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“It isn’t fair we have to look exactly alike.” Dewey tells his brothers after they return home from a baseball game.
“We can’t help it. We’re identical triplets.” Louie points out the obvious.
Dewey wants to ask if that means they have to dress exactly alike. Maybe people could them apart if Dewey grew out his hair, or wore different clothes. Wait a minute. Dewey has an idea.
While his brothers leave for an adventure with Uncle Scrooge, Dewey stands in the doorway of Webby’s room. He looks over his shoulder to make sure nobody is nearby. “Do you want to play together?”
Webby nods, and looks behind Dewey. “Where’s Huey and Louie?”
“They’re with Uncle Scrooge.” Dewey explains as he shuts the door. “It’ll just be us.”
“Oh.” Webby isn’t used to the triplets being apart. “What did you want to play?”
“What about dress up?”
Webby’s eyes light up. She’s tried to get the triplets to play with her before, and now one of them is actually suggesting one of her favorite games. She speeds over to her closet, pulling out all sorts of clothes and costumes. Dewey isn’t sure why she has so much. Apart from special occasions, they tend to wear the same outfits on repeat.
Webby settles on a fairy costume. She hands it to Dewey before shoving him into the closet to try it on.
After wrangling with the wings, Dewey steps out. He glances down at himself, frowning. Webby walks him over to her vanity so he can see what he looks like. “You look like a girl.”
“I look ridiculous.” Dewey can practically hear other kids snickering behind his back. “Webby, do you have something less pink?”
“Um, I do have a couple of boy clothes that you could wear.”
“No.” Dewey already wore boy clothes every day of his life. “Do you have a different dress?”
Webby handed him a black sailor dress with yellow accents and a red bow. “I found this one in storage.”
There was a different problem with this dress. “I look like my mother.” In fact, this was Della’s dress from when she was a child. Dewey learned a long time ago to not think about his mother.
“Whatever happened to her?” Webby knows she shouldn’t ask, but she’s too curious not to.
“She left us with Uncle Donald one day, when our dad was in the hospital.” Dewey doesn’t remember much about his father, not even his face. What he does remember is how angry Della would get when it came to her husband. Dewey can’t remember a time when they weren’t at each other’s throats. “Then she never came back. And dad died.”
Webby lowers her voice to a whisper. “Do you think she died too?”
“I don’t know.” It’s a possibility. Nobody knows what happened to Della afterwards. Maybe she died, or abandoned her family, or is being held hostage. Regardless, something wrong happened.
“My mom died.” Webby confessed. “I don’t know what happened to my dad or who he is.”
“What was she like?”
Webby digs into her earliest memories, trying to recover scraps. “Sweet. Like Granny is. She was friends with Uncle Scrooge.”
Dewey realizes something. “You have a different last name than Mrs. Beakley. Shouldn’t that be your dad’s? You could find him that way.”
Webby shakes her head. “It’s my mom’s last name. Granny was married twice, first to Mr. Vanderquack, and then to Mr. Beakley.“
“Oh.” Dewey places a hand on Webby’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you won’t be able to find your dad.”
“Don’t be. I have everyone I need,” Webby smiles, “And that includes you.”
Dewey hugs Webby, and messes with her bow.
The third and final dress is more simplistic, and pale blue in color. Dewey likes it best. He doesn’t feel like he’s playing pretend, he feels casual.
Webby isn’t so sure. She places a hand over her chin while she thinks. “Hmm. There’s something missing.” She squints as she circles around Dewey. Then she gasps. “I know!” She opens up her vanity’s drawer and takes out a long blue ribbon, then wraps it around Dewey’s head. The bow hangs lopsided. Webby grins. “We match!”
That should bother Dewey. After all, this entire thing was because he wanted to be his own duck. But it doesn’t. Maybe he’d rather be confused for Webby, than Huey or Louie. He’d rather look like a girl than a boy. He’d rather be—
Dewey takes the ribbon off his head, grabs his regular clothes, and goes back into the closet. He’s not supposed to dress this way. He’s supposed to act the same as his brothers. He’s supposed to act like a normal boy. He’s not supposed to cry, like he is now.
He was stupid for pretending to be someone else. What would the other kids think if they saw him? What would his family think? They’d think he was a freak.
Webby knocks on the door. “Dewey? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Dewey wipes away his tears before opening the door. “Promise you won’t tell anyone about this.”
Webby holds out her pinkie. “I promise.”