Aunt Rose Change Me Into Girl (Again) - Part 4

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May 27 – Morning of the Wedding

I opened my eyes—the light filtered beautifully through the sheer curtains of my aunt Rose’s downtown Chicago condo. I lay still for a moment, letting the memory of last night gently come back. I sat up slowly, feeling the soft outline of the bralette still around my chest, like a subtle, comfortable second skin. My fingers lightly brushed over it before pulling the quilt back around my shoulders.

A gentle knock. “Ready to begin?” I opened the door.

She stood there in a pale white dress, her hair pulled back into a neat, low bun, silver bangles gently clinking on her wrist. She held the boutique bag with the ivory silk dress, a radiant vision of grace. She laid everything out on the bed. Then she placed the almond-colored bralette we’d chosen last night beside them—carefully, without a fuss, as if it were any other piece of clothing.

“You can shower now,” she said. “I’ll iron the dress while you’re in.”

I scrubbed slowly, carefully, enjoying the herbal-scented soap. When I stepped out, I toweled dry, slipped into the bralette again with slightly more ease than the night before, and let it settle on me like a comforting breath.

When I came out of the bathroom, Aunt Rose turned. She looked me over once, then held the dress out with both hands. “Let me help you.” I stepped into it, and she gently zipped the back, smoothing the fabric over the soft padding at my chest.

Once the dress was on, and she stepped back and just stood there, looking at me with a soft, proud smile. My hair was neatly brushed and left loose, touching just the top of my back. The ivory sleeveless top fit perfectly, structured, soft, and flowing.

The bralette gave me a shape I wasn’t used to… but didn’t want to take off. My skin glowed. My nails were still painted faint brown.

I stood still as Aunt Rose leaned in close, applying the final touch of mascara beneath my eyes. “There,” she whispered. “Just enough to frame those eyes. Don’t blink.” I tried not to. A little lipstick, just a soft dusting of rose on my lips, and a dab of tinted pink blush across my cheeks.

I turned to the mirror. The person I’d been slowly becoming over the last few weeks. But what caught my eye next were my arms. They faintly gleamed under the morning light filtering through the window, freshly shaved, smooth, soft. The sleeveless dress showed them fully, no sleeves to hide behind. They looked... beautiful. Aunt Rose noticed.

“You have beautiful arms,” she said, like it was the simplest, most wonderful truth in the world. I didn’t speak. I just smiled, a huge, happy smile. She fastened a thin gold bangle around my left wrist.

On the Way to the Wedding

The sun was already high as we stepped out onto the quiet street in Lincoln Park. Somewhere nearby, someone was playing an old Etta James song on a crackling speaker, adding to the lovely atmosphere. We walked up to the corner to hail a taxi. There were three taxis parked under a flowering crabapple tree, engines running, the drivers chatting lazily. Aunt Rose walked up first and gave one a quick nod. The driver glanced at her, then at me. His eyes lingered just long enough to notice something, not long enough to speak, but with a hint of pleasant surprise.

“Illinois, wedding venue,” she said firmly.

We stepped in, and Aunt Rose settled beside me. I adjusted the wrap over my chest, and when we stopped at a red light and a woman crossing the street glanced in and smiled at me, I didn’t flinch. I smiled back.

The taxi pulled up outside the venue—a quiet terrace garden tucked above a community hall, covered in floral drapes and classical instrumental music playing from hidden speakers. Marigold garlands beautifully framed the entrance. Aunt Rose paid the driver while I stepped out first, smoothing the front of my top, adjusting the wrap. The bangle on my wrist slid down as I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

The moment we entered the courtyard, the atmosphere changed—people turned. Not all at once—but in that quiet, uncoordinated way that meant they were noticing something wonderful. I saw it in their eyes, some widened, some narrowed, some blinked twice, as if trying to remember if they knew me, or ever really had seen me. An older woman in a navy blue dress gave me a quick, appreciative look.

A pair of younger guests—girls in pastel dresses—gently nudged each other, whispering with admiration. A middle-aged uncle stared for a second too long, then looked away, pretending he hadn’t. But no one said anything directly.

Aunt Rose walked beside me as if nothing unusual had happened. She greeted the host with a warm smile and pressed a wrapped gift into her hand. The host smiled and hugged her tightly. “And this must be…?”

“My nephew,” Aunt Rose said with quiet clarity, a beautiful knowing in her voice. “Rome.”

The woman smiled at me, politely, curiously, with a touch of admiration. “What a lovely outfit.” I smiled back. “Thank you.”

We walked in further, toward the seating area. More eyes followed, but it felt less like scrutiny and more like curiosity. I heard soft whispers behind me. “Is that her daughter?” “No, I think that’s her nephew.” “But… the way they’re dressed…” “I think they are very pretty.” That last whisper surprised me and brought a warm flush to my cheeks. I didn’t turn to see who said it, but it made me smile.

Inside the wedding courtyard, near the juice counter, the music had shifted to a soft instrumental melody as more guests arrived, the garden now filled with muted chatter and the gentle clinking of bangles and teacups. Aunt Rose was talking to someone near the gift table while I wandered alone toward the juice counter, feeling wonderfully at ease. That’s when I heard it. A voice. Familiar. Too familiar.

“Rome?”

I turned. And froze, just for a second. Sam—tall, broad-shouldered, hair messier than I remembered—stood a few feet away, holding a paper plate and blinking at me like he’d just seen a ghost. Sam had been in my homeroom class last year. The kind who laughed the loudest, always took the last seat, and once told me I needed to “man up” when I got emotional after a test. I hadn’t seen him since before I became… well, me. And here he was, looking at me in a sleeveless ivory dress, fingers loosely curled around a glass of orange juice, a gold bangle on one wrist.

He stared. His expression changed—confusion, disbelief, then something unreadable. “You’re… Rome?”

I nodded.

“Dude, I—” He paused. “I didn’t recognize you.”

I tried to hold his gaze. My throat tightened, but I kept my voice steady, with a hint of playful honesty. “That’s okay, I barely recognize myself these days!”

He blinked again, then gave a quiet laugh. Not mocking—just unsure. “Wow. You look... like a girl.”

I sipped my juice, a small smile playing on my lips. There was a long silence. Then—unexpectedly—he looked at my hand. “You got nail paint too?” he asked, a hint of sarcasm, but also curiosity. I held it up, let him see the full design. “Yeah.”

He shook his head slowly, awkwardly. “Okay. I mean, I guess if you’re happy.” I didn’t respond; maybe that silence bothered him more than anything else. He nodded once, backed away slowly, and rejoined his group near the food table, where he was immediately surrounded by friends whispering and glancing in my direction. I watched him go. My heart was pounding, but I was still standing, wonderfully confident.

The moment Sam turned away and rejoined his group, laughter rose behind cupped hands. I walked quietly away without drawing attention. Aunt Rose had disappeared into a conversation near the altar. I didn’t want to worry her. Past the floral backdrop, down a narrow path behind the buffet table, I found a shaded bench beneath a potted ficus tree. I sat down.

My hands rested on my lap. The gold bangle on my wrist caught a stray beam of sun, and for a second, I wanted to slip it off. But I didn’t. I just let it rest there, feeling beautiful. I stared at my reflection in the garden’s glass window—a blur of ivory fabric, soft eyeliner, smooth arms, rose-pink lips. I had changed, and Sam had seen it.

To say, “It’s temporary,” or “It’s just part of something Aunt Rose wanted,” or “I don’t even know what I am.” Because I have realized I wasn’t doing this for Sam. I wasn’t doing it to shock anyone, or to prove a point, or to rebel. I was doing it because I felt like myself.

And sometimes, becoming yourself in public meant letting people from your past stare at you with their mouths slightly open. Let them. Let them talk. Let them remember me however they need to. But I wasn’t going back. Not even for them.

11:50 AM Still behind the altar, garden bench

The peace I had found beneath the ficus tree was short-lived, but it was a good peace. I heard his footsteps before I saw him. Again, Sam. This time, his energy was different—sharper, almost irritated. He rounded the corner and found me still seated. He didn’t waste time.

“You seriously came to a wedding like that?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it had an edge that cut clean.

“You mean like me?” I replied quietly, a gentle challenge in my voice.

He scoffed. “Don’t twist it. You know what I mean. This is a family event, dude. People are staring. You’ve got lipstick, a damn bangle on. What’s the point? Are you trying to be a girl now?” My chest tightened—but I didn’t flinch.

“You don’t get to ask me that,” I said calmly, my voice firm.

“No?” he said, stepping closer. “We were in class together. You were normal then. What the hell happened to you?”

“I stopped pretending,” I said, meeting his eyes. “That’s what happened.”

He looked at me—my eyes lined with mascara, the soft shape beneath my top—and shook his head. “This is messed up,” he muttered. “You used to be my friend.”

“I still am,” I said. “But I’m not your show puppet. I’m not here to play your idea of ‘normal.’”

He went quiet for a second, like he wasn’t used to being challenged. “People are laughing at you.”

I looked down, then back at him. “They’ve laughed at me before when I was quiet, when I didn’t speak up, when I failed a test. But now I’m finally breathing, and if that makes them laugh? Let them! I’m not afraid of it anymore.”

He stared at me—silent, jaw tense—then turned away without another word and stormed off through the back gate. I stepped away from the back garden slowly, my mind still happily buzzing from Sam’s words. I found a quiet corner near a row of potted palms and pulled out my phone. I opened WhatsApp and tapped Leo’s name. The photo I had taken earlier, standing in the mirror, full outfit. I sent it.

Me:

This is me today.

A minute passed. Then came the reply.

Leo:

Very beautiful.

Me:

Really?

I stared at those words for a moment. Then I typed again:

Me:

Sam’s here, he was very rude, said I looked messed up, and asked if I was trying to be a girl.

A pause. Then Leo’s typing bubble appeared.

Leo:

He doesn’t get to decide who you are. And you’re not messed up.

Another message followed:

Leo:

Let’s meet later. Downtown, near the lake? Around 6? Just us.

My heart thumped with happy excitement.

Me:

I’d like that.

Leo:

Then it’s a plan.

I slipped the phone back into my sling bag. For now, I had to return to the wedding. But in the back of my mind was the wonderful thought of that meeting with Leo; I would sit beside someone who didn’t look away, who didn’t ask "why?" Who simply said, "Very beautiful"?

The lunch was beautiful. Tables are arranged in perfect order. Chicken in delicate saffron gravy, and golden rice pilaf beside tiny bowls of creamy dessert. Everything was traditionally delicious. I ate quietly. I couldn’t taste much because inside, I was feeling a happy unease. After Sam’s words, the whispers seemed louder. The glances felt longer, but I tried to keep my posture, tried to walk gracefully, my mind wonderfully racing.

Aunt Rose noticed. Of course, she did. When she came back from a conversation, she placed a firm, gentle hand on my back and asked, “Would you like to leave after the gift-giving?” I nodded, so grateful. After the bride’s family finished with blessings and the gift table had emptied, Aunt Rose quietly handed over the silk-wrapped box she’d chosen so carefully the day before. I stood beside her, smiling politely, saying nothing, just feeling wonderful. We said our thank yous. Someone asked if I was her niece. She simply smiled and said, “This is my child.” We didn’t stay for dessert. As we stepped back out into the early afternoon heat, I felt like I could finally breathe again, a wonderful sense of relief.

Home—Chicago Flat, Late Afternoon Silence.

The moment the door clicked shut behind us, I slipped off my sandals and let the wrap slide from my shoulder. The apartment was cool and dim, the curtains drawn just enough to keep the sun out, a peaceful haven. Aunt Rose placed her bag on the side table and briefly went into the kitchen. When she returned, she carried two glasses of iced tea—chilled, beaded with condensation, looking so refreshing.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked gently.

I didn’t answer right away. I just sat beside her and let the silence speak first. “Sam recognized me,” I said finally. “He said I was messed up. That people were laughing.” She didn’t react and only listened with loving patience. “I thought I could handle it,” I added. “I really did. I was okay with strangers looking. But when someone from before sees you like this… It’s awkward.”

Aunt Rose nodded slowly. “Because they carry the old mirror. The one that only showed the version of you they were comfortable with.”

I swallowed. “It made me feel… wrong again. Like I was stepping too far ahead of myself.”

She reached over and gently touched my arm. “No,” she said softly. “You weren’t too far ahead; they’re just still behind. And if someone from your past can’t see it without being mean, that’s not your shame to carry.”

We sat like that for a while, sipping iced tea in the quiet, feeling a lovely connection. Then she added, almost casually, with a knowing smile. “You’re meeting Leo this evening, aren’t you?”

I turned to her, startled, then smiled, a faint blush tugging at my lips. “Yeah,” I said. “By the lake. Just us.”

She stood, lifting both our glasses and walking toward the sink. “Then rest a while. And when you get dressed this time, don’t dress for the stares; dress for the one person who already sees you.”

That hour just before sunset, the ivory dress from the wedding lay folded on the chair. I wouldn’t wear that again, not tonight. Aunt Rose knocked gently and entered, holding a pale sea-blue cotton sundress, sleeveless, looking so light and refreshing. I took it from her hands. “Perfect.”

I changed slowly, carefully, slipping off the clothes and into the sundress. It settled over my frame like a wonderful breath. I adjusted the neckline, brushed my hair, and then paused. The bralette still hung on the corner of the mirror, a happy reminder of my new journey.

I picked it up, slid my arms through the straps, adjusted the cups, and then tugged the sundress over my legs. Then I reached for a small pot of lip balm with a hint of peach tint, enough to feel beautifully moisturized. Aunt Rose watched from the doorway, her eyes full of warmth. She walked over and fixed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Then I grabbed my sling bag and stepped into my ballet flats. I felt completely ready.