Victor had always considered himself a good friend. Loyal, dependable, willing to take a bullet---or at least wear an ugly tuxedo---for someone he cared about. So when Wyatt, his lifelong buddy, looked pale and devastated on the morning of his wedding, Victor had stepped in without hesitation.

“My mom,” Wyatt said, voice trembling, “she’s not coming. She got into a screaming match with my fiancée again. Said she’s done with me.”

Victor knew she hated him. Mrs. Halbrook had always scowled when he came around, muttering words like “bad influence,” “childish,” and “brainless.” Still, Victor looked at his friend and said the words that sealed his fate.

“I’ll do anything to help.”

Wyatt looked up at him, eyes gleaming---not with gratitude, but something stranger. Older. A flicker of something Victor hadn’t seen before.

“Anything?” Wyatt asked.

Victor nodded.

And that’s when everything changed.

---

The world pulsed like a migraine behind Victor’s eyes. He blinked---and stumbled back in shoes that pinched. He looked down.

Pink. Rhinestones. Flower appliqués. A peplum waist. 3/4 sleeves.

A church dress---her church dress.

“No, no, no,” Victor muttered, reaching for his face, feeling unfamiliar softness, cheekbones that didn’t belong, curls that bounced at his touch, lipstick, powder...

“You’ll be fine,” Wyatt said soothingly. “You said you’d do anything. And Mom is supposed to be here. Just... be her. It’s only for the ceremony.”

Victor stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror Wyatt conjured---because how else could this be happening?---and saw the impossible. He looked exactly like Wyatt’s mother. Her posture, her hands, her smug, sanctimonious smile.

“I don’t know how to act like her,” Victor protested, his voice now husky and matronly.

“You will,” Wyatt said. “When you need to know, you’ll know. I made sure of that.”

---

And he did.