The Amanda Show - Part 7

Frank froze, his heart racing. He cursed under his breath as he quickly glanced at the mirror, adjusting Amanda’s reflection to appear composed.

"Just a minute!" he called out, his voice trembling slightly.

Frank bit his lip, uncertain of how to respond. He had no idea what it was like for Amanda to talk to him in his absence—what she felt about her new family dynamic.

“If I’m here as her, I have to be strong,” he reminded himself, forcing the fluttering in his chest to calm.

Before he could think better of it, Frank opened the door, revealing Mark, who stood there looking a mix of worried and hopeful. 

Mark’s gaze swept over Amanda’s face, a blend of concern and determination etched into his features.

“I know things have been tough since your dad… well, you know,” he began, his voice gentle but firm. “I just want to check in on you. How are you holding up?”

Frank’s heart sank at the mention of his absence. He cleared his throat and summoned every ounce of her teenage bravado.

“I’m fine,” he said, very much against the feelings swirling within him, “Just… school stuff.”

Mark nodded slowly but didn’t seem entirely convinced.

He stepped further into the room, leaning against the doorway with arms crossed, “Listen, I know it can be hard to talk about feelings, but I’m here if you need someone to listen. Wanna come downstairs?”

He felt Amanda’s body tense—a reflexive response against the very idea of being vulnerable with the step-father she had never fully embraced. It mirrored his own reflexes.

“Okay,” he found himself saying, forcing a smile that felt alien on her lips, “Sure.”

Frank took a deep breath and stepped out of the room. Mark led the way down the stairs with a practiced ease to his stride. Frank struggled to mirror that confidence in Amanda’s body, feeling more like an imposter than ever.

As they reached the bottom step, sunlight streamed through the kitchen window.

Mary was seated at the kitchen table, flipping through a stack of papers. She looked up as they entered, a gentle smile transforming her face as she caught sight of Frank's daughter.

Frank gulped. This woman… she was no longer his wife …but his mother.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” Mary said, her eyes softening, “How’s my girl doing?”

Frank’s heart sank a little deeper at the reminder of his real identity.

He forced Amanda’s smile to stay on his lips as he replied with a simple, “I’m fine.”

Mary studied him closely. “You look beautiful today,” she said with genuine warmth. “I love that dress on you.”

“Thanks,” Frank replied, playing along as he felt the fabric swish around his legs.

He looked down at his girly outfit, the floral pattern swaying gently with every movement. Frank couldn't believe how natural it felt to be dressed as his daughter.