Separated @ Birth: A True Love Story of Twin Sisters Reunited

by Anais Bordier

  When it was ten, no one else was in the room but us. We were alone together at the table, wine in hand. The cameras were rolling, and then, technical problems! Dr. Segal wasn’t popping up on the Skype screen! OMG, what was happening? No one knew yet that she had an old version of Skype, so while the tech people tried to figure it out, Sam and I drank more wine and giggled about nothing. Fifteen minutes later, after Dr. Segal logged off, installed her new version of Skype, and logged back on, we were once again ready to roll.

  Finally, there was Dr. Segal, beaming at us from her office at Cal State–Fullerton. She was so happy and excited that I can safely speak for both Sam and me—we both knew it was going to be good news!

  “So, Samantha and Anaïs, are you ready for this information?” she asked. “It’s a very life-changing thing, whether you are twins or not.” She kept going and going, or so it seemed. Finally, she said what we had been waiting to hear . . . “Okay, both of you turn and hug your identical twin sister!”

  It had been such an emotional roller coaster, and we were finally done. Samantha and I were identical twins! WE WERE IDENTICAL TWINS! We immediately hugged, but it wasn’t a hug of pure affection, per se. It was a hug of relief, as we fell into each other’s arms. It was what fantasies are made of. Even with all our emotional preparation, it was unbelievable.

  Now it was time to tell our relatives, who were undoubtedly waiting anxiously. We called my parents first, as they were right here in London, and it was getting toward eleven p.m. now.

  “We’re not twins!” I announced, too gleefully for it to be anything but in jest. I told them right away I was just kidding.

  “I am happy,” Mum said, “but we are just going to sleep.” Dad was the same. Luckily, I knew how to read their voices. They were speaking in a different tone and a different rhythm, talking more slowly with more space in between their words. This meant they were happy, just not emphatic!

  We decided to call Sam’s brothers before we contacted her parents. Matt was first. I could hear Sam telling him, “Hey, we’re not twins. . . . No, we are twins.” Next, we called Andrew, and then we had Sam’s maternal grandmother on the phone. I faked Sam’s voice with an American accent to tell her we were twins. “I am happy, because I just had a White Russian,” she responded. She was already celebrating. “Good-bye, sweetie, or should I say, SWEETIES,” she said before hanging up. OMG, I had a new grandmother!

  We called Sam’s dad, but he didn’t answer. Rude! Then we called her mom, who also didn’t pick up the phone. Double rude! When we finally got her mom, Jackie was really happy. She was so in shock, she even swore the second she found out. “Really? Holy sh*t!” But she was trying to get off the phone quickly so she could call Sam’s dad. “Okay, good-bye, sweetie, or should I say SWEETIES.” “Good-bye, sweetie, or should I say SWEETIES,” by Sam’s mother and grandmother—was it nature or nurture?!

  The next day, Sam came with me to school. We had lots of fun switching places. After all, this was our first chance to do this! Around dinnertime, I took Sam to meet my dad for the first time. We went to their hotel, where I knew my parents were having dinner in the restaurant on the ground floor. Sam stayed close behind me, semi-hiding, as we approached their table. Dad stood up when he saw me, and Sam popped out from behind. He kissed her and hugged her, which was not his style. Although he is very loving, he is not a hugger. But, with Sam, it was instantaneous, showing just how happy he was. It was so funny. Sam and I didn’t want to touch each other, but everybody else wanted to hug and touch us.

  • • •

  The next day was the fashion show, something I had put mon coeur et l’âme, “heart and soul,” into for the past four years. I was very exited that Sam and my parents would be seeing it, as they were the most important people in my life, and the show was the most important moment of my university career. I wasn’t going to be able to see much of them until it was over, though. I would never in my life be busier than in the four hours ahead of me.

  Tickets for the show, which was being held at Central Saint Martins Platform Theatre, were very hard to come by. We were only allowed a small number of them, usually only a pair for parents. It was quite difficult to get extras, but I had gotten one for Sam. There was a funny twin story that went with Sam queuing outside with my parents. One of my French friends saw her and went to speak to her. She was asking her in French, “Hey, are you excited about the show? Wait, how come you are not backstage? Are you finished already?” She thought it was me.

  The fact that Sam was here at the show made me happy, but in a way, it made me even more stressed. My collection was very personal, but what if my sister did not like it, or any of my work? I would be so disappointed. At the same time, she gave me confidence. I just didn’t want to disappoint anybody.

  The rehearsals for the show had reminded me of the plays I had done in theater classes in secondary school. They filled me with the excitement and stage fright I had felt then, right before stepping onto the stage and into the footlights. Maybe this was the feeling Sam had every time she was onstage. Through our different industries and activities, we were still doing the same kind of performance work, putting our artistic talents on display in front of a live audience. We had chosen similar pathways, both creative, and both bringing us to the stage from different directions.

  Academically, the show was so important that most of our grade for our final year was based on it. Not only would our fashion tutors be there to evaluate the work, professionals from within the industry and reporters from all over the world were always on hand for the spring graduate show. The six pieces I was presenting were the result of my years spent at Central Saint Martins. But all that work and effort would be up and down the catwalk in one minute and thirty seconds, here and gone. I guess that’s what fashion is: convince people and make an impression straightaway, in the blink of an eye, or it is gone forever.

  For the building of my collection, I took inspiration from the women in the 1940s who temporarily replaced men in the munitions factories. I was trying for the twist between an ultrafeminine silhouette and the less fitted, manlier profile of the emancipated woman, which required a lot of padding. I also mixed this with the work of the German artist Joseph Beuys, who integrated life with art and found materials. I took special interest in his work with felt, a material that also became popular in the 1940s. In my pieces, I used battleship-gray felt mixed with new-technology neoprene foam, which allowed me to create generous volumes without too much weight or constraints. My technique included embroidery to blend the contemporary-looking neoprene fabrics with the natural-looking felt. By layering, overlapping, and draping my materials, I came up with my minimalist, industrial style. Part of our assignment had been to select a market level for our collection, and I chose luxury ready-to-wear.

  In the hours leading up to the event, I was quite stressed out, running around like crazy trying to sort out the fittings and the last accessories, finishing the hems, ironing, labeling, preparing all the tights and shoes, and putting everything into the garment bags to give to the dressers. There had been fittings for the collection close to the show, and after the last one, all my garments were bagged and carefully organized on rails with numbers and then divided into their running order according to the professional models especially hired by the school to model them. A cameraman would be filming the show, and two photographers would be capturing it from two different angles.

  Backstage was at once a nightmare and the most exciting place in the world. My collection would be the thirteenth to go on, but you couldn’t hear or see anything happening onstage. You had models racing to get changed, while running around throwing garments back on the racks, and dressers running around after them to put your designs back into the bags. Meanwhile, I was running after the untied shoes, as I heard my name being called, because my models were lining up and ready to enter the catwalk, but someone had forgotten to finish tying the shoes
or had mixed up their accessories. It was a lot of running, yelling, being yelled at, stressing, and holding my breath. Then, I turned my head, and the first model was already backstage again. That was fast! All six of my outfits were modeled in one and a half minutes. Three years spent on campus in London and an additional year of internships and placements were done. My mark for my diploma had just been decided.

  In a couple of hours, the show was over, and all forty of the final-year students had shown their collections. The pressure dropped suddenly after an extremely intense year. Backstage was euphoric. I was as light as a cloud, all my worries—about the button not being the right diameter on that coat, or the hems being two centimeters too short, or the stitching color not the exact gray, or the waistline a bit wavy—all those worries were gone. I had achieved my goal. I should have been tired, and I was so exhausted from it all, but the stress was gone. It felt nice.

  After we emerged from back stage, we were all running to our parents, friends, fashion tutors, and other students. Some people were crying, because we knew our years here were almost over, and we would all be going our own ways after being together in the studios, working from nine a.m. to ten p.m., six days out of seven. But even so, everyone seemed happy. I felt like I had no barriers anymore, and I went to my sister and hugged her. I grabbed her by the neck and starting kissing her on the cheek. This was the first time I had really embraced her with full emotional love. The people who mattered the most were here with me. I was at the beginning of a new life with my sister, and at the end of my long years of education. I was emancipated, ready to move into my adulthood with my twin sister by my side.

  • • •

  The last few days had been a whirlwind. First, I had met Sam and learned we were identical twins, then I had put on my collection at Central Saint Martins, and now I was about to meet the Futermans. In French we say, Jamais deux sans trois, “never two without three.” I had completed two, and the third was about to happen.

  After dinner, Sam and I went to the hotel where her parents would be staying. I was two-thirds relaxed waiting to meet them. I guess that’s the same kind of feeling you would experience with your family-in-law. They don’t know you, but you want them to accept you into their hearts and like you straightaway. I just had to act as normally as I could. Would they like me? What if they did not like me? What if I did not get along with Sam’s brothers? If they didn’t like me, what would Sam think about me? Would she not want me as a sister anymore? The questions flooded in again. Would they consider me as family? Would they like my parents, too? What if our parents did not get along? What if they did not like London after traveling so far to get here? Would I feel a connection with them as quickly as I had with Sam? I was also wondering if my anxiety would show on camera. I didn’t want anyone to see my questions surfacing on my face.

  Sam’s parents were not answering their cell phone long after their plane had landed. I could read Sam’s stress without her saying anything. We should all have been happy for what was about to happen, but in a way, it was stressful. Sam wanted them to be there. Perhaps she needed the hug and comfort of her parents, especially as I had been with my parents throughout this, and I think Sam really missed hers.

  Finally, the Futermans came up the street from the Tube station—Jackie first, then Judd, then Matt. They looked really nice, although exhausted, as I watched them through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the hotel. Sam made me run out, pretending I was her, but I was still scared. Would they hug me? Would they be standoffish, thinking I was some kind of clone? I fooled them for only a second, when they stood completely frozen. Then, when they knew it was me, they just hugged me, and Sam joined us right away. I had never gotten or given so many hugs in a single day. I felt like we were a family, even after only a few minutes.

  Right then and there, I had no doubts I could trust the Futermans. I could see Sam had been raised in a very loving family. Matt was the only brother there yet, but his deep love for his sister was apparent. I wish everyone could experience the degree of happiness I felt that day in front of the hotel. That pure happiness, joy, and love could never be replaced. My thoughts went straight to my parents, and I could not wait for the two families to finally be together the next day. I had been hit by indescribable happiness, and it started changing me in all the best ways possible. I had no idea where Sam and I and the Futermans and the Bordiers would go, but we were definitely heading there together.

  12

  SAM

  coming face-to-face with . . . myself

  It was time to face it: Anaïs and I had been in a long-distance relationship. We were so long-distance, the only way to even see each other was by plane. I knew the relationship was going to be worth it. We’d just have a visiting schedule, when it turned out we were twins. What made all of this even more exciting was that this was my first trip to Europe.

  When I woke up on the plane, we were over Ireland, only one hour from London. My tray table was open and I had butter chicken waiting for me. I don’t know how, but I always manage to wake up in time for food. The chicken was definitely the tastiest option, although it was very airline and not dairy-free. I stared out the window in a daze, half-hearing the sounds of the plane around me, that soft rumble that echoes throughout your head. I could feel the air flow above my seat, putt, putt, putting down my hair. I was in disbelief that I had made it this far. Then the very British pilot came onto the PA system and announced that we were nearing Heathrow International Airport. It was time to prepare for landing and for meeting Anaïs.

  Soon, I would be standing in a room, staring at a person who could quite possibly know me better than I knew myself. She could be someone who understood me better than my friends of ten years. Or she could be awful. I always tried to make light of it in my head, so I’d picture her six feet tall and a total bitch. Obviously, the six feet tall wasn’t the case, but the other part . . . ?

  After customs, Kanoa, Lisa, Ryan, and I took a van to the apartment we were renting in the Shoreditch neighborhood of London, which seemed to be incredibly far, but my anxiety was probably making it feel farther. The distance was definitely building a suspense in my body, but I tried to keep calm and in the moment by spotting all the trees, making jokes, and taking in the scenery. In what seemed like forever, we were finally there. Was Anaïs in the apartment already? What was about to happen?

  When I heard footsteps coming down the stairs of the apartment and saw the door crack open, my heart jumped to my throat. Could it be Anaïs? What if this was the moment? Was the camera rolling? As carefully orchestrated as this day was, I still had no idea what time my sister was going to show up. I wanted to make sure we caught this moment on film, or perhaps that was my excuse to distract myself from the stress I was feeling. Phew, it was only James. It was really nice to be staring at a familiar face, but thankfully not too familiar. I wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

  We got everything upstairs and explored the apartment. The furniture was a collection of pieces picked up here and there, futons and folding chairs, crushed velvet couches of different colors, mismatched end tables, and many throw pillows in Indian patterns. There were two working bathrooms, plenty of light, and a big open kitchen equipped with everything. My favorite piece of décor was a funky three-foot-tall carved golden elephant next to the couch, which could serve as a stool or an end table.

  As we were settling in, Anaïs’s friends Marie, Lucas, and Mátyás arrived. Of course, my first instinct was to play a joke on them. I didn’t like to show my emotional insecurities, and humor was a good cover. I immediately felt comfortable with them, perhaps because they seemed comfortable with me as well. Anaïs’s friend Marie was so sweet. Of all Anaïs’s friends, I “knew” her the best. At one point, as we were all hanging out, she started crying. Anaïs’s arrival was imminent and the air was thick with emotion.

  I knew she was getting close. I could tell by the little birdy noises Mar
ie’s phone made when she was texting with her. “THEY’RE HERE!” somebody yelled. I didn’t know where to go. I was freaking out inside. I was moving around and couldn’t sit still. Kanoa and James told me I was being weird, and Ryan just kept filming. I hid under the table . . . I sat on the couch . . . I sat on the golden elephant. And then it was time . . . she was coming. My heart was pounding throughout my entire body. I could feel it. I could feel her close. James went downstairs to get her. Holy sh*t. This was it. . . .

  The echoes were getting louder and closer and my heart was beating faster and harder. I put my hands on my face, debating whether to cover my eyes as though to prepare myself for an eclipse or keep my vision free of any obstacles. Just then, I saw a body move in the doorway. Oh God, it’s her. No, wait . . . it was James . . . by himself. He couldn’t find her! I was relieved. Phew. Then Marie’s phone buzzed again with more birdy noises. James left the room again, and I heard a door close followed by a familiar laugh. Holy shit. That was my laugh. I sat just staring at the door, waiting to see who was about to enter. And then, I started to squeal as an Asian girl came quickly running through the door. Ahh, oh, right, it wasn’t Anaïs. It was her friend Jennifer. I burst into laughter and gave her a massive hug. I had seen her on Instagram, but I didn’t know that she was coming with Anaïs. As I turned around again, the sweetest face popped into the doorway and walked hesitantly into the room. Her face was mine, but it was bright red, and her hair was a mess. I froze. And then, I had the longest and most uncomfortable laughing fit I’ve ever had in my life. I couldn’t stop. My brain wasn’t working. My body was just pumping blood and adrenaline all the way through. I was hot, sweating, freezing, and amped up all at the same time. It was me . . . it was me . . . she was me!