Gerald had always thought it was convenient living in the same building as his mother-different apartments, same hallway, easy visits, no commute for holidays. But convenience had turned into catastrophe the instant he’d tried that stupid spell.

One moment he’d been standing in his own apartment, in his own tall, broad-shouldered body, clutching the cracked leather spellbook he’d found at a thrift shop. The next-

A lurch.

A dizzying squeeze, like being pushed through a keyhole.

A gasp that wasn’t his voice.

And suddenly he was not in his apartment anymore.

He staggered back, blinking at the floral-print couch, the framed cross-stitch, the pale pink curtains. This was his mother’s apartment. And when he looked down-

A small, delicate hand with neatly painted nails.

A body swallowed in a mustard-colored long-sleeved sweater dress, the knit fabric hugging curves he’d never possessed until five seconds ago.

Black leggings stretched against his legs.

And on his feet-mustard pumps with a modest heel.

“What-oh no. Oh no no no no-”

His voice was soft, feminine, breathy-his mother’s voice.

Panic surged like electricity. He didn’t think. He just moved.

He ran for the door, the click-clack of his heels echoing down the stairwell, each step sending an unfamiliar bounce through his chest that made him flinch in shock. His heart hammered as he burst into the hallway and fumbled with the key to his apartment-well, his former apartment.

“Mom! Mom, what happened, are you-”

He threw the door open.

Empty.

No sign of his mother.

No sign of his body.

And worst of all-

The spellbook was gone.

Gerald felt his breath stutter. “She must’ve taken it-she must’ve-why would she-”

He spun and bolted back up the stairs, nearly tripping in the pumps, the sway of his hips making his balance unfamiliar and precarious. Maybe he had passed her. Maybe she’d returned to her own apartment. Maybe-

But her home was empty too.

He barely slept that night. Every time he shifted, stray bits of hair brushed against his cheeks, the weight of his mother’s smaller frame making him feel like a guest inside himself. He tried not to think about the way the dress clung when he moved, or about how foreign his voice sounded when he whimpered into the pillow.

It wasn’t until the next morning-sunlight already warming the blinds-that the front door finally opened.

Gerald jumped to his feet.

Standing there, smiling casually, was his mother wearing his body-his tall frame, his stubble, his T-shirt. And beside her, holding his former hand, was Wendy, his girlfriend.

Wendy looked...not shocked. Not confused.

But understanding.

“Morning, sweetie,” his mother said-with his voice.

Gerald’s stomach twisted. “We-Mom, we need to talk. Privately.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said breezily, setting the spellbook on the counter. “Wendy knows everything. There’s nothing to hide.”

Gerald felt heat rising in the cheeks he now wore. “We are swapping back. Now.”

He lunged for the spellbook-only to be blocked by his own body. His mother’s-no, his-bigger hands easily held him at bay. In her control, his height and arm-span felt insurmountable. His new, petite muscles trembled uselessly.

“Gerald,” she said gently, “you can’t overpower me like this. I get it, you’re scared. But I don’t want to switch back yet.”

“What do you mean, you don’t-what-Mom, this isn’t funny!”

“I’m not trying to be funny. I can help you. Make this easier.”

Her hands opened the spellbook with practiced ease. “You shouldn’t have tried spells you didn’t understand.”

Before he could shout another protest, she whispered an incantation-smoothly, confidently. Symbols flared across the pages, swirling upward in threads of gold.

They wrapped around him.

Gerald gasped as a rush of information rammed into his mind-not memories, but knowledge.

How to care for thinning middle-aged skin.

Which moisturizers prevented creasing around the eyes.

How to coordinate outfits for his mother’s color palette-how mustard was her signature shade because of her undertones.

How to match a lip tint to a sweater dress.