”
“But Judy, I—”
The sudden smear of her lipstick across her cheek brought Judy’s frustration to a head. “Damn it!” she hissed, brushing past him to grab a tissue, muttering under her breath as she furiously dabbed at the smudge.
“Oh, and good job with that sweet little voice, huh?” Anne continued, her tone so cheerful it bordered on mocking. “Maybe a bit too sharp for a woman of your age, but hey, we all want to appear younger, right?” Another giggle followed, as though she expected him to laugh along.
Pat pressed his hand over the phone’s speaker, muffling Anne ’s words as he turned back to Judy. “Please, Judy. I can’t… I just don’t know if—”
“Not now, Patti,” she cut him off again. A car horn sounded outside, and Judy darted toward the window, kneeling on the couch to peek through the curtains. “Coming!” she called, waving at the familiar green car parked on the curb.
She grabbed her purse, fluffed her hair one last time, and strode toward the door. “Don’t wait up!” she chirped, throwing a quick wave over her shoulder without even glancing at Pat.
"Judy, please, I just… I’m not…" Pat’s hand caught her wrist, pleading as she brushed past him. But any sympathy he’d hoped for was lost in the touch, and with a firm push, she freed her arm.
"I said, not now!" she growled, sending him stumbling back onto the couch.
The tension between them hung heavy for a moment, but another impatient honk from outside pulled Judy’s attention away. Without another glance, she opened the door, stepped out, and disappeared into the night. The sound of the car pulling away echoed faintly in the stillness of the house, only interrupted by Anne ’s insistent voice and a slightly sharper, more distant cry below coming through the phone, now lying abandoned on the carpet.
Pat picked up the receiver again, Anne’s voice filling his ears once more. “Oh, and tell me—Did you actually go out with some guy? Like, seriously?" She paused for a moment, clearly waiting for an answer that didn’t come. “You know what? Never mind. Save the juicy details for when you get here—I’ll want to see it all for myself.”
In the background, a baby’s cry grew louder, prompting an exasperated sigh from Anne . “There he goes again!” she groaned. “Sorry, dear, I’ve got to run. Better get your beauty sleep before the big day. I won’t be a tough boss or anything, but I don’t want to see a half-snoozing, half-beautiful maid greeting our guests, alright?"
With one last giggle, she hung up, leaving Pat sitting in the suffocating quiet of the house. The steady beep of the disconnected line echoed faintly, blending with the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. His eyes landed on the crumpled invitation still lying on the table, the gold-embossed letters glinting mockingly under the light.
“We hope you can join us,” they read.
III
And so it happened. Two days later, Judy made an extra effort to wake up as early as Pat usually did, bustling around to ensure they’d leave with enough time to reach Anne ’s house. With one last wave goodbye to Mrs. Robbinson, who was watering her roses as usual, the engine roared to life after the twelfth pull of keys. Pat, watching their home grow smaller in the rearview mirror, sighed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Judy took charge of the drive, sipping her coffee and stifling yawns every few miles. The journey was only two hours upstate—a familiar route they’d taken countless times before, though never under circumstances quite like these. As the miles rolled by, Pat’s mood grew darker. From the little he managed to coax out of Judy, he learned that Maria, the Pritzkers’ housekeeper, had left the country unexpectedly due to a family emergency. With no idea if or when she’d return, the Pritzkers were left scrambling to fill the vacancy. That’s when Judy had stepped in, volunteering her husband as the perfect temporary solution.
While both Anne and Harold had reservations about taking advantage of Pat in such a way, Judy’s insistence left them little room to argue. They eventually agreed, with the compromise that the couple would at least stay at the Pritzkers’ home in the meantime. Harold had been particularly skeptical, convinced that Pat wasn’t cut out for the rigorous demands of a butler’s role. Still, he found some solace in knowing Pat would at least get a taste of real work. Anne, on the other hand, had held her tongue, knowing full well that “butler” wasn’t quite the role Judy had in mind for her husband.
As they drove further, the route split into familiar branches—one leading to the secluded cottage where Pat had first measured his strength against Judy. That pivotal wrestling match had planted the seeds for everything that followed, including the creation of his current alter ego. Despite its associations, Pat couldn’t deny the cottage’s charm. It was peaceful, perfect for recharging and escaping the chaos of daily life. Nice enough for him to endure the awkwardness of asking his brother-in-law to let them use it every few months, always met with his brother-in-law’s good-natured teasing.
“Of course, you can have it!” Harold would laugh, slapping Pat on the back. “We’re family! Anne ’s big sis deserves the best. If you’re willing to ask, I’m willing to give!”
They had a longstanding agreement that Pat would repay the favor by tutoring Harold’s future children. Even then, he was already threatening to spread his kind on Earth—well-formed, male specimens like himself. So far, he seemed on track, starting with his firstborn, Benjamin—named after his grandfather, who’d given his life in the Great War. Ben, but never Benny, as Harold would constantly clarify; minimizing his name was, in his view, tantamount to disrespect. Pat cringed at the thought of what his brother-in-law would say if he knew people were calling him Patti these days—or about everything else that had changed.
Halfway through the drive, the sedan began to shudder, rattling with irregular bumps before wheezing to an abrupt stop. “C’mon,” Judy barked, turning the key repeatedly, but the car refused to respond. After years of use and little maintenance, it had finally reached its limit.
With no other choice, Judy called Anne for assistance. Even though the call wasn’t on speaker, Pat could hear her sister’s sharp cries of concern as she assured them she’d come right away.
Not long after, Anne’s sleek SUV appeared at the end of the road, honking as it approached. The vehicle screeched to a halt just in front of the stranded sedan. Judy stepped out immediately, throwing her arms open to greet her sister after months apart. Pat, meanwhile, stayed inside, peering nervously through the window as the two women exchanged warm hugs.
Anne’s excitement was palpable even from a distance. Her gaze kept darting toward the sedan, clearly curious about catching a glimpse of Pat through the tinted windows. Noticing her sister’s curiosity, Judy waved her over to the passenger door.
Pat hesitated before reluctantly opening the door. With no men’s clothing left in his wardrobe, he had pieced together an outfit he hoped would soften the shock for anyone unfamiliar with his transformation.
The shock came anyway, taking shape in a breathless gasp from Anne, followed by progressively higher-pitched squeals as he stepped out.
Emerging from the dim interior of the sedan, he blinked in the sunlight, his freshly manicured nails catching the light as they gleamed with every movement. His two-inch slingback sandals clicked softly against the asphalt as he swung his legs to the side. Ignoring Judy’s outstretched hand, he straightened to his full height, the swish of his capri-length pants brushing his calves as he adjusted the sleeveless, striped baby-blue top.
“There she is!” Anne exclaimed gleefully, rushing forward to envelop Pat in an enthusiastic hug. The embrace nearly dislodged his floral headband, and she leaned in with exaggerated “muah” sounds, brushing his cheeks in a friendly kiss. She paused momentarily, catching a faint whiff of perfume, before pulling back to hold him at arm’s length.
“Well, you don’t look like my old brother-in-law at all,” Anne teased, stepping back to take him in. “I just want you to know,” she chimed, in persistent nods as resting both hands on his shoulders. “This journey you’re on can’t be easy, but I fully support you. You’re family, after all. My dear brother-in—uh, sister now, I guess!” She giggled.
“She’s our cousin, actually,” Judy interjected, from the other side of the cars, dragging bags toward Anne’s SUV.
“Ah, of course!” Anne replied, laughing as she brushed Pat’s chin lightly with her fingers. “Got to keep appearances, don’t we, dear? she said, flashing a knowing smile, one that he didn’t share. “It might take some time for everyone to adjust, but I’m sure we’ll all learn to accept the new you, Patti.”
The honking of passing cars reminded them they still had a destination to reach. With the broken sedan hitched to her own vehicle, they were soon back on the road. The SUV handled the additional weight easily, taking them home in less time than the sedan would have managed.
The sisters filled the drive with chatter, recounting highlights from their respective holidays. Judy mostly listened at this point, while Anne casually threw in details about how hectic things had been since Maria left. “Well, I guess that’s not a problem anymore,” she remarked, glancing back at Pat in the rear seat with a knowing smile.
When they finally pulled into the Pritzkers’ driveway—a sprawling yet tasteful property that hinted at wealth without flaunting it—Pat noticed Harold’s truck was missing from its usual spot, now soon to be occupied by the faint remnants of his own car.
With nothing to carry but a small handbag, Pat followed the lead of his wife, who dragged one small bag and a larger suitcase behind her, and Anne, who reached the door first. Before she could retrieve the key, the door swung open on its own. At first, Pat thought it might be her husband, but instead, a bounding dog burst out with loud, excited barks.
“Hunter, down!” Anne scolded, laughing as the golden retriever zeroed in on Pat, sniffing him eagerly. Pat held still, letting himself be inspected.
“Silly boy,” the owner cooed, kneeling to hold the dog’s face in her hands, forcing it toward Pat’s. “It’s just Patti! I know she looks a little different, but you remember her, don’t you?”
Apparently he didn’t and with his curiosity refusing to wane, Anne eventually led her pet by the collar to the backyard. Judy and behind her Pat, followed inside, instantly welcomed by the elegantly designed interiors. Everything reflected the Pritzkers’ wealth,from the polished furniture to the high ceilings and professionally curated decor. It might not have been an actual mansion, but it was much closer to one than their own home—inviting, if only for a guest and not as a member of the staff.
Judy sighed contentedly and removed her coat, prompting Pat to take it instantly. Before he could hang it with the rest of her belongings, Anne intercepted him near the sliding glass door, where Hunter was still jumping excitedly, his muffled barks barely audible through the glass.
“Oh, Judy, are you sure about that?” She asked, stepping forward. She stopped Pat mid-reach, catching the items. “Aren’t these a bit too heavy... for her?” she asked, directing the question toward Judy but glancing at Pat with genuine concern.
Judy waved her off with an amused smile. “Oh, don’t worry. These are not heavy at all,”
“Well, if you say so,” Anne relented, handing over the items before taking a seat beside her sister, who had already cozied up on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table.
“Oh, no, not there,” Anne called out as Pat turned toward the lobby closet. “Judy’s staying upstairs—second floor, third door on the left. Thank you!”
Pat’s shoulders slumped slightly as he adjusted his grip on the coat and bag, trudging toward the stairs. The wheeled suitcase was heavier than he anticipated, and although he tried to maintain his composure, at least until he was out of sight. By the time he reached the second floor, he was openly letting the suitcase thump on each step, secretly hoping it might leave some dents.
Navigating the hallway heightened his anxiety, as he half-expected Harold to emerge from one of the rooms at any moment. Thankfully, the corridor was silent, and when he finally arrived at Judy’s temporary room, he dropped the bags onto the single twin bed with a grunt of effort. His gaze lingered for a moment, noticing that his well-informed sister-in-law had correctly assumed he and Judy wouldn’t be sharing a bed during their visit.
Pat draped Judy’s coat over the back of a chair, too distracted to bother hanging it properly, and made his way back downstairs. When he returned, the sisters were deep in conversation again, at least judging by the volume of their giggles.
“So, uh…” Pat hesitated, hovering at the threshold. “Where’s Harold?”
Anne paused mid-laugh and turned to look at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear—what was that?” she asked, still chuckling as she wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye.
Pat shifted uncomfortably, brushing his ankle against the strap of his sandal. “I was just wondering… is Harold around?”
“Oh, heavens no,” Anne said with an amused sigh, waving a dismissive hand as she picked up her teacup. “He’s at work. Some endless meeting about quarterly projections or something equally dull. We won’t see him until halfway through the party, if we’re lucky.” She rolled her eyes and nudged Judy with a grin. “That husband of mine—sometimes I think he’s married to his job.”
Judy snorted, raising an eyebrow. “Well, at least yours wears pants to work.”
Between the women’s chuckles, Pat could only envision what it’d be like when his brother-in-law got home. Harold’s absence was a small mercy, but he knew it wouldn’t last. Sooner or later, he’d have to face him—either dressed like this or in Maria’s borrowed maid uniform during the party. Ridiculously, the thought of his brother-in-law witnessing the price he paid for losing a wrestling bet filled him with more dread than serving drinks and appetizers for a crowd of strangers over several hours.
No punishment Judy had ever dreamed up could compare to the thought of serving Harold as a fully made-up maid for the next few days. That unsuspecting Mexican lady whose uniform Pat had been “loaned,” had unwittingly extended the boundaries of his humiliation beyond anything he thought possible, as if he were the subject of an experiment testing how much shame one person could endure in just a few months.
“Come on, sweetie, sit with us for a second, will you?” His sister-in-law’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. She patted the spot beside her on the couch. “We don’t bite, I promise.”
Pat hesitated but reluctantly sat down, smoothing his pants reflexively, as if they were a skirt—a habit he hadn’t realized he’d developed. Anne turned to face him fully, tucking one foot beneath her as she offered him a teacup. Her gaze was warm but faintly probing as she said, “I can only imagine how difficult this whole... transition has been for you.”
“Y-yeah,” Pat stammered, avoiding her eyes as he took a small sip of tea. “It’s... been an adjustment.”
She leaned closer, placing a hand over his and giving it a light squeeze. “For what it’s worth,” she said softly, “I think the hardest part is behind you. And you’ve come through it beautifully.”
Pat forced a faint smile, nodding again. He held her touch just long enough to be polite before subtly pulling his hand away, but Anne’s eyes dropped to his freshly done French tips, and her expression lit up.
“Oh my! What a gorgeous manicure!” she exclaimed, holding his hand palm-up to admire the glossy finish. “Did you do these yourself?”
“N-no,” He stammered. “I, uh… got them done at the mall.” He glanced at Judy, who observed the exchange with thinly veiled amusement.
Anne gasped theatrically, her mock horror exaggerated. “Oh, no, no, no! That won’t do at all!” She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Those cheap places use such low-quality products. Your poor cuticles must be begging for mercy!” She inspected his nails critically before turning back to him with a wide smile. “I’ve got a membership at this fabulous spa on Northwest Boulevard. Their treatments are, like, absolutely divine. You simply must come with me sometime—you and Judy both! She squealed, glancing between him and her sister. “It’ll be a real girls’ day! My treat!”
“Anne, that’s so thoughtful of you,” Judy said leaned forward, with a sly glance at Pat. “You really do spoil us.”
Her sister waved her off. “Nonsense! You two deserve it.”
“That’s… very kind of you,” Pat said cautiously, glancing between the sisters’ matching grins. “But I don’t think it’s necessary. The next school term’s coming up, and I’ll—”
“Oh! Have you given them notice yet?” Anne interrupted, not letting him finish his polite refusal. He had been about to explain that a high-end manicure service wasn’t worth it, especially when he planned to ditch the nails—and everything else about this look—within the month.
Pat faltered, thrown off. “Uh, no... I mean...”
“We haven’t,” Judy interjected, setting her cup down. “In fact, I doubt I’ll ever set foot in that hellhole again.”
Before Pat could fully process Judy’s words, her sister turned her attention back to him with a curious tilt of her head. “And what about you, Patti?” she asked, refilling her sister’s cup. “Do you feel like teaching again? You know, plenty of schools are very open-minded these days with people in… well, your situation.”
Pat’s mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to find the words. His hands clenched into fists in his lap, and before he could stop himself, the words came tumbling out. “They won’t need to be open-minded because I’ll be out of this stupid bet in less than a month!” he burst out, clenching his fists against his knees.
Anne blinked in surprise, clearly caught off guard. It took her a moment to recover, and she smoothed her expression with a polite smile. “Ah, of course,” she said gently. The sisters exchanged a glance, and Judy mouthed, Still adjusting. Anne chuckled softly, nodding in agreement.
The last drops of tea trickled into Anne’s cup, and she made to carry the tray to the kitchen, but Judy stopped her. “No, no, let her,” she insisted, gesturing toward Pat.
He bit back a sigh and obediently picked up the tray, throwing Judy an irritated glance as she leaned back to place her cup on it.
Reaching for the earl gray and refilling the sugar bowl with stevia, he set the kettle down and let out an exhausted sigh. There was still at least another day and night here before he could return home—where, at least, no one knew who “Patti” really was. At this point, he had found at least some relief in the fact that he could call himself a woman, and no one—except those who knew the truth—would doubt it.
He chuckled softly, wiping a smudge of lipstick from his reflection in the microwave door. It was almost amusing to think how little remained to master in the lifestyle of a woman; it felt like it would be harder now to convince anyone there was a man underneath all the makeup and clothing
The kettle began to whistle, its sharp cry merging with a louder, more insistent wailing from somewhere below. At first, he thought it was Judy and Anne’s laughter hitting a particularly obnoxious pitch. But as the sound grew louder and more desperate, he realized it had to be his nephew. Benny—no, Ben, he corrected himself.
Pat peeked toward the living room, hoping one of the sisters might react. Their chatter continued unabated, with no sign that they’d heard the baby’s cries. The tea could wait, he turned off the stove and followed the sound to its source.
As he suspected, Pat found his nephew squirming in his crib, his little face bright red from the effort of his cries. He approximated, but his arms hovering uncertainty over the infant. Finally, he brushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear and leaned down.
“Shh, shh,” Pat cooed softly, gently scooped Ben up into his arms, holding him close to his chest. Ben’s tiny hands flailed at first but then settled against the neckline of Pat’s blouse as his cries softened to hiccups. Pat rocked him gently, humming under his breath as he paced the room
For a fleeting moment, the two shared a rare calm. Ben’s big, curious eyes locked onto the unfamiliar face, and Pat couldn’t help but smile faintly. There was something soothing about holding the baby, despite the awkwardness of it all. But just as quickly as the calm had come, Ben’s expression twisted, and his wailing resumed, louder this time. The uncle sighed exasperated, glancing around for something to distract him. He tried squeezing a stuffed animal in front of him, but Ben wasn’t interested. A few more attempts with various toys failed miserably, and Pat found himself panicking.
With no better option, he hurried back to the living room, his nephew still crying inconsolably in his arms. The noise cut through the room like a siren, but Anne merely glanced up with an indulgent smile.
“Oh no, dear,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “Harold’s very firm about this—He doesn’t want me spoiling his son by picking him up every time he cries. ‘A mother’s overprotective care reinforces weak behavior,’” she added in a mockingly deep voice, rolling her eyes. “‘Or makes him overly dependent.’”
Anne exchanged a knowing look with Judy, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Breaks my heart, but Harold insists. He’s very adamant about raising Ben to be resilient.”
Pat’s incredulous gaze darted between the two women as he instinctively held the baby closer. Anne had mocked the idea of resilience at first, no matter how many studies her husband had shown her. But looking at her feminized brother-in-law cradling Ben against his silicone-enhanced chest, she had begun to think Harold might have a point. Perhaps Pat had received too much attention as a child, leading to this... wimpish demeanor that had made him so pliable for Judy’s whims.
He had adjusted to the situation far too well for someone who claimed reluctance. There had to be something within him that had always been there—something Judy had simply nurtured and encouraged. It was undeniable, watching Pat’s tender, almost maternal concern for the baby.
Ben’s tiny hand clutched Pat’s blouse, his fussing replaced by a calm stillness that made Anne’s lips curl into an approving smile. An idea had begun to take shape, one that could align both her husband’s ideals and Judy’s insistence on “making the most of” his situation. She glanced at her sister, who looked equally amused, their silent understanding passing between them.
Pat squirmed under his sister-in-law’s stare. “W-what?” he stammered, the flush on his cheeks deepening.
“Aww, nothing,” She said softly, her tone almost doting as she waved him off.
He hadn’t even noticed the baby tugging persistently at his blouse until a small giggle escaped Judy’s lips. Glancing down in sudden horror, he saw Ben’s determined little hands nearly undoing the top button, revealing the edge of the silicone breast form beneath.
Both sisters erupted into laughter. Judy clutched her stomach, doubling over, while Anne hid her giggles behind a hand.
“Oh, poor thing must be hungry,” The mother managed between bouts of laughter.
Finally, taking pity—or so Pat thought—Anne reached out and gently took Ben from his arms. She unbuttoned her blouse without hesitation, slipping it off one shoulder as she settled Ben against her chest to nurse him.
“So, Patti,” Anne said casually leaning back, as Ben latched on, “are you a size 15 in dresses?”
Pat blinked, fumbling with his blouse to fix the undone buttons. “Uh... 17,” he stammered. “Why?”
He quickly understood why. With Ben contentedly asleep in his crib, Anne wasted no time in channeling her enthusiasm into fully immersing her brother-in-law in the role he was meant to play. Within the confines of a small room—furnished similarly to Judy’s but tighter in dimensions—Anne rummaged through the narrow closet until she pulled out an outfit Pat instantly recognized.
It was one of Maria’s old costumes, unmistakable not only for its shiny black material and intricate lacy patterns but also for the name embroidered across the top. The snug fit left no doubt as to its original owner.
With equally sized pairs, they had to make the most with what they had—namely, a persistent sister-in-law and a nearly suffocated replacement. The name “Maria” stretched across the front, the lettering warped from Anne’s insistent tugging to get the garment to fit over Pat’s broader frame. Pat’s audible groans of effort made it clear that it wouldn’t work, until the zipper finally broke under her final yank.
Humming thoughtfully, she snapped her fingers as an idea struck her. Still half-dressed, Pat was led across the house to her bedroom. With the zipper undone and the dress barely hanging on, he followed reluctantly, catching glimpses of Anne’s smirking expression each time she turned to giggle at the sight of his bouncing silicone forms.
Inside Anne’s expansive walk-in closet—easily larger than Pat’s bedroom back home—She and Judy rifled through her collection of clothes, tossing dresses over their shoulders and debating options, paying little attention to anything the actual wearer had to say. Hangers clattered, fabric swished, and within minutes, the room looked like a clothing rack had exploded but finally settled on an ensemble that met their shared vision.
Anne watched intently, biting her thumb to stifle her laughter as Judy, unfazed, unhooked her husband’s bra. Pat, caught off guard, frantically crossed his arms over his chest. Judy smirked, sliding the piece out of his grasp before leaving the room, abandoning him to her sister’s scrutiny.
With little to say between her and her turned-back brother-in-law, Anne’s eyes drifted over the faint red marks left by the bra straps on his mid-back and shoulders—marks she was more accustomed to seeing on her girlfriends, not a man. Though she understood the origins of Pat’s “relationship” with this type of underwear, seeing the evidence first hand was jarring. Harold would never have such marks—nor had any of Judy’s previous partners.
Her sister had always gravitated toward a particular type of man, and when Judy had first introduced her future husband to the family, Anne had immediately noticed how different he was. She couldn’t reconcile the image of her sister’s previous confident, charismatic boyfriends with the sweaty, nervous man who seemed to have no idea how to handle high-class cutlery. In hindsight, though, maybe that had been a good thing. Judy’s last breakup had been brutal, and while Pat had his flaws, he at least seemed to offer something steady.
Anne had discreetly kicked Harold under the table when he couldn’t hold back a laugh as Judy rejected the meal Pat had ordered for her, snatching the menu from his hands. The situation had been awkward for everyone involved—especially the waiter. Social norms dictated that the man order for his date, and Anne had no problem letting Harold order for her. But her husband knew her well enough to choose something she liked—unlike Judy’s new beau, who couldn’t pick anything close to the steak and potatoes she had wanted.
As some sort of punishment, Judy had taken the bold step of ordering for Pat instead. She handed the menu back to the waiter before Pat could argue and so, he ended up with a light salad, sitting in embarrassed silence while Harold boasted about a recent successful deal. The table celebrated with a toast, which Pat could only join with water—Judy had extended her authority by forbidding him from having even a drop of alcohol.
As Pat had explained countless times since, often in the face of Harold’s relentless teasing, he had simply been trying not to make a scene. He had wanted to be “mature” about their relationship, turning the other cheek when Judy undermined him. But even the most patient man has limits. For Pat, though, those limits seemed endlessly elastic.
His cheeks were burning now from having to take turns enduring Judy’s ever-escalating defiance. Red with embarrassment, they matched the flushed face of little Ben’s earlier tantrum. Anne deduced, with a hint of amusement, that what she was witnessing now might just be an adult man’s version of a meltdown.
“Is it just me, or are these getting bigger?” Judy teased, clutching the silicone forms in her hands and adjusting them in the newly strapless bra she had fastened around her husband. Pat shot her a resentful glare, which Judy met with a wide grin as she held out his outfit for him to step into.
Anne, still reeling from the surreal spectacle, snapped out of her thoughts as Judy called for help. Together, the sisters tugged the rhinestone-studded dress up over Pat’s torso. Anne’s hand lingered a bit too long on his back after the zipper was fully up. She wouldn’t admit it aloud, but she hadn’t been able to fit into this dress herself post-pregnancy. Meanwhile, Pat, perpetually in a pre-pregnancy state, could slide into the red getup with ease—not that he ever wanted to.
Sliding her eyes down his silhouette, Anne wondered if Pat had been subsisting on nothing but side salads since that dinner years ago. The dress looked just right on him. The off-shoulder neckline framed his faux curves perfectly, flowing seamlessly over his slim torso. The long skirt featured a dangerously high slit along one side, revealing Pat’s legs—legs that were supposedly those of a man but clearly belonged to someone dedicated to an unrelenting regimen of waxing, lotioning, and careful grooming.
Even more impressive was how effortlessly he balanced on four-inch silver glitter sandals—a skill most women took their entire teenage years to master. But Pat wasn’t most women. He wasn’t even a woman.
Anne wondered, not for the first time, how he could ever think there was a way back—not just for him, but for those who had witnessed the extremes of his transformation. He was no longer the man she had once dismissed as weak because of his overly gentle handshake; though still nervous, he had become something entirely different.
He might not have realized it yet, but that dress was already his, just as Anne had come to realize she could never dare wear it again—not after seeing how perfectly it fit her brother-in-law.
Maybe Pat wasn’t like Judy’s previous boyfriends, but Anne was starting to understand why her sister enjoyed having him around—even after Tom’s return. Few men could pull off such an outfit with such ease. Most wouldn’t even know if they could—unless, of course, they had someone like Judy in their lives. Perhaps they were indeed meant to be together, just not as husband and wife.
“What do you think?” Judy asked, turning to her sister.
Holding the position Judy had placed him in, Pat stared blankly ahead, waiting for Anne to give her verdict. She nodded approvingly, unable to find fault with the sight.
The sisters quickly changed into more understated outfits, adding light touches of makeup. Once everyone was ready, the trio descended the staircase together, carefully lifting their skirts to avoid tripping. Judy extended a hand to Pat as they reached the last step, but he brushed her off with a huff, letting his skirt fall back into place.
IV
It was quarter to five, but it didn’t take long before Anne assumed her role as his newly appointed master, assigning him to clean the downstairs parlor and den. As he dusted and tidied, the house began to fill with the aroma of food being carried in by a procession of catering staff. Each worker sneaked at least one glance at the red-clad figure bent over the furniture. “Excuse me,” one called out, accidentally bumping into Pat and sending him stumbling slightly. Pat straightened quickly, catching sight of the worker exchanging a knowing smile with another before moving along.
By the time the guests began to arrive, everything was perfectly in place, including the newly hired maid standing by the lobby to greet them. Most guests barely noticed him, offering nothing more than a distracted nod, but a few paused long enough to inquire about the change in staff, stopped to ask his name. Pat forced himself to hiss the name “Patti” through gritted teeth, plastering on a demeaning smile for an elderly woman before she wandered toward Anne’s voice down the hallway.
No one seemed to notice any resemblance between "Patti" and the reclusive family member who rarely attended these gatherings. Then again, Pat had never made much effort to socialize with these wealthy elites. Harold often spoke about the importance of networking, claiming that social connections were the key to better opportunities, but Pat couldn’t help feeling small in their presence.
What was tutoring a struggling student to a B-minus compared to increasing a company’s annual revenue by 12%? Pat wasn’t failing in his career, but his path offered little room for advancement. The best he could hope for was a principal position in a few decades. This year, however, brought a change: instead of blending into the background, he was front and center, as Maria once was, serving appetizers and wine glasses to his in-laws’ colleagues and friends. Family connections certainly worked, as he alone would never have escalated this far in his rapidly growing serving career.
The dinner guests seemed pleased with his service, and Pat quickly established a route starting from the kitchen, tolerating the discreet eyeing-down of the cooks on his way out. Carrying pieces of the Pritzers’ silver collection, Pat navigated through the crowd, balancing either rounded trays held in one hand, filled with cups of wine from some vintage year, or square trays requiring both hands, piled high with small fish and meat canapés. Moving into the foyer, he first encountered Anne’s girlfriends, who had quickly welcomed Judy into their group. They were too absorbed in little Ben’s attempts to form words out of baby noises to notice Pat beyond the contents of his tray.
Deeper into the hall, Pat attended to the elderly guests whose legs couldn’t support standing for too long. His careful bending to offer appetizers often drew not-so-subtle glances at his neckline from the gentlemen, earning disapproving glares from their spouses.
Children darted past, brushing against his skirt as they chased one another toward the back patio, where Harold’s contemporaries had gathered. Puffing on cigars, they leaned against the slightly open crystal door, blowing their smoke outside. The persistent dog, making frequent attempts to squeeze through the gap, announced his presence before Pat approached the group, tray in hand. The gentlemen offered polite smiles before helping themselves. Pat had learned to carry a lighter for such occasions, and when one man gestured for a light, he obliged. However, as the flame flickered out, the man suddenly straightened, calling toward the entrance.
“Harold! My man!”
The shout carried through the hall like a jolt, sending a shiver up Pat’s spine and into his scalp. The name reverberated in his ears, making the crystal earrings that had been lent to him tremble slightly. He turned slowly, his heart pounding, and there he saw Harold—the owner of the name, the husband of the earrings’ owner, and the master of the household Pat had spent the evening serving. Harold had arrived, smiling warmly at the gathered crowd as he shrugged off his coat. Anne appeared beside him, offering a glass of wine.
They exchanged a quick peck before Anne leaned in to murmur something in her husband’s ear. Harold, still smiling, tipped the glass back for a hearty gulp—only to choke halfway through, his expression twisting into one of shock.
“He WHAT—?!” Harold sputtered, nearly spitting out the last drops of his drink to the sound of Anne’s delighted giggles.
Pat’s stomach churned with nauseating intensity, the kind he hadn’t felt since his dating days with Mike. His legs wobbled beneath him, and the men reacted quickly enough to remove their glasses from the trembling tray before he spilled them. Harold’s wide-eyed gaze swept across the room, eventually locking onto the red-stamped figure at the back.
“Patti!” Anne’s voice rang out, loud and clear, cutting through the din with his feminized name. “Over here, darling!” She called, waving him over.
Pat froze, clinging to the faint hope that the murmuring crowd might drown out her words. But Harold’s friends were quick to nudge him forward, pointing out Anne’s beckoning. With no escape, Pat forced himself to move, his heels clicking against the polished floor as the couple awaited him expectantly.
The journey from the corner of the living room to Harold and Anne felt like the longest walk of his life. Not because of the short steps this kind of shoes allowed, but because his brother-in-law’s incredulous gaze followed his every step as the gap between them closed, his expression shifting from confusion to something closer to disgust. The makeup, the dress, the jewelry—none of it aligned with Harold’s image of his brother-in-law, or with any image of a man for that matter. Yet, the face beneath it all carried just enough familiarity to make recognition unavoidable.
This was not, by any stretch, how Harold had envisioned his return home. He had expected to find his brother-in-law sticking to his word—perhaps helping with minor chores while Judy entertained their guests. Pulling into the driveway, he spotted Pat’s old, beat-up sedan parked alongside Anne’s sleek SUV and figured the party was already in full swing.
Before stepping inside, he paused to adjust his tie and smooth his rumpled shirt in the side mirror. These endless late-night meetings had been draining him all week, devouring more and more of his time with family. But the paycheck made up for it—they were more than comfortable. He’d always been willing to take one for the team, and in some ways, he respected Pat for doing the same. He even resolved not to give him too hard of a time.
That image of respect, however, burned to ashes the moment Anne gleefully informed him of the conditions Pat had agreed to. What Harold had first assumed was a joke took on a horrifying reality when he stepped inside and laid eyes on the scene. Pat had really taken over Maria’s role, just as Judy had promised—but Harold hadn’t expected them to take it so literally.
Savoring the lingering drops of his twelve-year-old red reserve, Harold could only let the expensive liquid spill from his lips as his mouth hung open at the sight of his brother-in-law wearing one of his wife’s most alluring dresses.
It was a sight he’d missed, though he’d long since learned not to comment on Anne’s post-pregnancy figure. Having it back, now on Pat, wasn’t definitely what he had in mind. He could only pray none of his coworkers or acquaintances would ever find out who was hidden beneath that dress. How could he explain that his brother-in-law had decided to cross-dress for the occasion? Harold would have gladly lent him a suit if he was short on attire. It might’ve been loose, but it would’ve been a far better option than this.
And yet, as Pat reached them and stood before his brother-in-law, it became glaringly obvious this wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment improvisation. Pat seemed too comfortable in the clothes and makeup for this to be his first time. Anne’s lack of surprise—and her barely suppressed giggles—confirmed this has been orchestrated with plenty of anticipation.
Standing before them, Pat straightened his posture, awaiting for instructions as though this small gesture of dignity could salvage his pride. But the tension in his shoulders and the way his cheeks burned betrayed the truth—inside, he was unraveling.
Anne, utterly unfazed, reached up and tapped Harold’s jaw to close his gaping mouth before sliding the tie from his neck. “Patti, be a dear and take this to the laundry for me,” she said sweetly, holding up her husband’s wine-stained shirt.
Pat swallowed hard, his throat dry, but managed a nod. He snapped the shirt from her hand and turned to leave, but she called again. “Oh and, Patti?” Pat cringed at the repeated use of the feminized nickname. Still, he turned back, forcing a neutral expression onto his face.
“While you’re at it,” Anne continued, patting Harold’s chest, now clad only in his undershirt, “bring my husband a fresh shirt, won’t you?”
He nodded again, this time more curtly, and quickly made his way out of the room, doing everything he could to avoid looking back. Once out of sight, Pat leaned against the door, his chest heaving as he tried to process what had just happened. Harold had seen him—fully and undeniably. Even though he wasn’t dressed appropriately for the role of a servant, he had been completely exposed to his brother-in-law as a woman. Yet there had been no sign of amusement from Harold. If anything, he seemed annoyed, maybe even angry, at seeing him like this.
In the bedroom, Pat found Harold’s wardrobe tucked neatly into a space beside Judy’s. No man needed that much closet space, and his brother-in-law was no exception. Pulling a shirt from the drawer, Pat’s fingers brushed over the embroidered initials—H.P.—before he quickly shook off the hesitation. Straightening the shirt with a sigh, he headed back to work.
Glancing through the crowd, Pat found his brother-in-law chatting with his friends in the back. He approached quietly, standing silently until Harold noticed him. Without a word, Pat handed over the fresh shirt and made a move to assist him in putting it on. Harold quickly waved him off, pulling the shirt on himself.
Before Pat could retreat, one of Harold’s friends gestured with an empty glass. “Hey, be a doll and grab me another one of these,” the man called.
The servant nodded but barely took a step before the man delivered a hard slap to his rear. The sudden jolt made Pat wobble slightly in his heels, his face burning with embarrassment.
“Thanks, sugar,” the man drawled, laughing with his companions.
Pat gritted his teeth, forcing himself to straighten up and leave without a word. The shame of enduring such treatment in front of his brother-in-law stung worse than the slap itself. If Harold had laughed or joined in, it might’ve been unbearable. Instead, he said nothing, his gaze heavy and unreadable.
The rest of the evening passed without major incidents. Pat kept his focus on his duties, attending to the other guests and limiting his interactions with Harold and his kind to the bare minimum. Eventually, Anne called him over to take her sleepy son, whose energy had been drained by the lively party. “Aww, she’s so good with him,” one of Anne’s friends cooed as Pat cradled the baby against his shoulder. She and Judy giggled in agreement.
The few minutes it took for Pat to settle little Ben into his crib offered only brief relief. His duties quickly called him back, this time to start collecting guests’ coats and hats. One elderly lady exchanged a lighthearted joke with the hostess as she handed over her belongings.
“She’s a keeper, I’m telling you,” the woman said, wagging a finger at Pat. He could only muster a polite smile while the stranger marveled at what a great maid he was. “You’d better keep a close eye on her, or I might just steal her away!”
“Oh, I’d like to see you try, Mrs. Absner,” Anne played along, waving at the older woman as she headed out, assisted by Pat. “We’re keeping this one for a long, long time,” She called out with a laugh just as Pat closed the door.
The men were the last to call it a night, squeezing the evening’s final moments for a few lingering puns as they made their way out. Harold joined their laughter, patting shoulders and exchanging handshakes with each of them at the door. He lingered by the window, watching until the last of them had disappeared into the night.
Once the house was finally empty, his mood shifted. He extinguished the stub of his cigar against the sole of his shoe, flicked it carelessly aside, and turned sharply toward Pat, who had been collecting glasses and used napkins nearby.
“All right, Pat,” Harold barked, his sudden outburst startling the unsuspecting maid, who hadn’t noticed his approach. “If this is a joke, consider it done.”
“Now,” He continued, taking a threatening step closer, his voice rising with each word, “would you care to explain what the fuck is going on here?!”
Pat instinctively took a step back, his heels clacking nervously against the floor. His heart raced, and in his panicked retreat, the tray tipped forward, sending the empty glasses crashing to the ground. Each sharp note of breaking glass seemed to fuel his brother-in-law’s escalating fury.
The commotion brought Judy and Anne rushing into the room. They quickly placed themselves between the two men as Harold advanced.
“I always knew you were a pansy,” Harold spat, glaring past the women as he pointed a trembling finger at his brother-in-law. “But this?” He gestured wildly toward Pat’s appearance. “What kind of sick freak does something like this?!”
“I guess that ‘sick freak’ would be me,” Judy interjected calmly, placing a firm hand on his chest to hold him back. Harold’s head snapped toward her, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief.
“You?” he barked.
“Harold, you need to calm down,” Anne said quickly, her hand joining Judy’s in an attempt to steady him.
“Calm down?” Harold repeated, shaking them off with a bitter laugh. “Oh sure, Anne. Why wouldn’t I be calm? My brother-in-law is standing here in your cocktail dress! Excuse me if I don’t break out the cigars and champagne!”
Anne’s lips twitched, clearly fighting back a laugh as she turned her gaze to the man in question. “Well, Maria’s wouldn’t fit, but–” she admitted, her tone lighter than the situation warranted. “I’ve got to say, Patti’s really pulling it off. I didn’t think she had the legs for it.”
Her husband’s face turned an alarming shade of crimson. “P-P-P—” His lips trembled as he struggled to repeat the name. “You’re joking,” he finally hissed, swallowing hard. “This—this has to be a joke!”
“No joke,” Judy said smoothly, stepping further into Harold’s line of sight, her calm demeanor infuriating him further. “If you’d stop yelling for five seconds, I could explain.”
Harold stepped back, running both hands over his face before letting out a guttural growl. “You’d better have one hell of an explanation,” he growled, collapsing into an armchair with a sharp exhale. “Because from where I’m standing, your husband looks like he’s auditioning for a damn drag show.”
As Pat quietly began cleaning up the broken glass, Judy launched into an explanation, narrating the series of events that had unfolded over the past two months in painstaking detail. She made sure to emphasize none of this had been voluntary on Pat’s side, though her tone, at times, seemed to suggest a faint admiration for his increasing submission over time.
The more Judy talked, the more animated Harold became. He paced the room, shaking his head as if trying to physically rid himself of what he was hearing. Anne, who had already been filled in, found renewed amusement in her husband’s escalating reactions to each revelation about Pat’s transformation.
The mere mention of Pat losing a fight to Judy caused Harold to pause mid-step, but when Judy casually added that the two of them had been sharing clothes ever since, Anne had to reach out and steady her husband, who looked as though he might faint.
Pat stayed silent, kneeling on the floor fixed to pick up shards of crystal in his trembling hands. A dustpan would have been a better choice, but he wasn’t familiar enough with the house to know where the cleaning supplies were kept. And this definitely wasn’t the moment to ask.
By the time Judy described their first shopping trip together, Harold threw his hands up in exasperation. “Stop—just stop!” he barked, cutting Judy off mid-sentence as she was about to dive into the story of Mike and Tom. “I’ve heard enough.”
Harold spun away, storming to the bar to pour himself a glass of wine. He raised it to his lips but froze, nearly choking on the drink when his eyes landed on his brother-in-law. The angle of Pat’s kneeling form caused the slit on his skirt to open just slightly, offering a glimpse of lace panties. He coughed violently, setting his glass down before he made a mess.
Pat, sensing the weight of Harold’s gaze, kept his eyes fixed on the floor, his stomach churning as he heard his brother-in-law’s footsteps approaching once more. The shadow of his brother-in-law stretched long over him.
"And you," Harold barked, pointing an accusatory finger at Pat. "How the hell did you let this happen? Goddammit, answer me!"
Pat froze, his breath hitching. He barely managed to meet Harold’s eyes before looking away again. His voice was barely above a whisper. "I... I’m a man of my word."
“A man?” Harold repeated, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You call yourself a man?" He let out a bitter laugh, stepping closer and grabbing Pat by the wrist. "You ruined your life over a goddamn bet, Pat! And you’re telling me that this—this humiliation—is somehow better than breaking your word?"
"Hey, watch it. You’re going to break her nails," Judy interjected with a smirk, leaning lazily against the back of a chair.
Harold ignored her, his focus laser-sharp on Pat. "You should’ve walked away. Hell, you should’ve divorced her if this is what she was asking of you!"
“Harold, that’s enough,” Anne interjected, but Judy held up a hand, signaling that it was fine.
“No, it’s not,” Her husband snapped, his voice rising again. “This—this whole thing is a joke. And you, Pat, you’re the punchline!" He let go of Pat’s wrist with enough force to send him stumbling back onto the floor. "You think she’ll ever look at you like a man again? Hell, I don’t even think I can!"
"It’s just two months," Pat countered weakly, retrieving himself from the floor.
"And then what?" His brother-in-law shot back, advancing toward him again. "Are we all supposed to just forget we saw you prancing around in my wife’s dress? Showing off your legs like some goddamn prom queen?"
Anne, standing beside Judy, smirked slightly. “I know I won’t.”
“Neither will I,” Harold snapped irritably. “And I can guarantee you Judy won’t either!”
Pat opened his mouth to respond but found himself unable to form the words.
“Now, now, that’s enough,” Anne said firmly, stepping in to place a calming hand on her husband’s arm. "You’re making this harder on her than it needs to be."
“Her?” Harold repeated, shooting his wife a disbelieving look.
She ignored him, turning to Judy with a small smile. “Why don’t we let Patti take a breather? She’s been through enough tonight.”
Judy nodded in agreement, her expression smug as she glanced at Pat. “Go on, sweetie,” she said, motioning toward the stairs. “We’ll take care of the rest down here.”
Pat hesitated, glancing back at the two women gently steering Harold further into the hallway, his brother-in-law still casting occasional, frustrated looks over his shoulder. Finally, he relented. Using all four limbs to push himself upright, he straightened his long skirt and began making his way toward the stairs. Carefully stepping over the shards of glass Harold had shattered in his outburst, he held onto the railing to steady himself.
He winced as he noticed one of his French-tipped nails—on his middle finger, of all things—had been chipped. Not that he’d dare point it out. Facing Harold’s wrath once had been more than enough.
His brother-in-law seemed personally offended by what he saw as Pat’s “embrace” of womanhood, as though Harold himself had been forced into heels and a skirt. If Pat had the courage, he might have added to Judy’s earlier explanation—told Harold how he had tried, really tried, to resist all of this but had failed at every turn. Whether that failure was for better or worse, he couldn’t say.
At the top of the stairs, Pat paused, glancing back briefly. From this vantage point, he could see the three of them: Harold slumped back into the couch, still fuming, while Judy and Anne leaned toward him, their soothing words too faint to reach. Judy shot Pat one last smirk before turning her attention back to the conversation, clearly unbothered by the drama.
Following Anne’s earlier offer, Pat made his way to Maria’s old room. He turned on the light and let out a deep sigh as he closed the door behind him. The room was small, far smaller than Judy’s, but the bed was surprisingly comfortable, more so than his at home. Sitting on the edge, he unbuckled the straps on his ankle heels and wiggled his toes, wincing at the faint red marks the shoes had left on his feet.
Carefully, Pat slipped off the borrowed dress, hyper-aware of every sound outside the door. The last thing he needed was for anyone to walk in and find him standing there in nothing but women’s underwear—especially Harold. Thankfully, no one interrupted. Finally allowing himself to relax, Pat sank onto the bed, the exhaustion of the day pulling him into a deep, dreamless sleep.
V
The morning sunlight streamed through the window, waking Pat with its soft glow. He blinked groggily, stretching out. He hadn’t been allowed to sleep like this in ages, and those extra hours felt like pure bliss—until the reality of where he was hit him.
Faint murmurs drifted up from downstairs, and for a moment, Pat debated staying put. But the smell of fried bacon and eggs called to his stomach, making the decision for him. With no other clothes available but Maria’s leftovers, Pat slipped back into the outfit he’d arrived in. Standing in front of the mirror, he carefully touched up his smeared makeup, offering himself a small, wry smile. He knew exactly why he was bothering to fix his appearance.
Pat descended the stairs and entered the kitchen, where the rest of the family had gathered. Anne was at the stove, tending to breakfast, while Judy chatted idly beside her. At the table, Ben was fully absorbed in building a masterpiece out of his apple purée, while Harold sipped his coffee, buried behind the financial section of the newspaper.
“Oh, look who finally decided to join us!” Anne called cheerfully when she noticed him entering the room. Harold lowered the top of his paper just enough to give Pat a stern look, though he said nothing.
“Good morning, sweetie,” His sister-in-law greeted, leaning over to plant a theatrical air kiss near his cheek and squeezing his shoulders lightly. “Did you sleep well?”
Pat nodded silently, standing awkwardly as she clasped his hands briefly.
“Ah, I’m glad to hear it!” she said, turning back to her sizzling eggs. “We thought about getting you a hotel room, but Judy insisted Maria’s old room would be just fine.” Judy gave an exaggerated wave of confirmation, her grin wide.
Pat swallowed hard at the not-so-subtle reminder that he and Judy hadn’t been sharing a bed for a while now. He didn’t dare glance at Harold to see his reaction.
“We’re so sorry about yesterday,” Anne continued, leaning into the refrigerator to grab some juice. “Like I said, it may take some time for *some of us”—she shot a pointed glance at her husband—“to accept the new you. But we’re working on it, aren’t we, Harold?”
Her husband emitted a low, grumbling sound in response.
“Ah, don’t mind him,” She said, waving a dismissive hand. “He gets moody when breakfast isn’t ready fast enough.” She scooped eggs and bacon onto a plate and handed it to Pat. “You must be starving.”
He accepted gratefully and slid into the seat next to little Ben.
“You must think we’re terrible hosts,” Anne teased as she poured orange juice into his glass. “Making you work all evening without so much as a bite to eat. I promise it won’t happen again, alright?” She pinched Pat’s cheek playfully before serving her husband his own plate.
Pat offered a faint smile, focusing on cutting into his eggs, but Harold’s gravelly tone broke the brief calm. “So, Barbie’s got his own wardrobe, huh?” he muttered, sneering as he popped a strip of bacon into his mouth.
“Harold,” Anne snapped, placing her spatula on the counter with an audible clatter. “We talked about this. Her name is Patti, and you promised to be nice with her.”
“I agreed to let him stay,” Harold replied gruffly, gesturing with his fork. “Doesn’t mean I want him parading around in my wife’s clothes.”
“Why not?” She shot back, arching an eyebrow. “Afraid you’ll like how well they fit?” She smirked, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Judy, who stifled a laugh behind her coffee mug.
“Not in a billion years,” Harold huffed, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
Pat said nothing, his focus shifting to wiping some stray purée from Ben’s cheek.
“Hey, knock that off!” Harold barked, snatching the napkin from Pat’s hand. “I don’t want my kid catching whatever the hell you’ve got.”
“Harold, enough!” Anne interjected, stepping between them. “She’s just trying to help!” She handed the napkin back to Pat with a firm glare at her husband. “How would you feel if your entire manhood had just been thrown off a cliff, huh?” she asked, supposedly trying to coax some sympathy out of him.
“Patti’s family. It’s our job to make things easier for her, not harder," She finished, her tone softening as she placed a calming hand on his shoulder. Harold muttered something unintelligible under his breath, the words dissolving into a grunt, but he didn’t push the argument further.
“And you’d better behave,” She teased, lightening the mood as she grinned playfully. “Or I’ll make you wear a dress myself.”
“Ha!” Harold barked bitterly. “I’d be caught dead first.”
Anne chuckled. “I know, sweetie, I know. But Patti isn’t like you. She’s… different, alright? That’s all.”
Harold rolled his eyes and drained the last of his coffee. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered begrudgingly. She, satisfied, turned his jaw to plant a quick peck on his lips before reaching for his briefcase.
She gave him a quick once-over, adjusting his shirt where it tucked into his belt and brushing out a few wrinkles from his coat. “Ugh, these knots always give me trouble,” she sighed, fussing with the knot of his shirt collar. She glanced at Pat. “Patti, would you mind?”
Pat froze, startled by the request. Harold’s jaw tightened as his sharp gaze landed on his brother-in-law, but before he could refuse, Pat stood reluctantly from his chair. Moving from Ben’s side to stand in front of him, his manicured hands hovered for a moment before carefully adjusting the knot.
Harold cleared his throat beneath the neatly fixed tie. “See?” Anne chirped, shooting her husband an amused look. “She can be useful!”
Without adding anything further, Harold grabbed his briefcase, ruffled Ben’s hair on his way out, and muttered, “Love you,” over his shoulder.
Would this be a good moment to leave? Pat mulled over the idea. Harold would have time to collect himself and find them gone by the time he got back home. It might seem rude to leave without saying goodbye, but after the trouble his mere presence had caused, surely everyone would understand why Pat would want to make a quick exit.
The filter of time would allow him to finally find pure and only amusement on it. A couple of decades would probably pass before Harold grew tired of the repetitive jokes and teasing comments at his, by then, past femininity.
Pat could already anticipate next year’s reunion, where his brother-in-law would inevitably find ways to rub it in his face again. Maybe by then, he’d welcome Pat with a cocktail dress already laid out on his bed, saving him the trouble of borrowing from Anne’s wardrobe again—or perhaps, more creatively, with a bouquet of flowers tagged with “For my two favorite sisters-in-law” meant for him and Judy, of course.
Then it hit him: by next year, there might not even be a "him and Judy" anymore. In fact, he could very well be out of the picture entirely, replaced by the man Harold hadn’t heard about yet—Tom.
He turned toward Judy, who stood by the kitchen counter, punching a number into her phone. When their eyes met briefly, she offered him a half-hearted glance before turning her back to greet whoever had answered on the other end.
Pat swallowed hard. It was time to wake up and smell the coffee—literally. As he gathered her half-finished mug along with the other dishes, he forced himself to confront the truth that had been inching closer to reality ever since he’d shaken hands with the man who was likely already taking his place.
As he learned—quite surprisingly—that hot water wasn’t an issue in the Pritzkers’ household, Pat processed the full weight of what he had come to realize: Judy had chosen Tom. She loved Tom. Maybe she always had. Even if none of this had happened, Pat realized, he might never have stood a chance.
No man would find it easy to accept such a fact—though, at this point, Pat wasn’t sure he even felt like a man anymore. Judy had made sure of that. Perhaps this entire ordeal had been her twisted way of telling him so.
Even if he wanted to leave it all behind and walk away, his entire existence now seemed to orbit around Judy. He was in her relatives’ house, wearing bits cobbled together from her leftovers and his own wardrobe, hoping she’d return to her casual old sweats instead of the perpetually skimpy short skirts she seemed so attached to, and half-listening to her make plans with Tom—the main beneficiary of those exposed legs.
With the broken-down sedan resting silently in the Pritzkers’ driveway, his stayance here was entirely dependent on Judy’s goodwill—or lack thereof.
Over the following days, her presence at the Pritzkers’ home became as infrequent as it had become on their own, and so, Pat was left to find ways to occupy his time in the meantime—which wasn’t particularly difficult. The house still needed a caretaker, and having already stepped halfway into that role, it didn’t take much for Anne to nudge him the rest of the way.
What started as “helping out” quickly evolved into a full-fledged maid’s role, and the “warm-up” Pat had gained from serving Judy was put to full use—not only because there were more people to serve but because of the sheer size and immaculate condition of the house demanded constant attention. The Pritzkers’ home was closer to a mansion than anything Pat had ever set foot in, and it became immediately clear why such estates required multiple staff members.
The list of chores often seemed to stretch from the top floor to the first. Anne cheerfully encouraged him to tackle each task with a demeanor so composed and polite that it left little room for objections. She had a habit of walking barefoot throughout the house, which meant the floors needed to shine at all times, requiring near-endless mopping. She claimed Ben, their toddler, had a skin allergy to a specific kind of dust—though, not knowing which kind, Pat was left to reduce all traces to the absolute minimum. She also took it upon herself to teach him how to fold Harold’s work shirts perfectly, so he could retrieve them without upsetting the neat stacks in the drawer.
Judy, for all her demands, had never been this relentless. Her sister, on the other hand, was gentle yet firm in her expectations. Perhaps it was the result of the luxuries Anne had grown accustomed to in a life alongside a man who could afford them, while Judy had long since accepted Pat’s shortcomings as a provider.
At first, Harold resisted any form of help from his brother-in-law. However, he eventually relented, if only to keep Anne happy. Every man, though, has his limits, and Harold found his when his wife suggested expanding Pat’s duties to include nannying.
“Ah, no. No, no, no!” Harold cried, holding Ben out of Anne’s reach as though protecting him from danger. “Having that freak around has been bad enough,” he insisted, seemingly playing tug-of-war with his wife. “But I don’t want Ben sneaking into your closet to try on your heels!”
“Oh, come on, Har,” Anne said, extending her arms toward their son. “That’s a pretty common thing for kids to do! Didn’t you ever get into your mom’s shoes when you were little?”
“Maybe,” he admitted reluctantly, still clutching Ben, “but that doesn’t mean I grew up in them!” He called loud enough for Pat to hear from the next room.
“And neither will Ben,” She replied firmly, trying to soothe him. “Aunt Patti is just here to make things easier.”
“He can’t even take care of himself, Anne!” Harold countered, trying to reason with her. “How are we ever going to explain this to the kid? ‘Oh, your uncle decided to wear dresses one day to nurse you’?”
“He didn’t put on dresses to nurse Ben,” His wife corrected sharply. “He put on dresses and then nursed Ben.”
“Aha!” Harold exclaimed, pointing at her. “So you admit he’s a he!”
“Of course he’s a he,” she replied, lowering her voice to a whisper—though Pat could still hear from the other side of the wall. “I’m just trying to smooth the transition for her,” she said, emphasizing the pronoun. “She’s been through enough, I mean, with Judy and all...”
Pat chose not to stick around to hear more, but the conversation continued.
“I don’t care!” He cried out. “He got what he deserved!”
Anne placed her hands on her hips, glaring at her husband. “You don’t have to be so cruel about it. You know Pat didn’t choose this.”
“Didn’t choose it?” Her husband scoffed, pacing the room with Ben still nestled in his arms. “You think someone ends up like this by accident? No, Anne, he made his bed, and now he has to lie in it!”
“Which is why she’s a maid,” She replied, tilting her head with a teasing smirk. “To make beds and take care of little babies.”
Harold’s mouth trembled as he tried to respond. “That’s not what I meant! I don’t want my son anywhere near someone like that!”
She sighed, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from Ben’s forehead. “You know, for someone who prides himself on being such a tough guy, you sure do feel threatened by someone as harmless as Pat in a dress.”
“It was your dress!”
“Yes, it was. And she has her own dresses now too, if you must know.”
Her husband cringed, letting out a guttural growl, unable to run both hands over his face because of being holding his son. “Look,” he finally stammered, “I’m not saying I hate the guy. He’s family, I just–” Harold grumbled. “But I can’t pretend I’m okay with... whatever this is.” He gestured vaguely toward the hallway.
“You don’t have to be okay with it,” She said firmly. “But you do have to let her try. She’s doing the best she can, and for now, that’s enough. Got it?”
Harold muttered something under his breath, but Anne wasn’t letting him off so easily.
“Got it?” she repeated, her voice sharp enough to make him flinch.
The man let out a heavy sigh, finally handing Ben over to her. “Fine,” he grumbled, avoiding her gaze. “But the second that kid gets too comfortable with anything pink, I’m ripping him out of that pansy’s hands.”
Resigned to being the “new Maria”—at least until returning home, where the only person he had to serve was his wife—Pat found that the workload here seemed to double, if not triple. Between Harold, Anne, and the baby, who demanded constant attention no matter who provided, the extra care quickly piled up.
Each day, Pat marched up and down the house, tirelessly scrubbing every corner to remove even the faintest traces of dirt from the seemingly endless rooms. When he realized he needed extra clothes for his work, he reluctantly went to Judy’s assigned room to ask for a few items he hadn’t thought to pack. He knocked, but the door creaked open at his touch. Inside, he found that none of her belongings had been unpacked into the closet. Even the coat he had refused to hang remained draped over the back of the chair where he had tossed it.
Judy had become something of a myth around the house—her appearances recounted by others but never witnessed by Pat himself. Sneaking around late at night seemed to be her only way of avoiding him entirely, as he worked himself to exhaustion from dusk until dawn.
The northern sunlight would rouse him just in time to begin preparing the family’s customized meals.
The Pritzkers didn’t believe in store-bought baby food, so Pat began his mornings preparing fresh purées for the baby, ensuring they had enough time to cool by the time everyone else came down for breakfast. Anne preferred light, healthy dishes and often stood beside him, chatting as he worked. While she gossiped away, Pat forced polite smiles, his focus fixed on keeping a careful eye on Harold’s steak, which demanded a precise level of doneness.
Once the family finished their meals, they retired to the backyard, leaving behind piles of plates and utensils, sticky high chairs, and a kitchen floor scattered with crumbs. Through the crystal doors, Pat would catch glimpses of the scene—the baby splashing happily in a duck-shaped float, Harold applying a second coat of sunscreen to his wife’s back, and Anne dismissing, between chuckles, Hunter’s attempts to lick her cheek. It was an image Pat had once dreamed of for himself and Judy, and for a while, he had believed they were on the right track. Now, with Judy out of sight—out of his life, really—he resigned himself to being an observer of the life he thought they might have had.
The prospect for an upcoming reunion extended his stay for at least fifteen more days. But by this point, the family had grown accustomed to Pat’s assistance. Even Harold, though too stubborn to admit it, began to appreciate the level of care Pat provided—far beyond anything their former maid had ever managed. He would arrive home after a long day at work to find his brother-in-law standing at the door, ready to collect his coat and briefcase. He’d offer a bitter laugh and hand over the items, only to recline on the couch. Torn between disdain for Pat’s submission and the quiet convenience it offered, Harold begrudgingly tolerated it.
Anne, however, was far more vocal about her satisfaction with their new maid, going so far as to indulge Pat with little luxuries as a reward for his service. Weekly spa trips became a regular fixture. “Come on, Patti,” she’d coo, “you’ve earned a little pampering.” Manicures, pedicures, facials—the works—were all booked at her favorite high-end salon, originally intended for her sister to join her. But with Judy increasingly absent, Anne happily turned it into a private outing for herself and Pat.
During one such session, as they lounged under thick clay masks, his sister-in-law ventured to ask about his experience of “stopping being a man.” Slightly insulted by her phrasing, Pat reluctantly complied, lifting one cucumber slice from his eye to recount his one side of the story
As his voice rumbled alongside the rhythmic thuds of a masseuse’s hands on his back, Pat hesitantly revealed snippets of his journey—from the awkward and terrifying it had been to step out in public dressed in his wife’s clothes to the surprising ease with which it had become a habit.
Judy’s increasingly busy schedule left him to tackle the so-called "womanly life" on his own, and eventually, he had to comply with it fully.
He admitted, somewhat sheepishly, that short skirts were surprisingly practical for navigating their two-story house while cleaning. “Not that I enjoyed them,” he added quickly, though the faintest trace of a smile betrayed him. High heels, though never comfortable, had forced him into a posture that he grudgingly acknowledged improved his gait—despite their undeniable effects on his aching backside.
In the past, Pat rarely dwelled on his own appearance, but now he admitted that beauty routines had undeniable payoffs. Over time, he had grown proud of his ability to keep his makeup flawless, even after hours of work.
He even conceded, with some lingering bitterness, that his dedication to housework far outshined Judy’s carelessness. While she had often damaged his treasured books with her haphazard cleaning habits, he had all the time in the world to perfect the subtle swing of the duster across the bookshelves and furniture.
Anne listened intently, her cheek resting in the cutout of the massage table, occasionally nodding or letting out soft hums. But when she asked about his involvement with another man, Pat flinched. The thick, hot air of the steam room suddenly felt suffocating, as if the temperature had just been cranked up. Under the amused scrutiny of his sister-in-law, he fumbled, adjusting the towel around his chest with nervous hands.
“I... I…” Pat stammered, struggling to find the right place to start.
“I heard you two had a great time,” Anne commented between chuckles.
“Yeah, I mean…” he conceded, as she slided closer. “Judy seemed pleased, at least.”
“No, no,” She interrupted, shaking her head with a knowing grin. “I meant you—and Rick, was it?”
“…Mike.”
“Right,” She conceded with a smirk.
Already familiar with Tom’s advances on her sister, Anne wasn’t about to let the conversation drop—not when she had a perfect chance to press Pat about his own ordeal. It had been terrifying, being forced into compliance with Judy’s casting for his replacement. Not many husbands got the luxury of a front-row seat to their wife’s infidelity. Yet, under such peculiar circumstances, Pat hadn’t even felt like her husband anymore.
They may not have always agreed on his pairing with Mike, but after seeing she was already moving one, he had been forced to reconsider things.
Caught between equal parts fear, abandonment, and rejection, Pat could do little more than sit still and look pretty as his head was held in place, forced to watch Judy and Tom’s undeniable chemistry. That was, of course, until he was coaxed into actively participating. As twisted as that night had been, a strange wave of comfort had washed over him the moment Mike stepped in to take over. Recently abandoned and emotionally vulnerable, Pat had been easy prey. Under the influence of alcohol, he would have let anyone hold him—so long as they offered even the smallest bit of warmth.
“So… did he use tongue?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, during the kiss. Did he use tongue?”
Pat flinched, burning with shame as Anne chuckled. She clearly knew the story already—she just wanted to hear it from his own lips.
Growing less willing to press further, she finally conceded. “I get it,” she called, waving her wrist. “I know Harold can be an ass sometimes… or rather, most of the time. But under his wing, I feel protected.”
Scratching at her damp hair with the towel, she stood up, sliding her feet back into her sandals.
“He’d never let anyone hurt me. I know it’s old-fashioned and not exactly feminist, but I guess not all of us are meant to stand on our own,” she added, standing before him. “It’s okay to step back from time to time, right? I’ll tell you—men’s egos need a little pumping now and then.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh.
She flashed him a grin. “Our charming princes, huh?”
And before he could reply, she was already gathering her things, preparing to move on—to the next stop in their pampering session.
Pat watched her go, his thoughts swirling. Maybe, just maybe, she had a point.
One morning, Pat found a few suitcases neatly stacked in the living room. Anne explained that Judy had stopped by early to drop off the rest of his clothes before leaving almost immediately. With Harold’s begrudging help, Pat’s belongings were relocated to Maria’s former quarters. As Pat unzipped one of the cases, he discovered a bundle of notes from Mike, tucked in between layers of folded blouses—letters written over the past weeks.
The warm sincerity in Mike’s words stirred something unexpected in Pat. On a whim, he decided to call him, and before he knew it, they were lost in conversation for hours. They exchanged stories about their lives as though they hadn’t seen each other just a few weeks ago. When Pat mentioned his new duties as a maid, Mike couldn’t resist teasing him about how good he must look in a uniform, earning an embarrassed but genuine laugh from Pat. As much as his current situation grated on him, the idea of Mike seeing him in his new role felt oddly less humiliating than enduring another day of Harold’s attitude. Mike even floated the idea of flying Pat out to Eastern Europe to join him. Though tempted, Pat declined, explaining his commitment to the upcoming reunion.
As if on cue with Mike’s fantasies, Maria’s old uniforms were taken to a tailor for alterations to suit her replacement. Pat found himself modeling one in a stall, and within days, the entire set arrived with precise adjustments Anne had requested—The bodices stretched snugly, the petticoats fluffed to give the skirts a dainty bounce, and the hemlines tailored to hover just past the tops of his stockings. The crowning touch was a freshly embroidered name tag on each uniform, replacing Maria’s with one that read “Patti” in elegant cursive.
Harold, ever the opportunist, suggested that their new maid ought to be blonde, given Maria had been a brunette. That was apparently all the justification needed for Pat to be sent to a salon to have his hair bleached and dyed a golden hue to match the extensions now woven into his scalp, the long strands brushing just past his shoulders.
VI
The Pritzkers had put their social calendar on hold during Pat’s adjustment period but wasted no time resuming it once his makeover was complete. Harold, still wary of anyone recognizing the man beneath the disguise, kept Pat confined to the kitchen during poker nights. The guys would be relentless to be served by the household new addition, but he would brush them off, claiming she wasn’t there to put a show on them, taking a sip from his beer, almost choking with each time she’d crossed his line of sight, each glance a silent acknowledgment of how convincing the transformation had become.
Anne, on the other hand, had no such reservations. In fact, she seemed to take a certain delight in making sure Patti was noticed, particularly during her book club meetings. Standing stiffly before the gathered women, Pat could do nothing but shift awkwardly from foot to foot as Anne playfully held a lock of his blonde hair against her own cheek, prompting the ladies to weigh in on whether the shade would suit her.
"Careful, dear," one of them called out as Pat was sent off to prepare another round of mimosas. "If I were you, I wouldn’t go that far in pampering my staff," she added in a hushed, conspiratorial tone as she leaned closer to Anne. "Not if I wanted to keep my husband."
“Oh, no, no, no,” Anne blurted between chuckles, waving a dismissive hand as she cleared her throat. “She’d never—”
“Are you sure?” another voice cut in. “She’s younger than you.”
“She’s not y—”
“And prettier,” another added smoothly.
“And let’s not forget,” a third chimed in, swirling the last of her drink, “much slimmer.”
No more drinks were requested after that. The book club meeting ended earlier than usual that day.
But their active social life wasn’t confined to their home. One fateful Saturday morning had been reserved for a friendly tennis match at the East Club, and Pat was expected to ensure everything ran smoothly.
Pat hesitated as he struggled to find solid footing while stepping down from his brother-in-law’s tall truck. With an exhausted sigh, Harold stepped in to help, pulling him down with a firm tug before heading to the trunk. Pat stumbled slightly at the force, throwing Harold a stern look before turning back to unbuckle Ben from his car seat.
As he leaned in to lift the baby, Pat caught a glimpse of his reflection in the side mirror. His golden locks, now tied into a high ponytail, shimmered in the sunlight. He wondered briefly if his hair could survive yet another dye job when school resumed or if it would all fall out entirely. Still, anything felt preferable to showing up with the cascading blonde extensions now brushing against his back.
Knowing that his Pat would struggle with the stroller’s weight, Harold wrestled it out of the trunk himself, muttering under his breath about having such a useless servant. Once it was set up, he rolled it toward Pat with begrudging effort before heading ahead toward the club entrance.
His wife joined Pat’s side with her usual cheerful energy, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. But it wasn’t just their hairstyles that matched. Despite not being expected to play, Pat had been coaxed into wearing one of Anne’s newly purchased outfits—coordinated with hers, of course.
As they approached the club’s automatic doors, the receptionist complimented Anne on her outfit but quickly shifted her attention to the similarly dressed figure trailing behind. “Oh, are you two sisters?” she asked, glancing between their coordinated ensembles, differentiated only by their secondary colors.
Anne’s outfit featured a soft green polo shirt with matching stripes on her pleated skirt and knee-length socks. Pat, meanwhile, wore the same ensemble in baby pink, paired with a polite yet strained smile as he locked the stroller’s double wheels in place.
Anne grinned and pulled Pat into a playful hug, holding the pose long enough for the receptionist to admire. “Oh no, just cousins,” she replied with a giggle.
The court they had reserved was already occupied by their companions. On the way over, an older woman, drawn by the stroller, approached enthusiastically.
“Oh my, what a precious baby boy!” she exclaimed, leaning over to pinch Ben’s rosy cheeks.
Turning her attention to Pat, who was holding the stroller handle, the woman gasped. “Goodness, you must hit the ball daily to recover so fast after pregnancy! Look at you!” she said, gesturing to Pat’s slim waist.
Pat’s face flushed crimson, but Anne quickly jumped in, barely suppressing a giggle. “Oh no, she’s just the nanny,” She said as she scooped Ben into her arms. “I’m the mother.”
“Ohhh,” the older woman cooed knowingly, matching Anne’s smirk as she held Ben close to her face. Turning back to Pat, the woman added, “Well, you should think about having your own soon, dear. We’re not getting any younger. Trust me—I should know!”
With a chuckle at her own joke, she gave Ben’s cheek one last affectionate pinch before continuing on her way, leaving Pat frozen in quiet mortification.
Nothing compared, though, to the shock waiting for him when they arrived. As they stepped onto the grounds, Pat felt his stomach drop to the artificial grass beneath his sneakers at the sight of Judy waving them over—and plummeting even further when he saw her companion standing beside her. His wife had seemingly resurrected from the dead, pulling herself back into the world of the living with the help of her boyfriend, Tom.
Harold’s posture straightened the moment he noticed Tom, his confusion mirroring Pat’s. Stepping forward, Harold shook Tom’s outstretched hand as the stranger introduced himself, cheerfully expressing how glad he was to finally meet them. Anne threw her arms around Tom in an enthusiastic hug, calling the years that had passed since their college days.
Pat lingered in the background, hoping to remain unnoticed, but Judy’s casual “Hey, Patti!” dragged him into the scene.
Noticing him, Tom excused Mike’s absence, explaining something Pat barely caught, nodding stiffly in hopes of avoiding further discussion about the man.
Soon enough, the group began discussing the match. They paired off for doubles, leaving Pat on the sidelines to care for Ben. The baby, however, chose this moment for a nap, leaving his nanny with nothing to do but watch the match.
Tom and Judy played with impressive synchronization. Harold, on the other hand, did his best to keep up, while Anne, predictably, was the most carefree player—missing shots left and right but laughing too much to care.
Pat remained the lone spectator, idly rocking the stroller and counting the seconds until the Pritzkers had their fill of losing and decided to leave. “Hey, Pat!” Harold called from across the field, only to be discreetly elbowed in the ribs by Anne. He corrected himself with a grumble. “Sorry, Patti, hand me a bottle of water, would you?”
Pat sighed, glancing at the sports bag his brother-in-law had brought. He pulled out a water bottle and walked it over. Harold took it with a muttered “Thanks,” squeezing the contents into his mouth before handing back the empty bottle with a faint, knowing smirk. Without another word, he returned to the game.
The shadows cast by the hexagonal grid above shifted slowly from one side of the court to the other as the afternoon wore on. They rotated teams for doubles, tried one-on-ones, and even played boys versus girls—though no one seemed to be keeping score. Pat suspected the outcomes were decided more by the better-trained athletes than any official tally.
Eventually, an exhausted Anne wobbled over to flop down on the bench beside Pat, waving him forward with a tired grin. “Your turn,” she said, motioning for him to take her place.
“I’d rather not,” Pat protested, shaking his head.
“Come on,” Anne urged, elbowing him playfully. The others turned to stare expectantly, their gazes leaving him little room to refuse.
Reluctantly, Pat stepped onto the court, partnering with Tom against Harold and his wife. Athleticism had never been his strength, and playing in a skirt and an ill-fitting sports bra certainly didn’t help matters.
According to Anne’s unofficial commentary from the sidelines, Pat’s team lost miserably. Tom patted Pat’s shoulder with a kind smile, offering a quiet, “Hey, the important thing is that you had fun, right?” before calling everyone over for a break.
They gathered at the club’s exclusive brunch buffet, a privilege reserved for high-class members. Harold, initially impressed that Tom had access to such perks, seemed even more animated when he learned Tom actually owned a small percentage of the facility. Within minutes, the two men were laughing like old friends, bonding over shared stories of business and leisure.
Tom seemed entirely at ease in Harold’s company, and Harold, for his part, appeared to overlook—or perhaps deliberately ignore—Tom’s obvious connection to Judy.
Judy, however, made no effort to hide it. She hovered near Tom, her attention fixed on him and his achievements. “Tom this, Tom that”—she took every opportunity to highlight even the smallest of his accomplishments, including the recent success of a new branch opening under his guidance. Her affection was evident in her words and gestures, from the way she leaned into his side while speaking to how she gently wiped a smudge of sauce from his cheek with her napkin.
“Honestly, Tom, how did you manage without me?” she teased, as she pinched his cheek playfully.
Tom laughed, waving her hand away with a grin. “I get by, barely,” he quipped, between bites.
Anne, seated nearby, cooed at the display and nudged Pat with her elbow. “Isn’t that sweet?” she cooed. Pat, however, barely registered her comment, too absorbed in cleaning mashed fruit off Ben’s high chair.
As the group eventually made their way to the parking lot, Harold clapped Tom on the back, his laughter booming. “Well, if Judy’s anything like my Anne, you’ve got yourself a real keeper there,” he said with an approving nod.
“Oh, I already know,” Tom replied smoothly, pulling Judy closer with a hand on her shoulder. With a warm smile, he added, “Let’s just say, I like where this is going.” before leaning in to kiss Judy.
Pat caught the exchange out of the corner of his eye, his insides twisting painfully. He turned away, focusing on adjusting Ben’s car seat as the baby tugged at his hair.
Harold smirked and offered to help with anything the couple might need. Tom graciously accepted, extending the same courtesy in return. Before long, he and Judy excused themselves, sparing her husband little more than a passing glance and a single word throughout the day.
By the time Pat finished folding Ben’s stroller and maneuvering it into the trunk, Harold had stepped in to finish the job. He even flashed Pat a rare smile as he shut the trunk.
Once they were back on the road, Anne turned to her husband. “See, Harold?” she teased with a smile. “Thanks to Patti’s help, you got to spend the whole day relaxing, playing the big shot, and chatting like you didn’t even have a son to look after.”
Her husband chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, I have to admit,” he said, turning briefly to glance at Pat in the backseat. “She’s quite the helper.”
The way Harold’s gaze lingered spoke volumes, though no one voiced. Over the following days, Pat would come to learn exactly what had crossed Harold’s mind during that moment of acknowledgment. In his brother-in-law’s eyes, it all clicked. Pat had been stripped of his male clothes because, for what it was worth, he no longer deserved to be called a man—not after letting his wife openly date another guy, right under his nose and in front of everyone, with a delight she had never displayed with her own husband.
Harold had barely managed to conceal his surprise when he first realized that Tom and Pat knew each other—or rather, that Tom seemed to know Patti. And Pat, unwilling or perhaps unable to challenge the narrative, let him believe it.
Before the tennis game, he hadn’t known much about Tom, but the moment the man stepped into the picture, it was utterly obvious he possessed all the qualities Pat barely met to the bare minimum. Tom played with the experience of someone who took constant care of his physique and was proud of it. He chatted about wealth and economics with the ease of someone who knew his business. And he kept his woman close with the kind of confident possessiveness of someone with the eyes in the prize, even though that prize was Pat’s wife.
But the way Judy seemed to melt into Tom’s arms—it was a blow Harold figured Pat couldn’t recover from. And judging by how his brother-in-law had stepped aside without so much as a word, Harold assumed he knew it too. Perhaps the dresses and makeup were all Pat had left to claim of his wife, and in the tangled mess that had become their relationship, he clung to every inch of it.
With no other place in Judy’s life, Pat had resigned himself to becoming the housewife she no longer had time to be. Judy was too busy being handled by a real man, and Pat, it seemed, had found his niche. He fit so seamlessly into the domestic role that one house wasn’t enough to contain his talents. Soon, his service extended to Harold and Anne’s household as well. Such generosity, Harold mused, couldn’t go unnoticed, and with that realization, his treatment of Pat shifted entirely.
The stern looks and teasing comments that had once been Harold’s trademark were replaced with something resembling appreciation—or, at the very least, acceptance.
“Thanks, sugar,” Harold would say after another perfect breakfast. Sometimes, he couldn’t resist giving Pat a playful swat on the rear as he passed by. “Best eggs I’ve ever had,” he’d add with a grin.
“Harold!” Anne would scold, though her poorly concealed giggles betrayed her amusement. Pat would blush furiously, avoiding Harold’s gaze as he scurried back to the kitchen counter.
Even baby Ben, as young as he was, couldn’t tell the difference between his “Auntie” and an actual woman. He clung to Pat the way children instinctively gravitate toward maternal figures. And just as Anne had come to accept the new dynamic, Ben had never seen a man in Pat—not now, not ever.
Everyone else had adjusted to the new reality. Even Harold—though he refused to say it out loud—was clearly enjoying the arrangement more than he let on. As much as he initially tried to brush it off, the truth was staring him in the face every day. This expert cook, this meticulous cleaner, this nurturing nanny—this wasn’t the wimp man he once knew. No, this was someone else entirely.
“Patti,” Harold finally corrected himself one day, as the realization settled in fully. This was their housekeeper, the one who made their lives easier, smoother, more comfortable. And whether or not Harold admitted it to anyone else, a part of him relished the absurdity of it all. His once-brother-in-law had become something completely different, and there was no going back.
VII
“No, no, listen—I can take English and regularization classes on Saturdays, but at least leave me out of full-week sessions until late November,” Pat muttered into the phone, balancing it awkwardly on his shoulder while wrestling with a stubborn bag of chips. It had been hard enough getting accepted into the annual distribution of classes over the phone, unwilling as he was to explain the circumstances that had prevented him from attending in person.
“Sorry, Pat,” the voice on the other end of the line cut in. “Is there something wrong with your connection? Your voice sounds… sharper.” The comment hung in the air, pointedly drawing attention to the higher-pitched tone Pat had been unsuccessfully trying to mask.
Not that it would have gone over any better if he’d shown up at the school in person, stepping onto campus in his maid uniform and thick makeup. But Pat had accepted that the compromises he made for his family wouldn’t leave much time for him to return to his usual elbow-patched coats and quirky ties for the first day of classes. He had also accepted that he’d likely have to endure discreet comments from students about the unusual sway of his walk or the suspiciously groomed arches of his eyebrows before things returned to anything resembling normal.
As normal as things could be, that is, with the gym teacher conspicuously absent—apparently too preoccupied helping high-class cougars sculpt their glutes to remember she had students to supervise. Judy had graced the house with her presence, an event that seemed to happen about once every two weeks since July had started. However, her attention was entirely focused on Anne, her sister, as they shared a small bowl of almonds and nuts while chatting at the kitchen counter. At this point, Pat supposed he should just be grateful to be in the same room with her at all.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Pat asked into the phone, trying to conceal his rising frustration as he stretched the cord to its limit, reaching for a six-pack of beers in the fridge. It was poker night, and while Harold hadn’t said anything specific, Pat assumed it would run as it always did.
“Argh!” he cried out, slamming the receiver back onto its base.
“What did they say?” Anne asked casually, unfazed, as she popped another almond into her mouth. Judy, seated beside her, looked equally indifferent, glancing up only briefly.
“They said I can’t make last-minute changes and expect everyone to rearrange their schedules to accommodate me,” Pat growled, quoting the response word for word. “I’ve worked my ass off there for nearly a decade. The least I deserve is a chance to take a break!”
“And what are you going to do?” His sister-in-law pressed, curious but not particularly sympathetic.
Pat sighed heavily, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll call Robert tomorrow on his private line. He’ll understand.”
“Maybe you could add that you’d have to present yourself in front of the entire class, writing ‘Miss Patti’ on the blackboard if he made you comply with your duties,” Judy chimed in, earning a round of giggles from both herself and Anne. It was the first thing she had said directly to him all day, and it was, of course, at his expense.
Before he could dwell on it, the sound of car engines pulling into the driveway filled the room. Pat stiffened and hurried to greet Harold.
Anne nudged Judy, gesturing for her to follow, the two women trailing behind, eager to witness the forced curtsey Pat had begun performing every time Harold arrived home.
“Hey, what’s with all these extra charges for long-distance calls to somewhere in Europe?” Harold barked as he entered, rifling through the mail without so much as a glance in Pat’s direction. He tossed his briefcase toward Pat, who scrambled to catch it. Before Pat could cobble together an excuse, a deeper voice chimed in from behind.
“Hey, what’s this? Poker night or a Miss America pageant?” Tom joked, stepping across the threshold. The women erupted into dismissive giggles, waving their hands at him, but Pat froze, his throat going dry. He hadn’t expected to see Tom again so soon.
Tom breezed past him without a second thought, heading straight for Judy. “Hey, love,” he said warmly, leaning in for a quick peck on her lips. Then, noticing Pat awkwardly standing nearby, he added with a sly grin, “Oh, hey, Patti.”
He freed himself from Judy’s embrace to shrug off his coat. “Oh, wow,” he called out, suppressing his amused surprise as he gave Pat a once-over. “Mike would love to see you in that uniform, I’ll tell you.”
What did that pig know about what Mike wanted to see or not? Pat fumed internally. It was he who had spent nights talking to Mike, while Tom played hide and seek with his wife. But there was no point voicing his frustrations—not to Tom and certainly not to Harold, who had devised his own new methods of mockery.
“Yeah, yeah,” Harold chimed in, reentering the room with two beer cans in hand—one for himself and the other for Tom. “Are you here to play, or did you just stop by to admire my personnel?” he teased, handing over the drink.
“To play, of course,” Tom quipped back. The men exchanged items—Tom took the beer from Harold, Pat begrudgingly accepted Tom’s coat, and Harold caught the flicker of shame in Pat’s eyes as he walked past to hang the coat in the lobby closet.
“By the time I’m done with you, you’ll have to hand me Patti to settle your debts,” Tom joked, giving Harold a playful pat on the back as they headed toward the living room.
“Yeah, right. I’d like to see you try,” Harold retorted with a bitter laugh. “She’s here to stay.”
From that point on, Harold made it clear that Pat was expected to serve the group for the entire evening. No more relegating him to the kitchen to get out of the way. Instead, Pat was tasked with delivering snacks and beers, cleaning up empty cans and ashtrays, and ensuring the men wanted for nothing.
With the women tucked away in their own space in the counter, Pat found himself navigating between both worlds—cutting jalapeños into thin slices and preparing fresh guacamole accompanied by a sing song of giggles, only to take it out moments later alongside a platter of chips and a few “lucky” poker hands.
He didn’t understand much about poker, but judging by the raucous laughter and occasional shouts from Tom and Harold, it seemed neither man was overly concerned about winning or losing. The same carefree mood spilled over to Judy and her sister, who were perched by the counter, their conversation consumed by long-overdue gossip. By all accounts, it was a relaxed and content evening for everyone—except for the one member of the household who had been reduced to little more than a servant.
How had Judy framed her cousin’s current “line of work” to her boyfriend? Did she conveniently omit the fact that there was no real acceptance involved, only resignation? A surrender to her carefully orchestrated plans to edge Pat out of the way and make room for Tom. Somehow, her wild idea had morphed into a new reality that everyone had come to accept and embrace.
Even Harold, his stubborn brother-in-law, who once threatened to rip the wig off his head before realizing Pat wasn’t wearing a wig anymore, now sat comfortably at the poker table, laughing and chatting with the man who had effectively taken his place. Meanwhile, Anne chimed in yet again, issuing her twelfth correction of the evening, this time scolding Pat in her usual dismissive tone to properly wash the good silver knives every time he used them. “Otherwise,” she declared, “they’ll keep that spicy smell!”
Even their golden retriever had fallen in line, stretched out on his back as Pat navigated carefully around the sprawled-out paws with another round of beers. He wasn’t sure if the dog had finally recognized him as the man who used to visit occasionally or if he had simply accepted this new woman as a permanent addition to the household.
And that was the last question of the night. Had everyone truly accepted that this was who he had always been? Or had they simply resigned themselves to the woman he had become? Even Pat wasn’t sure how to answer that. He didn’t know whether to grade their responses as true or false—or even what he’d write down for his own.
The clatter of an empty beer can hitting the carpet jolted him out of his thoughts. He cringed as the sticky remnants seeped into the fibers before being nudged along by the unsteady step of his employer. Tom, slightly less drunk than Harold, placed a hand on his shoulder to steady himself, his laughter tumbling out in uneven bursts as he fumbled to stuff poker chips into his pants pocket.
The girls emerged from the kitchen to join the group in the foyer. Tom disengaged from Harold’s half-embrace and turned to wrap his arm around Judy instead, his laughter blending seamlessly with hers as she held him by the torso. Judy let out a delighted squeal before Tom leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a long, public kiss.
Pat moved to fetch Tom’s coat, pulling it off the hanger when something tumbled to the floor. Crouching to pick it up, he froze. In the dim light, he spotted a small black velvet box nestled near the closet’s corner. Though it remained closed, he immediately knew what it contained.
“Everything alright, dear?” Anne called from behind. Pat startled, hastily placing the box back in its spot before grabbing Tom’s coat. His breath hitched as he straightened, wiping at his nose to hide the moisture threatening to escape his eyes.
“Hey,” Tom slurred slightly, pulling back from Judy to address Pat. “Next week’s gonna be a big one for me and my—” He hiccupped, pulling Judy closer as she giggled at his antics. “—my girl here. So make sure you stick around, yeah?”
Pat forced a weak smile, one that barely reached his lips, and nodded stiffly.
“All right, that’s enough,” Judy said, taking the coat from Pat without so much as a glance and draped it over Tom’s shoulders. “It’s getting late, and I’m clearly going to have to drive this one home.”
She smiled up at Tom, teasing, “What am I ever going to do with you, huh?”
“Love me and never look away again,” Tom slurred, his words melting into a laugh.
Judy’s expression softened as she cupped his chin, pulling him closer to her height. “Of course,” she murmured before leaning in to kiss him again.
The couple kept their embrace all the way to the car, finally breaking apart to take their seats in the sporty vehicle. The Pritzers waved them off from the porch, retreating inside once the car disappeared into the night.
Pat lingered for a moment, staring at the dark road until the taillights faded completely. Sighing, he turned and stepped back across the threshold, greeted by the mess the men had taken great effort to create.
Resigned, Pat began collecting empty cans and bags of chips scattered across the living room floor. A poker chip caught his eye amid the mess. Picking it up, he noticed its value: $100. It’d take him six hours of work to earn the same amount—six hours of dealing with chaos, unruly children, and the exhaustion of a job that left him questioning its worth. Meanwhile, these people discarded the chip as if it were nothing.
He sighed, knowing the carpet stain from the beer would need immediate soaking, and headed for the cleaning supplies.
In the kitchen, Pat placed a pile of dirty plates on the counter along with a bourbon glass that still had ashes floating in the remaining liquid. Anne, standing nearby with Ben in her arms, beamed at him. Pat noticed from experience that the baby didn’t like being soothed that way—it would likely lead to a tantrum—but he chose not to intervene and let her play the mommy for once.
“Isn’t it great?” she asked suddenly, shifting her gaze to Pat as she handed him the baby, briefly shaking out her sore arms. “Do you think Mike will make it in time?” she added breezily.
It took Pat a moment to realize she was referring to next week’s plans. Before he could respond, Harold interrupted with a grumble.
“Who’s Mike? I keep hearing about this Mike guy, but I don’t have a damn clue who he is.”
“Oh, he’s Patti’s special guy,” Anne replied cheerfully.
Pat’s stomach dropped, his heart following suit. His sister-in-law had said it so casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world to suggest Mike was anything more than… whatever he was.
“He’s n– I’m– It’s not wh–” Pat stammered, struggling to form a coherent sentence.
“Oh, really?” Harold drawled, stretching his arms and yawning. “Why didn’t you tell me before? Would’ve invited him over tonight.”
“He’s in Spain, right?” Anne asked, tilting her head.
“Italy,” Pat corrected weakly.
“Too bad,” Harold dismissed, brushing his son’s hair as he passed Anne.
“It’s not what you think!” Pat called out hysterically, watching his employer lean back against the fridge door, twisting off the cap of a mineral water bottle.
Harold paused mid-drink to ask, “What’s that?”
“Mike!” Pat exclaimed, fumbling over his words. “Michael… He’s n—he’s not my—”
"Ah, that’s alright," Harold interrupted dismissively, capping the bottle and tossing it onto the counter. "Not my business. Hey, should we bring anything to Tom and Judy’s next week?" He redirected the conversation effortlessly, glancing toward Anne, who was rummaging through her purse and pulling out a used pacifier for Ben.
"Hmm," Anne hummed thoughtfully, extending the pacifier toward Pat. "I don’t know. Maybe we could offer to host the gathering?"
"Eh, I think Tom’s got it handled," Harold replied, waving the suggestion off.
He leaned against the counter, speaking almost to himself. “I was thinking more of a trip. Hang on,” he added, turning back to Pat. “How much is your boyfriend shelling out for his stay in Italy, anyway?”
“He’s not my—”
“Naah, Tom’s been there way too many times,” Anne interrupted.
“HE’S NOT MY BOYFRIEND!” Pat exploded, slapping her hand away and sending the pacifier flying.
The room fell silent for a moment. Anne and Harold exchanged raised eyebrows before resuming their conversation as if nothing had happened.
“I know this guy at an airport travel agency,” Harold continued, ignoring Pat’s outburst. “Might be able to get us some deals—”
“Did you hear me?” Pat shouted again, stomping a stiletto heel against the hardwood floor. “Mike’s not my boyfriend! I’m a man, dammit! A married man, for Pete’s sake!” His voice cracked on the last word, and Ben joined him with his own wailing tantrum.
“Aww, sweetie, look what you’ve done,” Anne cooed condescendingly, glancing down at her baby. She retrieved the pacifier from the floor, brushing off the dust that had collected. “As if you haven’t worked hard enough, now you’ve got him all riled up. Here,” she said, extending the pacifier once more.
“No!” Pat snapped, recoiling in disgust and pushing the pacifier away. “He doesn’t like those!” he cried, holding his nephew protectively. “What he needs is at least 30 minutes of reading and his favorite song!” He paused, taken aback by his own knowledge of Ben’s needs. "I... I didn’t— it was y—" Pat stammered, flushing in confusion. "This is not right! I shouldn’t be taking care of your son!"
“Told you,” Harold muttered to her as he fished through an empty bag of chips for stray crumbs.
“Now, now,” Anne said, approaching Pat and cupping his cheeks in her hands. “Would you like to cut back on your nanny duties? We can arrange that.”
“No!” Pat jerked his head back, pulling away from her hands. “I’m not your damn maid! I should be at home with my wife, not—” He gestured angrily at the short, frilly skirt he wore, the petticoats bouncing as he flailed his arms. “Not dressed like this! Like some kind of joke!”
“That’s not very grateful of you,” Harold interjected, pointing a finger scoldingly. “We paid good money to have those made for you,” he added with a snort, but Anne followed. “Oh, honey,” she lamented sweetly. “I thought we’d been over this already.”
“Over what?!” Pat snapped. “That you’ve all conspired to turn me into this?!”
“We just... accepted it,” She replied nonchalantly. “But this was all your doing.”
Pat recoiled, his voice trembling. “It’s not true. I didn’t—”
“It is,” Harold said firmly, stepping past his wife. “You walked this road yourself. One dainty little step at a time in those pretty heels, until you became the perfect little lady.”
“And might I add,” Anne chimed in, “you’ve turned out beautifully. A natural.”
Pat cringed at the word—a word that had haunted him throughout this entire ordeal, one that seemed to mock him every time they said it, as though their limited vocabulary didn’t allow them to come up with another.
“But it’s time to let go,” She continued, placing a hand on his shoulder. “So you can have a brighter future.”
He didn’t know how to respond anymore. He had gone along with everything, pushed by the overwhelming force of his wife. He had stumbled at first, taking each step to avoid her scorn or another shove in the back. But as he looked back now, there was no one behind him. He realized, with a painful weight settling in his chest, that he had been walking this path on his own.
His cheeks grew wet. At first, he didn’t even notice, but as the warm tears slid down his face, he touched them with trembling fingers, startled to find he was crying. A knot formed in his throat, tightening painfully as his chest heaved. He didn’t even feel sad—if anything, he felt furious. Furious with Anne for exposing his situation with Mike to her husband. Furious with Harold for treating it all like so lightly. And furious with Judy, his own wife, for not even commenting on his appearance when he had changed so much.
“Wha—” he choked, staring at his damp fingers. “I don’t understand. What’s wrong with me?”
“Aww, honey,” Anne said softly, stepping forward with an almost pitying look. “It must be the hormones. Take it easy—it’s just normal.”
"Hormones?!" Pat snapped, his head whipping toward her. "What hormones?!"
"The hormones Judy’s been giving you, sweetie," she replied casually. "Did you seriously think you could look this good with just clothes and makeup?"
The revelation dissolved the knot in his throat, replacing it with a chilling emptiness. All of a sudden, he could almost feel the chemicals coursing through his system, morphing every cell they touched.
He had been collectively betrayed, dragged him into this chasm of nonsense, where his protests were meaningless, and his objections irrelevant. No matter how much he resisted, he was perpetually trapped into this unwanted role—a personal cage forged by the meticulous, deliberate actions of his wife and her allies.
This was no accident, no coincidence. Judy had done this to ensure that Pat represented no obstacle in her pursuit of Tom. She had found it easier to manipulate a man out of his own identity than to go straight through adultery.
She no longer had to keep the commitment to the man she was married to because Pat wasn’t a man anymore. Not with those exaggerated hips, perfectly rounded breasts, and softened facial features—a collection of traits evolution had gifted women to distinguish them from men. And now, his wife had reversed the course of nature to blur that line, molding him into their likeness.
The thought left Pat incapable of escape, dragged down by the weight of the void that now seemed to consume him. He felt hollow, as if beneath the padding and fabric, nothing of himself remained but an empty shell. Removing the hands from his cheek he could feel like he had left a crack, and shatters of his own skin fell into his insides.
A warped reflection in the shiny toaster caught his eye. The distorted image perfectly mirrored how he felt: a twisted, unrecognizable version of himself, distant and irretrievable. He wasn’t mimicking a woman anymore. He was a woman.
Ben’s sniffles snapped him back to the present. Pat looked down at the infant in his arms, whose tear-streaked face mirrored his own. Gently, he wiped the baby’s cheeks, muttering weakly, "No, no, no..."
Anne sighed dramatically, clearly growing tired of his resistance. She stepped past him, picking up the phone from the counter and dialing a number that had appeared repeatedly on their phone bill. Handing the baby off to Harold, she placed the phone in Pat’s trembling hand.
“Hello?”
The familiar voice of Mike came from the other end of the line. “I thought we had another call scheduled for next Friday. Is everything alright?”
Pat’s cheeks burned with shame as he struggled to breathe, his gasp audible even through the line. He couldn’t find the words to respond to the man who had become so disarmingly easy to talk to—much easier than facing the smirking Anne and Harold nearby.
“I... I…” Pat stammered.
“Well, I’m glad you called anyway,” Mike said warmly, reclining in his hotel chair to focus on the call. “It’s always nice to hear your voice.”
No giggle responded as usual.
“So, how’s it going over there?” He continued casually. “That pain-in-the-ass boss of yours still giving you a hard time?”
“No, no,” Pat muttered weakly, stealing a glance at Harold. Both he and Anne were clearly listening to every word. “He’s been… alright.”
“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” Mike replied. A moment of silence passed, and Pat could feel his own breathing growing heavier as he tried to stifle the sobs threatening to escape.
“You’re quiet tonight, huh? You okay, doll?” Mike pressed, actually concerned.
“I… I…” Pat stammered again, unable to respond.
“Hey, what did those assholes do to my baby Patticake?” Mike cooed in a baby-like affectionate tone. “Hmm? You just say the word, and I’ll take care of it, a’ight?”
Pat’s tears streamed faster, his face flushed with shame. He tried to choke back a sob but failed.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Anne interjected, snatching the phone from Pat’s hand. “Hello, this is Patricia’s employer,” she said curtly into the receiver. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t waste her time during work hours.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mike shot back, incredulous as he sat up straighter in his chair. “It’s gotta be midnight over there. Don’t you people let her rest? She’s working her ass off for you!”
“That’s the least she can do,” She retorted sharply. “We provide her with lodging, food, and clothing—”
“Not for much longer!” Mike snapped. “Once I get there, I’m taking her out of your pretentious arms!”
Anne’s eyes narrowed as a smirk spread across her face. “And when might that be, sir?” she asked coolly.
“In two months at most,” Mike answered firmly.
“Excellent! That’s what I wanted to hear,” Anne said triumphantly, hanging up the phone before Mike could respond further.
“You hear that?” she asked, turning to Pat. “You’ve got a caring man who’s ready to move mountains for you. The only thing stopping him from building a life with you is his job. Most women would kill to have someone like that.”
“But I’m not a w—” Pat began, his voice faltering.
“And what choice do you have at this point?” She pressed, sobbing as she fought to maintain her composure. “Be the man whose wife left him for the first chance she got? She’s my sister, but…” Anne hesitated, exhaling sharply to regain control. “You deserve better.”
Pat opened his mouth to respond but faltered, his words catching in his throat. His hands clenched into fists at his sides before he growled, “No!” Stomping again, he added, “She’s my wife, and nothing is ever going to change that!”
“You sure about that?” Harold interjected, stepping beside his wife with a smirk. “Wanna bet?”
Pat froze, startled by the sudden challenge.
“Here’s the deal, ‘Pat,’” Harold said, using air quotes for his male name. “If things go as you expect, next week will mark the end of the humiliations you’ve endured in the name of love. That means no more skirts, no more heels, and—most importantly—Judy finally cuts Tom out of your lives. Am I right?”
Pat nodded silently.
“Well then,” Harold continued, “if anything—and I mean anything—goes against your expectations, would you be willing to extend your stay here for at least a couple more months?”
“Wh-why— I, m-m—” Pat stammered. “Why would you want me here any longer?!”
“You’re a hard worker, and I respect that,” Harold replied. “Your performance has far exceeded what we expected from Maria, and it’ll take us at least a few months to find someone worthy of replacing you.”
Pat gaped at him, speechless.
“Look, I don’t do charity,” Harold continued. “If you decide to stay, we’ll draw up a contract. You’ll get a fair salary, bonuses for events you’ll serve, and, of course, compensation for your, let’s call it, ‘probation period.’”
The offer was tempting. It might have felt like a step down for a college graduate like Pat, but he had to admit it was a good deal—even without considering the lodging and food included. No teaching position could compete with that.
“And what if I win?” he asked cautiously.
“Then you win,” Harold said simply. “You get your old life back—your wife, your place as the king of your house, or whatever you were before this. And,” he paused, extending his hand, “I’ll never mention your days as a woman again.”
Pat hesitated. He had seen the box in Tom’s coat pocket and knew his chances hinged on Judy’s response. But this wasn’t the time to waver. He glanced at Anne, Ben, and Harold before lowering his gaze to Harold’s extended hand. With a sudden impulse, he shook it.
VIII
A handshake, followed by another and another, as Harold navigated the crowd of Tom’s colleagues, each attempt driven by his relentless ambition to broaden his network. Most, however, barely acknowledged his overly eager self-introductions, offering little more than polite nods before turning their attention elsewhere. Pat couldn’t help but feel a twinge of secondhand embarrassment at each failed attempt, though Harold remained undeterred, bouncing to the next target.
Sighing quietly, Pat refocused on his own task, deftly collecting empty glasses and balancing them carefully on his tray. His movements were fluid, honed by months of experience. Tom had spared no expense on the venue, securing the most elegant of halls, where crystal chandeliers cast a soft, shimmering glow over richly upholstered furnishings. Despite the circumstances, Pat couldn’t deny a sense of pride at serving in such a luxurious setting.
The embroidered "Patti" stitched onto his uniform sleeve caught the light as he moved, and with the soft swish of his uniform’s skirt and the sharp click of his freshly polished heels, Pat weaved gracefully through the tables, his professional demeanor and attentive service earned him warmer responses from Tom’s well-educated colleagues.
Judy, in her usual boldness, had invited some of her colleagues to the event—many of whom were also Pat’s, though they seemed far more interested in marveling at Judy’s newfound wealth than in probing too deeply into how far her personal life had changed over the summer.
Ben, dressed adorably in his little tuxedo, drew a smirk from Pat as he knelt to adjust the little bow tie he’d convinced them to add to the outfit. Wetting his thumb, he wiped away a stray smudge of dirt from Ben’s cheek and smoothed down an unruly lock of the boy’s hair, just as a commotion at the front of the room drew his attention.
Tom had ascended the crystal staircase and positioned himself above the crowd. “All right, everyone!” He called, raising his tall glass and tapping it lightly with a fork. “Can I have your attention, please?”
The hum of conversation died down as heads turned toward him.
“Testing, one, two… one, two… Can you hear me?” Tom asked, speaking into the microphone handed to him by a waiter. He tapped the top of it twice, nodded in satisfaction, and continued. “All right, I’ll keep this quick.”
He paused, glancing briefly at nothing in particular as if chuckling to himself. “I’ve never been a man of protocols. Since I was young, I’ve always followed my instincts, and I think that’s paid off. But every man has his mistakes, and for me, that mistake was letting one person go.” His voice softened, his gaze scanning the crowd until it landed somewhere specific. A warm smile spread across his face. “But just as it’s a man’s right to make mistakes, it’s also his duty to make things right.”
“Judy Platt,” he called out. Almost as if rehearsed, a spotlight illuminated Judy, who had been chatting with her sister.
“Would you care to shut the fuck up and let me finish my speech?” he joked, earning a ripple of laughter that began near him and spread through the room. “Or do you think you could do it better? Huh?” He called sarcastically, raising an eyebrow to wave her over.
Asshole, Judy muttered under her breath, amused as she began making her way through the parting crowd. She lifted the long skirt of her off-shoulder gown, which Anne had generously lent her for the occasion. Though slightly loose in places, the dress suited her beautifully. Tom watched her approach with an adoring smile, Pat craned his neck to catch sight of her through the taller guests until she finally emerged by his side.
“Sure, I can,” she quipped, snatching the microphone from Tom’s hand and giving him a playful punch on the arm.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. Did I break your nail?” Tom teased, earning another round of laughter from the crowd.
Once the room settled, Judy raised the microphone again. “All right, I know this might seem a little odd to some of you. Me, first and foremost,” she began with a chuckle.
“I met this man when I was 19, and I knew then I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. But life doesn’t always go according to plan,” she said, pausing for a sip of champagne handed to her. “And as much as we sometimes settle for small victories, there comes a time when you have to go for the big prize.”
Locking eyes with Tom, she continued, “But it’s not fair for the man to do all the hard work. I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve gone to great lengths to make this possible.”
Raising her voice slightly, she declared, “Because I’m not just any woman—I’m a woman who fights, who yells, who twists destiny’s arm until it gives me what I want. And yes, I may be a bitch, but I’d rather be a bitch than settle for less than I deserve.”
Her gaze returned to Tom as she brought the microphone closer, her breath brushing audibly against it. “And I deserve the world. And this man right here... he’s my world.”
With that, she threw her arms around Tom, pulling him into a passionate kiss as the crowd erupted in cheers and applause.
“Okay, that was better,” Tom joked, drawing more laughter as he pulled back.
“Now,” he continued, turning to the crowd, “I’d like to thank my great brother-in-law. Harold, where the fuck are you?”
“Over here!” Harold called, waving from the crowd.
Tom raised his glass toward him. “Thanks to that selfless son of a bitch, getting Judy’s passport was way less of a headache than usual.”
From his coat pocket, Tom pulled out a pair of plane tickets, holding them up for all to see. The destination read Portugal.
“Thanks again, man. I mean it—I love you,” Tom said with a grin, waving the tickets.
“My man!” Harold called back, raising his own drink.
Tom turned to the crowd. “Now, we know it’s not exactly conventional to go on a honeymoon before the wedding, but hey, when have we ever done things conventionally?”
At his signal, Judy extended her hand, showing off the dazzling diamond ring on her third finger. The reveal sent a ripple of excited squeals through the room as women rushed forward to congratulate her, while men clapped Tom on the back in hearty celebration.
The joyous cheers came to an abrupt halt as a sharp crash echoed from the back of the room. All eyes turned toward the commotion, revealing Pat sprawled on the floor beside a tray of shattered glasses, spilled liquor pooling around him.
Some of the men rushed to help, checking his pulse and fanning him with quick movements of their hands. Judy raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s unfortunate,” she remarked. “Too bad she’ll have to clean it up later.”
Pat gasped sharply, his eyes fluttering open as he jolted back to consciousness. Disoriented, he blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Where he had fainted just moments ago, he now found himself slumped in one of the reception chairs in a separate room. He looked around, recognizing the kitchen of the event hall. The faint aroma of an herbal candle wafted under his nose as Anne held it close, while staff members moved briskly around, clearing plates and tidying the post-party mess.
“Oh, look who finally decided to wake up from her beauty sleep,” Harold called out, leaning casually against the counter behind Anne.
“I... I...” Pat stammered, blinking as the events leading to his collapse flooded back into his mind. Judy’s announcement. Her engagement—to Tom.
His breath quickened as the weight of it all crashed down on him. “Wha— I... I...” The words stumbled out in pieces as he struggled to sit up, aided by Anne’s steadying hands.
“Easy, dear,” Anne cooed softly, helping him to his feet. “You’re still in shock.”
“Wha—I—where’s Judy?” he finally managed to splutter after several failed attempts at forming a complete sentence.
“She’s gone, dear,” She said gently, keeping a firm grip on his arm in case he collapsed again. “She and Tom—they needed to leave early to pack for their flight tomorrow morning.”
“No,” Pat whispered, shaking his head. His voice cracked as he repeated, “No, that can’t be...”
“It can,” Anne replied, her tone firm yet sympathetic. “I’m so sorry. We tried to warn you.”
“I never bet on blanks,” Harold interjected with a dry laugh.
Anne shot him a look before continuing. “She said yes two weeks ago,” she explained, deeply affected. “They were just waiting for the right moment to announce it.”
“No...” Pat muttered under his breath, pulling away from her hold. He staggered forward, wobbling slightly on stockinged feet, weaving through the hall staff toward the reception hall.
Emerging into the reception area, he found it empty. The guests had long since departed, leaving behind only staff busy stacking chairs and rolling tables to the side. One of them bumped into him, carrying the very chair Pat had been seated on earlier.
“Excuse me,” the staff member said curtly, hurrying past.
“Hey, would you have some tact?” She called sharply, rushing after Pat to steady him again. “She’s had a rough day.”
“So have we, ma’am,” the man replied without turning back. “But this is our job. She’d have to be used to it.”
“Don’t mind him, dear,” Anne said begrudgingly, stroking Pat’s arm as she tried to guide him away. “Let’s go home, shall we?”
“No!” Pat shouted suddenly, pushing her away with more force than he intended. Anne stumbled back into Harold’s arms, who caught her just in time. “That’s not my home! My home is with my wife, in my house!”
“You don’t have a wife anymore,” Harold said bluntly. Helping his wife back to her feet, he added, “It’s just… all gone” He hesitated, taking a moment to compose himself. “That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“I... no... that’s not...” Pat’s voice faltered.
“What did you think was going to happen, huh?” Harold pressed, stepping closer. “You thought you could live as a woman for two months, and Judy would just be perfectly fine with you going back to being a man after that?”
“It was her idea!” Pat blurted out desperately.
“Maybe it was,” Harold conceded. “But you went along with it.”
Harold’s words hung heavy in the air. Anne stepped closer, slipping her hand into Harold’s for support as she addressed Pat with a sorrowful gaze.
“We’re the captains of our own ships, Pat,” Harold started. “And as much as you stepped back and let her take the wheel, you should have kept at least one hand on it. But you didn’t. You did nothing but hold the wheel steady while she turned the course of your life.”
At Pat’s blank expression, as if desperately trying to conjure a protest, Harold exhaled deeply, brushing a hand over his face. “Some might say you didn’t have the strength to resist the turn,” he admitted, casting a glance at Anne. “Others might think you were the one who pushed it in that direction.” He paused, gulping down the last drop of his bourbon and setting the glass on a passing tray. “As for me, I think you were so scared of where your actions might take you that you gladly let someone else decide for you—no matter where they set the course.”
At Harold’s subtle nod, Anne reached behind her and retrieved Pat’s bright heels, extending them toward him like an offering. Pat hesitated, his eyes darting between the garish shoes and Anne ’s sorrowful expression. She looked at him with a mixture of guilt and compassion, as though silently apologizing for the moment they all now found themselves in. Harold, meanwhile, stood firm, his face set in regret-tinged resolve.
After a long silence, Pat shook his head violently. He yanked the earrings Anne had lent him from his ears, dropping them to the floor, and refused to take the shoes. Without a word, he backed away from the pair, step by step, before turning and running barefoot across the polished floor.
He didn’t stop until he reached the entrance, where Harold’s familiar truck was the only vehicle left in the lot. Without hesitation, he climbed into the driver’s seat. After several trips in the vehicle, he knew exactly where his now former brother-in-law kept the spare key. Rifling through the glove compartment, he found the copy, jamming it into the ignition. His trembling hands managed to start the engine after several tries.
With a deep, shuddering breath, he floored the pedal. The truck lurched forward as he sped away, not daring to look back.
He had one destination and one destination only: the house where he had built a life with Judy.
Resolute, Pat kept his unshoed foot pressed firmly on the accelerator, barreling down the nearly deserted state road. The yellow lines flickered past in a blur, interrupted only by the occasional headlights of vehicles heading in the opposite direction. Every now and then, his vision blurred with tears he refused to acknowledge, hastily wiping them away with the back of his arm. His eyes remained fixed on the road—until a familiar sign caught his attention.
It was the turnoff leading to the cottage.
For a lingering moment, his gaze stayed on the sign. His chest tightened as memories flooded in, his grip loosening on the wheel. The truck veered slightly, and only the sudden, jarring honk of an oncoming vehicle snapped him back to reality. With a panicked pull, Pat yanked the wheel, sending the truck into a chaotic swerve.
The tires screeched against the pavement before losing traction entirely. The truck spun out, skidding off the road and tumbling into the ditch. And then—nothing.
A soft light broke through the slats of the window blinds, spilling onto his face and stirring him painfully back into consciousness. Pat groaned weakly, his body protesting every small movement. Slowly, his blurred vision began to clear, revealing a world of stark whites and sterile blues.
It wasn’t Harold’s house. It wasn’t his house. It was a hospital room.
Squinting against the brightness, Pat took in his surroundings. Blue curtains hung between pairs of beds, and the hum of distant voices filtered in from the hallway. Medical machines surrounded him, one attached to his right arm via an IV, another clipped to his finger, and a monitor emitted steady beeps that tracked his heartbeat. His left arm was immobilized in a plaster cast. As he attempted to lift himself, a sudden stab of pain shot through his ribs, forcing him to slump back against the bed. For the first time, he noticed the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso.
Unable to move further—whether due to the tangle of machines or the sheer pain—Pat lay there, staring blankly at the flickering lights on the ceiling. His mind began to rewind the series of events leading to this precise moment.
He saw the truck—his brother-in-law’s once-pristine truck—reversing its battered frame back onto the road, regaining its unmarred condition as it retraced the path to the hall. The staff removing served plates and returning food to the kitchen, the crowd dispersing. Harold and Tom spat beer back into their cans until the six-pack was intact and placed back in the fridge.
Nights dissolved into sunsets, which faded into sunrises. He watched himself spreading dust and disorder all over the Pritzer house. With a pang of dismay, he saw himself becoming little more than a stranger to Benny, who returned to lonely evenings of cries. Those cries broke Pat’s heart but restored all the rest of his body, flattening down each of the curves. His beloved sedan resurrected itself, rolling backward along the same road where he had ruined two vehicles, eventually reclaiming its place in his driveway.
Through the passing of these blinks, Pat pictured Judy—his Judy—pulling herself from Tom’s embrace and spitting food back onto the plate, no dance between him and Mike and most importantly, no kiss. Slowly, the two men became more absent in their lives. There was no mountain of skirts and dresses—no shopping trip had taken place. Even the house, though it might have resented him, returned to its former state.
He became a specter, watching with shame his anguished expression as his arm was twisted grotesquely before retreating from the floor and the handshake was undone. The scene paused, and with it, he stepped closer, desperate to alter its course.
Standing before his frozen doppelganger, Pat cried hysterically, pleading with his own image to stop before it was too late. He knew he’d never stood a chance against Judy, no matter how many times he replayed the match in his head. And even if he won—what then? Would he really have stolen her freedom just for slightly earlier breakfasts and a few drinks now and then? It wasn’t worth it.
But the man frozen in time wouldn’t listen. Even if he could, he doubted this version of himself, on the brink of his worst decision, would take advice from the strange womanly figure yelling at his side.
He had woken from one nightmare only to stumble into another, an endless chain of impossible realities unraveling into a blank void, as if he had reached nothingness itself.
For a fleeting moment, he felt as though his entire being might shatter. Everything—every last fragment of his life—had vanished. His relationship, his stability, and the world he thought he had known were all gone.
All that remained was the thin hospital gown that barely clung to his unfamiliar body. He had lost everything in exchange for something he didn’t want but couldn’t throw away. A hard swallow traveled painfully through his broken ribs. Trembling, he finally allowed himself to feel the full weight of his anguish.
He cried—not subtly, but with open, guttural moans of sadness. Curling as much as his battered form would allow, he sobbed freely. The sound echoed against the sterile walls of the small room, raw and unrelenting. Yet, no one came to his rescue.
For what felt like hours, he wept. And then, slowly, the tears dried on his cheeks, leaving behind a raw hollowness. As the last of his choked sobs faded into silence, he finally noticed a little bird perched on the window. It seemed completely unfazed by the world beyond the glass.
It was a redbird—rare for this part of the country and almost unheard of at this time of year. Yet there it was, tweeting cheerfully by the morning light and hopping on the sill.
Deep down, Pat had always known that a woman like Judy had little to do with a man like him. People said opposite poles attract each other, and for most of their relationship, he’d used that as a balm for their differences. Maybe they were just too different, or maybe they were so much alike, after all. Given how well he had fit into the woman’s world, maybe he had always belonged there, and Judy had known it.
She had seen something in him that he himself couldn’t comprehend. She had been his partner, the person who knew him better than anyone else. Yet, as Pat considered everything, he regretted not having known her just as deeply. He hadn’t seen the part of her heart that had never let go of her past love.
She hadn’t chosen Tom over him. She had simply chosen Tom.
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He had no place by Judy’s side anymore, and for the first time, he accepted it.
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft, cheerful voice. “Aha! You’re finally awake!”
A mature nurse approached, clipboard in hand and a warm smile on her face. She clicked her tongue as she gently shooed the bird away from the window, drawing the curtains wide open to let the sunshine flood the room. Another redbird joined the first outside, and together, they spread their wings and took flight.
“I know we all need our beauty sleep,” the woman teased, brushing her hand lightly against his cheek. “But two whole days is a bit excessive, don’t you think, dear?” She chuckled, hoping to coax a smile from him.
Pat blinked at her, still groggy, his mind struggling to catch up.
“Your vitals seem stable, considering the condition you arrived in,” she remarked, humming softly as she checked the monitors and jotted down some notes on her clipboard. “You gave us all a big scare,” she scolded gently, wagging her pen at him. “Especially your cousin.”
“My cousin?” Pat echoed weakly.
“Yeah!” the nurse exclaimed, her words spilling out quickly. “She’s spent more time in this hospital over the last two days than most of the staff here! She must care about you a lot, huh?”
“I... I guess,” Pat murmured distantly.
Pat’s distant gaze was met with a comforting squeeze of his arm from the nurse. “I’ll go let her know you’re awake,” she said gently, but before she could even make it to the door, it flew open with a loud bang.
Bursting through was an utterly distraught Anne, her cheeks damp with tears and her hair disheveled, clear signs of sleepless nights. “Patti?! Oh my goodness!” she cried, rushing toward him.
“I’m so, so sorry! It was all my fault!” she sobbed, throwing herself into a tight hug around his torso, which immediately made Pat wince in pain.
Crying out, he gasped, “Ow—Anne, careful!”
“Oh my—” Anne exclaimed, pulling back instantly, her face a mix of guilt and panic. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!” she apologized repeatedly, rivers of tears streaming down her rosy cheeks.
By the doorway, a less frantic but clearly concerned Harold stepped in, helping the nurse back to her feet, Ben strapped snugly to his chest in a baby carrier.
“Are you okay? How do you feel? Did they give you the right medication? Are you sure you’re alright?” Anne fired off questions rapidly, her hands darting over him to assess every scratch and bandage.
“Hey, hey,” Harold interjected, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. “You’ve gotta leave enough time between your questions for her to answer.” Despite his teasing tone, relief was evident in his expression as he took in Pat’s fragile but intact state.
Harold carefully unstrapped Ben from the carrier as the infant squirmed excitedly, his tiny arms reaching out the moment he spotted Pat. “Alright, little man,” His father said softly, cradling Ben close as he approached the bed. “Be gentle with your auntie.”
Pat eagerly extended his arms, his heart swelling at the sight of his nephew. Harold took extra care as he placed the baby in Pat’s arms, ensuring the full weight didn’t strain his recovering body.
“Hey, you,” Pat greeted softly, tapping the tip of Ben’s nose with a gentle finger as he cradled him close. The baby, instantly comforted in Pat’s embrace, extended his tiny hand toward the scratches on Pat’s face with a look of subtle curiosity.
A knock at the door interrupted the moment. “Knock, knock,” came a cheery voice, paired with an actual knock on the open doorframe. A doctor stepped inside, glancing at the scene. Pausing, he tilted his head. “Oh, sorry—I was told this was a car accident. You must’ve been misplaced. Maternity is on the third floor.”
“No, no,” Pat chuckled softly. “That’s me. I was in a car accident.”
“Ah, right,” the doctor said, stepping fully into the room. Taking the clipboard from the nurse, who was still brushing herself off, he flipped through the pages. “Hmm, Patti, right?”
Pat nodded. Of course, with no ID on him, they had used the name tag from his uniform to identify him.
“Does it hurt here?” the doctor asked, carefully pressing and stretching Pat’s limbs into various positions. Some motions were tolerable, while others made him cry out in sharp pain.
The doctor lifted Pat’s chin gently, inspecting the superficial injuries on his face before stepping back with a reassuring nod.
“The good news is that nothing appears to be broken—just some soft tissue damage and a few nasty bruises,” he announced. Then, with a slight chuckle, he added, “Just keep your eyes on the road next time, huh? You don’t want to keep giving your kind a bad reputation.”
Pat barely had time to process that remark before the doctor continued, his tone light and almost teasing. “I mean, I’m not chauvinistic,” he said, laughing. “But honestly, eight out of ten accidents we handle here are caused by women.”
The nurse interjected, whispering urgently into his ear. “Doctor, no—she’s—”
“Ahhh!” the doctor exclaimed loudly, cutting her off with a laugh. “My apologies! So, how long have you been on HRT?”
Pat hesitated, unsure how to respond, but Anne stepped in, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “She just started. June 27th. Constant doses since then.”
Pat frowned at the mention of the date—it had been the Wednesday before the double date with Tom and Mike. Anxiety pills, my ass, he muttered under his breath.
“Well, there shouldn’t be any major complications then,” the doctor said, nodding thoughtfully. “Still, we’ll keep you under observation for at least a few days more, just to make sure there are no delayed issues.”
“That won't be necessary,” Pat replied cautiously, reclining from the bed. “I don’t have insurance, so—”
“Oh, didn’t they tell you?” the doctor interrupted, gesturing toward the Pritzers. “Your cousins here were kind enough to pay in advance for your treatment and extended stay.”
“Harold? You…” Pat asked, startled, his eyes widening as he looked at his former brother-in-law. For the first time, Harold blushed, unable to meet Pat’s gaze.
“Hey,” Harold said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t I mention? Your contract includes all the legal benefits.” He chuckled nervously, glancing between Pat and the floor.
Ann, touched, caressed her husband’s back. Pat met Harold’s awkwardness with a warm smile, one that Harold quickly exchanged before clearing his throat.
“That’ll be all from me,” the doctor interrupted. “Now, you’re going to be sore for a while, so no heavy lifting, no strenuous activities, and make sure to keep up with the pain meds we’ve prescribed.” He called looking over his glasses, and as he handed back the clipboard, he added, “Take care of yourself, alright? And no more checking your lipstick while driving.”
“Doctor!” the nurse scolded, aghast at the comment.
“No, no,” Pat said, waving her off with a small smile. “He’s right. My lips can wait… at least for the red light.”
A chuckle rippled through the room before both the nurse and doctor excused themselves.
As the day wound down, Pat and Ben sat on the couch watching a toddler show on TV. Harold grumbled about the stupidity of the characters while Pat covered Ben’s ears to shield him from the dad’s improper language. Ann returned from the hallway, frowning as she put her phone down.
“Argh! Does Portugal lack cell reception or what? This is the fiftieth time I’ve tried to call Judy!”
“Ahh, let her have her fun,” Pat said dismissively from the couch. “A honeymoon doesn’t happen twice.”
“She got two!” Ann shot back.
Pat snorted. “Ha! Only if you count ours. We couldn’t afford anything too far from here.”
“Which would’ve been different if you had taken my contribution,” Harold muttered, glancing at Pat with mild accusation.
“Excuse me!” Ann interjected, throwing her hands up in mock outrage. “I’m just trying to let her know her ex-husband nearly died!”
“I’ll be fine,” Pat called calmly.
“She doesn’t know that,” Ann countered, crossing her arms as she glared at him.
But Pat was sure she did. Judy always knew better—it was just part of who she was. Whether she was clinking tall glasses of cocktails by a beachside sunset or venturing up the cold heights of some distant mountain, Judy had always walked her own path—and she walked it well. Pat had been lucky enough to share it for a time. Now, he would use the momentum to find his own, his head held high, back straight, and one foot in front of the other.
Love is a beautiful thing—it makes people do crazy things. It could make a man embrace a life wholly foreign to him, or steal a truck, or crash it into a ditch. But love also required knowing when to let go, to accept defeat, and to shake hands with destiny.
“You’re still her family, whether she likes it or not,” Ann said firmly, pulling Pat back from his wandering thoughts.
He sighed, leaning back into the couch as he gently ruffled Ben’s soft curls. “You don’t have to keep reminding me. I get it—I’ll always be part of her life, one way or another. But I don’t want to be the shadow hovering over her happiness. Let her enjoy herself. She deserves it.”
“And what about you?” Ann pressed, settling down beside her husband. “Are you happy?”
Pat didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let his gaze drift around the room. Here he was, in the beginning of seven prescribed days of recovery, surrounded by the quiet luxuries of his former brother-in-law’s generosity—a man who had found his own peculiar way of showing respect and even a sliver of appreciation. Ann, the woman he’d barely known beyond her name, had spent countless nights crying over his well-being, still pressing to know he was alright.
And then there was Ben, perched on his lap, oblivious to the aches Pat suppressed just to keep from disturbing the child’s delight in the goofy antics of brightly colored television characters.
“I’m getting there,” he said finally, his voice almost a whisper.
Epilogue
With a rude flick of her wrist, Emily Taylor slammed the door of her locker shut. Having gotten little rest the previous night, her mind struggled to piece together the fragments of useless facts she had crammed into it. If not for the sheer relief of the course ending soon, her hopes of escaping the school’s endless demands hinged on securing a passing grade on her last test. This wasn’t an easy feat, considering the limited knowledge she had managed to retain from Mrs. Wilson’s so-called lessons. The woman yelled more than she taught, barely explained anything, and spent most of the hour lamenting aspects of her life that had absolutely nothing to do with 18th-century French literature. Say what you wanted about Mr. Johns, but at least he knew how to teach a class.
With a deep sigh, Emily resigned herself to endure the test, stepping across the threshold of the classroom. The remnants of her former professor’s nameplate remained affixed above the door, now hidden beneath a cacophony of scribbles and doodles. Someone had added a tentative r, so it now read “Mrs.” instead. Little did the vandal know they had unwittingly captured a closer truth.
Though not officially entitled to a married prefix, the feminine role now suited the once-man far better than anyone could have imagined. Regardless, he was free to hold onto the title if he wanted—there wasn’t a “Mrs. Johns” anymore. Judy had once carried it, but soon enough, she’d be better known as Mrs. Rizzo.
After months of globetrotting, Judy had come to appreciate the cold climate of her hometown in a way she never had before. Life had taught her that change was inevitable, and with it came new perspectives. She and her former husband had learned that in their own respective ways.
Months ago, she had walked into Tom’s office holding a letter, one that would smooth things out for both of them. Pat had been an unexpectedly good sport about signing the divorce petition, leaving only Judy to finalize it. Without any further complications or delays, the two had decided to celebrate the upcoming wedding that very winter.
Judy read through the papers carefully, her lips twitching in a small, bittersweet smile when she saw her former husband’s signature. She muttered something under her breath, perhaps touched, before quickly dismissing the moment and throwing herself into the arms of her fiancé.
That signature, however, was something Patti knew she’d have to change soon. Out of habit, she continued using it, even though it no longer matched her alias. She’d signed it countless times during the two months leading up to the wedding. Those months had culminated in a sealed contract, ensuring her role was officially complete.
The Pritzers had been gracious, but it was clear they needed to make do with a younger hire—someone who, despite her best efforts, struggled to fill Patti’s shoes. The replacement had started off poorly, complaining about the impractical high heels she was required to wear during the reception. Her whining had earned a round of laughter from Patti and the Pritzers, who were seated at the same table, sipping champagne and trading witticisms about the past, present, and future.
With the wages she had earned over two seasons and her share of the house sale, the once-man had more than enough, even after acquiring the secluded cottage she had come to love after several visits. Harold had gotten her a good price, considering the market, and since money wouldn’t be a problem for a while, she’d used it as her new workspace. Finally, she could allow herself to work on her own writing instead of studying someone else’s.
Neither of the women joined in for the toasts—one abstaining to avoid alcohol while undergoing HRT, and the other skipping drinks due to her recently announced pregnancy. Still, with Harold drinking enough for the three of them, their enjoyment was unrestrained, as though they were all equally inebriated. “I’m telling you, I can feel it,” Harold proclaimed, as he rubbed his spouse’s growing belly. He was certain it was a girl on the way, even though it was far too early for a scan to reveal the baby’s gender. That minor detail didn’t stop the tipsy man from assigning almost mystical certainty to his guess.
“Are you sure? Wanna bet?” Anne teased, tilting her head with a playful grin in his direction. “I could use a second mommy to help out once we’ve got two kids running around the house,” she teased, chuckling softly.
“Yeah, right,” Her husband dismissed her with a wave of his free hand, the other busy lifting his drink to his mouth. “I’d never look half as good as this one,” he slurred, throwing a clumsy arm over Patti’s shoulders.
“Harold!” Patti yelped, caught off guard by his affectionate embrace. “Was that… a compliment?” she asked, her voice colored with equal parts surprise and amusement. “Okay, buddy, I think you’ve had enough,” she joked, plucking his glass from his hand and placing it on a passing tray.
But that was just who Harold had become—a warm, overly sentimental man who wore his heart on his sleeve, even if it came out in exaggerated, booze-laced declarations. He had even gone as far as deciding that, if it was indeed a girl, they would name her Patricia. He claimed it was to honor some distant relative in his bloodline, but his stubborn refusal to admit that the name was inspired by his once-brother-in-law didn’t fool anyone. The fact that he was already referring to the future daughter as “Patti” was proof enough.
Anne, for her part, had once again failed to measure up to her cousin, losing the coveted maid-of-honor position to someone whose tummy wouldn’t pop out in a light pink chiffon dress.
Resigned to standing further back in the bridal party lineup, she had struggled to maneuver her arms around the heads of taller bridesmaids to catch in frame the scene of the couple sealing their commitment at the priest’s command with a kiss. But instead of capturing the embrace, the lens shifted to the ex husband, catching her in perfect focus, beautiful as ever, with a warm smile and watery eyes.
When it came time for Judy to throw the bouquet, a swarm of women gathered eagerly, dragging Patti in between, carried forward by a tide of squealing peers. As if by fate, the bouquet landed neatly in her hands with little effort on her part.
She wasn’t sure how to react. For her, the moment was profoundly bittersweet. This was the wedding of the person she had once called wife. And now, with the cries of excitement around her and the flowers resting in her arms, she found herself expected to fulfill that role herself in the not-so-distant future.
Total Eclipse of the Heart played on the speakers as the couple danced before the wide circle of guests formed around them. Patti couldn’t help but chuckle, realizing the song had to be Judy’s choice, that had been the same selection for their own wedding. Tom had clearly complied with her decisions, and Patti couldn’t help but think she should warn him to set some boundaries before he found himself at her side at Judy’s next wedding.
That, however, was a problem Tom would have to deal with, if it ever came to that. Judy seemed delighted, melting into his arms as they danced, and Patti was certain he wouldn’t have to worry about trying on her clothes—he wouldn’t fit into them anyway.
Resistant to accept his new nanny, little Ben had once again been entrusted back into Patti’s arms so his mommy could enjoy a dance with her husband. The infant’s mood brightened almost instantly at her presence, his once-fussy demeanor replaced by soft coos and giggles. Patti’s heart warmed in turn—she had grown to love the little boy as if he were her own. Judy and she had never seriously entertained the idea of having children together, and now, with that possibility entirely off the table, Patti had resigned herself to the role of doting aunt—not just for the Pritzers but perhaps one day even to the Rizzos’ future children, should that come to pass.
Love had been the guiding force in Patti’s life, even if it wasn’t what it once was. Love for the person she had once called her wife, now glad for her to have a level of happiness she’d never been able to provide during their failed marriage. Love for Anne and Harold, who had welcomed her into their lives with quiet acceptance, each in their own way. Love for the literature she taught with passion, even if her students rarely shared it.
She envisioned watching her nephew grow over the years, guiding him toward an appreciation for the written word, first with the simple joys of children’s books, then later with the complexity and beauty of the great literary works she cherished. But for now, as she supported his tiny hands and encouraged his unsteady steps, she knew the road ahead would be long for the two of them.
When Anne returned to the table and scooped her son into her arms, Patti turned toward her, about to ask why. But Anne gestured toward the entrance.
Turning, Patti saw a silhouette emerge into the light.
“Hey,” Mike called, slightly out of breath as he adjusted the buttons on his tuxedo. “I made it.”
“Mike!” Patti exclaimed, her face lighting up in surprise. She sprang to her feet to meet him, stumbling slightly, only to find herself steadied in his arms.
“Hey, love,” he whispered, holding her by the lower back. “Missed me?”
In that moment, for the first time, Patti fully understood Judy’s perspective. In just a few months, she had come to miss Mike’s presence in her life so deeply that she couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for Judy to wait years before meeting Tom again. Patti had gone to great lengths, too, to ensure Mike would never leave again.
Some people meet the love of their life at nineteen in college. Some resign themselves to finding it in a colleague. And some are lucky enough to be pushed into it—however peculiar the circumstances may be.
Wasting no time, she clasped Mike’s hand and dragged him onto the dance floor, blending in among the relatives and colleagues.
From across the room, she caught Judy’s gaze. For a brief moment, the two shared a silent exchange, Patti mustering a heartfelt thank-you with her eyes to the woman she still affectionately thought of as her cousin, despite their lack of blood relation. Judy, smiling softly, gave her a subtle nod before turning her attention back to her own partner.
Patti was here to stay—not as a servant, nor as an ex-husband, but as the full-fledged woman she had fully become. One who no longer needed anyone to dictate her path. Sure, she might let Mike take the lead occasionally, because men’s fragile egos needed to be stroked now and then, but the journey and its destination would always be hers to chart.
For the first time in years, she felt everything was in place. She had a partner who loved her for who she was, the respect of her family, and a genuine sense of freedom to embrace her true self. All of it had come at the cost of something that now seemed so insignificant in hindsight: her manhood.
The End