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 Thirty-Eight: The Judgment of Vivian

Auntie Vivian takes Ethan out of his comfort zone.
 

Ethan had barely dropped his schoolbag by the front door when his mother intercepted him with an expression that made his stomach twist.

“Don’t change,” Colleen said quickly, brushing his collar with a little too much enthusiasm. “Vivian is on her way.”

He blinked. “Auntie Vivian?”

“She wants to take you shopping,” she said with the air of someone delivering good news that might also be a trap. “For a birthday gift.”

“It’s not my birthday anymore.” Ethan narrowed his eyes. “She didn’t even come to my party.”

“Yes, well, she was busy. Judges have tight schedules.”

His stomach twisted harder. He tugged on his white polo. “Do I have to go?”

Colleen gave him a meaningful look. “She’s trying, honey. I know she’s… a lot. But she is your aunt… and my sister. And I want us all to get along. Just be polite. Be gracious. Do your best.”

Which meant, of course, don’t embarrass me, no matter what she says or does.

Ethan glanced down at himself—white polo, tan khakis, scuffed brown loafers. He hadn’t even gotten a snack yet.

A horn tapped outside.

“She’s early,” Colleen murmured.

The car that waited in the driveway was black and perfectly polished. Ethan had seen it only once before, but it suited her—a stern, gleaming German-made luxury vehicle, like something that came with leather gloves and a gavel. Vivian stepped out, high heels clicking crisply on the walk. She wore a fitted charcoal-gray pantsuit and black sunglasses, her dark red hair pulled into a sleek twist. Her lipstick was the color of dried blood.

She didn’t greet him with a hug or a smile, only a flat, assessing look over the rim of her glasses.

“Your hair is a mess,” she said, “but at least you’re clean.”

“Hi, Auntie Vivian,” Ethan managed.

“Come along.”

Colleen gave him a subtle push. “Remember what we talked about. Gracious.”

He nodded stiffly and followed Vivian into the car. The door shut with a solid clunk, sealing him into an interior that smelled like polished leather and the faintest trace of perfume.

They drove in silence for several blocks, Vivian adjusting the radio to something classical and refusing to look at him.

Ethan tried. “So… um… what are we shopping for?”

Vivian’s voice was cool. “Shoes.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Like… for me?”

Vivian didn’t answer immediately. Then, at a red light, she glanced at him with an arched brow. “Your mother’s idea and my idea of shoes are vastly different. Those hideous brown things you clomp around in, for instance, are not acceptable.”

“They’re school shoes.”

“Exactly.” She turned back to the road. “This is for after school. For appearances.”

Ethan swallowed. “But… I don’t… need any new—”

“Let’s not pretend this isn’t happening,” she said sharply. “We’ll get through it faster.”

He didn’t speak again until the car pulled up to a storefront tucked between a hair salon and a wedding boutique. The lettering on the glass was painted in flourishes of white and gold: Estelle’s Fancy Footwear for Belles.

Ethan’s stomach dropped.

Vivian was already out of the car. She opened his door for him as if he were a slow but tolerable valet.

“I’m not dressed—” he started.

She cut him off. “Colleen asked me to spend time with you. This is time. Shall we waste it?”

The bell over the door chimed as they entered. The shop was warm and quiet, the air thick with the scent of leather and rose potpourri. Rows of delicate heels and flats were arranged on glass shelves, sorted by style, color, heel height, and attitude. There wasn’t a single pair of boy’s shoes in sight.

Ethan froze just inside the doorway.

Vivian gave his shoulder a firm little push. “Manners.”

“R-right,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”

From behind a velvet curtain near the back emerged a woman in her forties, curvy and impeccably made-up, with her brunette locks piled atop her head and reading glasses on a gold chain. She lit up at the sight of Vivian.

“Well, if it isn’t Her Honor in all her deadly glory,” she cooed. “Darling, I didn’t think I’d see you in here until later in the season.”

“Estelle,” Vivian said with a rare hint of a smile. “This is my nephew.”

Estelle took a long look at Ethan. “Mmm-hmm.”

He shifted under her gaze. “Hi.”

“He has,” Vivian said dryly, “an unusual hobby.”

“Ohhhhhh… that’s right, he’s the one…” Estelle turned her head, all business now—but the glitter never left her eyes. “And are we shopping for work or play today, young lady?”

“I’m not—” Ethan began.

Vivian’s voice sliced through. “We’re not here to debate categories. We’re here to fit him properly. He can’t go around looking like a lost paperboy every time my sister trots him out for modeling her wares.”

“But, I’m really not a—” Ethan started again, but Estelle had already swept forward and taken his hand.

Her eyes lit up, mischievous and gleeful, as they gave him another up and down. “Don’t fret, sweetie. I’ve seen all types. You’re not the first boy who’s walked through those doors needing a little… polishing.”

Ethan burned red. “I didn’t walk through. I was brought.”

“Oooo, a reluctant participant.” Estelle gave him a wink. “That’s even better. Come sit. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Vivian took a seat in a high-backed chair that looked like it belonged in a gallery. She crossed her legs neatly and retrieved a pair of horn-rimmed glasses from her coat pocket, settling them on her nose like she was preparing to review evidence.

Estelle snapped her fingers. “Ivy! We’ve got a live one.”

From the back emerged a teenage girl—seventeen, maybe eighteen at the oldest—with bouncy curls, a floral blouse, and the confident smile of someone who enjoyed her job far too much. She carried a small clipboard and beamed when she saw Ethan.

“Oooo, a boy! How fun!”

She knelt in front of the plush fitting bench as Ethan reluctantly sat.

“I’m Ivy,” she said sweetly. “Let’s start with your size, okay? Shoes off, please.”

Ethan stared at her. “Seriously?”

Ivy blinked. “I mean… unless you want to try the new ones over them?”

Vivian spoke without looking up. “Don’t be difficult.”

Ethan swallowed and kicked off his loafers.

“Socks, too, darling,” Estelle cooed. “We don’t sell army boots here.”

The blushing boy nodded. As he bent over to pull off his socks the fragrance of Ivy’s perfume sent a chill down his spine. His nerves were further rattled when she rolled his pantlegs up to his shin.

“Wait, I… um…”

“Be still, please. This is so we can get a better idea of what our shoes look like on your feet,” she said with a wink and a grin. “I’m assuming you’ll be wearing something much… different… with anything you buy here.”

“Undoubtedly,” Vivian sniffed.

The teenaged girl then lifted one of his feet, frowning playfully. “Hmm. Narrow. Soft instep. We’ll need a pad for the left.” She then measured his feet using a large silver device marked Ladies Sizes. She gave Ethan a little tickle under the arch of his foot and shot him another wink. “Such pretty feet.”

Estelle leaned over the counter. “Focus, Ivy. You’ll scare the poor boy off.”

“Yes, Miss Estelle.” She cleared her throat. “Size seven and a half should do it,” she announced.

“I wear boys’ six,” Ethan muttered.

Estelle patted his shoulder. “That’s adorable, darling. But these are grown-up sizes.”

The shopkeeper nodded to Ivy. “Start with the black round-toe pumps, then the patent slingbacks.”

Vivian glanced up from her glasses. “Don’t be afraid to bring something with a strap. If he’s going to totter, I’d rather it be on purpose.”

Estelle laughed. “We’ll try to not let that happen.”

Ivy returned with an armful of boxes. Once again, she knelt down and then slipped a stocking-like liner over Ethan’s foot and eased it into the first shoe—black patent, three-inch heel, a sophisticated leather bow on the toe. His eyes went wide when he saw the price tag on the box.

“Try walking,” Ivy said, helping him up.

Before he could take two steps Vivian’s voice rang out like a verdict: “Too fancy.”

Ivy bit her lip, holding back a laugh.

The next pair was sharper—navy blue with a pointed toe and an even more pointed heel.

“Now these,” Estelle said, “say ‘She means business.’”

Ethan took a few awkward steps, his arms a little stiff at his sides. The shoe made a soft clicking sound on the tile. His balance wobbled.

Vivian raised her hand. “Too formal.”

Estelle offered up a coral sandal with ribbon straps and narrow kitten heels. Ivy laced it delicately over Ethan’s ankle and stood back.

“Okay, sugar. Go ahead.”

He walked the short length of the boutique, head down. He felt his ankles wobble but he didn’t fall.

Vivian waited. Then, with a faint smile: “That will do.”

Ethan exhaled and sat down heavily.

Vivian crossed her legs the other way. “Next.”

 

* * *
 

Ethan sat perfectly still on the fitting bench, trying to will his face back to a normal color. Ivy knelt beside him with an amused tilt to her head, organizing the next round of shoes as if she were setting out pastries.

“Let’s try something with a higher heel,” Estelle mused aloud. “She’s got potential.”

“I’m a he,” Ethan said under his breath.

Estelle gave a bright, airy shrug. “Not in here, sweetheart.”

Ivy covered her mouth in a failed attempt to stifle a giggle.

Vivian folded her hands. “He can be whatever he wants. But he will learn to walk properly in heels. Call it a family expectation.”

Ivy smiled. “You’ve got really graceful ankles. You’d be surprised how much that matters.”

“She can be very graceful when she puts her mind to it,” Vivian said smoothly. “She takes from our side of the family.”

Ethan didn’t know what to say to that. He let Ivy slip on the next pair—a pair of glossy white T-straps with heart-shaped cutouts and a three-inch heel. They felt lighter somehow, and snug around the arch.

He stood awkwardly. Ivy gave him an encouraging nod. “Go ahead. Chin up.”

He walked again—slower this time, trying his best not to trip. The shoes clacked gently on the floor with each step. He almost felt proud as he turned and walked back to his seat.

A pause.

Vivian lifted her chin. “Too mature. She looks like she’s a department store mannequin.”

Estelle chuckled. “Harsh, darling. You’re in rare form today.”

“It’s a fitting,” Vivian replied. “Not a dress rehearsal.”

Ethan turned, flustered. “Can I at least try something normal?”

Estelle came closer and brushed something from his shoulder with a fingertip. “This is normal, darling. For girls.”

He sighed, defeated. “I’m not—”

Vivian cut him off. “We’re all aware of what you’re not. You’re here because you’ve already crossed the threshold.”

She gave him a stern stare. Her raised eyebrow reminded him of his mother.

“You want to assert that you’re a boy, correct?”

Ethan nodded. He felt his jaw tighten as his aunt stared at him.

“And yet you’ve modeled pretty frocks for your mother. You regularly serve tea in dresses. You wear little housewife panties while doing your little housewife chores in your little housewife dresses. Am I lying? Should I go on with more facts about what kind of boy you are?”

Mortified, Ethan shook his head. He forced himself to not look at either the shopkeeper or her assistant.

Vivian almost smiled. “I thought not. My sister asked that I do something for you, so I’ve taken on this task. We will find you the appropriate shoes for your current standing in life. If you don’t like me doing this, maybe you prefer your mother do it instead? Perhaps with your cousin Dani watching?”

Ethan’s mouth opened, then closed. He sat back down.

Ivy beamed. She leaned in close as she removed the high heels from his feet. “It sounds like you live a very interesting life,” she whispered excitedly.

Next came a pair of dark red patent Mary Janes with a rounded toe and gold buckle. They were girlish—but their higher than usual heels made them somehow serious, too. Ivy buckled them snugly and sat back to admire her handiwork.

“These are adorable.”

“They’re too shiny,” Ethan muttered, examining his feet with dismay.

“Shiny gets attention,” Estelle said. “Don’t be afraid of that.”

Vivian leaned forward. “Walk.”

He did. With each step, the hard heels made a prim little click-click-click, like punctuation marks in a sentence he didn’t get to write.

“Too childish,” Vivian pronounced. “She looks like she belongs in a fifth grade pageant.”

“She’s trying her best,” Estelle said, pretending to be wounded. “That deserves a cookie.”

Vivian raised a brow. “Do you have cookies?”

“As a matter of fact, we do. Macarons, fresh from Adelia's.” She looked at Ethan and whispered loudly, “We keep them for our special guests,” with a playful wink.

“They’re to die for,” added Ivy, giggling. “I can’t even!”

Ethan sighed and turned around mid-walk. “How many more do I have to try?”

Vivian looked at her watch. “Until I’m satisfied.”

He sat heavily. “I’m already not satisfied.”

Estelle clapped her hands. “That’s the spirit! The truly stylish are never satisfied. Ivy, bring the lilac pair.”

“What lilac pair?” Ethan asked nervously.

“The one with the cut-out side and pearl buckle,” Ivy said sweetly. “Very elegant. Makes your feet look long and dainty.”

“They’re already long.”

“Then dainty it is!”

Ivy slipped the shoes on slowly, her fingers brushing the arch of his foot. Ethan forced himself not to react. He stared forward, jaw tight. The heels of these were taller than all of the others.

Vivian gave a small nod. “Better. Rise.”

He stood.

“Walk.”

He walked.

Silence.

Vivian tapped one finger against the arm of her chair, then spoke like a judge handing down a verdict.

“That will do.”

Estelle grinned. “Shall I ring them up?”

Vivian stood. “Yes. Those, plus the black high heels, the navy high heels, the pink ones, the red Mary Janes, and the heels with the bow you mentioned earlier.”

“What heels with the—”

“They’re in the back,” Estelle said. “Peach. I was saving them for someone with good arches.”

“That,” Vivian said, “would be my nephew.”

Estelle turned to Ethan. “Do you want to carry the bags, sugar, or would you like Ivy to do it for you?”

Ethan sighed. “I’ll carry them.”

“Such a gentleman.”

As Ivy boxed the shoes, Estelle returned with a small bottle of heel polish and a pair of silky little socklets.

“Complimentary,” she said with a wink. “Every girl deserves a little something extra.”

Ethan didn’t reply.

Vivian turned to him once the bags were handed over. “Chin up. You did adequately.”

“Thanks,” he muttered.

She added, coolly, “Next time, we’ll even higher heels. I want to see how you handle a real lady's shoe.”

He turned crimson.

Estelle gave him a gentle pat on the back. “Come visit again, sweetheart. And if you need hosiery, tell your mother we got a shipment of lace-tops in fun colors.”

“Goodbye, Ethan.” Ivy waved enthusiastically. “Come back and see us real soon,” she said, tittering.

He nodded without looking up and followed Vivian out the door, the bell chiming softly as it closed behind them.

 

* * *
 

The car was silent for three full blocks.

Ethan sat rigid in the passenger seat, a neat stack of pink and silver boutique bags between his knees. The lilac heels with the pearl buckle still hugged his feet—Vivian had declined his request to put his brown loafers back on, with a cool, “Not on my watch.” He hadn’t dared argue.

Outside, the late afternoon sun stretched shadows long across the pavement. Inside, the air was still and heavy with unsaid things.

Finally, Vivian spoke.

“You didn’t cry.”

Ethan blinked. “What?”

She adjusted the mirror with a single finger. “You didn’t cry. You didn’t run out of the store. You didn’t insult Estelle. You didn’t fidget or knock that poor girl down. That counts for something.”

Ethan shifted uncomfortably. “It wasn’t… fun.”

“Neither is a root canal, but people still survive it.”

He risked a glance at her. “Why did you do it? Really?”

Vivian’s lips twitched, just slightly. “Because Colleen asked me to give you another chance. And because I don’t trust anything that comes tied up in satin bows and childhood tears.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Good,” she said briskly. “It means you’re still honest.”

The car turned onto a quieter street. Vivian reached into her bag and pulled out a slim case of mints. She took one and offered it silently. Ethan shook his head.

She clicked the case shut.

“You put on a good show as Emily. I’ll give you that much. You even fooled me when you played that Satie piece for me on the piano. Very clever.”

Ethan frowned. “I wasn’t trying to fool… anybody…”

“But you are still your father’s child,” Vivian said after a moment. “So, burnt too many times, infinitely shy. I wanted to see—” she huffed— “I had to see whether you were sincere. Or doing this for attention. Or rebellion. Or if you were simply… loyal.”

“I’m doing it for Mom,” he said, eyes forward.

“I know.”

“And maybe… me.”

“I now know that.”

The car slowed at a stop sign. Vivian looked at him then—not scolding, not smug, just looking.

“Your mother told you to behave,” she said. “And you did. Despite every provocation. That tells me more about your character than anything you’ve ever worn.”

Ethan flushed and looked out the window.

Vivian continued, her voice lower now. “When I was your age, I didn’t do a thing my mother told me. Not out of principle. Out of spite.”

He turned toward her, surprised.

“She hated it, of course. Sometimes I think she hated me. But she couldn’t stop me. Then she died. And I had to take over raising your mother and Deirdre. They've resented me ever since.”

“Deirdre?” Ethan looked at his aunt, perplexed. A second later: “Oh—Aunt DeeDee.” He snorted. “You know, DeeDee said—”

Vivian cut him off. “And so I’ve spent the rest of my life making order out of that chaos. One ruling at a time.” She smiled thinly. “It’s exhausting, but effective.”

The silence returned, thicker now.

She cleared her throat. “You walk better than I expected. Your balance needs improvement, but you hold your head up.”

“You made me,” Ethan muttered.

She didn’t argue. “Still. You walked.”

Another beat.

“Estelle likes you,” she added. “She says you’re cute in a ‘bent daisy’ sort of way.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means your knees were shaking but your spine stayed straight.”

Ethan wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or proud.

Vivian pulled into Colleen’s driveway and shifted into park.

She didn’t open her door. Instead, she sat with her hands folded on the steering wheel.

“When you go inside,” she said slowly, “your mother will ask you if you said thank you.”

Ethan looked down at the bags in his lap.

Vivian added, almost gently, “It would be wise if you did.”

“I already did, didn’t I? In the store?”

She turned to him. “Then say it again.”

He stared at the bags, then at her.

“…Thank you, Auntie Vivian.”

Her eyes searched his for a moment. Then she gave the slightest nod.

“There are macarons in the little box. A gift from Estelle. Don't eat them all, share them with your mother. We don't want Emily getting fat.”

“I'm not fat—” Ethan pouted. “Thank you, Auntie Vivian.”

“You’re welcome.”

He stepped out of the car, carefully… adequately… in his new high heels, his face warm, his arms full of pastel paper handles.

As he clip-clopped onto the porch and she drove away, he had the strange feeling that somehow, without him knowing it, he’d passed something more than a test.

He’d been judged. And, against all odds…

He had not been dismissed.

 

* * *
 

The front door clicked shut behind him, and Ethan stood still for a moment, unsure if he should go straight upstairs or drop the bags and hide in the pantry.

He didn’t have time to decide.

“Ethan?” Colleen’s voice drifted from the kitchen, light but pointed. “Is that you?”

He grimaced. “Yeah.”

She appeared in the doorway, wearing her favorite house apron—pale blue gingham with tiny embroidered flowers. She dried her hands on it as she walked, eyes darting straight to the boutique bags in his grip.

“Oh my.” Her tone was too casual to be innocent. “That’s… a lot of pink tissue paper.”

Ethan sighed and trudged forward, the bags rustling like some cruel parade float.

Colleen stepped closer. “She actually took you shopping?”

“Yup.”

“And bought you things?” Her eyes widened when she saw Estelle's logo. “Shoes?”

“Five pairs,” he mumbled. “Maybe six. I lost count.”

“Estelle's is very chic. That must have been… a lot of money.”

Ethan nodded. “More than I ever saw in my life.”

Colleen blinked. “Did she… make you try them on?”

He nodded slowly. “One after another. In front of her. And the owner. And her assistant.” He looked down and sighed. “She insisted I wear these home.”

Colleen looked down to see the high heels on his feet.

“My goodness.” She put her hand to her mouth, smiling. “Lavender?”

Ethan seethed. “They’re lilac. Four inches. And they are not comfortable. At. All.”

Colleen repressed the urge to laugh. “Well, they are adorable, you must admit. They don't exactly go with your school clothes, I suppose. But you seem to be managing them quite well.”

“It wasn't fun, or funny, Mother. I was so embarrassed!”

“Oh, sweetheart…” She touched his cheek briefly, her expression a kaleidoscope of sympathy, amusement, and motherly pride. “I'm sure you were. But you did it anyway, didn’t you?”

“I guess.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did you put up a fuss?”

“No, Mother. I did not.”

“Did you cry?”

“No.” His eyes dropped. “I almost did, though.”

“Then I’m proud of you.”

He didn’t know why that stung more than if she’d laughed.

Colleen guided him toward the kitchen with a hand on his back. “Sit. Tell me everything. Every humiliating detail.”

He slumped into a chair. “Do I have to?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

He exhaled, and over the next several minutes made a full confession. “She made me walk in each pair. Judge-style. Like… she literally said things like ‘Too childish’ and ‘That will do.’”

Colleen covered her mouth. “She didn’t.”

“She did.” He looked up. “Is that her thing? Judging?”

Colleen hesitated.

“…Mom?”

She busied herself pouring two glasses of lemonade. “Vivian… is a judge. Officially. Family court. She’s running for district court in the next election.”

Ethan froze. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“I hear people calling her something like that, but never paid attention.” He slumped. “So she was judging me.”

“She was always judging you, honey. This time, you gave her no ammunition. That’s a win.”

“She bought me Mary Janes, Mother! High heeled Mary Janes!”

Colleen grinned. “Black patent or red?”

“Red. With a gold buckle.”

She actually clapped her hands. “Ohhh, that’s so Vivian. She loves a statement shoe.”

Ethan groaned.

Colleen pushed his lemonade closer. “Look. I didn’t know what she had planned. Honestly, I thought she’d take you for socks and call it a day. But Estelle's? I did not see that coming.”

“I think she was testing me.”

“She absolutely was.” Colleen took a sip. “And you passed. Want to know how I know?”

He looked up.

“She hasn't called me.”

Ethan frowned. “That’s a good thing?”

“Oh, yes. Vivian only calls when she’s disappointed. Or enraged. Or compiling evidence.”

He half-smiled despite himself.

Colleen leaned forward. “You showed her grace. That’s rare. Especially for a thirteen-year-old boy in patent leather heels.”

He covered his face. “Uggghhhh.”

“I mean it.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. “You’re doing hard things with courage and poise. That’s rare.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna ask me to model them, are you?”

She blinked. “No! Of course not!”

Then added, after a pause, “…Not tonight, anyway.”

“Mom.”

“I’m joking. Mostly.” She stood, ruffling his hair. “Go take them upstairs. You should unpack them properly. Put them in Emily’s room.”

Ethan gave her a look.

Colleen’s smile softened. “Or just hide them under the bed. But be careful with the ones with the buckles. They scratch.”

He pulled out the small box of cookies, neatly secured with a pink ribbon. He smiled at the thought of Ivy tying the bow.

“A present from Miss Estelle. Macarons from Amelia's.”

“Oooo, these are the best. I'll put them away until after dinner. We don't want Emily getting, you know… chubby.”

“Auntie Vivian said the same thing.” Ethan pursed his lips. “She called me loyal.”

Colleen tilted her head. “Vivian did?”

He nodded. Colleen’s smile faded into something quieter—deep, almost wistful.

“Well… then I suppose she was right.”

Ethan gathered up his things. He snorted, then said: “Aunt DeeDee—Deirdre? Really?”

Colleen, giggled, then bit her lip. “I wouldn’t ask her about that if I were you.”

He nodded. “Message received.”

As Ethan turned toward the stairs, the bags swinging gently at his side, she called after him.

“Ethan?”

He paused.

“I’m proud of you.”

He didn’t turn around, but he nodded.

In Emily's room, he slipped out of his new shoes and then unpacked the rest, slowly pulling them out of their boxes and setting them side by side like rare artifacts, unsure if they were a gift, a sentence, or a badge of honor.

He didn’t cry.

But for the first time that day, he smiled.

Just a little.

 

* * *
 

Estelle’s – Two Weeks Later…

The bell above the door chimed with a delicate clink as Vivian stepped inside, her heels tapping out a familiar rhythm on the polished tile floor.

Estelle, arranging a display of sandals, looked up—and smiled broadly at the sight of her favorite customer.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Her Honor,” she called. “Twice in one month? I should alert the press.”

Vivian allowed a faint smile. “You know I detest publicity.”

“Which is exactly why you’re so fascinating.” Estelle rounded the counter, brushing imaginary dust from her pencil skirt. “To what do I owe the pleasure—”

She stopped.

Behind Vivian, framed by the light of the doorway, stood a slim blonde girl in a soft yellow sundress, the fabric patterned in a cheerful daisy motif. She wore a pair of glossy white T-strap heels—with oddly familiar heart-shaped cutouts—strapped snugly on slender feet. Her nails were painted pearlescent pink, her wrist adorned with a quaint silver charm bracelet. A white headband sat perfectly atop her neatly brushed hair, a small satin bow resting just above one ear.

The girl’s hands were folded in front of her, eyes downcast but alert, a picture of polished shyness.

Estelle tilted her head. “And who do we have here?”

Vivian gave it only a beat before she dropped her little trap.

“You remember my nephew,” she said casually. “Ethan?”

Estelle blinked. “Your—”

Her voice caught. Her mouth opened, then closed again.

She looked the “girl” up and down, slowly, as if reading a foreign poem.

“Oh my goodness!” she said at last. “Vivian. I thought we were just having a little fun at the poor boy’s expense. But this… this is just too much.”

Vivian’s smile widened by exactly three percent.

Estelle stepped forward, squinting. “Is this—really?—”

“This is Emily.” Vivian cleared her throat. “Must I remind you to do everything, young lady?”

Ethan sighed, then straightened his back. His voice was breathy and lilting—and pitch perfect—as he plucked the hem of his skirt and performed a textbook curtsy.

“Good afternoon, Miss Estelle. It’s lovely to see you again.”

Estelle let out a delighted gasp. “It is! Oh, I’m floored.” She turned back to Vivian. “You witch. You knew this would knock me sideways.”

Vivian allowed herself the tiniest shrug. “I thought you might appreciate the progress.”

“Appreciate? Vivian, I’m thrilled. And furious.” She turned back to Ethan. “Look at you! Emily, is it? My God, this is amazing! The hair, the posture—are you wearing a bra??”

Ethan nodded, mortified.

Estelle grinned like she’d won a contest. “So does that mean… panties, too?”

Emily couldn’t speak.

Vivian, ever helpful: “Lace-trimmed, of course. Under a spandex girdle. Everything proper and... tucked away for safekeeping.”

Estelle covered her mouth in glee. “Vivian, you’re diabolical.”

“I try.”

“Ivy!” Estelle called, her voice rising with theatrical urgency. “You remember the judge? This is her niece—”

From the back appeared Ivy, all bright eyes and bouncing curls. She wore a peach cardigan and high-waisted skirt, clipboard in hand.

She looked toward the new girl and paused.

“…Ethan?” she gasped, then squealed. “You look amazing!”

Ethan was now the color of cherry sorbet.

Ivy rushed forward and gave the mortified boy a light hug and two air kisses—left, right—leaving him rigid as a coat rack.

“I can’t believe this. For a second I didn’t recognize you,” Ivy said, stepping back. “But then I saw the shoes and thought—no way. We only carry one pair with those heart cutouts, and you were the last to try them on.”

Ethan attempted a smile. “Um… thank you?”

“And you’ve got the same little pout,” Ivy added. She raised an eyebrow. “We don’t get many boys in the shop. You’re kind of hard to forget.”

Vivian cleared her throat. “Emily?”

Ethan straightened.

“Show Estelle and your new friend how we walk in heels.”

He hesitated.

Vivian’s voice left no room.

“Now, please.”

“Yes, Auntie Vivian,” he said, dipping slightly in an abbreviated curtsy. “Thank you, Auntie Vivian.”

Ivy squealed. Estelle grinned. Vivian had the expression of granite.

“Stop wasting my time, silly girl!”

Ethan swallowed, then stepped carefully forward, posture tall, back straight, elbows in, forearms up, his wrists drooping girlishly. He then walked a measured circle around the showroom. His hips swayed slightly—an unintended rhythm picked up from practice and an uncomfortably tight foundation garment. His heels clicked gently with each step.

Estelle and Ivy clapped politely as he returned.

“Good job, Etha— I mean, Emily!” Ivy enthused. “You’ve really mastered those shoes!”

“I see a little wiggle in her step,” Estelle gushed. “This is really something special.”

Vivian nodded, folding her hands. “She looks so much better in yellow than I ever did, I’ll give her that.”

Estelle leaned toward Ethan and lowered her voice dramatically. “She is absolutely gorgeous, darling. How can you hide this beauty?” She examined his padded bosom with great interest and then looked up, shooting him a playful wink. “Really, Vivian, such a creature deserves to be seen.”

Ethan’s blush deepened.

“We’re shopping for handbags today,” Vivian said, “but really… I just thought it was time to show her off.”

Estelle beamed. “I’m honored.” She then stood upright and nodded toward her assistant. “Handbags, right? Ivy, you heard the judge. Show our lovely miss what we have to offer!”

Ivy took Ethan by the hand. “Come with me, sweetheart. Our purses are this way.”

As the two teenagers moved toward the accessories aisle, Estelle turned to Vivian, still beaming.

“This is beyond what I expected. Far beyond.”

Vivian’s voice softened just a hair. “It was a surprise to me, too. But here we are.”

“Her… his… mother?” Estelle raised an eyebrow. “Is all this her doing?”

“Mostly. It started out as a lark, I think, then spiraled out of control. Colleen encouraged him, and he took to it in the most unexpected way.”

“This woman sounds remarkable. I must meet her!”

Vivian handed her a business card. “Her shop is doing quite well, with some help from our young lady, here. I think the two of you will get along famously.”

They watched as Ivy presented several handbags to Emily and coached the bashful teen on how to hold them.

Estelle sighed. “Her figure is slight, but nonetheless quite charming.” Her tone turned curious. “Are you proud?”

Vivian let a long pause stretch between them. “Pride,” she said slowly, “isn’t something I often admit to. But… I will say this: she is better behaved than he ever was. Better than most real girls, for sure. But he has a certain charm, too, I suppose. Colleen says I give him too much grief. I can’t disagree.”

“What? You giving someone grief? Don’t be silly, darling!” Estelle laughed. She watched the cross-dressed boy with unbridled admiration. “So, do you think this is… permanent? A phase?”

Vivian’s answer was crisp. “Only time will tell where this leads us. But I will say—if she were mine, things would be vastly different.”

“I’d believe that. You’ve always preferred order to chaos.”

Vivian arched a brow. “And lace to corduroy.”

 

* * *
 

Ethan followed Ivy down the central aisle, flanked by shelves of structured satchels, quilted crossbodies, and delicate clutch purses, all in a variety of pastel fabrics, exotic suedes and gleaming patent leathers. Ivy moved like a hostess at a tea party, eager to show off her best china.

“We just got these in,” she said, lifting a buttercream handbag with a scalloped flap and gold clasp. “You’d look so sweet with this one, I can’t even!”

Ethan forced a smile. “It’s nice.”

“You’re nice,” Ivy whispered. She playfully ran her fingers up and down his arm “Nice and nervous. Not at all like most boys. That’s what makes this work.”

Ethan looked down, fidgeting with the hem of his dress.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Ivy bit her lip to see the horrified boy’s expression. “You like girls, then? Me, too. But I really like you.”

Ethan didn’t know what to say. None of what he was hearing made any sense, but for some reason it thrilled him!

“Where did you get this dress, by the way?” Ivy asked, suddenly changing the subject. She smiled as she ran her fingers over the bodice, lightly caressing one of the seams. “Is it handmade? Honestly, it looks bespoke.”

Ethan hesitated. “I, um…”

“Go on,” came Vivian’s voice from just a few feet away, as if she’d been waiting for her cue to enter the scene. “Tell her.”

Ethan flushed. “I… helped design it. And I did most of the sewing myself.”

Ivy blinked. “Wait, you made this?”

“Well… mostly. Mom helped with the zipper.”

Ivy stepped back and looked at him with fresh admiration. “Okay. That’s incredible.”

Ethan’s voice was barely audible. “Thanks.”

Estelle let out a low whistle. “Oh, she’s not just a looker, she’s a maker. Darling, I may have to steal you for our fall line.”

Vivian, arms folded, allowed herself a dry chuckle. “Watch this.”

Estelle raised a brow. “Pardon?”

Vivian turned toward Ethan and announced, lightly: “Emily, Estelle thinks you should help out on Saturdays.”

The cross-dressed boy turned white. “Wait, what?”

Estelle laughed. “She’s teasing, dear.”

“I am not,” Vivian said. “I think working here would be good for her. She’d learn poise, posture, inventory management…”

“She’d faint,” Ethan muttered.

Ivy squeezed his fingers, her voice singing with delight. “Honestly? You’d be amazing on the floor. You’ve got the legs for it.”

Vivian continued, unmoved: “Then again, Emily's Saturdays are so full—between doing laundry all of that boring vacuuming and dusting and helping her mother sew all those dresses...”

Estelle stifled a giggle. Ivy gave Ethan a sympathetic smile. “Oh my… you are a busy little homemaker, aren’t you?”

Ethan looked like he wanted to sink into the carpet.

Once again, Ivy changed the subject, this time with merciful swiftness. “Okay then, let’s try a few poses.”

“Poses?”

“For the handbags! You’re already in a perfect outfit. We need to see what matches.” She handed Ethan a small pearl-white clutch with a gold chain. “Hold this like you’re going to the ballet.”

Ethan obeyed, holding the purse delicately in both hands.

“Chin up,” Ivy said. “Elbows in. Bend those wrists, girlfriend. Yes! Oh my gosh, you’re a natural.”

“Hardly,” Ethan muttered.

Vivian sniffed. “Don’t let her fool you. She does all of the modeling for her mother's dressmaking business. You should see their online catalog. She even models for Eleanor on occasion.”

“Eleanor?” Ivy’s eyes went wide with amazement. “That explains a lot.”

She handed the cross-dressed boy another purse—a pink satin number with rhinestone edging. “Now pretend you’re going to lunch with a friend you hate.”

Ethan blinked. “What?”

“Trust me. That’s the vibe.”

He tried it—crossing his arms, dangling the purse from a single finger, looking vaguely aloof.

Estelle clapped. “That’s it! The look of a girl who’s too good for chicken salad.”

Vivian sat back, utterly composed, watching it all like a stage manager at final dress rehearsal.

“Try the clutch with the wrist strap,” she called. “The one in sky blue.”

“The Judge says so.” Ivy handed it over. “Pretend you just heard your friends gossiping about you.”

Ethan took the bag, tried the pose, mimicking something he'd seen on the cover of one of Colleen’s fashion magazines.

Ivy put her hand over her heart. “I can't even! You're so sassy, and you don't even know it.”

Vivian gave a long nod.

Estelle leaned over and whispered, “Well?”

Vivian’s reply was almost affectionate.

“She’s making quite the case.”

 

* * *
 

They left thirty minutes later with the pearl-white clutch, as well as the sky blue one, along with the buttercream handbag with the gold clasp, a patterned scarf—a gift from Estelle—and a parting request for Emily to “visit again soon.”

In the car, Ethan—back in his seat, the spell slowly fading—held the shopping bag with his purchases in his lap.

Vivian glanced at him once at a red light.

“You handled yourself well.”

He didn’t answer.

She added, almost as an afterthought: “Estelle is right. You do have a little wiggle in your step.”

He groaned softly, and she allowed herself the smallest of smiles.

 

* * *
 

After a lengthy, and exhausting debriefing by his mother, Ethan went up to his—rather, Emily’s—room and flopped back on the bed, dress askew, one high heel off, the other dangling from his toe, not at all caring about appearances. He knew he should at least take off his wig and hang up his dress, but he would deal with them later. Instead, he simply stared at the ceiling and replayed the events of the day… of the past two weeks, in fact, savoring the range of emotions that he’d experienced and letting them soak into him like a warm bath.

After a few minutes he reached into the top of his dress and pulled out the card Ivy had slipped into his bra. On one side was a reminder of his ordeal—Estelle’s Fancy Footwear for Belles—and on the other a phone number. He smiled as he recalled Ivy whispering to him just before he and his Auntie Vivian left the store:

“If you ever want to go shopping, get your nails done, or just want to chat, I’m your girl!” She’d given him a quick kiss on the lips and grinned. “I think we could have a really great time together.”

Ethan examined the number carefully, meticulously, committing it to memory. He didn’t know if she was serious, or just having fun at his expense. Either way, he would have to find out.

 

Next: Puppy Love and Sherbet