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The testosterone gel did nothing. Andy used it for two weeks, yet his chest kept growing, his hips kept widening, and his face kept changing. Each morning he looked in the mirror and saw someone new.
Nina noticed everything but said little. She stayed at Andy’s apartment most nights, and they slept in the same bed. They had stopped making love two weeks ago; Andy could no longer get hard, and he did not miss it.
On a Tuesday morning, Andy put on a pair of Nina’s shorts and one of her tank tops. His own clothes no longer fit. The men’s pants from the mall hung loose in the legs but squeezed his hips, while the women’s pants he had bought worked better, and the tank top felt right.
From the doorway, Nina observed that he was wearing her clothes again. Andy admitted that her shorts and top fit, while his own clothes hurt. Nina walked to the closet and pulled out a sports bra, explaining that his chest needed support and he couldn’t run or walk fast without one. Andy took the bra and put it on. The fabric held his chest in place, and he felt better. In the mirror, the bra created cleavage, pushing his breasts together. Andy declared that he needed his own bras, and Nina nodded, suggesting they could go shopping that weekend.
That day at work, Andy wore the women’s pants and a loose button-down shirt that covered the bra so no one could see. Rich commented on Andy’s hair, Mike said nothing, and Paul glanced at Andy’s hips but didn’t speak. After work, Andy drove two hours to meet a customer.
The car hummed, the beads swung, the earrings caught the light, and Andy’s ponytail brushed his shoulders. At the meeting, the customer, a woman named Denise, looked at his name badge and said she had expected a man. Andy insisted he was a man. Denise studied his chest, his hips, his face, and said nothing else. They completed the meeting, and Andy drove home, the time passing quickly.
That night, Nina arrived with bags from a department store, announcing she had bought him some things of his own. She pulled out bras, panties, shorts, tops, and a purple dress with small flowers. Andy protested that he couldn’t wear a dress to work, but Nina told him he could wear it at home and urged him to try it on. Andy put on the dress. It fit perfectly, the fabric was light, the skirt ending above his knees.
He looked in the mirror and saw a woman. Nina’s voice turned strange as she told him to take it off. When he asked why, she just repeated the command. Andy removed the dress and put on shorts and a top. Nina sat on the bed with her head in her hands, admitting she didn’t know what to do because he looked and dressed like a woman yet still claimed to be a man. Andy confessed he no longer knew what he was.
Nina looked up and asked if he wanted to be a woman. Andy thought about the car, the beads, the earrings, the smooth skin, the breasts, the hips, and how he felt when he drove, relaxed, happy, correct. He said yes, he thought he did. Nina stood, walked to the door, turned, and asked for a few days without contact. She left, and Andy heard her car start and drive away. Alone in the apartment, he picked up the dress from the bed and held it against his chest.
An hour later, Paul came home and saw the dress and Andy holding it. He asked what was going on. Andy replied that Andy was going away and that from now on, Paul should call him Lillian. Paul stared and repeated the name. Lillian explained that she was a woman now: her body and mind had changed; she hadn’t chosen this, but here she was.
Paul sat down slowly and asked if Nina knew. Lillian told him she had told Nina, who had left and needed time. Paul rubbed his face, remarking that this was crazy; two months ago, Andy bought a car, and now he was a woman named Lillian. Lillian acknowledged it sounded crazy but told him to look at her body to see what had happened. Paul looked at the breasts under the tank top, the wide hips, the long hair, the earrings, and the smooth skin.
He said okay, asked what Lillian needed, and was told just to leave her alone tonight. Paul went to his bedroom. Lillian stayed in the living room and put on the purple dress. She walked to the bathroom, looked in the mirror, opened Nina’s makeup kit, and applied foundation, blush, mascara, and lipstick. She pulled her hair into a higher ponytail. She looked like a woman, a pretty woman!
Lillian drove the car. The beads swung, and the radio played. She drove to an empty parking lot, sat in the dark, and cried for ten minutes. Then she stopped crying and drove home.
The next three days passed slowly. Nina did not call. Lillian went to work as Andy, wearing women’s pants and loose shirts. No one said anything except Rich, who made a joke about her hair, which she ignored.
On Friday night, Lillian sat on the couch when her phone buzzed with a message from Nina: Meet me at the mall, the food court, eight p.m. Lillian drove there, the beads swinging and earrings sparkling. Nina sat at a table with two cups of coffee. She thanked Lillian for coming, and Lillian thanked her for calling. Nina noticed the additional makeup and said Lillian looked good, different but good. They drank coffee, and Nina held her cup with both hands.
She had thought about everything, she said; the car had changed Andy, maybe the car had chosen him, maybe this was always meant to be. Lillian asked what she was saying. Nina replied that she still cared but didn’t know if she could be with a woman, as she wasn’t attracted to women. Lillian understood. Nina asked for more time, insisted Lillian not change back even if she could, and just be herself so Nina could see who she became.
Lillian agreed. They walked to the parking lot together. Nina looked at the car, its blue paint seeming brighter under the lights, and said she hated that car but didn’t hate Lillian. She kissed Lillian’s cheek, walked to her own car, and drove away. Lillian got into the blue hatchback, feeling the dress against her legs, the bra against her chest, the earrings against her neck, and she felt like herself.
Saturday morning, Lillian woke to sunlight. She touched her chest; the breasts felt larger than yesterday. She sat up, put on a bra, the routine now normal, and her phone buzzed. Nina’s message said to come over, they needed to talk. Lillian dressed in women’s pants and a fitted top, brushed her hair, put on earrings, and saw a woman in the mirror. She drove to Nina’s apartment, the beads swinging, the radio playing a weather report. Nina looked tired with dark circles under her eyes.
She let Lillian in and said she hadn’t slept because she kept thinking about the car. She had searched online and found the previous owner. Nina turned her laptop around to show a Facebook profile of a woman named Diane, who lived two hours away and smiled in a garden photo.
Nina revealed that Diane owned the car before Andy, sold it six months ago, and before that had been a man named David. Lillian sat down, realizing the car had changed Diane too. Nina had messaged her, and Diane wanted to talk, saying to come today.
Lillian glanced at the clock: ten in the morning. Two hours each way. Lillian said let’s go, and they took Nina’s car, Nina driving. After an hour and a half on the highway, the GPS led them to a small house on a quiet street.
A woman with grey hair, looking about sixty, opened the door and greeted them by name. She was Diane. She invited them inside; the house smelled of coffee.
They sat among many plants, and Diane poured three cups, saying she knew why they’d come the car. Lillian asked if it had changed her. Diane nodded. She had bought that car in two thousand sixteen when her name was David, working construction with a wife and two kids. The car seemed practical, good mileage, reliable. Within three months, her body started changing: chest growing, hips widening, hair thickening.
Her wife thought she had a disease, but doctors found nothing. Diane kept driving, and the more she drove, the more she changed. After six months, she looked like a woman. Her wife left, her kids stopped talking, she lost her job. Yet she felt happy, happier than ever as David; the car hadn’t cursed her, it had freed her. Lillian leaned forward and asked if Diane had tried to change back. Yes, she sold the car, stopped driving, took testosterone, nothing worked. The changes stayed. So she accepted them, changed her name to Diane, moved to this town, and started a new life. The best thing that ever happened to her, Diane said, smiling. Nina looked confused, asking if she was glad the car destroyed her old life.
Diane explained the car showed her who she really was. She hadn’t known she wanted to be a woman until the changes started, then realized she’d hidden that feeling her whole life. The car just brought it out. Lillian sat back, thinking of her own comfort in the car, the peace of long drives, how right women’s clothes felt, the joy of smooth skin and long hair. She asked Diane if she thought the car chose certain people. Diane said yes, people who need to change, who don’t know they need to change, the car finds them. Nina put down her cup and asked if the changes could be reversed.
No, Diane had tried everything; once the transformation finishes, it stays, the car only works one way. Lillian touched her chest, knowing the transformation had finished and her body would not change back. She thanked Diane.
They drove home in silence, Nina’s eyes on the road, Lillian watching trees. At Nina’s apartment, Lillian asked if she still hated the car. Nina said she didn’t hate the car, she hated what it took from her: Andy was gone, the man she loved. Lillian countered that the man she loved wasn’t real, Andy was a mask, Lillian was the real person. Nina started to cry.
Lillian waited. After a minute, Nina wiped her eyes and said she needed to tell Lillian something. She had really looked at her today, and Lillian was beautiful. She felt something, not the same as before but something. Lillian asked what she felt. Nina said she wanted to know the real person, not Andy but Lillian.
Lillian took her hand and said that was all she asked. They sat in the car for an hour, talking about small things, favorite movies, foods they liked, places they wanted to travel, two women talking like friends. Nina finally smiled and said she couldn’t promise love, but she could promise to try. Lillian replied that was good enough.
That night, Lillian drove home alone, beads swinging, radio playing. She passed a group of men on a corner who looked at her car, and one pointed and laughed. Lillian didn’t care. She drove to her apartment, where Paul waited on the couch.
He asked how it went, and Lillian said it went well; Nina would try. Paul nodded and mentioned that Rich had been transferred to another office, leaving on Monday. Lillian smiled and said, good for him!
She went to her bedroom, looked at the purple dress hanging on the closet door, and touched the fabric. Then she opened her phone to the car’s listing. The dealership had closed; the previous owner before Diane had no online presence; the car’s origin remained a mystery. Lillian didn’t need answers. She had a car that made her who she was, a friend in Nina, and a future.
She lay down and closed her eyes. In the morning, she would drive again, the beads would swing, the miles would pass, and she would feel correct. The car waited outside, its light blue paint glowing under the streetlight, a perfect machine for a perfect journey.