Ethan’s World

by Daphne Childress

Ethan Martin and his mother live a simple life in a small Southern town... with a twist: She makes dresses to pay the bills and he helps out as best he can.

Chapter Two: The Cousin Exchange Program

There’s a guest in the Martin house and she’s liking what she sees.

Ethan Martin was beginning to think he’d made peace with his summer. He had a chore rhythm. His twirling form had become practically second nature. He was learning more and more about dressmaking. He even started giving feedback on his mom’s designs, albeit with snarky commentary.

But peace is a fragile thing--and it shattered the moment his cousin Dani rolled into the driveway with a duffel bag, a skateboard, and a cocky grin.

Danielle--Dani, as she insisted--was thirteen, older by one year, tougher by a hundred. She was the kind of girl who scraped her knees and never noticed, who could climb a tree faster than a squirrel and had never, to Ethan’s knowledge, worn anything made of cotton candy pink.

She was the very definition of the term tomboy.

“Hey, little housewife,” she said, stepping into the kitchen like she owned the place. “Nice apron.”

Ethan froze mid-sponge swipe. He was bent over, wiping spilled orange juice off the kitchen floor while wearing one of his mother’s most popular frocks; pink gingham with little embroidered cupcakes on the pockets.

“I’m helping Mom,” he said, trying not to sound defensive. “MOM! Dani’s here!”

“Oh yeah?” Dani flipped up his skirt, her eyes sparkling. “You always clean the kitchen in polka dot panties?”

“Those were for a photo shoot!” he barked, red-faced as he reached around and tugged down the hem of his dress. “They make the skirt fit right! MOM! Dani’s here and she’s teasing me!”

Colleen swept in and gave Dani a welcoming hug. “We’re so happy to have you, sweetheart! Ethan’s been such a help to me this summer. He even modeled my ‘Lemon Drop Picnic’ line last week.”

“Oh, I saw that post,” Dani said casually. “Didn’t realize that was you. The socks were a nice touch.”

Ethan briefly considered crawling into the dryer and spinning until September.

* * *

Lunch, mercifully, was simple. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. Ethan did all of the work. He moved robotically through his duties--quietly buttering bread while Dani sat at the kitchen table, kicking her sneakers against the chair legs and snorting every time his dress swished when he turned.

“Don’t burn it, Sissy,” she warned.

“I’m not a sissy.”

“I dunno. The apron says otherwise.”

Colleen hummed softly from across the kitchen, unbothered as ever. “He’s doing fine, Dani. And you’ve made enough noise for three cousins.”

“I’m just saying,” Dani said, slurping her soup dramatically. “If I ever wore a dress to make a sandwich, I’d never hear the end of it. But he gets to play little miss domestic and suddenly it’s adorable.”

Ethan set her iced tea down with a tight-lipped expression and returned to the counter. The skirt of his house dress fluttered slightly as he walked. He knew it. He hated that they knew it.

After lunch, Dani stretched theatrically and announced, “Well! I’m thinkin’ about getting my board and practicing some kickflips. But after seeing all this, I could be tempted to stay and supervise more sissy chores.”

Colleen raised an eyebrow. “Be my guest. Ethan still has laundry to fold.”

“Awesome.”

Ethan groaned softly.

* * *

Colleen had originally planned to treat Dani to the same kind of crafty, girl-powered bonding she had with Ethan. But the tomboy would have none of it.

“No offense, Aunt Colleen, but sewing’s not my jam. Can I mow the lawn instead?”

Colleen blinked. “Well… if you want to?”

“And take out the trash? Wash the car? Clean the gutters? Sure thing! Us O’Briens like to do the hard stuff!”

“Just like your mother.” Colleen sighed. “That girl was never afraid of anything. Including hard work.”

Ethan stared at his cousin. “You actually want to do that stuff?”

“Yeah. It’s loud. It’s sweaty. It’s fun.” She glanced at him. “You can keep the ironing gig, Sissy!”

“Mom!”

And that was how, in a twist no one saw coming, the cousin roles flipped upside down.

Dani became the household’s honorary handyman. She wore cutoff jeans, high-top sneakers, and a rotating collection of ironic dinosaur T-shirts. She wielded power tools with glee and referred to spiders as “little dudes” instead of screaming.

Meanwhile, Ethan found himself moving further into domesticity. He threaded bobbins, basted hems, and even started sketching little outfits for fun when no one was looking. He liked the quiet of sewing, the attention to detail. He likened it to playing his games; there was something satisfying about taking chaos--ribbon, fabric, tulle--and turning it into order.

One afternoon, Colleen walked in to find both kids in the living room: Dani in a ball cap oiling the wheels of her skateboard, and Ethan seated cross-legged on the floor in one of his housewife dresses, sewing a pocket on an apron… by hand.

“This is… not the summer I expected,” Colleen said.

“Honestly,” Dani muttered, without looking up, “I thought he’d fight back more.”

“I did!” Ethan protested. “Well, at first.”

Dani grinned. “And now look at you. Miss June.”

* * *

“Hey, Ethan--check this out!”

Dani tore across the yard like a firecracker on legs, her battle-scarred sneakers spitting little puffs of earth. At the patio stones she pitched forward into a dive, hands biting grass, and in the next breath she snapped upside down--one, two handsprings--then kept going on her hands for a dozen jaunty steps before collapsing in a heap, laughing so hard she had to kick her feet to breathe.

Ethan, perched on the back-porch steps, could only blink. The kitten-print sundress Colleen had made for her Petite Fille collection fluttered around his knees whenever the breeze teased it; his bare feet curled against the warm wood. A simple plastic headband fussed his dark hair into tidy obedience, though the heat kept urging a curl loose near his temple like a call for mutiny.

Dani popped up, grinning. Her faded dinosaur T-shirt had grass stains new enough to glow; her cut-offs had threads that looked like they were chewing on the air. The baseball cap wrestled her wild red hair into something almost lawful.

“Your turn, cuz.” She planted her fists on her hips, legs spread in triumph. “C’mon.”

“Nope,” Ethan said, very even. “I’m not doing it. Not. A. Chance.”

“Oh, come on, Sissy,” she sing-songed, wicked delight dancing in her eyes. “Ten bucks if you at least give it a try. Just try. I’m feeling generous.”

“I’m not doing it,” he fussed, hugging his elbows. “Knowing you, you’re just trying to get another look at my panties.”

Dani clutched her chest like a wounded debutante. “Who? Me? Please, little miss… that would be just plain rude.”

“It takes one to know one,” Ethan muttered.

She scrunched her face. “I don’t think that’s what that means.”

He made a face back and, with the tiny sigh of someone doing something practical to calm down, pulled a slim tube from the pocket of his apron. He popped the cap, tucking it between his middle and ring finger the way he’d been taught, and smoothed the waxy balm across his mouth--center out, no scribbling--then pressed his lips together, neat as a cat.

Dani stared, then fell over laughing again. “Was that… lipstick? Oh, Sissy, you’re killing me! Next thing I know you’ll be pulling tampons out of your pocket--”

“It’s not lipstick,” Ethan snapped, heat blooming in his cheeks. “It’s lip balm. It keeps your lips from getting dry and chapped. Ask Mom.”

Dani rolled onto her back and flung an arm over her eyes, wheezing. “Oh, I know what it’s for. I also saw how you put it on. You do it just like my mama does when she paints her face for Friday bowling night. You two should be trading makeup tips.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a sissy.”

“You smell like a pig.”

“And you,” she shot back, sitting up, “smell like a rose.”

Ethan almost said thank you just to be contrary, but bite-sized pride kept it down. He held up the tube in a tiny, prim display. “Here--see? It’s cherry. You want some, Miss Dinosaur Breath?”

Dani squinted at it, nose wrinkled. “Cherry?”

“Cherry.”

He could feel the air between them stretch thin as taffy with the dare of it. An expert in dares, Dani snatched the tube and studied the tiny pink and red label like it might confess something. “That’s not lipstick,” she declared at last, drily, as if giving him a gift. “It’s sissy chapstick.”

Ethan huffed. “It’s lip balm.”

“Same thing.” She twisted it up a quarter turn, hesitated, then slathered it on like she was greasing a hinge.

“Not like that,” he groaned. “You’ll break it.”

Dani paused, then grinned slow. “Then show me, Princess.”

Ethan took the tube back with the gravity of a surgeon and grasped his cousin’s hand. “Okay. Cap between these two fingers--no, not a death grip--so you don’t lose it. Balm between your thumb and first finger. Start in the middle, one pass, then the other side. Gentle.” He hovered, correcting the tilt of her hand with two careful taps. “Now press your lips together. No smearing all over your face.”

Dani obeyed, exaggerated, and then blinked. “Oh,” she said, surprised despite herself. “That is… not bad.”

“It’s supposed to taste like fruit,” he said, trying not to sound proud of the information. “Cherry.”

“Mm.” She pressed her lips again. “Like a snow-cone that didn’t make it to the mouth.” She wiped the corner of her mouth on the back of her hand, then checked her knuckles like she expected to see something worth mocking. “So if this is your war paint, what’s next, Sissy? Real lipstick? Mascara? Blush?” She mimed dabbing her cheeks. “Tee-hee.”

He aimed a baleful look at her, which only made the headband bounce an earnest fraction of an inch. “Most boys don’t wear lipstick. At least that’s what Mom says.”

“Most boys don’t wear kitten dresses either,” Dani shot back, cheerful as a sparkler. “But here we are.”

Ethan blushed, glancing toward the fence, where the afternoon hummed and no one’s eyes peered in. He felt the lightness of the dress, the tug of the headband on his hair, the cool cherry shine on his mouth. “It’s just… practical,” he said, mostly to his knees. “For chapped lips.”

“Sure,” Dani said, but softer this time. “Practical.” Then, unable to leave it un-poked, she added, “And ve-wy pwetty.”

He glared; she grinned, which meant the world was back on its hinges.

“Tell you what,” Dani said, sudden as a coin toss. “One cartwheel. Just one. I won’t look up your skirt and I’ll stop calling you Sissy--” she held up a solemn hand-- “for the rest of the day.”

He wavered. The grass looked like a sea. The porch step felt like a dock. His bare toes curled and uncurled. “I’ll… think about it,” he said, which for Ethan was practically an RSVP.

“Thinking is how you pull a muscle,” the tomboy said, but her voice was gentle. “Here--practice something smaller. Do this.” She planted her feet, swung her arms, and sprang into a tidy hop that made her look briefly taller. “Just a hop. Not even a cartwheel’s cousin.”

Ethan stood, gathered the skirt in two careful pinches like it was a parachute, and hopped. The dress wisped. His headband held. The yard did not swallow him. Dani clapped anyway, loud as if he’d vaulted a car.

“See?” she crowed. “The little kitten can bounce.”

“Stop calling me that,” he said, but couldn’t quite stop himself from smiling.

“Now try it again. This time do a jumping jack. You remember those, don’t you, Miss Priss?”

Ethan bristled. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. I’m not dumb, you know.”

Eager to prove his bravery, he gave it another try, this time kicking his legs wide apart as he hopped, clapping his hands over his head, just as he’d done hundreds of times in gym class. In that instant, however, he knew he’d made a horrible mistake--the childish dress flew high above his waist, exposing his panties and his bare belly for everyone who was anyone to see. He quickly crouched down and pushed the skirt down around his knees, his face red, his eyes wide with horror.

“Whoa-ho! Good show, Sissy!” Dani crowed. “I was hoping for more polka dots, but ‘Hello Kitty’ does not disappoint!”

“No fair!” the cross-dressed boy yelled. “You tricked me!”

Dani laughed. “Hey, you’re the one who said he wasn’t dumb.”

From the kitchen window, Colleen watched them with a glass of water sweating in her hand. She’d been pretending to rinse lettuce for five whole minutes, eyes on the yard, her lips curled in a wicked smile. Dani’s laughter, Ethan’s bare, stubborn shoulders, the teasing and yelling… the shared chapstick passed like a treaty--she drank it all in.

“Children!” she called out the window, sweet as iced tea and twice as dangerous. “House rule: if you’re going to trade insults, they must rhyme, and no getting mad when you’re going to show off your panties.”

Dani whooped. “Yes, ma’am!”

Ethan ducked his head and, without thinking, touched his lips together again.

“And, Dani,” Colleen added, one eyebrow audible in her voice, “no cartwheels for my model until after fittings. Scuffed knees are out of season, and they don’t photograph well.”

“Then we’ll keep it to hops,” Dani promised, winking at Ethan. “Just enough to shake up Hello Kitty.”

Ethan snorted, slipped the balm back into his pocket the proper way, and sat--one step lower this time, closer to the grass, his skirt tucked snug around his thighs--while his cousin launched into another series of impossible flips, and he contemplated the rush of embarrassment that oddly and inexplicably thrilled his soul.

* * *

Despite the teasing, the cousins got along. True, Dani was bold and loud and called out Ethan’s feminine side when it suited her, but she never actually made him feel bad. Well, not too bad. If anything, she seemed proud of him, in a weird way.

“You’re braver than me,” she told him once, while watching with fascination as Colleen fitted him with a new addition to her vintage line up, a tea length ballerina-style dress. “I’d rather punch a wasp nest than wear a tutu.”

“You think I’m brave for wearing a tutu?” he asked, incredulous. He stared at his reflection, cringing at the layers of satin and tulle that ensconced his slender frame. “Now I know you’re teasing me.”

“No, really, cuz.” She nodded at his dress, her expression serious. “Wearing that get up takes guts. People expect girls to be soft, so I go the other way. But people expect boys to be loud and tough. You’re not. You’re polite and pink and help your mama sew petticoats. That’s rebellion, dude.”

Ethan blinked. “Huh.”

Colleen chuckled, but said nothing. A mischievous glance at Dani reinforced their partnership. The tomboy shot her a wink, then stepped behind Ethan. Together they considered their combined reflection in the dressing mirror.

“Ain’t we a pair,” she said softly into his ear. “I think you just became my favorite cousin.”

Ethan frowned. “But I’m your only cousin.”

“Wow. Pretty and smart,” Dani snorted.

Colleen continued working, happily humming a familiar, almost forgotten melody.

* * *

Evening had settled soft and gold across the neighborhood when Dani clattered down the back steps with her skateboard. After supper she’d excused herself to practice in the street, assuming Ethan would wander out once the dishes were cleared. They’d joked earlier about him learning the basics. She was curious: would he show up in jeans, or in one of his prissy, girly-girl dresses?

She grinned to herself, pushing off. Please let it be a dress, she thought. I’d pay good money to see him go heels-over-board and flash his panties again. That’d be the bomb.

She worked at her kickflips, then some ollies until she had them crisp, rode down past Old Lady Whitaker's place to the corner and back, but still no Ethan. The house sat quiet in the dusk. She popped the tail of her board, caught it mid-air, and trudged up the walk.

I still haven’t been able to make him cry, she thought as she climbed the steps. Maybe I can give him some crap next time I catch him fiddling with his chapstick. He always looks like he’s putting on lipstick when he does that. Hilarious!

As she eased the screen door open she heard music--not radio music but real music, notes stepping out one by one like shy dancers. Curious, she slipped off her sneakers and padded through the kitchen. The scent of dish soap and lemon still hung in the air. She peered into the living room.

Ethan sat at the upright piano, head bent, fingers moving carefully over the keys. Not a trace of the frumpy house dress he’d worn at dinner; instead he looked like some storybook sprite. The dress was a pastel peach chiffon tea frock with a wide off-the-shoulder neckline and an oversized satin bow tied at the small of his back. His dark brown hair, usually tied up with a scarf for chores, was clipped back with tiny butterfly barrettes. White ankle socks and soft ballet slippers completed the picture.

Colleen sat off to the side in her armchair, a glass of iced tea on the table, a pleasant, wistful smile on her face. She lifted a finger to her lips and tilted her head toward the sofa. Dani obeyed, sinking down with her skateboard cradled across her lap like a toddler.

For reasons she couldn’t name, the sight of Ethan like this made her giddy. She wanted to flick his ear, tug at the bow, call him “sissy” and see if he’d cry--but something in the stillness stopped her. It was surreal, like stumbling into a dream.

It’s hard to believe this is a boy, she thought. Just last month he was lost in left field with his Babe Ruth team--total nerd, total clutz. But here he looks…right. Like this is where he’s meant to be. Weird.

Ethan moved through two more pieces before lifting his hands from the keys. Colleen broke the hush. “He’s supposed to practice fifteen minutes a day,” she said softly, “but he’s been slipping with you around.”

“Don’t change a thing on my account,” Dani said. “I like hearing Miss Priss at the keyboard. Music and the savage beast, all that stuff.”

“You’re a beast all right,” Ethan muttered, cheeks pink. “A baboon, if you ask me.”

Dani snorted, the spell broken but not gone. “And you, my dear Sissy,” she said, “are a delicate flower.”

* * *

As the end of Dani’s two-week stay approached, the household had fully adapted to the New Normal.

Dani did the heavy lifting and anything involving ladders. Ethan ironed collars, arranged product shots for his mom’s Etsy page, and discovered he was oddly good at choosing the right buttons for delicate fabrics.

On her last morning, Dani gave him a gift: one of her dinosaur T-shirts, with a little patch she’d made herself that read “Power Bottom (of the Laundry Pile).”

“I’m… definitely not wearing that in public,” Ethan said.

“You’ll wear hairbows, but not a dinosaur shirt? Coward.”

He rolled his eyes, but smiled. He kind of loved it.

The sudden blare of a horn and the rumble of a powerful engine announced Aunt DeeDee’s arrival. She rolled her candy apple red muscle car into the driveway, pulled off her cat-eye sunglasses, revealing the face of a woman who was ready for anything.

“Ready to go, sport?” She looked at Ethan a wink. “Hello there, Princess. Where’s your tutu?”

Ethan crossed his arms over his T-shirt and kicked the toe of his sneaker against the asphalt. He loved his aunt, but for some reason she gave him a harder time than her daughter. Probably more.

“It’s um… I dunno… somewhere...” he said, his face redder than the paint job on her car.

DeeDee laughed. “Don’t be so sensitive, little mister. I’m just giving you grief. Did you take good care of our girl here?”

“Um, sure did, Aunt Deedee,” Ethan said, trying to sound tough, but failing miserably. “We uh, had a great time.”

“I’m sure I’ll hear all about it.” His aunt slid her sunglasses back on, ran her fingers through her short auburn hair and then blew him a kiss as she revved the engine. “Keep your panties dry, Princess. Dani, get a move on, girl! We got places to go and people to see!”

“That’s my mama.” Dani laughed. “Calls’em like she sees them.”

“No kidding,” Ethan said ruefully.

After she hugged Colleen goodbye and hoisted her duffel bag into the trunk of her mother’s car, Dani turned to Ethan and smirked. He couldn’t help but notice the similarity between mother and daughter.

“Keep the apron game strong, cousin.”

“You keep mowing lawns like it’s a competitive sport.”

They bumped fists. A strange, affectionate peace treaty.

* * *

After the excitement of Dani’s visit the house felt a little quieter. Ethan continued on with his chores. He and Colleen started working on a new line for the coming season--plaid jumpers with contrasting collars. He asked more questions this time, about stitch length and interfacing. And he didn’t mind being the model, even when the dresses were extra frilly.

He didn’t think of himself as girly, not exactly. But he wasn’t afraid of it as much anymore.

And that felt powerful, in its own quiet, ironic way.

Up next: Supply Run