Cousin Amy 17

Chapter 17: Mamma Mia

The next evening, as Scott turned off the engine of the bright yellow Mini, he paused to take in his appearance. Glancing down at his floral blue summer dress, he noted how the lightweight material clung softly to his carefully sculpted figure, appropriate for the warm evening yet still unsettling in its embrace. His gaze drifted from his prominent cleavage to his bare legs, tracing the smooth, hairless limbs down to the high, cork wedge sandals. Catching a glimpse of his silky panties peeking out from beneath the short, flared bottom of his dress, Scott released a heavy sigh. While reaching down to carefully adjust the thin material resting on his shapely thighs with his long, French-tipped nails, something struck him. He had driven all the way from Amy's apartment in her impractical footwear without stalling once. An ironic smile played across his enlarged lips as he acknowledged this unexpected addition to his repertoire of feminine abilities. Like applying makeup and coordinating outfits, he had now mastered another skill he never intended to learn.

Scott's hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel as he stared at his destination in the distance. The dread that had started as a small knot in his stomach was now coursing through his feminized body. He was already late, but paralysis gripped him each time he thought about stepping out of the car. Inside the restaurant, Amy's mother awaited - a dinner date long overdue and one that he could no longer delay.

After the traumatizing clubbing experience, Scott stumbled into Amy's apartment to find not only a worried and confused Jessica but also a slew of messages on Amy’s answering machine. Amy's mother had been calling all day. When he'd finally mustered the courage to return her calls, she had insisted they have dinner the following evening. She mentioned having important news, making it clear that she wouldn’t be taking no for an answer.

Scott glanced up into the rearview mirror to check his makeup. The reflection that greeted him was both reassuring and disheartening. Amy’s eyes, framed by long fluttering lashes, stared back at him - a necessity for the task he was about to perform. Yet, the absence of his familiar features made him wonder if he would ever see the Scott he knew again.

After applying another coat of pink gloss, Scott stepped out of the car decisively, not allowing himself to hesitate or reconsider. He tottered across the street, his pink ponytail swinging wildly with each uncertain step in his wedge sandals. Initially chosen for their perceived ease of walking, they were far from comfortable. With their thin backs, Scott had found out too late that they were just as challenging as manoeuvring in tall stilettos.

Approaching the restaurant, a knot of anxiety tightened in Scott's stomach. He had managed to deceive Amy’s friends successfully, but now came his greatest challenge - fooling her mother. Despite their strained relationship, a mother's intuition was not easily misled. If there were even the slightest slip-up, she would surely smell a rat.

Scott's heart raced as he stepped into the restaurant, a place of elegance in his small town, but a far cry from the sophisticated dining he knew existed in the capital. The Maître D’ politely greeted him before guiding him across the dining room. As they navigated through the mostly empty tables, Scott recognised Amy's mother seated against the far wall, an untouched salad and a glass of white wine before her. She appeared refined and poised, every bit the sophisticated, slightly snobbish woman he remembered.

Scott had last seen Matilda Brooks at his mother's funeral over five years ago. Then, she and Amy had dressed in nearly identical lace dresses, highlighting their remarkable likeness. Now, as he approached the imposing figure in the designer black suit, teetering on his tiptoes, he was the one wearing the dress. As he reminded himself to breathe, a chilling thought crossed his frightened mind: he now resembled not only Amy but also a younger version of her mother. This realization added an unsettling layer to the anxiety he already felt.

Halting in front of Mrs Brokks, Scott mustered a nervous smile. "Hello, mother," he managed to say, his voice trembling under the weight of the moment. Matilda Brooks looked up, her smile polite but her eyes judging as they evaluated his appearance.

(See image 34)

"Hello, Amy. I'm glad you could finally make it," she finally said, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she motioned to the already-served meal in front of her. "You don’t mind that I ordered ahead, do you? I've been waiting a while."

"Sorry. Traffic was just dreadful," Scott replied calmly, smoothing out his dress as he settled into his seat opposite her. Despite the whirlpool of nerves within him, he made a conscious effort to maintain eye contact."I can’t stay long anyway. But you have some news for me?"

The blunt response seemed to slice through Matilda's composed exterior, revealing a flash of genuine emotion. Scott caught the hurt that flashed across her face, stirring a twinge of guilt within him, yet he fortified his resolve. Less interaction meant less chance of being discovered.

"Oh," she snorted, regaining her composure. "Still angry I see. Can you really not see things from my point of view? Perhaps the way I intervened was a bit drastic. But you were out of control. Somebody had to step in and do something."

Scott, clueless about the past grievances she referenced, crossed his arms defensively, using the situation to his advantage. He averted his gaze and pouted his glossy lips, maintaining the frosty facade.

"You need to grow up and stop acting like a child, Amy," Mrs Brooks lectured, her voice stern. "You’re a grown woman now. It's time to start acting like one."

"Thanks for the advice, mother. I’ll take it on board," Scott retorted, the sharpness of his tone surprising even himself. "Do you have news or not?"

Matilda's expression tightened. "We’ve set a date for your grandmother’s funeral. The 16th, up in Bakerton where I grew up. I’d like you to say a few words."

"A speech!" Scott's voice faltered, a sudden tremor revealing his surprise. He hastily cleared his throat, trying to compose himself, but his eyes, wide and darting, betrayed his nervousness with a flicker of alarm.

"Just a few words. A nice memory you and Granny shared. Will that be a problem?" Amy’s mother probed, her eyes boring into him.

"No, that’s fine," Scott managed to force out, his posture rigid and his wedge sandals planted firmly to stop his legs from shaking.

"Great," Matilda Brooks responded flatly. "Oh, and I trust you won’t show up with that garish pink hair. We want to be respectful on the day don't we?"

"I’ll change it" Scott shot back, his tone icy. "Is that all, then?"

"Yes, that's all," Amy’s mother confirmed, the hurt in her eyes clear.

With that, Scott rose to his aching feet, his movements wobbly as he made his escape. The guilt of his bitchy demeanour gnawed at him; it was so far removed from who he truly was. Yet, he couldn't help but feel an enormous sense of relief as he left the restaurant and the uncomfortable encounter behind. He had survived without blowing his cover, and for now, that was all that mattered.

Up the street, Amy's yellow Mini waited, ready to whisk him to safety. Trudging toward the girly car, Scott longed to kick off his torturous sandals and snuggle up in bed. Trying to block out the throbbing pain in his toes and the sound of his heart-shaped earrings jingling in time with the car keys inside his cousin's designer handbag, Scott hobbled on.

(See image 35)

Mincing along, wrists limp and hips swaying exaggeratedly, Scott's mind drifted back to Jessica. Their conversation the previous evening replayed in his head, each word weighed down by the tension that had infiltrated their once effortless relationship. Before all the crossdressing and identity theft, their communication had been seamless, honest, and open. Now, walls had formed between them, each brick laid with the heavy mortar of awkwardness and unspoken fears.

Jessica had tried to reassure him, her words meant to soothe, "Everything will be alright once this is all over." But Scott could hear the uncertainty, the thinly veiled fear. He wanted to believe her, to find solace in her words, but he knew her too well. He knew she was lying, perhaps even to herself.

The most painful part for Scott was the intense desire to pull Jessica close, kiss her passionately, and reassure her that everything would indeed be alright. Yet, peering out from beneath thick black lashes, past his upturned nose, the sight of glossy plumped lips jutting out, made him think twice. He feared rejection, worried she might not see the man she loved beneath all the makeup and hair. In that hesitation, the opportunity slipped away.

Pausing to cross the street, lost in his troubled thoughts, Scott suddenly felt a tap on his shoulder. His body tensed, heart pounding with apprehension as he slowly turned, only to be met by a man leaning in quickly to plant a kiss right on his puffed-up lips. Reacting instinctively, Scott shoved the man away with all his might. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he screamed, his shock turning into anger as he began to beat the man with his handbag.

"Woah! Woah! Calm down, Aimes. I didn’t mean to scare you," the man exclaimed, blocking the blows with his hands, a bewildered look on his face.

Hearing his cousin’s name halted Scott mid-swing. His lips, smeared from the unwanted kiss, puckered into a pout as he glared at the man, trying to place his vaguely familiar face with someone from Amy's social circle. "Is that how you greet every woman you see?" Scott snapped, frustration colouring his tone.

"Just the special ones," the man replied with a cheeky grin, attempting to lighten the mood.

Scott rolled his eyes, unamused. “Hey! I’m joking,” the man quickly added, his smile broadening. “I’ve missed you, Aimes. I haven’t seen you in months. Let’s meet up later this week. My treat.”

Scott's mind raced, desperate for an excuse to decline, but nothing came. "Text me," he finally muttered, desperate to escape the unsettling encounter.

“Sure thing, babe,” the man responded with a wink. “You’re looking gorgeous, by the way. Love the hair.”

Scott forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and quickly tottered across the street to the safety of the Mini Cooper. He didn’t know who this man was, and frankly, he didn’t want to. His mind was already overloaded with thoughts of the upcoming funeral and the fractured state of his relationship with Jessica. The last thing he needed was another complication.