The kitchen felt cavernous, the sounds of the party blaring from the other room. I took a deep breath, the scent of garlic and roasted vegetables wafting through the air, grounding me in my unusual, almost surreal reality. I was alone now, thrust into Marion's life for an evening.
Shoulders back, I straightened up, forcing a smile as I stepped out of the kitchen and into the lively buzz of my parents' friends. The chatter washed over me like a wave, and I quickly scanned the room. My gaze landed on a cluster of adults near the fireplace, laughter spilling from their lips as they shared stories about their children—my friends.
“Marion! Come join us!” shouted my dad, gesturing with a glass in hand.
I hesitated for just a moment before nodding and approaching them as confidently as I could muster, “Sure! What are we talking about?”
“Oh, just how the kids are growing up so fast,” my dad replied, his voice warm and inviting.
I swallowed hard, “Yeah, um, it’s crazy how time flies!”
Oh, God. That’s right. Marion was a mother, and I had to act like one. The realization churned in my stomach, but I forced a smile as I joined the circle, pretending to sip from a glass of wine that wasn’t even mine.
As I stumbled through small talk with my parents’ friends, a hand suddenly slipped around my waist. Startled, I turned to find Marion’s husband, Peter, standing behind me. My friend Aiden’s dad.
“Hey there, babe,” he said, a sly smile playing on his lips.
I froze, unsure of how to respond. This was definitely not part of the plan. Marion had never mentioned anything about her husband being flirtatious or touchy-feely.
“Uh… hi,” I managed to say, trying to pull away from his grasp without being too obvious.
He chuckled and leaned in closer to me, “You’re looking particularly beautiful tonight.”
My face flushed with both confusion and discomfort. How was I supposed to respond? Should I play along and act flattered? Or should I make it clear that his advances were not welcome?
His hand rested on my waist, as he pulled us into a conversation with some other adults at the party. Peter didn’t seem to notice my hesitation as he continued talking, his hand still lingering possessively at my waist. For better or worse, I was this guy’s wife now.
The conversation swirled around me, a gentle hum of voices and laughter, but all I could focus on was Peter’s hand pressing against my side.
At one point, he lowered his hand onto my butt.
“Peter,” I said, forcing a laugh that felt foreign on my lips, “How about we keep it PG?”
He looked at me, eyebrows raised in playful surprise, “Oh come on, Marion! You know I can’t resist you when you’re looking this good.”
Was this how married adults acted when the kids weren’t around?
“Mom,” Aiden’s voice broke through the haze of my awkwardness, and I turned to see him looking up at me, “I wanna go home.”
“Oh sweetie, you’re ready to go already?” I asked, trying to sound more like Marion than I felt.
“Yeah, it’s boring here,” he whined.
Shit, where was Marion when I needed her? I knew I couldn’t leave the party in her body. I’d be stuck in her body for who-knows-how-long.
Peter just shrugged, “It’s getting late anyway. Aiden, let your mother and I say goodbye to the other guests first, okay?”
I felt a rush of panic.
“Uh, yeah, okay,” I said quickly.
I reluctantly followed Peter around to the other guests as we said our goodbyes.
At one point, I caught sight of my teenage boy body, now inhabited by Marion. She was chasing one of the girls through the house, laughing and screaming. But she didn’t seem to notice that we were leaving.
I fumbled through the heap of coats in the hallway, realizing I had no idea which one was Marion’s. Luckily, Peter pulled one out and draped it over my shoulders.
“Here you go, babe. Let’s get Aiden home before he starts throwing fits.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, trying to keep my voice steady as I slipped my arms into the soft fabric.
As we stepped outside into the cool night air, I took a deep breath. Aiden was already in the backseat of the car, sulking but quiet now. I climbed into the passenger seat next to Peter, who turned on the engine with a low rumble.
I shut the car door. Now it was just the three of us. Me, Jacob, and my friend, Aiden’s family.
The drive home was a blur of streetlights flickering by, illuminating the tension in the car. Aiden sat quietly in the back, his face pressed against the window, while Peter fiddled with the radio, humming along to some soft rock tune that seemed to echo my own internal chaos.
“Marion,” Peter said suddenly, glancing over at me with that same flirtatious smile, “You should really wear that dress more often. It suits you.”
I awkwardly adjusted my posture, unsure how to respond, “Oh… thanks, …honey.”
The words felt heavy and clumsy on my tongue.
Inside, I was panicking. Here I was, in my mom’s friend’s body, driving home with her family, and Marion had no idea. It dawned on me that I could be stuck like this for weeks. As a grown woman.
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