I knew my mom was quirky, but this was a new one, even for her.

Here was a woman who scored the winning goal in the NCAA Women’s Soccer Final, became a recluse, wrote five novels, came out of hiding, had a torrid affair with a now-deceased minor politician, and finally settled down far from the madding crowd in Fedora, Montana. But those, in my somewhat biased opinion, paled in comparison into what she was asking me and my brother to now.

“You want us,” I pointed at my twin brother Hayden, and then at myself, just to clarify, “to be your bridesmaids?” My mother was getting married for the first time next month.

“Look,” my mom said, a sorrowful expression crossing her face, as she us down at our kitchen table. “The bridesmaids are supposed to be the most important women in the bride’s lives, and, as you well know, I have no women in my life, really.” She sighed. “It’d just mean the world to me if, for one day - one day only! - you smiled, put on a dress, and looked pretty so I could feel like I have a conventional wedding.

“Nothing in my life has been conventional, boys. I just want something to be normal when Dave and I say ‘I do.’” She paused and cleaned her glasses.

“Please.”

“Look Mom,” I said. I planned my words carefully. I knew this would break her heart. “I want you to have a great wedding, a normal wedding, too. But you’ve got to realize what you’re asking.

“We’re boys. Teenage boys, and a lot of our friends are going to be at your wedding. And you’re asking us to be bridesmaids. That’s not just, say, wearing leggings to a football game so we don’t get cold. You’re asking us to put on a dress.

“I’m sorry, Mom, I really am, and I think Hayden would agree with me. But we simply cannot wear a dress to your wedding. That’s final.”

I looked back at Hayden. He wore an emotionless expression. He nodded silently.

“Okay,” my mom breathed. Wiping her glasses again. My heart sank. “That’s about the answer I was expecting.”

She looked at the clock. It was late. “Get some sleep,” she urged. “I do have some more wedding stuff to take care of in the morning. We can pick out your tuxedos then.”

The three of us smiled and Hayden and I made for bed.

It was a cold night in our small house. My mom’s sporting-goods business had made a lot of money, but she insisted on living small. This, she said, would enable us to “remember where we came from.” She prefered to spend money on clothes, vacations, and (many) charitable donations.

I thought about my mother. I loved her very much and I wanted her to be happy. But this was simply something I couldn’t do. As I lay on my mattress, I felt at peace with my decision.

For the moment. There came to me a low sound from the other side of our bedroom. It sounded like sniffling, was followed by whimpering, and soon turned into all-out wailing. I rose, sauntered over to the other bed, and was met by the teary-eyed face of my brother Hayden.

“What’s wrong?” I asked harmlessly. Hayden buried his head in his pillow. A muffled sound was all I could make out.

“What did you say?”

“I said, I want to wear the dress!” Hayden continued crying. I turned the light onto a dim setting and sat beside him on his bed.

“Why?” I questioned him. This was very strange. Hayden wanted to wear a bridesmaid dress, which would undoubtedly be filled with frills? Odd.

“Because, Edward.” He sat up and became dead serious. I did likewise, knowing he meant business.

“Because being a boy doesn’t feel right, and I want to be a girl. There.” Hayden buried his face in the pillow again. Again I was confused.

He turned around and elaborated. “Look, all my life I’ve been lying to myself. I was not meant to be a boy. I try on Mom’s clothes when I’m home alone. I’ve been paying a senior girl to give me dance lessons. I mean, look at me right now.” Hayden removed his shirt to reveal a lacy pink bra, which I recognized as Mom’s from the laundry.

“This was my one chance to show the world who I really was. To be a girl in front of everyone. Just for a day. One day as a girl. That was all I really wanted.”

Hayden stared into space for a while. I pondered his words. I realized I had two people who were counting on me to stand at the altar and watch my mother tie the knot in a gown better suited for Cinderella. Also, these were the two people I loved the most.

If I went ahead with it, my mom would be happy and my brother would achieve his lifelong dream, but I’d be humiliated in front of practically all my classmates. If I didn’t wear that dress, I’d save face, but my brother would be a miserable girl in a tuxedo and my mom - well, I didn’t really want to imagine how my mom would feel.

Fortunately, I wouldn’t have to. “I’ll wear the dress,” I told Hayden, a resigned smile on my lips. He practically jumped for joy. It warmed my heart.

So did my mom’s reaction. “Oh my God, thank you, Edward,” she said, enveloping me in a hug. “I know how hard this is for you - thanks for reconsidering! I’ll start making arrangements right away.”

A week later Hayden and I traipsed through the snow towards the Fedora City Boutique. It was the day of reckoning, when he and I were to be fitted for our gowns. Hayden was beaming while I showed no emotion as we neared our destination.

A few shops away from the boutique, I stopped and mustered a smile. “You’re so excited about this,” I observed.

“Absolutely! This is only the greatest day of my life!” It was clear to me he wasn’t lying.

Silence as we neared the boutique, and then Hayden spoke.

“Hey, Edward?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you,” Hayden asked in an inquiry laced with giggles, “call me Hannah?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Hannah,” Hayden barely managed in between snickers, “is my girl name.”

I looked Hayden over. His hair had kind of a curl to it and was a little long. The sun on this cold January day gave a shine to his lips and eyelashes, kind of like makeup would. Hayden could pass for a Hannah. There was no doubt about it.

“Hannah it is.” I held the boutique door for my new twin sister as she giggled unceasingly.

“Hi there,” the receptionist greeted us. “Are you here to be fitted for tuxedos? Right this way!” She gestured toward the tux section.

“Actually, that’s not the case.” I smiled wryly at the receptionist, hoping she would understand.

“I see. Lara Jansen’s sons?”

“That’s us. I’m Edward and this is my brother Hayden.” Hannah would have been hard to explain, and she didn’t seem to mind using her birth name as opposed to the name she’d had for literally forty-five seconds.

“Right this way.” She pointed to a new room. When we entered, it was dark. Light was soon cast, and the room was revealed to be empty, except for some hooks on the back wall.

“We rarely use this room, but I thought we could fit you in here. There’s some women in for fittings in our regular dress fitting room, and some men in the tux fitting room, and we didn’t think you fit into either per se...”

“That’s perfectly fine.” I cut her off. It was a nice gesture. She smiled and continued.

“Your mom really, really seems to want you to look like real girls, so you’re going to have to wear a bodysuit under your dress with fake boobs and curves. Does that bother you at all?”

I looked the receptionist, whose name was Carey, directly in the eyes. “We are boys being fitted for bridesmaid’s dresses. I think we passed ‘bothering’ a long time ago.” She laughed.

“Just checking,” said Carey, before producing the bodysuits. She turned her head and we put them on. Hannah clearly liked what she saw in the mirror; she was doing every suggestive pose in the book. I found it quite funny - until I turned and looked in the mirror and liked what I saw. My body felt weirdly good. Huh. Strange.

We’d been given tiny, tight panties to wear under our bodysuits, so our - well, you know - would not be a problem. That problem had been taken care of. Another hadn’t, as Hannah was quick to point out.

“What are we gonna do with the hair on our legs?” she chirped. I’d never really notice that my sister’s voice had kind of a feminine touch to it. Hannah really did suit her.

“That, dearie, is where pantyhose come in.” Hannah grinned. Carey handed us something that looked like a combination of socks and pants. I’d never really considered what panty hose looked like before. I was fascinated.

Hannah had her pantyhose on in 10 seconds - I kid you not. I struggled but eventually slid into the silky stuff. It felt really, really nice on my legs. If only I could wear these every day! Wait - what was I saying?

A similar situation followed not long after when Hannah clipped her bra flawlessly but I needed Carey’s help to get mine just right. After Carey had done this, she took some measurements.

“Perfect! I’ve got just the right gowns for you two. I’ll need about five minutes.”

Hannah sat in a chair Carey had wheeled in and thumbed through her phone. I felt like I was looking at any girl at my school. It made me happy to see my sister so happy.

And then I took another gander in the mirror - bliss filled me. I couldn’t explain it. There was a certain satisfaction I took in running my hands from my shoulder, down over my boobs to my flat belly, and then through my curves onto my bubble butt. I was beginning to see where Hannah was coming from with all this “wanting to be a girl” stuff.

Things only got better. Carey returned with two mobile hangers that held the most beautiful things I’d seen in the history ever. That the gowns were white and very frilly was all I noticed at the time. Later I would be able to appreciate the bodice, and the built-in petticoat, and the waistline, and all that what-not. All I was appreciating at that moment was that the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen was staring at me whenever I looked into the mirror.

Hannah was unapologetic. She curtsied and danced and twirled around. Carey laughed, thinking she was doing so ironically. I knew the truth, though. I saw a light in my sister’s eyes that day. She was truly happy.

I took a look at myself in the mirror and gave curtsying a try. It came naturally. I put one foot behind the other, picked up my dress, and simply squatted. It felt absolutely incredible. Where had dresses, curtsying, and general prissiness been all my life?

As Hannah and I changed back into our boy clothes and made arrangements to pick up the dresses around the wedding day, I knew I was hooked. That was the greatest thing I’d ever worn. Hannah was right. Being a pretty girl trumped being a dull boy everyday.

I was thinking of how I would tell my sister I was a girl too when Hannah’s phone buzzed. She answered cheerily, but her expression suddenly changed to one of dead seriousness. After a few minutes, she put the phone down and eyed me.

“Mom crashed her car and broke both legs. She’s going to be bedridden for almost a month.”

I got very quiet. “We have to go, Carey,” I said calmly. “Thank you for everything.”

“No problem. You’re good boys. And girls,” she chuckled. “Hope your mom gets well soon.”

A half-hour later, we looked upon our mother in her hospital bed. She was up and talking, but appeared in great pain. She and Dave were conversing as Hannah and I texted friends to let them know what happened.

“I’m sorry, Lara, but we’re going to have to move the wedding.”

“Why? Why? Why?” pleaded Mom. “Please. We’ll get married at home. I’ll marry you in my bed. We don’t even need to invite people. Just you and the boys. They already have their gowns. You have your tux. It won’t take long. I love you.”

“Look, Lara,” Dave said sternly, in a tone I’d never heard from a man I’d greatly admired. “You wanted this wedding to be perfect, to show the world you were a normal human being, not a recluse, not ‘the other woman,’ or anything like that. You deserve the best, and if we have to wait a while for the best, so be it.”

Mom agreed to it but I could tell she was not happy.

A few weeks passed. Not much changed. Hannah and I would pass the boutique. She’d look inside longingly, wondering when the day would come when she could dress up again. Covertly, I’d do the same. And then we’d move on.

Dave, meanwhile, juggled the wedding date, debating four different weekends as an unexpected infection in my mom’s leg came and went. Uncertainty reigned supreme. Hannah grew glum, and privately, so did I. We were both now looking forward to the day when we would be two princesses, pretty as can be, instead of just two plain old boys.

One day - the day after Dave had moved the wedding for the fifth time - Hannah and I were loafing around with some other guys, waiting for our school’s hockey game to start. We were playing our rivals, and hockey was pretty much the only non-girly thing that gave Hannah joy anymore. I also liked the sport, and we were psyched to see whether our team could pick up its tenth straight win.

Hannah was admiring a girl - from the direction of her eyes, you could tell she was checking out her dress - when her phone buzzed. She tapped me on the shoulder. “It’s Dave.”

She and I ducked into an open supply closet, shut the door, and turned on speakerphone. Dave, usually calm, cool, and collected spoke tersely, frightening us.

“I am marrying your mother tonight, due to extraordinary circumstances. Do not ask questions. I will pick you up, and I am meeting Pastor Mark at the hospital at 5 o’clock. I dropped off your gowns. You’re going to have to change somewhere at school. I don’t want to hear anything about it. This is important.” Thus ended what could barely be called a “conversation.”

“What do you think he meant by that? Extraordinary circumstances?” Hannah asked.

“I don’t know, but I do know we’d better find our gowns. A place to get changed would help too.” We stopped by the school office and left with two garment bags.

“Here.” I led Hannah into the dark-room where pictures were taken. A mirror in the back, lighting, and a windowless door - it was perfect.

The two of us slipped on our bodysuits, bras, and pantyhose. We began to zip ourselves into our dresses, when suddenly Hannah stopped.

“Everyone is going to see us come out of the dark-room wearing bridesmaids’ dresses. What are we gonna do?”

Admittedly I had no idea. “I don’t know. I don’t know how we’re going to chalk this one up. Hopefully everyone will just roll their eyes and say, ‘Lara Jansen.’ Dave sounded serious, Hannah. We’ll figure this one out later.”

She was satisfied by this explanation - for the moment. As she zipped herself into her gown she was visibly nervous. By time we rolled up our socks and slipped into our shoes, she was visibly shaking.

I took my sister’s hand. “Look, I really didn’t want to wear a dress for the wedding. But we made the decision that we wouldn’t care what our friends thought, that this was about our family. Come on. It’ll be alright.”

We shared a hug. Hannah took out the makeup kit she always kept hidden in her backpack and started to cover herself. When she was sufficiently satisfied she passed it to me.

“Do you want me to-” She faltered, especially when she saw what I was doing. I was applying everything - lipstick, mascara, eye-liner - perfectly. Hannah was visibly shocked.

“How do you know-” I cut her off this time with a wave of the hand, as if to say, “I’ll explain later.” She shrugged and fixed her hair. I did likewise, putting in a matching, girlish curl.

We resolved to put on the tiaras in the car and took deep breaths. I held Hannah’s hand and we counted to three. One, two, and we threw open the darkroom door.

Gasps. Snickers. Pointing. Dirty looks. ‘Too bad,’ I thought. The Jansen sisters were passing through whether they liked it or not. A few girls took pictures. Hannah, subtly trolling them, fixed her hair and posed for a few as we made our way to the front exit.

Dave wore an immaculate tuxedo and an emotionless expression as we crowded our fluffy selves into the back of the car. He did not speak as we got in. He did not speak as we drove. He did not speak as we got out. Something was going on. Hannah didn’t seem to recognize it, concerning herself more with retouching her eyeshadow, but I felt uneasy as we made our way into the hospital.

Pastor Mark greeted Dave and us up front, complementing our outfits, and led us back to Mom’s bed. She was asleep at first, but the rustling of our dresses against our bedside roused her.

“Oh my God,” Mom said succinctly. “You two look amazing.”

Hannah and I simply smiled. Mom turned to her groom. “Are we doing this now?”

Finally, Dave wore a smile. “Yes, we are.”

Pastor Mark started in. “Dearly beloved...”

And soon ended. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Mom and Dave embraced. Hannah and I hooted and hollered. With no flowers to throw we instead found a few stray pieces of tulle within our gowns and tossed them, humming the wedding march as we went. Smiles abounded on all four of our faces, a scene I will not soon forget.

Later that night, Dave had departed, intending to bring back pizza for what he termed a “gourmet wedding dinner.” Mom fell back asleep, resting, fighting another leg infection as she sawed logs. Hannah and I watched over her, still clad in our white frocks. Dave had allowed us the chance to change but we declined. We stayed dressed right down to our tiaras.

“So Edward, explain this.” Hannah crossed her legs and sat facing me. “That makeup job you did early - best I’ve ever seen! And I’ve watched a lot of tutorials.”

“Yeah, so have I. I’ve learned a thing or two.”

Hannah did a double take. “You’ve what?”

I addressed her directly. “This whole ‘being a girl,’ thing,” I explained to her. “Kind of a good deal. I mean, we could wear dresses all the time. I could join you at your dance lessons. We could maybe date cute hockey players.

“I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud. I’ve been thinking ever since we were first fitted for our gowns. Maybe you could use a twin sister. I mean, girls have to stick together.”

I could tell Hannah could barely believe what she was hearing. I reached over and closed her wide open jaw.

“I mean, our friends kind of already know thanks to today. So there’s that.”

I closed my argument. “We’re already ten steps ahead of most girls our age in terms of fashion, makeup, and mannerisms. Why not join them?

“Come on, Hannah. Let’s be girls.”

I let that sentence hang for a while. Three words. A whole world of possibilities. Sure, there could be more pretty dresses like the ones we’d worn to the wedding. But there could also be a plain jacket and leggings. Casual skirts, maybe some jeans. So many options.

Finally, Hannah spoke.

“Okay.”

I could barely hear her, but I knew what she’d said. “You serious?”

“You’re right, sis. Let’s do it. Girl power.”

We performed our secret twin brother handshake, with one wrench: where we usually bowed to each other, we picked up our gowns and dipped a curtsy. We both sat back down and descended into giggles.

The giggles stopped when a third voice started: “As I suspected.”

Our mother’s eyes were wide open and a cunning smile crossed her lips.

“W-What do you mean by that?” Hannah blushed and stuttered.

“Come on, girls.” My mom looked us over. “I know I’m a little quirky, but I’m not insane. I didn’t ask you to dress up like girls for no reason.

“Hannah,” my mom said, using my sister’s name. “You think I’ve never noticed my clothes moving around? The countless stretches in my leggings? The odd divots in my foundation?

“And you, Evie.” She directed her attention to me. I’d never been referred to as Evie before, but I liked the name. I decided to run with it. “You may not realize it, but subconsciously, you’re girlier than your sister.”

Hannah bristled at this perceived insult but subsided when Mom broke it down. “Walk from one side of the room to the other.”

I followed her instructions, strutting from the doorway to the window, when I heard Hannah.

“Oh my God! You’re right! She walks girlier than I do.”

“Really?” I asked when suddenly Mom and Hannah erupted into more giggles. “Oh my God, I heard it!” I had a distinct squeal in my voice.

More laughter. “Now what?”

Hannah pointed. I had my finger in my hair and was twirling it. A carbon copy of the girls my age I saw every day. Mom was right. I’d always been a girl. In a way, it was shocking I hadn’t figured it out earlier.

“So, Mom,” Hannah took charge, smoothing her dress, crossing her legs, and putting Mom on the spot. “Evie and I want to be girls. Can we?”

“I always knew this day would come. And it’s here. And I’m ready for it. You have to make one promise for me.”

“What’s that?”

“Be good girls for your father.”

Hannah and I were very confused. “What do you mean?” I piped up.

---

“So this is what she meant.”

I wiped a tear from my face, unsuccessfully. It rolled off my cheek and onto my dress, sliding down the black bodice, almost rolling down the sequined skirt, and being absorbed my pantyhose. Hannah wore a similar dress and facial expression.

We beheld my mother’s gravesite as Dave - I mean, Dad - put a hand on both our shoulders. We leaned on him. Hannah and I felt deeply for him. Here was a man - a man of high character, but still only one man - tasked with raising two girls into womanhood whom he’d met for the first time two years ago and met for the first time as girls two weeks ago.

Dad rubbed the tombstone. A steady rain began to fall. The pallbearers - including Carey, who’d befriended Mom in her last month, sharing resources from her own war with bone cancer - lowered the casket slowly onto the table which would soon be removed from its perch over the hole in favor of dirt.

After Pastor Mark read an invocation, we bid my mom farewell for the final time. Dad, Hannah and I clambered into the hearse. Hannah retouched her black lipstick, looking depressed. I put my arm around her and she reciprocated the gesture.

Soon, both of us were looking up at our father, in the passenger seat next to the funeral director. He was studying something very intently. It was his wedding ring, which I’d handed to him to give to his bride only a fortnight prior.

Dad looked at the ring for about thirty seconds, then back at us. He shook his head. Hannah and I both pondered what that meant, until he riffled through his pocket and removed something.

Whatever it was we could not quite make out, but Dad seemed very attached to it. He ran it through his fingers. He rubbed it on his cheek. We both gasped when we saw what it was. It was a piece of tulle from our bridal gowns. He’d saved it for this day.

Hannah and I smiled and sobbed quietly, in that weird, happy-sad way that only girls cry. Dave had seemed detached from everyone and everything on this surreal day, but our weeping must have caught his ear. He turned around, smoothed our now-long hair, and smiled reassuringly.

“Your mother was a good bride,” he said, eyeing the tulle while summing up our whirlwind of a six weeks. “You two were good bridesmaids. And you are even better daughters.”