The Twin

by Natasha Preston

  I have Dad, but all those things won’t be the same without Mom.

  “Ivy,” he says, brushing his fingers across my face and down my cheek. “She will be there for all of that and more.”

  Yeah, only she won’t. Not in the way I need.

  “Iris was in my room,” I say, changing the subject before I lose the control I’ve only just regained after yesterday.

  “Okay…”

  “She was watching me from my room when I left to come here.”

  “Did you tell her you were going out?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe she was curious.”

  I bite my bottom lip. Maybe, but what was she doing in my room in the first place? Hers is right next to mine, so she could see me outside from her window too.

  “Hmm,” I reply, not entirely sure where I’m going with this. I’ve been in her room, so it’s not a big deal. “Yeah, maybe. It just seems weird.”

  Ty lies down beside me. “It’s not weird for her to want to be close to you. There’s a lot of change for her, and she’s the one who’s had to move, leaving behind all of her friends.”

  I wince at his words. “Yeah, I know.”

  Iris has lost so much, and if being around me and my stuff helps her even a little bit, then it’s fine with me. Oh God, and I’m here. She was in my room probably wanting to be close to me, and I left.

  I left her!

  My heart sinks to my stomach. “I should go.”

  His hand freezes on my jaw. “Already?”

  “I have an hour, but…” I’ve already been a terrible sister, no need to continue that.

  He nods. “You need to be home with your dad and Iris.”

  “Thanks for understanding, Ty.”

  Well, this was brief, but worth it. We get off the bed and walk downstairs past the line of pictures showing Ty growing up. The last one is of us both, arms around each other smiling at the school Christmas dance.

  Ty put things into perspective for me. I’ve been cooped up in a bubble of me, Dad, Iris, and Mom’s side of the family—I haven’t gotten enough distance to give myself any clarity.

  I follow him out of the house, chewing my lip as I go. I’ve been so focused on me and how I feel that I haven’t really thought about Iris. Maybe we will grow closer, and that can be the one good thing to come out of this tragedy.

  “Call me if you need anything,” he says, holding on to the edge of the front door.

  I lean in and give him a quick kiss. “I will. Thanks.” Then I turn and run along the sidewalk all the way back to my house.

  My feet hit the asphalt so hard it sends sparks of pain along my shins, but I don’t slow down. I pass our neighbors’ houses in a blur, their pruned hedges and rosebushes flashing by. Sucking in air that burns, I reach out and almost slam right into the front door. Bowing my head, I grip the door handle, my lungs screaming for the oxygen I’ve deprived them of during my sprint.

  “Dad? Iris?” I call as I walk into the house.

  “In the kitchen,” Dad replies.

  I swing left and find Dad sitting alone at the table.

  “Where’s Iris?” I ask, breathless.

  “Upstairs. She didn’t want to talk.”

  Oh. It was selfish of me to run off the second we pulled up. “I’m going to check on her.”

  Dad nods. “And I’ll start dinner. What do you want?”

  I shrug. This past eleven days have been nutrient free. We’ve grabbed whatever food we could manage, usually sandwiches and takeout. I feel hungry, but when food is placed in front of me, I can barely stomach a bite.

  “Anything,” I reply, heading upstairs.

  Iris must feel so lost. I don’t know if she’s had much contact with her friends, but I do know I haven’t seen her on her phone at all. She needs them now, probably more than she needs me and Dad.

  I climb the stairs, tying my long wavy hair in a knot on top of my head, and knock on her door. “Iris, it’s me. Can I come in?”

  “Sure,” she replies.

  Okay, I was expecting some resistance.

  I open the door and offer a small smile as I head into the room. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, doing nothing. Her long hair fans around her body like a cloak.

  “Dumb question, but…how do you feel?” I ask.

  She shrugs one shoulder. “I’m not sure there’s a word for it.” Her eyes are sunken, ringed with dark circles that make her look a lot older than she is. I don’t think she’s sleeping well either.

  We have the same shade of dark blond hair and the same pale blue eyes.

  “Well, do you need anything?” Besides the obvious.

  “I’m good.”

  Raising my eyebrows, I move deeper into her room. “Are you?”

  She meets my gaze. “Are you?”

  “No, I’m not.” I wring my hands. “We can talk…if you want?”

  We don’t talk, not about real, deep stuff, anyway. She has her friends for that, and I have mine. It’s actually kind of sad how we’ve missed out on that close twin bond. It’s the only thing I regret about staying with Dad when Iris moved away with Mom.

  She tilts her head. “Can we talk?”

  “Well, I know that’s not usually our thing, but it can be. I mean, I’m willing…and we are twins.”

  “We shared a womb, share a birthday and DNA, but I’ve never felt like a twin. We never talk.”

  Okay, ouch. We used to talk when we were little. I remember being five and sneaking into each other’s room at night. We didn’t share because we were too different—her room candy pink and mine ocean blue. But it didn’t matter after dark; we would make a den out of blankets, grab our flashlights, and talk about random fairy-tale things our imaginations would conjure.

  Iris was going to marry a British prince and eventually become queen, and I was going to travel the world in an old Mustang like the one our grandad used to own.

  Somewhere over time and our parents’ separation, our silly dreams died, and we stopped sharing any new ones.

  “Do you want to talk, Iris?”

  Her haunted eyes look right through me. “I want so much more than that.”

  3

  Neither of us speaks for what feels like hours. The silence stretches, and I pull my bottom lip between my teeth.

  This shouldn’t be so awkward.

  “What do you mean you want so much more than that?”

  What more is there to have if we’re talking?

  She finally moves and shuffles back on the bed until her back hits the wall. Clearing her throat, she says, “Obviously I mean I want to be sisters. Properly. We’ve never stopped being twins, but we stopped being friends.”

  I blink twice before I reply. “I want that too. I don’t enjoy feeling like I only have a sibling during school holidays.” Iris and I need to stick together. We might be worlds apart, but we have both lost the same mom.

  She gives me a fleeting smile. “Maybe you should sit down then.”

  “Okay.” I let go of my hands and sit on her bed. But that’s about as far as I know where to go with this. Words still evade me. Or the right ones do, anyway. I could have a thousand different conversations about shows on Netflix, books, and swimming. I’m not sure any of that is going to help me right now.

  “Will you tell me about school and your friends? I assume I’ll be enrolling.”

  “Oh. Yeah, okay.” Of course she’s going to have to enroll at my high school. I didn’t think of that, but she can’t go to her old one; it’s over an hour away. “So, you’ve met Haley and Sophie. I trust those girls with my life.”

  Iris smiles. “I remember Haley and Sophie from last summer. They seemed nice.”

  “They are.” We met when we joined the swim team as freshmen and have been b
esties ever since.

  “Do you think they’ll mind me hanging around with you?”

  “You’re my sister. Of course they won’t mind.”

  “Thanks, Ivy. What about your boyfriend?”

  “Ty. You’ll get along with him too.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t make myself a third wheel. It would just be nice to spend time with you. I…I don’t want to be alone right now.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not worried about that, Iris. You can hang with me whenever you want.” Since the first day of high school, Haley, Sophie, and I have been inseparable. I don’t mind adding a fourth to our group, and I don’t think they would either. Iris will probably make her own friends fast enough anyway; she’s a cheerleader, not a swimmer like me and my friends. We have a cheerleading squad that I’m sure Iris can get on. Ty plays football, so he’ll be able to introduce her to the team and hopefully make it easier for her to join. That’s if she wants to continue cheerleading.

  “Is there anyone I need to look out for at school? Like, the mean girls?”

  I turn my nose up. “Ellie, cheer captain, so many blond highlights I’m surprised her hair hasn’t fallen out, can be a bit snobby, but she’s harmless.”

  Why does she want to talk about people at school and not Mom? I understand that she wants to make the transition as smooth as possible—there is no getting away from this situation—but we’ve only been home for twenty minutes.

  “Iris, you do know that everything will be fine, don’t you?”

  She presses her lips together and looks away.

  “You can tell me how you’re feeling. You’re not going through this alone.”

  Iris doesn’t move an inch; her body is so still I move closer to see if she’s still breathing. Her chest rises.

  “I miss her,” I say. “I don’t see her for weeks, sometimes months, but I already miss her so much, I don’t know if I’ll ever get past it.”

  “Ivy,” she whispers, her voice calm and cold. “Can we not do this right now, please?”

  I take a breath, closing my eyes. “Sure, okay.”

  “I’m sorry. If you want to talk about her, talk to Dad.”

  Dad’s a good listener. But he can’t understand the way Iris can.

  I open my eyes and give her a smile. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Her pale eyes watch me closely, like we’re playing chess and she’s planning her next move. She’s pretty unreadable to me. We haven’t spent nearly enough time together over the last six years for me to know what all her expressions mean.

  “Thank you, Ivy,” she replies a little too formally to be sincere.

  Back up, she needs time. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” I say.

  Iris doesn’t move or respond, so I get up. Okay, I’ll go. Turning around, I walk out of her room and pull the door shut.

  What just happened there?

  “Ivy, Iris,” Dad shouts. “Pizza will be here soon.”

  “Okay, Dad,” I reply, running down the stairs.

  “I’m worried about her,” I tell him.

  He looks over his shoulder as he gets plates from the cupboard. “Iris?”

  Duh. “Yeah, she’s acting strange.”

  “Ivy…”

  “No, I get how that sounds, and I know what’s going on. But she was more interested in talking about school and my friends. She’s talking about fitting in and having a new life here. Don’t you think that’s too soon?”

  He shrugs. “This is new for all of us, Ivy. If that’s what helps her at the minute, can it be bad?”

  “Yes! Maybe. I can’t imagine going back to school yet, let alone a new school.” Though I don’t have much choice. College scouts need to see me at my best. I have to get back in the pool if I want to go to Stanford. Dad can’t afford to send me there, so I need a scholarship. To be perfect in the pool, I can’t afford any more time off.

  He tilts his head. “Honey, don’t overthink this. We’re all doing the best we can. Let her cope in her way.”

  “By pretending?”

  “If that’s what she needs, I think we can give her a little more time. Why is this bothering you so much? It’s very early days.”

  I shrug. “I guess I thought we could talk about it, you know? We’re going through the same thing.” I need to talk about Mom. I need more than the few weeks each year I spent with her.

  “You’re trying to fix this,” he says. “You see everything so black-and-white. I love that you have always been good at solving problems, sometimes before they even become problems, but there is no quick fix here. You can’t do anything for Iris until she wants you to, so please focus on what you need. Do you want me to arrange grief counseling? I think it would be a good idea for you.”

  For me. Not for me and Iris. He’s worried that I’ll try and fix my grief too fast and make things worse. There’s a rush with me because I hate when my life is off balance. Iris isn’t ready to start at all.

  “Yes,” I reply. I’m all for talking through your issues, but I don’t think a chat with Ty or my friends is going to work here. Therapy with a trained professional is the solution, so I want to do it. The sooner I can stop feeling like I’m treading water, the better.

  “There is no fast-track with grief, though, Ivy,” Dad says, reading my intention.

  That’s not true. Anything can be accelerated if done properly. I want to remember Mom without the heavy sadness and bitter anger. It’s not fair that she’s gone.

  “That’s not what I’m doing,” I lie.

  He doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t get time to say so because the doorbell rings.

  Saved by pizza.

  4

  In the end, no one ate much of the two large pizzas Dad ordered. I think he had about four slices—nowhere near his record—while Iris and I picked at one each.

  I’m disappointed in myself, because I can eat pizza, but my stomach rejected every bite. When Iris and I were younger, we would eat two slices each, then have two for breakfast. We must have been four or so and thought we were cool. We’d eat a whole pizza between us, and the fact that it was over two days didn’t take away from our amazement that we were so little and could do it.

  Eating seems like such an odd thing to do when your world has been rocked. The same as other mundane things like household chores. It’s all so pointless. I want to go to the therapist now, at ten-thirty at night, so I can get this over with and have things resemble some sort of normal again.

  I’m in the bathroom, looking at my exhausted reflection in the mirror. Staring back at me are dull blue eyes. I don’t remember the last time I got more than five hours of solid sleep, and it’s been worse since Mom died. My mind doesn’t shut off easily; I’m constantly thinking of things I need to do. I can usually tone it down if I train in the pool a couple extra times in the week or go for a long run.

  Swimming is my first love. When I’m in the pool, I’m free. There is nothing but me and the water.

  If there was a pool open now, I would go. Actually, going back to school is looking like a good idea, just for the access to the pool. But Dad wants me to take the rest of the week off and return when he enrolls Iris. I wanted that, too, but the thought of spending the next five days indoors, pretending things aren’t as bad as they are and talking about friends, is suffocating.

  I run my hands over my face. A few more days…you can make it.

  Leaving the bathroom, I cross the hall. Iris must still be awake; I can hear movement from her room. There’s no point in trying to talk to her again. Dad is right—she has to be ready to deal with Mom’s death.

  “Night,” I say over my shoulder to Iris as I open my door.

  Something in her room falls to the floor with a heavy thud. “Night, Ivy!” she replies.

  Frowning, I turn toward her
room. “You okay?”

  “Just dropped a book.”

  I grip my door handle. I don’t think she’s willingly read a book since we were five. Unless that’s another change in her.

  Does she even have books here? I haven’t noticed any, but I don’t exactly take inventory of her room.

  The noise was loud, though. What are her books made from, stone?

  What is she doing in there, and why did it sound like a lie when she told me she dropped a book? I mean, unless she dropped it from the ceiling.

  “Okay,” I say, and close myself in my room.

  Nerves flutter in my stomach. I push my palm into the center of my belly and wince. I don’t enjoy feeling like something is majorly off, besides the obvious, and I don’t know what it could be.

  I don’t trust my instincts right now, because I could well be feeling anxious over this being a situation that I have no control over.

  Okay, you seriously need to sleep.

  Shaking away as many of the swirling thoughts as I can, I climb into bed. This is the part where I lie awake for ages, my mind spinning with a million thoughts, each one of them fighting for time. It’s where I make plans to silence the thoughts and worries, one by one.

  I curl onto my side and tug my quilt up to my chin.

  My eyes flit closed, and Mom’s face enters my mind. She’s been a prominent thought since she died, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I can usually work through a problem in my head until it’s solved and then move on to the next. Mom is a sticking point. I would do anything to have her back, but that can never happen. We’re not in some fantasy novel.

  Every night, I see her and think about her until I want to scream because I miss her so much.

  I roll onto my stomach as if a change in position will make everything fall out of my head so I can sleep.

  Next door, Iris moves around her room. Her footsteps aren’t as light as she’s trying to make them. If she’s even trying to be quiet. Something scrapes across the carpet. It’s almost eleven at night. Who rearranges furniture this late?