Part One:

Part Two:

His father's phone chimed with his routine medicine alert. He clipped upon his purse and counted out several pills of estrogen and testosterone blockers. He crushed them under a beaker and stirred the powder into his meal, eating it sullenly, like swallowing poison. He was ruminating on his son's words. The pills always affected him emotionally and he fought the rising hormonal anxiety. His marriage was rock solid, built on respect and mutual benefit. But what became of a power couple when one side held power and the other had none?

“You don't think she'd really do that, do you? Sell my identity to the highest bidder?” he asked, chewing his lower lip.

“Are you kidding? You don't know Mom like I do. She's probably listing it on eBay as well speak," Jason laughed. "'Fifty five year-old male for sale. One previous owner, minor wear and tear. Comes with credentials, lucrative pension and free wife.' I bet there's guys who'd pay well to have everything you have, little sis. Mom'll probably have them moved in by the time we get home. And she'll have them carved up to look just like you by next week.”

The color ran from his face. His eyes went wide. “Don't joke about that. I don't find it funny,” he shuddered.

“Too bad," Jason teased. "I'm your big brother - it's my job to annoy you. What's the matter, Emily? Afraid of being replaced?"

It had only been a joke. He was unprepared for the man's bottom lip to start to quiver, his large brown eyes sparkling with tears. Jason dropped his fork in panic, blurting, "I was just kidding! Nobody is going to replace you. Hey, don't cry."

"I'm not crying," he sniffed, voice trembling. "Why are you being so mean to me?!"

What do I do? Jason thought, terrified that his old man was going to start leaking from the eyes any second. Did he go for a big brotherly hug or a macho thump on the arm and a 'man up'? Uncertain, he extended an arm across the table and ventured a soothing, affectionate hair ruffle.

His father gave a mewl of pain as the fingers caressed his scalp, and batted the hand away. "Not my hair plugs, they're sensitive," he sniffled.

Jason had forgotten the thick head of hair wasn't a wig but a million donated follicles fired into the bald scalp. Somewhere out there, one of mom's female patients must be learning to polish her head. He mumbled an apology and focused on his food, giving his father the privacy to quietly cry out the surge of hormonal emotions. With his masculine composure restored, he rummaged in his purse for a tissue to dab away the tears staining his cheeks, then carefully reapplied mascara with a hand mirror.

"I wasn't meaning to upset you," Jason said earnestly, while they waited for deserts. "I'm just doing what mom ordered. If we don't act like siblings, if someone found out, she said you could be in serious trouble."

"Your mother is paranoid," his father said dismissively. "Just treat me like you did as your father. Nobody is going to notice here. It's not as if the IRS are following us around, spying on us."