Although Henry Harrelson may always perfectly match the customer to the boot, the delivery can still go amiss. However, due to his long experience in the business, he knows that such problems have their own ways of working out.

Brian looked up when he heard the doorbell.

“I’ll get it, Mom,” he announced. It was the postman. Postwoman, or letter carrier, to use the official gender-neutral term. But letter carrier wasn’t always correct either, since she held a package—a parcel, to be correct—instead of a letter.

“Good morning, Brian,” she greeted him, holding a pen in one hand as she balanced a somewhat large parcel on the other. “I’ve got a package with a return receipt for you. I need your signature here.”

He smiled as he noted the return address of Harrelson’s Custom-Fit Boots in the upper left corner of the mailing label. Brian really liked the letter carrier, a young, lithe, and athletic blonde in her early to middle twenties. Although she was a good decade older than Brian, he could still dream.

“Thanks, Brenda,” he said as he signed his name. “Mom ordered a pair of hiking boots from Harrelson’s for me.”

“My brother got me mine at Harrelson’s,” she said. “I couldn’t understand why I needed these, but the next day my girlfriend suggested we apply to the Post Office and we both got hired. And her sister had gotten her the same style from Harrelson’s a week before. How about that!”

“That’s a neat story.”

“They say he always matches the customer to the boot,” she testified, grinning at the boy. Brenda knew that the boy had a crush on her, but he’d soon be attracted more to girls his own age. She only hoped that any girl he hooked up with would be as sweet to him as he was to her. “Well, I have other deliveries to make. You have a good day, now.”

“You too, Brenda!” Brian offered with a smile, returning a finger wave just as she had done. She returned to her Jeep and drove off.

Brian shut the door and turned around to see his mother standing there.

“Are they the hiking boots?” she wondered aloud.

“Let’s see,” he answered her. “By the way, Mom, thanks again for getting these for me. All the guys have hiking boots. At least now I won’t look like such a wimp.”

“Son, you’re not a wimp,” she assured him. “When it comes down to doing what’s really important, you’ve never wimped out on anything.”

“I know, Mom. But they don’t see it that way,” Brian explained as he took out his Swiss army knife to open the shipping carton. “That’s why going on this camping trip with them is so important to me. I’m perfectly capable of doing anything that needs doing.”

“Brian, I think everyone knows that but you. Do you always feel like you need to prove it?”

He cut the packing tape to open the carton. He took out an especially large shoebox. “That’s a larger box than I’d expect for a pair of hiking boots,” he observed, lifting its lid. “I wonder—what?”

Both Brian and his mother were astonished as he took out an elegant ladies’ dress boot in a soft, supple black leather. It had what appeared to be a three-inch stiletto heel and a wide cuff smartly folded down at the top. Its zipper was hidden, but easily accessed, nicely recessed under an inner seam.

“Oh my!” his mother exclaimed as she took the other boot from the box. “These are beautiful, but obviously not hiking boots. Hmm? And they’re a smaller size than yours, too.”

“No, Mom. They’re not hiking boots. There must be a mistake. Would you call Harrelson’s and ask what we should do?”

“Of course! I’ll call them now,” affirmed his mother as she picked up the phone. Brian handed her a business card from the package and she keyed in the number for Harrelson’s.

“Hello?… Harrelson’s Custom-Fit Boots?… Yes, I’m Maureen MacKenzie, a customer… Online at your webpage…”

Brian just sat back for a moment as he puzzled over the strange boots. How do you get anything custom-fit by shopping online?

“… You don’t make mistakes?” he heard his mother continue. “There’s certainly a mistake somewhere!… I don’t think so… Well, Miss, you’re right about that… No, it couldn’t hurt, I guess…”

Mrs. MacKenzie rolled her eyes and then addressed her son, “Brian, I know this sounds silly, but she says you should try them on.”

“What?”

“Try them on!”

“But they’re girls’ boots!”

“I know, Brian. But please, don’t argue about it now. Just do it and you’ll have proven our point.”

He kicked off his sneakers and rolled up the cuffs of his faded blue jeans. Then tried to insert his foot into the right boot.

“Son, unzip it first.”

“Sorry, Mom, but I’ve never worn girls’ boots before,” he apologized with more than just a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He undid the zipper on the boot and tried again.

“No, Mom. It doesn’t fit. It’s too small and too tight for me. If I try it all the way I might damage the boot.”

“That’s far enough, then… Well, he tried them…” she said into the telephone. “No… Well, the right boot doesn’t fit so the left one doesn’t matter… Because they’re a pair!… Miss, could I please speak with someone else?… Anyone who can help with this… Anyone in charge…”

Brian put his sneakers back on and began to repackage the boots as his mom waited for another person to talk with. As he did so, he noticed the name and street address on the invoice read:

Mrs. Brian MacHenry
1629 4th Street NE.

However, the shipping label affixed to the parcel bore his own name and address:

Mr. Brian MacKenzie
1624 9th Street NW.

Brian relaxed a little and smiled as he thought that he understood the nature of the error. He was surprised, since Brenda usually caught that sort of thing. But wait! No, that wasn’t her mistake at all. She delivered the parcel to the correct address. The shipping label did not match the invoice. So, the mistake had to have occurred at Harrelson’s, before the package was even sent. He just smiled, once again secure in his opinion that Brenda was both smart and cute.

Brenda was cool!

“… Who are you?… Oh, Mister Harrelson!… Now we’re getting somewhere… They’re for my son… Yes, he tried them on and they didn’t fit… Too small… Of course not, they’re ladies’ boots!… Anyway, he needed hiking boots for a camping trip… Well, that’s what I thought I had ordered for him…”

“Mom—,” Brian tried to interrupt.

“… What do you mean—Not now, Brian, I’m talking with Mister Harrelson—”

“But Mom—,” he tried again.

“Brian, don’t interrupt!…”

“Mom!” he raised his voice sternly. “I know what’s wrong. The addresses on the shipping label and the invoice don’t match. The boots are not mine.”

“… Sorry, Mister Harrelson… Check the custom label… Where is it?… Brian, he says that there’s a label stitched with the customer’s name inside the left boot, opposite the zipper. See what it says.”

Brian looked inside the left boot and found the label. It read:

Custom fit of
♀ Size 7½B / 38 / 5 UK
by Henry Harrelson for
Morgan MacHenry.

He noted how elegantly the name had been stitched onto it. Brian couldn’t tell if it were embroidered by hand or by machine.

“Mom, it says they’re for Morgan MacHenry.”

“What did you find on the invoice?”

“These were sold to Mis’ess Brian MacHenry at Sixteen Twenty-Nine Fourth Street North-East—”

“… Instead of Mister Brian MacKenzie at Sixteen Twenty-Four Ninth Street North-West… Mister Harrelson, I seem to owe you and your staff an apology. We received the wrong boots in our delivery… Yes, and my son tried to tell me but I didn’t listen… Why, of course!…”

His mother seemed to pause for a moment, and he had a question. “So, Mom, what do we do next?”

“Wait just a moment and we’ll know. I’m on hold, but I’m sure that Mister Harrelson will take care of it… Yes… You don’t say!… Now isn’t that interesting. It would be faster if we came, then… No, not at all… No, I’ve never been in your shop, but I do have other business nearby to take care of, anyway… I’d love to!… Thank you, Mister Harrelson. We’ll see you in half an hour, then… Goodbye!…”

Mrs. MacKenzie ended the call. “Brian, I’m so sorry I didn’t listen to you. That was wrong of me. Please forgive me for doing that.”

“That’s okay, Mom,” he answered. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you, either.”

“Well, that’s forgiven, too,” his mother conceded, “especially since you were trying to save me both effort and embarrassment, if I had listened. Anyway, it appears an error was made in shipping, and Mis’ess MacHenry got yours by mistake. She ordered these for her daughter. They’re taking your boots back to the store and will wait until we get there with theirs. I can let you return these and get yours while I take care of some other business downtown.”

“That sounds okay to me,” agreed Brian. “But Mom, please don’t ask me to try on ladies’ boots again, or anything else that’s girly. I mean, it’s not really too good for my self-concept.”

Maureen MacKenzie just smiled and hugged her son.

☆ ☆ ☆

The sounds of Concerto No. 2, “Summer,” of The Four Seasons by Antonio Vivaldi rang through the premises of Harrelson’s Custom-Fit Boots.

Cynthia looked up from the desk at her boss. “Your reputation for finding the perfect fit remains intact. After all, you can’t be held responsible for the misdirected mail. That was my fault.”

“Cindy, it’s okay,” Henry Harrelson tried to reassure his apologetic young clerk. “A good manager doesn’t fire a worker every time she makes a mistake. That’s as unproductive as it is cruel. Besides, you’ve only been here six weeks. Your probationary term is three months.”

Cynthia was very embarrassed because she had accidentally switched the shipping labels for two orders. Now the customers were coming in to exchange them for the correct pairs.

“I’m sorry, Mister Harrelson,” she apologized yet again. “I just didn’t mean to be so—stupid!”

“Please give yourself some slack,” her boss told her. “At least as much as I give you.”

She just seemed to stare at him.

Henry sighed. “Would you feel better if I dock your pay?”

“No.”

“Would you feel better, then, if you dock your pay?”

The girl cocked her head to one side, puzzling at his remark.

“Here’s the deal,” Mr. Harrelson began. “When you go to lunch today, clock out and take as long as you feel necessary to punish yourself. Then return and clock in when you’re satsified that you’ve been adequately penalized. Just be sure to come back and clock in again before closing time.”

“Okay,” she replied sheepishly. “But won’t you be stressed out without any help here?”

“No, I’ll be okay,” he said. “And when the customers bring their boots back, I can take care of it. Besides, I’ve dealt with misdirected mail more than you think. I’ll get some sustenance first. That way, you can take the early afternoon off.”

With that, Henry walked out the backdoor and went for lunch.

☆ ☆ ☆

Mrs. MacKenzie found a parking place available only half a block and across the street from Harrelson’s Boots. Brian got out as his mom handed him a roll of quarters. He peeled down the wrapper and deposited four of them, enough for an hour’s parking.

“Keep the meter paid and you can use the rest at the arcade,” Brian’s mom instructed, as she withdrew her wallet from her purse, then a credit card from the wallet. “This is the card I used for your boots, if you need it for the exchange. You might not, but just in case…”

Brian accepted the card through the window and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. Then he opened the car door for his mom. He held the misdelivered boots in their large shoebox tucked under his other arm.

“Thank you, Brian,” she said as she got out of the car. “I’m to the bank first, then I’ll meet you at Harrelson’s. I’d like to get a pair of boots like those for myself. Be careful crossing the street.”

“Okay, Mom. You take care, yourself!” her son replied cheerfully as he dashed across the broad avenue since at the moment it was clear of oncoming traffic.

☆ ☆ ☆

As an aficionado of science fiction and fantastic literature, the tinkling of the bell when he opened the door signaled Brian’s stepping into a time warp according to his own impressionable mindset. The scent of various fine leathers hit his senses just as his eyes took in the rich décor of the shop. The dark wood paneling cast a soothing mood through the showroom, much like the feeling under a stately shade tree on a hot summer day. The fixtures appeared to be antique, which Brian recognized as Victorian, all in a rich, dark cherrywood. His mother had taught him to recognize the various styles of furniture, as she enjoyed collecting such pieces herself. His ears picked up the sounds of Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 quietly playing in the background.

Behind the counter was a tall, thin, long-faced man with dark brown hair, graying at the temples. For some reason, Brian thought that this guy reminded him of the Stage Manager from Arthur Miller’s Our Town. The two sides of his light brown moustache sloped steeply down to the corners of his mouth, almost like a chevron. He wore a white shirt of broadcloth under a muted heather blue pullover, with a vee-collar revealing the top of a silver-gray necktie. His penetrating blue-gray eyes peered at Brian for a moment, then they turned to study the girl standing at the other side of the counter.

Brian looked toward the girl, himself, and their eyes locked. They simply stared at one another. Brian recognized her face as his own, just as she did his as hers.

“Do you two know each other?” the man asked in a quietly resounding, warm baritone.

“No!” Brian and the girl both chorused.

The man pointed to an antique full-length mirror set in a movable frame in the corner of the showroom. The two teenagers moved toward it. Together, they studied their images in the looking glass. Their facial features appeared almost identical. Same blue eyes. Same gently wavy, dark brown hair, growing beyond shoulder-length, although hers had been expertly styled into an elegant French braid. The girl looked maybe an inch or so taller, but that might have been due to her shoes. Without doubt, they looked to be the same age.

The girl asked, “Is your birthday May twenty-—?”

“… first?” Brian anticipated her question. “Yes. And you were born at Hudson—?”

“… Falls, New York? Uh-huh,” she completed their exchange of the obvious questions.

“My name’s Morgan,” she said in a subdued voice, still examining their faces in the mirror.

“I’m Brian,” he answered, finally breaking off his gaze. Smiling, he handed her the box from under his arm. “Then these must be for you.”

“Thanks,” answered Morgan, her voice still quietly reticent as she accepted the package from him. She then renewed eye contact with Brian. “Mister Harrelson has yours. I already gave him back the pair I got in the mail.”

Brian glanced over toward where the man stood and noticed a similar box on top of the counter as Morgan sat down in a chair to try the boots on. She opened the lid of her box and folded the crêpe paper out of the way. The black boots were beautiful.

“There’s a label inside the left boot,” said Brian, taking a seat in a chair next to her. “It’s opposite the zipper.”

Morgan looked inside the left boot and located the label, reading:

Custom fit of
♀ Size 7½B / 38 / 5 UK
by Henry Harrelson for
Morgan MacHenry.

“Yeah,” she confirmed. “These must be mine.”

Morgan kicked off the pumps she was wearing and set her new boots on the floor next to them. Brian slid out of the chair and dropped to the floor on one knee next to her.

“Morgan, do you mind if I call you ‘Sis’?” Brian asked her.

The corners of her lips flexed slightly upwards as her face relaxed a little. “I think I might like that. After all, it appears to be true.”

The boy took her right boot in hand and unzipped it. He gently helped guide her nylon clad foot into it and secured the zipper for her. Brian then shifted his position to assist Morgan on her other side. He then repeated the procedure with her left boot, the two teens smiling at one another. Then he stood up and extended his hand to her. She took his hand and he helped her rise from her chair. She took a few careful steps around and then glanced over at the man.

“Mister Harrelson, these feel wonderful!” Morgan sang out to the proprietor. She pirouetted and smiled again. “I have lower heels that aren’t this easy to walk in.”

Mr. Harrelson grinned back at her. “Then I take it the fit is comfortable?”

“Perfect!” the girl answered, her smile still beaming. She glanced back at her apparent brother. “Could I help him try on his boots?” She winked surreptitiously at Mr. Harrelson, who chuckled quietly to himself as he turned to retrieve the box from the top of the counter.

“I see you like your boots,” observed Brian as Morgan dramatically spun around and fell more than sat back into her chair. She turned to face him. “Now that I have the problem of my boots solved, I can pay attention to more serious matters. Apparently we’re twins, sister and brother, so it would also seem that at least one of us is adopted.”

“I know that I am,” Brian informed his newly discovered sister. “But my Mom never mentioned a twin or any sister or brother. Whoever arranged the adoption might not have told my folks, though, if they knew about any others. What about yours?”

“My parents have never said anything about it to me,” answered Morgan quietly, a blank expression on her face. “I have a younger sister, but she doesn’t look like me at all. She takes after Dad with red hair, green eyes, and freckles. I thought that I looked at least a little like Mom. She has dark hair and blue eyes like mine. But now I’m not so sure.”

“I’m so sorry, then, that whatever happens, you’re finding out like this,” apologized Brian. “It doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” she said. “But it’s not your fault, either. Not any more than it could be mine. But I guess Mom and Dad haven’t told me everything, have they?”

The opening notes of the «Danza de Jalisco» from Aaron Copland’s Three Latin American Sketches suddenly pierced the simpler sounds of the slow movement from Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto No. 4, signaling that his mother was calling on his mobile telephone.

“Excuse me, Morgan. I need to take this. It’s Mom,” he explained. As Brian flipped his telephone open, Mr. Harrelson came over and gave Morgan the large shoebox.

“Hi, Mom!… I’m fine… Not quite yet, but I met the girl that the boots I got belong to… No, Mom, not yet… Mister Harrelson’s just handing us the box now… Mom, I think you should meet Morgan… No, I don’t think we’ll be dating, but… No, you still need to meet her… No… Today and in person… Please, Mom… It’s important. And you said you want a pair of boots like those, anyway… What?… Another hour?… I can wait… I think I can talk to Morgan a little more… When you meet her, you’ll know… Alright?… Alright, then!… Oh, Mom!… Thanks for always telling me the truth… I love you, too!… See ya soon!… G’bye!…”

While Brian was talking, Morgan discreetly raised the lid of the shoebox and peeked at the label inside the left one of a pair of black ladies’ boots, identical in style to her own. Its label read:

Custom fit of
♀ Size 9D / 40 / 6½ UK
by Henry Harrelson for
Brianna MacKenzie.

She tightened her lips to hide her grin. But as she did, an idea began to germinate in her wildly playful and creative mind. But Morgan also wondered at her own motives for it. In but a moment, this once carefree and loving girl had suddenly lost her trust in everyone and everything that she had ever known. For it seemed that her parents, Mom and Dad, had not told her the full truth about her own history, if not lied to her outright. The pain of this discovery grew for her by the minute.

She waited until Brian had finished the call before addressing him again. “Brian, these came in the mail for me these today, but they were just a little too big for me. Please, try them on.”

She removed the box lid to reveal another pair of black soft leather ladies’ boots, identical in style to what she now wore. Brian looked at her.

“What?” he asked incredulously. “You can’t be serious!”

“I know,” she admitted. “It must seem strange, but please, won’t you help out your newly discovered sister?”

Morgan tilted her head with a wide-eyed look at Brian. It was the same look that, anywhere in the world, a sister would give her brother to enlist his aid in an act of mischief. The siblings had only known one another fifteen minutes and she had already demonstrated her skill at manipulation. He knew when her eyes met his this time that he would do what she asked him. He also knew that he would regret it, but he would still do it. So for the second time today he kicked off his sneakers to try a pair of ladies’ boots on.

So as Brian pulled the boots on, Morgan smiled at him. “How are they?” she asked.

“They’re just a little snug for me is all,” he reported.

“That’s because of your heavy socks. You need to wear nylons with those.”

“Well, excuse me, Sis, but nylons are not something that I keep in my wardrobe.”

“But I do!” replied Morgan as she dove into one of her large shopping bags. She withdrew a newly acquired package of pantyhose. “We are about the same size, so I know these’ll fit you.”

“Morgan, it’s one thing to try on boots, but pantyhose?” Brian objected, “I don’t think so.” Yet he also reckoned that his objection was futile. It was the way that she had just affirmed that they were the same size. And by how she had looked at him, he knew she was talking about more than just her pantyhose. After all, they were twins, and although he doubted that she would have anything to interest him in her shopping bags, he also knew that he was about to find out, anyway.

Brian’s sister simply smiled at him, then turned to address the proprietor. “Mister Harrelson, do you have any dressing rooms?”

“We share such with the dress shop next door,” he said, opening a door in the side wall away from the street. There was a small hallway with curtained alcoves along it. “You may enter through here.”

“Come with me, Brian,” his sister commanded as she gathered up her shopping bags and thrust a couple of them into his arms. She grabbed his elbow and pulled him toward the dressing rooms, she flashed a broad, mischievous grin back at Mr. Harrelson. The grin had to be wide enough to cover the considerable pain that she bore that very moment.

☆ ☆ ☆

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” said Brian looking at himself in the three-way mirror set up on the back wall of the dressing room.

“You look really cute, Brian,” Morgan assured him, “just like me. And your hair is so elegant in French braids!”

“I’ve always liked braids like these on girls,” conceded Brian, “but I never imagined myself wearing them.”

His gaze was now locked on the girl staring back at him from the mirror. The reflection showed Brian to be Morgan’s twin sister, wearing a short, pleated gray miniskirt and matching jacket. He was wearing a soft pink blouse with ruffled sleeves and a small cross for a pendant. Besides the blouse and ensemble, he was wearing a padded training bra and matching panties underneath it all, as well as a simple pair of nude pantyhose. The black boots were beside his nylon-clad feet.

“I feel stupid,” lamented Brian, observing his feminine image in the mirror. He winced as he watched his twin sister quickly roll up his jeans, shirt, and underwear into a tight cylinder and stuff them into an empty shopping bag along with his socks and sneakers. “I hope your crazy idea works.”

“What’s so crazy about it?” Morgan asked. “We're twins, after all, even if we, like, just met.”

“This morning, I was an only child, a teenage boy, planning for a camping trip with my friends to get our summer vacation into high-gear. But this afternoon, here I am, dressed like a girl in my twin sister’s clothes. I didn’t even know about a twin sister when I woke up this morning.”

“Well, it’s just as much a surprise for me, too,” parried his sister. “But why not take advantage of it? Twins dress alike all the time.”

“Yeah, but usually they’re the same sex when they do!”

“Not always!” Morgan piped with a glint in her eye.

“Obviously not,” her brother confirmed, “since I’m wearing your clothes.”

Morgan had changed into a pleated navy skirt and matching jacket of the same style as what Brian now wore, but with a red ruffled blouse. She also wore a necklace with a tiny megaphone dangling from it as a pendant. So he concluded that his sister must be a cheerleader at her school.

“We look exactly alike,” observed Morgan. “Our mothers will have to be honest now.”

“Mine has been honest, at least with me,” contended Brian. “I’ve always known I was adopted.”

“But did she tell you, like, you had a twin?”

“She prob’ly doesn’t even know. It really depends on what the adoption people told my parents back then. I don’t think there’s any great mystery there.”

“Huh! We’ll see!” snorted a very suspicious Morgan. “You should put your boots on now.”

He picked up the boots and sat down on the bench set against a side wall. “So, who were these boots for, anyway?” Brian wondered aloud, looking inside the left one. He read the label:

Custom fit of
♀ Size 9D / 40 / 6½ UK
by Henry Harrelson for
Brianna MacKenzie.

“Brianna MacKenzie, huh?” he noted. “Today has been way too weird.”

“Why? That’s just your name—Sis!” Morgan teased as she sat down on the bench next to him. “Hey, girl! I owe my newly discovered twin brother big for this. I mean, we’ve just met. So you’ve really gotta be someone special to go through with all this for me.”

“You got that right!” Brian confirmed, putting on the black boots and zipping them up. But he was surprised when he felt Morgan gently kiss his cheek.

“Thanks, Bro!” she offered as she arose from her seat and extended her hand. “Now, when you stand up, be careful! Your balance is gonna feel, like, very different wearing heels.”

Brian took her hand and proceeded somewhat anxiously to stand up. The extra three inches from the heels actually caused him to feel a little dizzy. And his whole body felt unsettled as he had not yet found his new center of gravity. The high heels had pushed it slightly forward as well as upward. The padded bra also added a little more mass to the equation, although he was just barely aware of it. He and Morgan both turned slowly toward the mirror and two decidedly pretty twin sisters glared back.

“Brianna, I should give you a touch of makeup before we go out there,” acknowedged Morgan, motioning for her to sit down. “And fortunately you’re blessed with the same good looks as your sister.”

“And I bet we’re both blessed with the same incredible sense of humility and modesty, too, aren’t we?” Brian teased back as they both sat down again, suddenly aware that during the brief moment of banter with his sister, his body had found its new center of gravity.

“‘If ya got it, flaunt it!’ Mom always says,” Morgan told her girled-up twin brother as she rummaged through her purse. “And we’ve both got it! Y’know, after we’ve established our new relationships, I’d like you to come over to my place and let me dress you up again. There’s, like, all kinds of things we could do as twins.”

“Forgive me, Sis,” apologized Brian, “but I don’t wanna, like, take crossdressing up as a new hobby.”

“And pray tell, why not?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a boy.”

“That’s why it’s called cross-dressing, Bro,” she answered in a wryly humorous tone. “Besides, that’s the fun of it. Any girl can look good with the right cosmetics and a little practice. But dressing a boy up is a much bigger challenge.”

“Maybe a challenge to you,” Brian retorted, wondering if his new sister might have dressed other boys up before. “But it all sounds like a real drag to me!”

“Ha!—Ha!—Ha!” pronounced Morgan dryly as she rolled her eyes. “How clever the wit of my new twin brother!”

“That’s an interesting phrase when you think about it,” he said as his sister opened a compact and withdrew an applicator.

“Which phrase?” she asked, carefully applying a powder to his face.

“New twin brother,” he clarified. “Twins usually grow up together. The idea of having a new twin brother almost seems like a contradiction, doesn’t it?”

“Now that I think about it, yes, it does!” Morgan paused to look her brother directly in the eye, acknowledging his point. She then returned her attention to powdering his face. “Close your eyes a moment, please… That’s good… You can open them again.”

She reached into a shopping bag and took out a new small plastic box of more cosmetics and tore the plastic wrap off it. “This is fresh and I’ll let you have it. I can get more. You should never share eye makeup—risk of infection! But my colors should work fine for you, since we’re twins, after all. Our skin tones really do look the same.”

Morgan gave her brother’s face a very lightly made-up look, very much like her own. For a finishing touch, she took out a small bottle of perfume from her purse.

“I love this scent,” she said. “It’s very feminine and after wearing it a few minutes, you will think you’re a girl, or at least you’ll wannabe Brianna instead of Brian.”

She anointed herself with the fragrance to show Brian how to apply a scent and he used some of her perfume himself.

“How do the boots feel?” Morgan asked.

“I can’t believe it, but they’re comfortable enough,” her brother answered. “Except for maybe my sneakers, none of my other shoes fit this well. But I’m not too sure about walking in them, though.”

“I think you’ll be okay,” she assured him. “Take smaller steps and put one foot in front of the other when you walk. And you can swing your arms to help with balance. Watch me.”

Morgan proceeded to demonstrate how to walk in her high-heeled boots. The changing room was too small so she had stepped out into the corridor. Brian followed her, imitating her moves.

“That’s it, Brianna!” Morgan encouraged her brother, while emphasizing the feminine form of his name. “You’re a quick study to get it down so easily! Are you sure you haven’t worn heels before?”

“I’m quite sure,” he affirmed with a touch of sarcasm in his voice. “And I still can’t believe I’m doing it now!”

“You don’t have to, y’know,” she told him, sighing with a tone of wistfulness. “I know this is all new to you. Even though you’re my brother, we did just meet. Maybe this is expecting too much?”

“Well, thanks for letting me off the hook,” he said with some relief. “I can still do it, though. It’s feels really weird dressed up like this, but since I already am, we may as well go through with whatever you’ve got in mind. And just what is that by the way?”

“I want my mother, or whoever she is, to have to, like, guess who’s who,” Morgan told him, glaring fiercely. “And I want her to tell me just who I am and why she’s not told me the truth. And I want to find out if she, like, knew about you.”

Brian understood that his new-found sister was very angry right then. And then he began to have second thoughts about his role in such a charade. He did not really mind dressing up to look like Morgan, but wouldn’t she make her same point if her mother just saw her with her twin brother as well?

“I’m sorry that our meeting like this is unhappy for you,” he tried to console her. “But I’m also excited to have a sister.”

Morgan reached around to hug Brian. “Am I being, like, stupid about this?” the girl asked her brother, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ve never felt so angry or hurt before. Suddenly, I feel like my whole life has been one big lie.”

“That’s gotta be heavy,” Brian conceded. “But try to think about it from your parents’ point of view, too. They may still be planning to tell you. Or it may simply have been difficult for them to bring up. How has your life been up until now?”

Looking into her twin’s eyes, she could see that he felt her relaxing at his suggestion. They had just met, but did they already think that much alike?

“You’re right. They’ve always been, like, there for me,” she admitted. “Mom and Dad, I mean. I haven’t known anything but love from them and my little sister. No, quite honestly, I don’t have anything to complain about, Brian. I’ve always been really happy with my family. And they’ve always been, like, happy with me, or at least they always seem to be.”

“Then, you may wish to give them the benefit of the doubt.”

Morgan hugged her brother again and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Bro. I’ll try to do that.” A few tears trickled down her cheek.

“Careful!” Brian said quietly, delicately wiping a tear with his finger. “Or you’ll have to fix your makeup.”

She smiled back to him, then turned to check her face in the mirror. Fortunately, though, there was but a trace of smearing. She took a compact out from her purse and touched it up a little.

Brian saw his sister glance back at him almost as if she were blushing. There he was, dressed in the clothing of a girl he had just met, yet Morgan was more vulnerable and even more embarrassed than himself. Then he understood that what he had said must have helped diffuse her anger toward her parents.

She turned back to her brother and took her hands in his. “I’m so sorry I made you dress up like me. It was just so I could get back at Mom when she comes to get me,” confessed Morgan. “Now I feel so selfish and stupid. I can’t expect you to go out there dressed like this. Really, you don’t have to.”

“Sis, I’m okay with it,” he insisted, still consoling her. “Really. After all, aren’t twins are supposed to dress alike, at least sometimes? Besides, I might not get another chance to try this again.”

His sister’s demeanor seemed to perk up when Brian said that. “Why?” Morgan asked, grinning mischievously at him. “Would you like to try it again?”

“I don’t know,” he answered her frankly. “Let’s see how this attempt goes off first.”

Morgan giggled. “Maybe I found a new sister today, too!”

Brian noted that the look in her eyes had changed. She had redirected her attitude from that of playing a vengeful prank to one of just enjoying some silly mischief. But he mused over how he could know that. He had just met Morgan, yet he could read her like he had always known her. Perhaps this was simply more of the weird experience that the day had become.

“Y’know what?” Morgan piped up. “I think we still have just enough time to do your nails before Mom gets here. How ’bout it, Sis?”

“I guess,” he answered, with slightly less enthusiam than his sister had asked. “I mean, if I’m gonna go out there like this, then I may as well do it right.”

“That’s the spirit, Sis!” beamed Morgan giddily as she searched through the new bottles of nail polish in her bags. “This will be more fun for us both if you look as girly as possible.”

Although Brian agreed with the logic of Morgan’s remark, somehow, he still winced at it. He was not so happy to associate the phrase “as girly as possible” with anything about himself. Yet this was not about him alone, but also about his sister. For him, this was just an exercise in playing his role as a twin brother, or even a twin sister, if needed. Indeed, the thought had crossed his mind that he could crossdress only because he was secure enough in his role as a boy. The irony of such an idea, however, was not lost on him.

Morgan was sitting next to him again. She had taken out an emery board and was using it to smooth and shape his short, jagged fingernails as best she could. “Your nails are a mess, Brianna,” she observed. “You should really try to work on them.”

“Uh, Morgan, remember?—I’m a boy!” Brian reminded her.

“Well, you don’t have to be!” Morgan retorted with a wicked grin. “But I promise not to hold it against you, anyway.”

“Is this what’s called ‘sibling rivalry’?” he asked her. “It already seems to have been going on since birth.”

“Ya better believe it, Bro-anna!” she quipped, continuing to work on his nails. “And I’m not gonna let you forget it. It’s part of the fun of being a sister.”

“I wouldn’t know,” remarked Brian, a little wistfully. “I’ve never been a sister, or even a brother, before.”

“Well this is your chance to be a sister today,” she insisted, the mischievous gleam in her eye brightening. “Maybe you can be more my brother the next time?”

The next time? Indeed! Brian wondered, just how much today would change his life? He knew that nothing would ever again be quite as it had been before. There was something about Morgan, more than just the fact that she was his twin sister. Within moments of their meeting, his role as her brother was clear in her mind, while he had almost no clue himself. Yet he understood her thoughts and feelings, as if they were his own. He had known what to say to dissuade her sudden anger and distrust of her parents, because it would have dissuaded him. And as soon as she had asked him to try the ladies’ boots on, they both knew that he would be dressing up like her, because that course of action followed implicitly from her initial request. And as reluctant as he was to do it, Brian had accepted that the logic of the situation might need him to play the role of a sister instead of her brother, although he did not yet understand exactly why. After all, he was indeed her twin brother, so even his presence as a boy would force her mother to confront the circumstances.

Even though Morgan had offered to let Brian out of his disguise, she still seemed to need him wearing it. And he did not wish to let his sister down during the first day of their new relationship. Besides, any embarrassment from being in drag he would shed at the end of the exercise along with the clothes. However, Morgan’s discomfiture, he feared, would continue long after he had returned home and dressed from his own closet once again.

Morgan had begun painting Brian’s nails a pretty pink color that was only slightly bolder than the pastel pink of the blouse that he was wearing. “I hope that wearing a nail color is not too upsetting an experience for you. But Mom knows how much I like it and not wearing it could give you away too soon. I’m worried that she might pick up on how short your nails are, anyway. I don’t grow mine too long, but you are a boy after all. Yours are simply shorter than mine and there’s not enough time to lengthen yours any?”

“Lengthen them?”

“We could use acrylic extenders but I don’t have any with me and we don’t have time to go shopping. They would also take time to set and file down. There’s a ladies’ salon in the building, too, but again, the process would take too long. At least this nail polish dries quickly. Just don’t touch anything with your fingers until they’re dry. I’ll apply a clear finish then. I know this is not as complete as it should be, but then you’re not getting ready for a date—”

“For which I’m most grateful!” Brian interrupted her nervous chatter. “No, I don’t like nail polish—not even on girls! So yes, it is upsetting for me, but then dressed up like this, it’s really the least of my worries.”

The nail polish dried relatively quickly, while Morgan took the opportunity to primp herself one more time. Seeing that her brother’s fingernails were ready, she then applied a clear top coat of finish to them.

“How do you feel dressed as a girl?” Morgan asked him.

Brian sighed a moment. “I feel anxious, stupid, and silly. Just as soon as I step out into the boot shop again, I’ll prob’ly feel humiliated.”

“No, no! I mean more, like, how well do the clothes fit, how good do they feel on you, not so much how you feel about wearing them, although that’s important, too.”

“To be honest, I’m surprised how comfortable they are,” he admitted. “Especially the underwear and pantyhose. They feel pretty nice, actually. But it all still feels so weird, and I’m afraid that this is going to be more embarrassing than anything else I’ve ever done by the time it’s over.”

“Please don’t feel that way, if you can help it,” pled his sister. “I do need for Brianna to be with me when Mom comes back. Like I said before, I owe you a big favor for your help. I’m just hoping it all works out like I have in mind.”

“So am I,” he rejoined, nonetheless grinning at her. “I’d be really upset to go through all this for it not to work.”

It had taken a while for Morgan to understand that her brother was very much afraid. As was she. And that’s why she needed him to be Brianna. Just as soon as they had met, she quickly noticed that they could both read one another’s feelings. It was weird—really weird! The idea formed in her mind almost as quickly, that her brother, if he could take on a girl’s role, might act as a mirror for her own emotional reactions. So she wanted Brian to become Brianna to help her face her mother—and herself.

Yet this was an idea that Morgan could only hope would work out. The only way to know for certain, was for Brian to dress up and take it from there. And she felt guilty doing it to him, because although her new brother had whined about it a little, he’d also offered no real resistance. She knew that he’d feel worse about not helping his newly found twin sister, than about being dressed like a girl. In short, Morgan had sensed that Brian knew how important their doing this together would be. Yes, they had just met for the first time today, but she already felt like she and Brian had already been growing up together. Indeed, she wondered how much more than mere appearance that they might share.

“Then let’s go introduce ‘Brianna’ and her twin sister to the world,” resolved Morgan, gently taking her twin by the hand. “Our public awaits!”

☆ ☆ ☆

Mr. Harrelson grinned slightly to himself as the twins, both dressed as girls, came back into the showroom. The gleam in Miss MacHenry’s eye had given away her scheme as soon as she had learned that the boots delivered to her would fit her brother. He was very impressed at how meticulously she had worked to make the young Mr. MacKenzie look like herself. If Mr. Harrelson had not known what was going on, he would not likely have seen through the boy’s disguise for quite a while, himself. Eventually he would have known, since Brian would not be the first boy to leave Harrelson’s wearing a pair of girl’s boots. His heart warmed toward Brian, whom he knew to be risking embarrassment and even humiliation to help the new sister that he had met but ninety minutes earlier. Indeed, Mr. Harrelson had resolved to follow this boy’s activities very discreetly, as he might be a good candidate to work in the shop as he matured. He had hired his Cynthia that way. Most of his employees had been previous customers who had grown into their boots, so to speak.

“You young ladies are looking rather nice,” said Henry, smiling at the twins who had just returned from the dressing room. “But you still need the right accessories.”

Mr. Harrelson put two identical boxes on top of the counter. “These are yours with my compliments,” he said smiling in turn to each twin. “They were made to match the boots, but we don’t usually carry handbags…”

Morgan and Brian nervously eyed the boxes and then exchanged glances with each other. Brian then lifted the lid from one and rustled through the crêpe paper. Inside was an elegant purse of the same soft black leather as his new ladies’ boots.

“Omigosh!” squealed Morgan. “Your first purse! And it’s such a nice one!”

“These each have a detachable strap and can be worn over the shoulder or carried as a handbag or even as a clutch,” explained the proprietor as Morgan opened hers. “They also have matching checkbook-size wallets inside.”

“Are you sure we don’t owe you anything for these?” Morgan asked.

“Not at all, Miss MacHenry! You and your—twin were kind enough to return the misdelivered items here in person. Handbags are not our usual merchandise, anyway. It makes sense that the two of you should have them. If you wish, you may think of them as included in the price of the boots.”

“Brianna, do you have your own wallet with you?” Morgan asked her brother, now disguised en femme.

“Uh—it’s in my jeans!” Brian answered. “And there’s nearly a whole roll of quarters, too, that Mom gave me for the arcade. And I put Mom’s credit card in my shirt pocket. Geeze! I forgot all about it.”

Morgan set her shopping bags down next to a chair and removed her brother’s rolled up clothes from one. Brian sat down next to her and quickly felt through the clothes for his wallet and coin roll. The credit card had fallen out of his shirt pocket, but his sister found it at the bottom of the bag. She extracted the needed items from his clothes and set that shopping bag down next to Brians seat.

“Put the coins, credit card and your wallet in your new purse… and, while we’re at it, here’s a few more items you’ll need… I said you could have this,” Morgan reminded him, handing Brian a small plastic box of eye makeup. She then pulled out a small package of tissues for him. “You never know when you’ll need to fix your makeup, so always carry a few tools, like facial tissue.”

“I’ve always wondered why girls carry purses,” Brian told her. “Guess I’m gonna find out?”

Smiling at her brother, Morgan discreetly broke open a box in her bag. She pulled out an oblong-looking whatever sealed in a wrapper of opaque white paper.

“Brianna, this is a sanitary napkin—a pad,” she said. “Put this in your purse. And I have a spare tampon you can have, too.”

“What?!” Brian protested. “But I don’t need those!”

“Of course not, silly!” Morgan conceded. Then she explained, “But we girls do and if some other girl needs it and you happen to have a spare one in your purse, then voilà! You’ve made a new friend!”

“I didn’t think about that,” admitted Brian sheepishly. “I know it’s something girls go through. But how important is it, really? I mean—”

“Brianna! You’re blushing!” his sister observed. “It’s okay. It’s part of every girl’s life. It’s inconvenient and messy, often anxious and depressing, and it’s nearly always uncomfortable—sometimes even painful. And yet we wouldn’t trade it for anything!”

“I guess I just don’t get it, Sis.”

“You haven’t spent enough time around girls yet. If I still have a home after today, I really want you to come over and let me dress you up. Y’know, we have to play catch-up at being twins.”

“Morgan, you’ll still have a home,” Brian sought to assure her. “But why d’you wanna turn me into a girl so bad? Wouldn’t you wanna get to know your brother first?”

“Well, there is that—but Brianna is far too pretty, and I’ll bet far too sweet, not to have around. Face it, Sis, you’re one good-looking girl! I should know.”

Brian sighed. What was that British expression? He couldn’t remember it.

“In for a penny, in for a pound?” mused Mr. Harrelson aloud, smiling directly at Brian.

The twins both stared at him wide-eyed.

“Sorry, kids!” apologized the shopkeeper. “I couldn’t help overhearing and the look on, well, Miss MacKenzie’s face—if I may call you that—suggested the expression to me. But son, it’ll be okay. You’re not the first boy whose sister has ever dressed him up like a girl. Think of it as, say, your sister taking you on a new adventure!”

Morgan giggled and held her brother’s hand. “He’s right, Brianna. This can be an adventure for you. Most boys are too afraid even to try and not many who want to ever get the chance.”

“And I’m sure there’s a good reason why,” observed Brian. “Besides, I have an uneasy feeling about this myself.”

His sister patted his hand as she squeezed it.

☆ ☆ ☆

The bell at the top of the door tinkled once again. The twins’ and Mr. Harrelson’s attention immediately turned to the person entering, a woman in her late thirties, dressed in a sharp, white ensemble of skirt and jacket with a soft pink blouse and tan boots, purchased elsewhere. Her long hair was an intensely dark brown, in luxurious waves cascading down her back.

The woman began to address her daughter before she had noticed that both of the apparent girls seated in the boot shop looked like her daughter.

“Morgan are you—”

Mrs. Brian MacHenry froze as her mind tried to process the scene before her.

“When I woke up this morning,” began Morgan, “I had no idea…”

“… that I had a twin sister,” Brian finished the sentence. “So it seems that you never told…”

“… your daughter that she was adopted. But now it looks like…”

“… she has found her twin sister. And we’re sure that we’re twins because we were both born at Hudson Falls,…”

“… New York, on May…”

“… twenty-first. So we wondered…”

“… if you knew about your daughter’s twin? And can you even tell…”

“…which of us is Morgan?” Brian asked, finishing their exchange.

Mrs. MacHenry began to cry, as she couldn’t identify which of the two was her daughter. Mr. Harrelson gently touched her elbow and ushered her to a seat across from both twins.

Brian reprised the dialogue, “Your daughter also wants to know…”

“… why you and Daddy never told her that she’s adopted?” Morgan completed her and her brother’s strange, two-person monologue.

Henry Harrelson marveled at how these two teenagers had spoken as if in a single voice, seamlessly weaving their thoughts into what was the strangest dialogue that he had ever heard. They had only just met, here in his shop, yet they behaved as if they had grown up together.

“I’m sorry we never told you before,” Mrs. MacHenry said in tears, apologizing to her daughter. “Your father and I have discussed it but we didn’t quite know how to bring it up yet.”

Morgan wanted to respond right away, but she stopped as Brian had mentioned this as a possible explanation for why her parents had never told her. He did suggest that they might still be planning to tell her. Also, she remembered Brian’s advice, that at least she ought to give her parents the benefit of the doubt. And as she recalled his advice, she knew.

She knew!

Deep down, within her heart of hearts, Morgan knew that her parents loved her. Her adoptive parents must love her, else they would not have adopted her. That was logical. Could love be logical? She knew because Brian knew. It had always been his reality. She could feel it and somehow, he was sharing it with her.

“So you were planning,” began Morgan, “to tell your daughter…”

“… that she was adopted?” Brian picked up the thought. “But did you know…”

“… about a twin?” Morgan completed the question.

“Your daddy and I had considered telling you on your birthday, but instead, we decided to wait another year,” her mother answered. “We needed to be certain you were ready to understand it. And we wanted more time to figure out how to bring it up. But honestly we didn’t know about your sister, honey. The adoption agency never told us about any siblings at all, let alone a twin sister.”

Brian felt it was time to put an end to the charade.

“Maybe that’s because your daughter’s twin is not a sister, but her brother,” he said. “I’m Brian, or you can call me ‘Brianna,’ as Morgan seems to prefer.”

“Mom, I apologize for how Brian’s dressed,” offered Morgan. “It was all my idea. I insisted he dress up like me. Besides, I think he’s cuter as Brianna!”

“Yeah, you would!” Brian quipped to his sister. “Ma’am, I’m sorry for my part in all this. So I stopped it as soon as Morgan had made her point. Please don’t be too upset with me, or even with Morgan. This has been a big shock for all of us. None of this is really anyone’s fault.”

Mr. Harrelson had been standing off to the side, watching and listening to everything, allowing the circumstances to unfold in his shop as so many others had over the years. He did not like to intervene in these situations, but customers had often sought his guidance at such times, mostly because he happened to be the only neutral third-party on the scene. That people often regarded him as distinguished and thoughtful likely had bearing on it, too. Henry knew that a single well-considered remark might diffuse a tense situation. Of course, an ill-considered one also might create disaster.

“Mister MacKenzie shows quite some wisdom—or Miss MacKenzie, if anyone prefer. No one here seems responsible for what’s happened, except maybe myself. Morgan and Brian, or Brianna, are here today because we had mixed up the mailing labels for their boots. Please, if you need to affix any blame for their meeting and their subsequent theatrics to deal with it all, I will accept it here and now.”

“No, Mister Harrelson,” answered Mrs. MacHenry, “You’re quite right. We should’ve told Morgan at her birthday. My husband wanted to, but I wasn’t ready to answer the questions she might have had just yet. And I’m still not ready now.” She turned to address Morgan’s twin. “Did you know that you were adopted, Brianna—Brian, I mean?”

“Yes, Ma’am. Mom and Dad told me a long time ago, before Dad moved out,” her daughter’s newly found sibling explained. “Really, I’ve always known I was adopted. But Mom never mentioned any sister to me, so I doubt she knows about Morgan, either.

“This morning when I got out of bed, I was an only child, a boy with a teenage crush on the postwoman who brought him the wrong pair of boots. But this afternoon, I’m the twin sister of the girl who got mine by mistake.

“And I’m still waiting for Mom to come and take me home.”

“Mom, please don’t be mad at Brianna,” pled Morgan desperately. “None of this was her idea at all. It was all my idea. I was mad because I thought you and Daddy lied to me. And I wanted to see her dressed like me because—because I was afraid you wouldn’t let me see her again. I mean—well—she’s a stranger to you and Dad.”

“Oh, Morgan!” exclaimed Mrs. MacHenry, nearly whining. “Give us a chance! She was a stranger to you, too, until—when was it?—An hour ago or two? We can accept her as easily as you.”

Morgan’s mother leaned over and took a hand of each twin in her own. She stood up, pulling the twins from their seats into a warmly sincere hug. “If we had known you had a sister, we’d ’ve adopted her, too.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” offered Brian, “but I’m really her brother.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Brian!” Mrs. MacHenry corrected herself. “But you do make a cute girl! And you two do look like twins dressed that way.”

After a good moment of it, they relaxed their hug and sat down again, but now they all were smiling.

“Mom, I love you,” said Morgan. “And it’s okay that I’m adopted. You did it because you and Dad wanted to love me.”

“That’s right, baby,” confirmed Mrs. MacHenry. “That’s exactly right.”

☆ ☆ ☆

The little bell over the door of the boot shop tinkled yet again as Maureen MacKenzie entered. She paused, mouth agape, for a moment as the door swung closed behind her. Then her mouth formed a smile, still agape, as she turned toward Brian.

“Oh my!” exclaimed Mrs. MacKenzie. “You look so pretty, Brian! And I can only guess that the other girl must be—a sister?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” affirmed Morgan. “My name’s Morgan and this is my Mom.”

“Good afternoon,” Mrs. MacHenry greeted her. “I’m Catherine MacHenry.”

“And your daughter is whom the boots were for?” Maureen asked.

“Yes, and we got the pair meant for your son—I mean Brianna—I mean—Oh, I don’t know what I mean!” exclaimed Catherine, utterly confused.

“Mom how did you know it was me?” Brian wondered out loud. “Mrs. MacHenry couldn’t tell us apart.”

“Easily, son. You just have to know what to look for,” his mother explained. “The pair you got in the mail were too small for you even to get your foot into. So Morgan had to be wearing those, and therefore yours had to be the larger pair.”

Maureen turned to address Mr. Harrelson. “Now, Mister Harrelson, do you have a pair of hiking boots for my son?”

Henry, tight-lipped, nodded with a smile as he crouched down and brought two large shoeboxes out from behind the counter to set down on its top and the second on top of it. The proprietor opened the top box and produced a lovely pair of cordovan hiking boots. Ladies’ hiking boots. Besides the obvious feminine accents in the top-stitching, the laces were an exciting hot pink. Their tops were turned down above the ankles to form cuffs displaying the soft, pink sheen of the satin-like fabric lining the inside of the boots.

“Oh my!” exclaimed Maureen. “These are beautiful!”

“I’m glad you like them. We aim to please. But do check the label inside the left boot, Mis’ess MacKenzie,” warned Henry, grinning. “I wouldn’t want there to be another mistake.”

So Maureen read the label inside the left hiking boot:

Custom fit of
♀ Size 9D / 40 / 6½ UK
by Henry Harrelson for
Brianna MacKenzie.

She frowned reading the label and then turned to look at her son interacting with Morgan and Mrs. MacHenry. Maureen saw something unexpected in how he was behaving as Brianna. Yes, very much unexpected, but perhaps something she also needed to encourage.

“Mister Harrelson, I think I’ll have ‘Brianna’ try these on first.”

“Why, of course!” Henry agreed. “I’m certain the fit is correct. Yet it’s always nice to confirm that it’s so.”

Maureen took the boots out of their box and took them over to where Brian was sitting. “Son, these are your hiking boots. Try them on while we’re here.”

Morgan helped Brian with the new pair of boots while Maureen and Catherine retreated to chat with each other.

“Catherine, I think that I should take advantage of this,” Maureen quietly informed her. “I never thought that I’d get to have a mother-daughter dinner with my son, so I’m not going to pass on the opportunity.”

“That’s so sweet!” Catherine opined sotta voce. “But I was hoping to invite Brianna to have dinner with us tonight. I’d like Brian—my Brian, that is—and our younger daughter to meet Brianna.”

“Hmm? Then could I suggest maybe a joint mother-daughter dinner?”

“Well, I do like the sound of that,” conceded Catherine. “With another father-daughter dinner on the side? But how will your Brian feel about going out as a girl?”

Maureen giggled at the suggestion. “We shouldn’t speculate on how he might feel, Catherine,” she remarked, still giggling. “We should just have him do it and observe how he feels.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Catherine agreed, joining Maureen in her own fit of giggles. “It won’t be too hard on him, will it?”

“He will be anxious and embarrassed at first,” confirmed Maureen. “But he will get over it, and quicker than even he would think. Even now he appears to be getting comfortable as Brianna. He’s very adaptable and I think that he’s secretly quite proud of the ability. Frankly, I’m worried he might like being girled-up just a little too much. Yet somehow, I also think he needs to explore this and I should encourage him.”

“We could make it a ‘punishment’ for helping Morgan’s little deception.”

“Then how will you ‘punish’ Morgan for her role?”

Catherine giggled once more. “She’ll have the burden of keeping Brianna girled-up all summer.”

“That’s a ‘punishment’?”

“Yes, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy it!”

Both mothers giggled at that.

“Do you know Trattorio Luigi?” Catherine asked.

“Yes, I do!” answered Maureen.

“Why don’t you and Brianna meet us there for dinner then? invited Catherine. “We all do need to get to know everyone. And dinner’s on me, too. How ’bout six o’clock?”

“Well that gives Brian and me time to change,” observed Maureen.

“Don’t you dare! You’re dressed perfectly fine as you are!”

“And Brian?”

“The invitation is for Brianna, not Brian!” giggled Catherine.

“Oh!” replied Maureen, smiling. “Then maybe I can take my new daughter shopping until then?”

“Mis’ess MacKenzie, you’re such a good mother to that wonderful girl of yours!”

Both ladies continued giggling as they stepped over to Mr. Harrelson’s counter. He smiled at them.

“I think my son likes his new hiking boots,” observed Maureen. “He seems even to like wearing them with a skirt!”

“Yes, he certainly does,” agreed Catherine, still giggling. “But I can tell that now Morgan must have a pair to match.”

Henry chuckled as he lifted the lid from the second box on his counter, displaying yet a second pair of cordovan hiking boots, identical in style and color to those that Brian was now testing. “I had anticipated as much, Mis’ess MacHenry.”

Catherine picked up the left boot and peeked inside:

Custom fit of
♀ Size 7½B / 38 / 5 UK
by Henry Harrelson for
Morgan MacHenry.

Yes, these hiking boots were custom-fit for Morgan. So, she took them over to her daughter, whose eyes widened in surprise as she jumped up and down in delight.

“Omigosh!” squealed Morgan. “I love these, Mom! They’re so cute! They’re for me?”

“Well, twins are supposed to dress alike, right?” Catherine reminded her daughted.

Brian smiled inside. Was this the same Morgan who had been so disappointed and angry with her parents for withholding the truth of her origins? Yes, it was. And somehow, he knew that the love and joy that she radiated now was just as real and honest as her previous anger and sorrow. But Brian preferred this Morgan.

Morgan was now lacing up the hiking boots to try them on, so Brian moved to help her. But instead of kneeling on one knee this time, he sat on the floor, folding his legs up tightly next to himself, carefully using the skirt to preserve modesty as he had seen girls do time and time again, although he was not even aware that he was doing so in an impeccably feminine way. But the two mothers oberved this and simpy glanced at one another, confirming with mere eye contact that they had noted such modest, girlish behavior.

☆ ☆ ☆

Ignoring the bell ringing over the door, Cynthia noticed a pair of twin girls sitting as she entered the shop. Two older ladies, about her own mother’s age, sat across from them. They all were engaged in an animated conversation, of which the tone seemed very serious. She glanced over at her boss for a cue and Mr. Harrelson tilted his head ever so slightly toward the business office. Cynthia read his facial expression quite correctly and went directly to the office and clocked in for the afternoon. Mr. Harrelson followed her in and closed the door, gesturing for his young clerk to sit in a simply cushioned wooden chair. He himself took his usual seat behind the desk in his old leather wingbacked chair. Its much-abused, weather-beaten appearance was exceeded only by its soft, familiar comfort, personalized to Henry’s use by his years of sitting in it.

“Who are the twins, Mister Harrelson?” Cynthia asked.

“Morgan MacHenry and her brother Brian MacKenzie.”

“Her brother? But they’re both girls!”

“Well, they may both look like girls,” Henry said in his rich, warm baritone, “but I assure you, that indeed only one is such. The other is her twin brother.

“They have returned the boots that they received this morning. These were the packages for which you reversed the shipping labels.”

“So it’s still my fault, then?” Cynthia asked sadly. But her boss smiled at her and chuckled lightheartedly.

“You ask that like you’re afraid I might fire you,” he observed. “Don’t worry! If your mistake were so bad as to warrant dismissal, I’d have fired you already. Actually, I was much more concerned with how you mishandled the call from Mis’ess MacKenzie this morning. But even that was motivated out of your pride in me as your employer, so all is forgiven.”

“Oh? I’m sorry, I didn’t know that I handled the call wrong,” his young clerk confessed.

“I don’t wish to discuss your telephone skills just now. We’ll review that another time,” he said. “Rather, I would like to talk about making mistakes, or to be more specific, your attitude towards making them.

“Cindy, don’t worry so much about your mistakes. I’ve been more worried because, frankly, you make too few.”

“Too few mistakes?” replied the young woman incredulously.

“That’s right. You need to make more mistakes!” Henry confirmed with a grin.

“I don’t understand—I don’t think—,” the girl stammered. “How could anyone make too few mistakes?”

“Cindy, this is not a classroom, not in the usual sense. Mistakes are how we learn in business, in the so-called ‘real world.’ If you’re not making a mistake now and then, you’re not learning anything. It might be because you play it too safe, or perhaps I don’t push you far enough.

“When you a make mistake, it both shows your character and offers you an opportunity to build on it. I can use such an event to gauge your honesty and responsibility as well as your poise. Also, when you must fix a mistake, then you have another chance to understand how things work and to pay closer attention to their details. So mistakes can help you improve your skills and technique as well as your character.”

“I never thought of it that way,” she admitted. “I’ve always been told that mistakes are bad. Am I wrong to think so?”

“Well, it’s not so much the mistakes that we want,” Henry continued, “but we absolutely need the lessons that follow them. And it can be quite difficult to get those much needed lessons without making a few mistakes first. But the way you’re taught in school reinforces the very false idea that always being right is good and therefore that making any mistakes must always be bad. Yet life is never so simple as that.”

“But how could mixing up a pair of shipping labels not be bad?”

“The twins outside just met here today returning their boots. Until then, they did not even know of each others’ existence. Apparently, they were adopted into different families. Their mothers are out there talking with them now. Your ‘mistake’ with the shipping labels is why those two kids met here today.

“Morgan and Brian—or maybe Brianna—should have grown up together, but they didn’t. Just know, Cindy, that your ‘mistake’ has allowed them to regain what they didn’t even know they had lost.”

“So, reversing the shipping labels did all that?” Cynthia asked.

“Brian’s mother ordered him a pair of hiking boots online,” Henry explained. “But because both the MacKenzies and the MacHenries reside in town, each of the customers’ children came in person to return the misdelivered boots. So yes, your switching the shipping labels set up the meeting of the unknowing and unsuspecting twins. And more’s happening even yet than meets the eye in all this.”

“But isn’t that in spite of, rather than because of, my mistake?”

“Think about it for a moment, Cindy,” continued Henry. “If you had not made that mistake, then how would these twins have met?”

Cynthia puzzled over Mr. Harrelson’s question for a few minutes while he annotated a few accounting forms and posted some data by hand to an old, bound journal and a matching ledger.

“I’m sorry, Mister Harrelson, but I can’t think of any other way for them to have met.”

“Then what can you conclude about the relationship between your mistake and the twins meeting?”

“It was necessary?”

Mr. Harrelson smiled at his clerk. “Next, would you regard the twins’ meeting as a good thing?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Then how do you see your mistake now?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Cynthia. “I can’t say.”

“Let me spell it out for you, then,” Henry said leaning back in his chair. “Your mistake was beneficial. Even now, those twins and their families are enjoying a happiness that they would have otherwise missed today. And I can see its trajectory yet bringing them joy well into the future.”

“It just seems too strange for me.”

“What you think of as a mistake allows Brian to have a sister, and Morgan as well as her little sister to have a brother. And Brian also gets a chance for a few experiences in girlhood with his sister. Few boys ever get to do that. Mrs. MacKenzie has an opportunity for a mother-daughter shopping trip and to enjoy a mother-daughter dinner.”

“All that?”

“There’s even more, but I don’t wish you to be overwhelmed by it all. Still, I do have an exercise for you.”

“What kind of exercise?”

“First close your eyes… Good… Now think about, say, two or three things that you enjoy about being a girl that you’d most like to share with everyone…”

Cynthia smiled, just a moment, until her tears flowed easily and happily.

“Cindy, you’ve opened the door for Brian, a boy, to feel what you’re feeling now!”

“Omigosh! That’s beautiful!” the clerk cried. “And I could do this with a mistake?”

“As mistakes go, Cindy, yours was golden!”

Henry needed to get back to the shopfloor, but when he rose to leave the office, Cynthia embraced him in a passionately strong, grateful hug. Her embrace felt like the one that his daughter had given him just before he escorted her down the aisle at her wedding.

☆ ☆ ☆

Mr. Harrelson stepped back behind the sales counter and addressed himself to Mesdames MacHenry and MacKenzie.

“Ladies, please allow me to suggest you both take advantage of our two-for-one sale. If each of you buy both boots of the same style for your—daughters, then you each will get one free pair. And I’ve already given complimentary purses and wallets to your girls. They also match the ladies’ boots that they have.”

“How would that work out ?” asked Mrs. MacHenry?

“Since each pair is the same price, we each buy two pairs in the same style. Then I give a pair of the ladies’ hiking boots to Morgan and you give a pair of the ladies’ dress boots to my son,” explained Mrs. MacKenzie. “That way we both get the two-for-one price for everything.”

Catherine looked at Mr. Harrelson who just smiled at her and nodded as he laid out a pair of similar bills of sale showing the two transactions just as Maureen had described. The two women took checkbooks from their purses to write drafts for the boots.

“Mr. Harrelson, I’d like a pair of those ladies’ boots just like my son is wearing,” stated Maureen. Do you have any more in stock?”

“Yes, I do,” he confirmed. “And I also believe we still have your measurements on file.”

“Then when can I pick them up?” she asked.

“They should be ready in forty-eight hours,” Henry informed her.” But do call ahead. Strange things can happen in here sometimes.”

Catherine rolled her eyes, retorting with a giggle, “Do they ever!” Then she added, “I’d like a pair in white, if that color’s available?”

“Yes it is,” Henry confirmed again. “And your boots will also come with the matching purses and wallets, ladies, again with our compliments… Oh! Mis’ess MacHenry, I’m not sure that we have your measurements on file.”

“No, I haven’t purchased a pair for myself here before,” she clarified.

Henry pressed a button of a vintage intercom on the counter. “Cindy, could you come to the counter, please. We need to fit a customer.”

“These white boots will complement that ensemble you’re wearing perfectly, Mis’ess MacHenry,” observed the proprietor. “But that’s why you ordered them, isn’t it?”

She smiled back at Mr. Harrelson. “Of course.”

“Ah! Here she is,” Henry announced by way of introduction. “Cindy is my assistant-in-training here. I believe you and Mis’ess MacKenzie talked with her by telephone this morning.”

Henry turned to address Cindy. “Would you take Mis’ess MacHenry to our backroom for a fitting, please?”

“Why, of course!” she beamed, guiding her new customer by the elbow. “Right this way, Mis’ess MacHenry…”

Maureen MacKenzie turned to address Mr. Harrelson again. “I can understand how someone can mix up the shipping labels, but there was the other label.”

“The other label?”

“Inside the boot for ‘Brianna’ MacKenzie? That’s a mistake, too, isn’t it?”

Henry paused a moment, tight-lipped, staring off into space. Then he looked her in the eye.

“That’s a good question, Mis’ess MacKenzie,” he conceded. “I don’t know. Only your son, or daughter, can answer that now.”

The mother didn’t respond verbally, but Henry could read her unspoken fear, her question yet unasked. And he could not leave it unanswered.

“You have raised your child correctly thus far,” he told her. “So why are you doubting now your ability to do it? You are still your child’s mother, whether he remains your son or becomes your daughter. He, or she, still needs the mother that you already are.”

She looked over at Brian and Morgan and heard them chatting with one another. She sighed and reached into her purse for a tissue to wipe away the tears that were starting. She glanced back at Henry. She fought back further tears.

“Every summer after school lets out, Brian usually gets the blues and remains in a malaise for a week or two until he finds a new hobby for the summer. But it had been almost a month and I was starting to worry. Now I’m wishing he had gone for the radio-controlled model cars, airplanes, and helicopters again this year. I’m already missing the little engines buzzing.”

“So then, the choice of new summer hobby appears to have been settled,” observed Mr. Harrelson as his lips tightened once more into that unusual grin.

☆ ☆ ☆

“Mom, I can’t believe I’m outside dressed like this!”

Mrs. MacKenzie just pointed to the street so mother and son scampered across, Brian in his new ladies’ boots. Reaching the other side of the street, the doors of the car unlocked. His mom also popped the trunk open so that they could load in the boxes and shopping bags that were the trophies from their visit to Harrelson’s.

“Son, bring your purse,” his mom advised. He retrieved it from one of the shopping bags.

Brian sat down and shut the door as his mom entered on the driver’s side. He folded his arms tightly across his chest and squeezed his nylon clad legs together tightly, almost as if he were cold, his new purse resting between him and his mother’s between them. Maureen saw the distress in her son’s face.

“You can relax, honey,” she said. “You’re safe now. It’s just you and me in here.”

“I’m scared, Mom. I really am,” admitted Brian as he pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Well, one thing that’s obvious to me is that you wanted to be dressed like you are right now.”

Brian’s lips tightened and his tears flowed as he nodded.

“There’s no way that you’d be wearing those clothes unless somehow you wanted to,” continued his mother. “And if you want or need to dress like a girl, I’m okay with it.”

At those words, Brian relaxed.

“You’re really okay with me like this?” he asked—no—pled for confirmation of what his mom had said, for acceptance of what might be happening, of whom he might be.

“Yes, I am—except that your pose right now is most unladylike when you’re wearing a skirt!”

Brian suddenly thrust his feet down into the footwell on the passenger side and stretched his skirt as firmly as possible around his upper legs as far down to the knees as available. He and his mother both giggled over it.

“After you and Morgan had tried on your hiking boots, her mother and I noticed that while your sister had put the pumps that she had worn into the store back on, you put your girls’ boots back on, not your sneakers. And you didn’t even ask to change out of her clothes, did you?”

Brian’s face was blushing rather vividly at that moment.

“No, but she didn’t ask for them back, either. She worked so hard to dress me up like this, she’d have been disappointed if I had changed back into my jeans. She was really proud of her work,” he explained to his mom. “I hoped you’re not too disappointed in me. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Disappointed? Not at all!” Mrs. MacKenzie assured her son. “You took quite a personal risk for someone else’s cause, for someone you didn’t even know this morning.”

Brian tried to hug his mom, as well as he could in the front seat of a car, anyway.

“Mom, I love you.”

“I know, son. I love you, too.”

They straightened themselves and Maureen spoke to her son again, “If you want a real adventure for the summer, there are quite a few nice shops for women and girls in the same building as Harrelson’s.”

“His business shares dressing rooms with the dress shop next door. That’s where Morgan took me to change.”

“I’d love to take my new daughter shopping,” Maureen said, pulling the door handle, opening the car door slightly ajar.

“Mom, I just don’t understand,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m nervous, embarrassed, afraid, but I feel like I gotta do this.”

“Whatever you wanna do, Brian or Brianna, I’m here for you.”

Brian opened his door, swung it wide, and stepped out. “Let’s go, Mom,” he announced. “I need to do this.”

“Are you sure, honey?” his mother asked as she stepped out of the car.

“No! Of course I’m not sure,” answered Brian. “But I’m doing it anyway!”

“Then, don’t forget your purse!”

Brian blushed as he reached into the car for his new purse. Morgan had fixed the strap for the purse to be worn as a shoulderbag, so he let it hang down from his right shoulder.

“Not quite,” his mom said. “Sling it over your left shoulder to wear it against your right hip. Always wear your purse with the strap across the body. It’s safer that way. You’re less likely to lose it and it’s harder to steal.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he said. “I hadn’t thought about it, but it does make sense.”

Maureen came around the car and joined her son on the pavement. They embraced in a good, strong hug.

“I love you, Mom!”

“I love you, too, girl!”

Brian’s eyes widened as he looked into his mother’s.

“Yes, from now on, whenever you’re dressed as a girl, I will think of you as my daughter, Brianna. I will only address you as my son, Brian, when you’re dressed as a boy. It’s safer that way. And I think it will be more fun for us, too.” She kissed her new daughter on the cheek. “Brianna, try not to cry so much! Your makeup is running.”

Brian smiled through his tears and opened his purse. That’s why Morgan gave him the packet of tissues. Then for the first time, he really noticed the soft pink nail color he was wearing. Then tearing open the packet, he took out a tissue to wipe the tears away from his face.

“We can touch up your makeup in the ladies room across the street,” his mother told her new daughter.

“So being a girl is about more than just clothing, isn’t it?”

“You learn fast, girl!”

Brian looked down at his new boots.

“Mom, there’s something weird about these boots.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Morgan said that hers felt better than her low-heeled shoes. Well, I never even had worn high heels before, but these are more comfortable than my sneakers.”

“You do know Harrelson’s reputation for fit,” Mrs. MacKenzie reminded him. “Then maybe these boots really are what you should wear.”

At that moment, somehow, everything changed. Maybe it was the nice fit his new ladies’ boots, or maybe it was the tone of his mother’s voice reassuring him. Whatever the reason, all of his doubt, anxiety, embarrassment, and fear seemed to lift. He was a boy wearing his twin sister’s very feminine clothes, and suddenly, he was quite happy to be that. He felt wondrously silly and giddy. And for the first time, he giggled loudly and girlishly.

“What?” asked Maureen.

“This is fun!” she giggled out loud. “I’m a boy wearing his twin sister’s clothes and I’m alright with it. This is what Morgan wanted me to feel. This is from her. She wants me to feel what I already know.”

“What’s gotten into you, Brianna?”

“Gratitude!” answered Brianna. “I’m happy you’re my mom and that Morgan’s my sister. I’m happy to be a boy and now to be a girl, too. I’m just happy to be alive and in love with life!”

Maureen smiled at Brianna, because Brian was now exhibiting a new personality that she’d never seen before. She took her daughter’s hands in her own.

“I think that expressing yourself as Brianna will be good for you. So, you are going on this adventure, then, as I thought you would,” confimed Maureen. “You’ve never backed down from a challenge. I can’t imagine you’d not pursue this one.”

“I guess that’s just the boy in me,” Brian-now-Brianna said. She glanced at the walklight as it signaled Walk. She began pulling her mother across the street. “Let’s go shopping, Mom!” Brianna giggled. “Summer’s already here and I don’t have a thing to wear!”

“Brianna, you’re such a girl!” Mrs. MacKenzie chided her as they crossed the street.

☆ ☆ ☆

Cynthia watched the shoppers from the back door of Harrelson’s. The back entrance of the shop opened onto an inner courtyard, a modest indoor mall formed by the open spaces by the two lower floors and basement of the building. Henry was standing behind his young clerk. They noticed Mrs. MacKenzie and her son dressed en femme strolling along, pointing out the various boutiques and shops.

“You’re right, they came back for a mother-son—I mean, a mother-daughter shopping-spree,” observed Cynthia. “How did you know?”

“Let me ask you,” he replied. “Does it make sense that they would?”

“Yes! Yes it does!” She smiled glancing back at her boss. She directed her attention back toward the inner courtyard and saw Brian walking with his mother across the way. This time, Cynthia noticed his unusually determined gait.

“Look at him walk in those high-heeled boots, Mister Harrelson. Where did he get that powerwalk? I mean, fashion models practice hours to learn that and I know he never wore a pair of heels until today.”

Henry flashed Cynthia his tight-lipped grin as he raised an eyebrow. He was quite happy with her growing insight and astute observations of everyone and everything around her. Indeed, she was vindicating his hiring her daily. Of course she had a great deal to learn yet, but learn she would. The hardest lessons for her would be unlearning the falsehoods she had acquired in an educational system bent on squelching the imagination that she had somehow managed to save. After two or three years, Mr. Harrelson expected that she’d be fully capable of managing her own franchise in his chain of unusual shops.

“As I recall, he learned the mechanics of the walk from Morgan,” he told his young clerk as they continued to watch Brian and his mother. “But don’t forget that you, Cindy, are responsible for this miss-directed male!”

She puzzled for but a moment, then suddenly her hand concealed her own tight-lipped grin, which had mimicked perfectly her mentor’s.

Quietly and happily, Henry Harrelson nodded Cynthia his approval.