The drive to Amy's was mercifully short. My anxiety grew with each passing block, but I tried to keep my face composed, neutral. Rob chatted about his day at work, the same consulting job he'd described to me as Alan. I nodded along, offering vague responses when necessary.
Alvin fussed from his car seat, and I turned to check on him, giving myself a break from pretending. He was fine, just restless, so I reached back to gently rock the seat, hoping it would calm him.
We pulled into a quaint neighborhood, not unlike our own, and parked in front of a small, Craftsman-style house. I took a deep breath as Rob rang the doorbell, steeling myself for whatever lay ahead.
Amy greeted us with a wide, warm smile. She was shorter than Maggie, with the same blonde hair, though hers was cropped into a pixie cut. She pulled me into a hug, and I froze for a moment before awkwardly returning it.
"Mags! I'm so glad you guys made it," she said, releasing me and turning to Rob, "Hey, you."
She hugged him too, then peered into the car seat at Alvin, "And you brought my favorite nephew!"
The house was cozy, with eclectic furniture and bright art on the walls. A man I assumed was her husband sat in the living room, a toddler playing at his feet.
"Hey, Maggie! Rob!" he called, standing to greet us, "Beer?"
Rob nodded, and I gave what I hoped was an enthusiastic "Sure!"
As Amy took Alvin from Rob and cooed over him, I glanced nervously around. I had to stay calm, had to seem like Maggie.
"Here you go," Amy's husband said, handing me a cold bottle.
But I struggled to keep up the facade over dinner, more than I would've liked.
Rob and Amy chatted easily with each other, with me, and I nodded along, trying to seem natural. Trying to seem like Maggie. I could tell by Rob's glances that I wasn't quite pulling it off.
"So," Amy said, passing me a dish of pasta, "How's the little guy sleeping these days?"
I hesitated, unsure what would be a normal response. Did Alvin sleep well? Had he been fussy lately? I didn't know, didn't want to say anything that would sound off.
"Uh, you know," I said, fumbling, "Some nights are better than others."
Amy laughed, "Welcome to parenthood."
Her husband asked about some TV show I'd never heard of, and I mumbled something vague, hoping it didn't sound stupid.
I was in over my head.
Rob event confronted me after we got “home”.
"Are you okay?" he asked again, "You seem... different."
My heart pounded in my chest, louder and louder.
"Different how?”
He sighed, "I don't know, just... not yourself."
I struggled to find words, to find some way to convince him, to reassure him.
“What do you mean?”
He rubbed his neck, his eyes searching my face, "I can't put my finger on it. You're being weird, Mags."
The concern in his voice made my guilt swell, but I couldn't tell him the truth.
"I’m okay. Just tired. I’m sorry,” I said, “I know I’m being weird.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
I felt cornered. What could I possibly say? That I wasn't his wife at all, but their pervy neighbor trapped in her body by some impossible wish?
"Look," I said, desperately trying to find an explanation, "I've just been having these... strange thoughts lately."
I swallowed hard, trying to sound like I imagined Maggie would, "About who I am. What my life means now that I'm a mother."
“No, it’s not that ...it's different. Something about the way you look at me. Like you don't even know me." Rob's voice broke slightly. He sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped, "Even at Amy's tonight. You barely said two words to her. You two never stop talking."
I felt a wave of panic rising. I was failing at this, failing spectacularly.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I just..."
"Are you unhappy?" he asked suddenly, his eyes finding mine, "With us? With me?"
The raw vulnerability in his voice made my stomach twist. This was a conversation between husband and wife, between Rob and Maggie. I was an intruder, witnessing something I had no right to see.
"No," I said quickly, "I'm not unhappy."
And in that moment, I realized it was true. Being Maggie, with her beautiful body, her perfect life, her loving husband—it wasn't terrible. It was actually... nice. The thought terrified me.
"Then what is it?" Rob pressed.
I looked at him, really looked at him. He was handsome in a comfortable way, with kind eyes and laugh lines. He clearly loved Maggie. He was worried about her—about me.
I wasn’t winning anything with my words. I had to assure him somehow, some other way.
Could I really bring myself to do it though?
I moved closer to him on the bed, "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."
"I'm sorry," I said again, and then I kissed him.
He was surprised at first, hesitating for a brief moment before his arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer. My heart pounded in my chest. I was kissing Rob. I was kissing him as Maggie.
I was definitely not into dudes. But it was strange, because the longer it lasted, the less wrong it felt.
His hands moved up my back, familiar and assured.
I let myself lean into him, let myself kiss him back.
His hand moved to unbutton my blouse.
“Oh…”
I pulled back, a strange mix of desire and revulsion flowing through me. This wasn't right. I wasn't Maggie. I couldn't do this. Not with Rob. Not with a man I barely knew, in a body that wasn't truly mine.
"I can't," I whispered, my voice catching, "I'm sorry, I just... I'm not feeling well."
Disappointment flashed across his face, but it quickly gave way to concern.
"That's okay," he said, buttoning my blouse back up with gentle fingers, "Let's just get some sleep."
As we lay in bed together, his arm draped protectively over my waist, I stared at the ceiling, thinking about my life—my real life—just a fence away.
At the same time, I let my hands trace Maggie’s curves, feeling their softness, their unfamiliar weight. What was happening to me? Was I losing myself to her? Or finding something I'd always secretly wanted?
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