Chapter 1

The package arrived just after sunrise, the brown cardboard box set neatly at Jerry’s front step. He hadn’t been expecting anything. His Amazon account was quiet, his fridge stocked, and the only thing on his calendar was pool maintenance.

He squinted at the label.

Diane Carlisle.

His ex-wife.

Delivered here, by mistake---or maybe, knowing Diane, on purpose.

Jerry, fifty-seven years old, sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. She always had a way of pushing things into his life even years after their divorce.

When Rebecca came around the corner of the house, pool skimmer in one hand, phone in the other, she noticed him staring at the box. She was twenty-six, all long legs and sun-streaked hair, dressed in a neon bikini and cheap flip-flops that slapped the concrete.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Something of Diane’s,” Jerry muttered. He gave the box a shake. It rattled faintly, with the strange mechanical weight of something complicated inside. “She ordered it, but they dropped it here.”

Rebecca bent over, curious, and tore back some of the tape. Printed neatly on the side was DIY TRAIT SWAPPER - For At-Home Use.

Jerry laughed. “What kind of nonsense is this?”

Rebecca grinned. “Looks like sci-fi junk. You’re not gonna open it?”

“Oh, I’m opening it.”

Within ten minutes, they had assembled the device on the back patio. It looked like a cross between a tanning booth and an arcade machine, humming faintly as it powered on. The interface was surprisingly intuitive, a touchscreen menu full of icons: Apparel, Physical Traits, Mental, Emotional, Social, Identity, Psychological.

Jerry scratched his beard. “Says here you can swap stuff. Test run?”

Rebecca dropped the skimmer by the pool and hopped closer. “You serious?”

“Why not? We’ll just switch something small, then switch it back.” He gestured at her bikini. “Let’s try clothes.”

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. “You want to wear this?”

“Not want---just testing.”

She laughed and tapped the Apparel option. Two names appeared: Jerry and Rebecca. She hit Swap.

There was a buzz, a flash of light, and then---nothing. Or so they thought.

Jerry glanced down. “Well, that was a dud.”

Rebecca looked at herself, then at him. “Guess it didn’t---” She stopped, frowning.

Jerry was now in her hot-pink bikini and flip-flops, his hairy legs sticking out ridiculously, while she stood in his loose jeans and T-shirt. The device had even resized everything to fit perfectly. But neither of them noticed.

“Machine’s busted,” Jerry said, shrugging. “Let’s try another setting.”

“Okay, how about… chests?” Rebecca giggled, tapping the button.

The machine buzzed again. Jerry’s chest swelled instantly, heavy curves filling out the bikini top with deep, startling cleavage. Rebecca’s shirt lay flat across her now modest frame.

They looked at each other, still oblivious.

“Ugh. Piece of junk,” Rebecca muttered.

Jerry leaned forward, peering at the screen. “Alright, let’s swap names.”

Another flash, and they blinked at each other.

“Still nothing,” Rebecca said---though she now thought of herself as Jerry, and Jerry thought of himself as Rebecca. The words slipped off their tongues naturally, as if nothing odd had happened.

Undeterred, they experimented further---trading small physical traits, then skills, then memories. Jerry gained Rebecca’s flexible knees and knack for social media marketing. Rebecca inherited Jerry’s woodworking skills and chronic shoulder ache. When they swapped bad relationships, Jerry suddenly carried the weight of a clingy ex-boyfriend who wouldn’t stop calling, while Rebecca found herself strangely bitter at Diane, a woman old enough to be her mother, who now counted as her ex-wife.

Jerry---now thinking of himself as Rebecca---shook his head. “Gotta get some sunblock. Burning out here.” He padded inside the house, bikini straps digging into his shoulders.

Left alone, Rebecca---calling herself Jerry without hesitation---picked up the phone. She scrolled to Diane Carlisle and hit call.

The line clicked. “Hello?” Diane’s voice, older, sharper, familiar in its condescension.

“Why’d you send that machine to me?” Rebecca demanded. Her tone was crisp, impatient, though it carried the certainty that Diane was her ex-wife.

“Jerry?” Diane’s confusion was palpable.

“Don’t play dumb,” Rebecca snapped. “That DIY Trait Swapper showed up at my place. You couldn’t even bother to get the address right?”

There was a pause, then a sly laugh. “Oh, must’ve been a shipping mistake. If you can’t drop it off, I’ll just come by in a few days.”

Rebecca bristled. “It wasn't any shipping mistake. You sent it to the man I and working for!”

Their voices rose, sharp and bitter, as if replaying old arguments from years of marriage that Rebecca had never lived through until now.

The patio door slid open. Jerry returned, his broad chest glistening with lotion, the bikini gleaming, and over it he wore a sheer lacy coverup that swayed in the breeze. He looked---if not exactly comfortable---at least appropriately accessorized.

“Who’s that?” he asked, adjusting the hem of the coverup.

Rebecca covered the phone. “Diane. She says she’ll come by in a few days to pick this thing up.”

Jerry’s face twisted. “Perfect. Just what I need.”

Rebecca lowered the phone and muttered, “Ex-wives.”