“Alright Helen, you’re putting your foot down this time. You’re not doing your son’s laundry again,” she told her reflection in the rear view mirror. She wanted nothing more than to also tell him he couldn’t borrow money, drag her off to an expensive restaurant for a welcome home meal, or bum off with his friends again the entirety of spring break, but those all faltered on her lips. It felt much easier to say she wouldn’t wash his crusty disgusting clothes this time.
Helen stepped out of her minivan, careful not to open the door too wide or risk it getting stuck again. She straightened her hair and tried her best to look presentable like the other waiting folk at the airport. They all seemed to have better hair, cleaner teeth, and straighter backs. People like her weren’t supposed to have a child in university, but Lane had landed that wonderful athletic scholarship. It was hard not to let that overtake her and make her back down. She had to put her foot down this time.
She waited near the luggage collection, trying to spy her son as groups of people descended down the stairs from arrivals. She couldn’t see his grimy and beat up suitcase either. “Oh, I hope he didn’t miss his flight again,” she groaned. She didn’t know what bill she’d have to put off to pay for another one. She was about to hurry to the nearest phone booth when there came a tap on her shoulder and an embrace from behind. The feeling of breasts pressed into her back filled her with confusion and she turned to see a woman her son’s age standing right behind her.
“Hi mom,” the girl greeted, her teeth polished white and perfectly even. She looked angelic, like a choir girl or fashion model and had these sleek muscles down her arms that would put any mother at ease when she went off by herself.
Helen was about to inform this girl she had the wrong woman when she paused and recognized her. That was Lane’s hair colour, that was his suitcase (oddly clean) in her hands, and there was no mistaking those eyes. They were her eyes, the same delicate grey. “Dear, what happened?” Helen blurted out, almost in a panic. Her friends all said daughters were worse whenever she complained about her son, and now it seemed her son was a daughter.
“I was at the back of the plane, didn’t get off till the end,” Lane, now Lana replied. She seemed cheery and well rested, so much unlike Lane’s last arrival, and she was so clean, and smelled so nice. Helen couldn’t believe it. She seemed ignorant to her change though, so Helen closed her lips and tried to take the luggage, but much to her bewilderment and joy, Lana refused.
They stepped outside, Lana talking about her trip and all these girls she apparently did yoga with. Last Helen remembered Lane didn’t do a thing beyond drink and play sports. He hadn’t once talked about a single friend. Even better this girl loaded her own luggage in the back without prompting and sat down politely in her seat without immediately fiddling with the radio knob and demanding they stop at a liquor store on the way home. She actually talked to her the whole drive home and even asked her what she’d been up to. Helen was convinced she was dreaming by that, and she was content to enjoy the dream.
***
It wasn’t pleasant waking up the next morning knowing she had to pick up her son from the airport, so Helen lay in bed with a sigh while the rattle of the washing machine faintly rumbled in her ears. It took a moment for that to register but she sat bolt upright and scurried to the laundry room, peering inside and beholding stacks of folded women’s clothing and both washer and dryer on the move.
“What?” Helen asked and with a yelp she noticed that girl next to her. Just as eerily similar to her son as yesterday.
“Oh, sorry, some of the stuff I left here got wrinkled. I’ll be done in about two hours,” she said. Her clothes last night had been unknown, but now the girl wore a freshly cleaned basketball camp shirt that Helen recognized all too well and and a pair of dark leggings that stopped above her ankle. Her hair was knotted back in a rough bun and with all of it collected behind her she looked a lot like Helen’s own high school photos. There was no mistaking it, this girl shared her DNA.
“Where did you get all that trash?” Helen asked, noticing the tied garbage bag in the girl’s hands.
“My room,” she shrugged.
“Y-your room?” Helen asked in shock before rushing to Lane’s room. She peered inside and beheld that the eyesore was gone. She’d always shut the door when she had friends over and now it was pristine. The carpet was freshly vacuumed, the bed was neatly made, and all the clutter, garbage, and empty bottles were gone. Helen stepped in, admiring the spacious room. It hadn’t been this empty since she’d first moved in. The girl had put up several posters and a framed certificate in an appealing fashion, and as Helen stared at it she noticed that Lana Nickels had now graduated with honours with distinction.
“What is happening?” Helen questioned, reaching towards a patch of drywall where Lane had punched a hole. It was knitting itself closed before her eyes. She even felt movement underfoot and watched as the carpet shifted and changed under her feet, becoming fluffy, soft, and pleasant. The very room seemed to be changing. All the furniture starting to match and become treated wood. That bed grew from a twin to a queen and the sheets became a gorgeous blue and so soft to the touch she wanted to melt into them. The bookshelf grew and became lined with books, the name of the school Lana had graduated from changed in her certificate, and Helen felt something crawling on her leg. She looked down and beheld one of her socks turning pitch black. She stumbled back from the room in panic and reached down, tearing that sock off her foot. The nails underneath were now perfectly trimmed and polished.
“This isn’t right,” Helen muttered, panic nearly taking her. Then a hand fell on her shoulder and she looked over at her former son now daughter.
“Are you okay? Should I make you some breakfast?” The girl asked, and it was the most tempting offer anyone had ever made her.