by Kat T. Masen
Poor George—he witnessed the whole thing.
“And the wedding. Has the program set a date yet?” Dad asks, veering right as he exits the freeway.
“Not yet. They want to make sure it falls at the right time. The largest viewing numbers are during winter when people are stuck at home. So, maybe a winter wedding. Personally, I like the summertime.”
Dad remains quiet, I know he isn’t a fan of what I’m doing with my life. In fact, he’s the first person to tell me I shouldn’t be part of such trivial and mindless television. Of course, he’d say that—Ash’s his favorite.
When I signed the dotted line to appear on the reality show, we didn’t speak for weeks until I cried over the phone and told him that I loved him and needed him to support me. That moment defined our relationship. He admitted he wanted only the best and would support me as long as I was happy.
The problem now—I’m not happy.
But I keep it to myself, playing the part of the happy fiancée because I don’t know any different, and because the web I’ve weaved for myself seems so intricate and impossible to untangle.
We drive through the leafy town of Green Meadows—a place which has been home since the moment I left my mother’s womb. It’s a gorgeous day—blue skies with a small array of clouds clustered in the east. The air outside is warm, so I open the window to feel the warmth against my cool skin.
Every place in Green Meadows has a memory. The corner shop where I would ride my bike and buy candy with money I stole from Ash’s room, to the large oak tree which sits in the middle of the town square shading the playground equipment.
Resting in the seat, I watch the familiar places as we drive by and head toward home. Turning the corner, the streets become wider and the houses grander until I see our home in full view. It still takes my breath away. The two-story red brick dwelling is partially covered with vines. When I was younger, it looked like a mansion. It’s funny how as we grow our perception changes.
Dad drives the car along the driveway until we’re parked adjacent to the front doors. He exits and begins unloading my belongings.
The door opens, and I see Mom peeking her head out. “Emmy!” Running out the door with a joyous smile, she impatiently waits for me to get out of the car. I quickly do so and jump straight into her arms, burying my head on her shoulder like I did when I was a kid. She still smells the same—lavender mixed with strawberries and vanilla. The same fruity, flowery perfume my grandmother used to always wear.
With my face buried in her long black hair, tears fall down my cheeks as the reality of being home sinks in. This is just what I need—my family. Life has been so hectic over the past year that I ignored my desperate need to be here. A place that means so much more to me than brick and mortar.
Mom pulls me back, studying my face with her palms pressed against my tear-streaked cheeks. “Hey kid, why the tears?”
“Just... I...” I stammer on my words while trying to control my emotions. “I missed you.”
“Gee, I didn’t get a greeting like that,” Dad mumbles under his breath as he walks past, carrying the bags inside and disappearing up the large staircase.
“Don’t mind him,” Mom says softly. “C’mon, I’ve made your favorite cake.”
“The rainbow cake vomiting the M&M’s?”
Mom laughs, closing the door behind her. “You make it sound so… appetizing. Go get settled in your room and come down when you’re ready. And while you’re up there check to see if your sister is alive. I haven’t seen her all day.”
I lean across the countertop, my hands moving toward the cake with delight. It’s just how I remember it—four colorful layers with cream filling in between. When you slice the middle open, the M&M’s pour out displaying its yummy goodness.
***
I’ve showered and changed into a casual sundress with no plans to go anywhere tonight. And just like Mom asked, I stopped by my sister Tayla’s room but was ignored. As usual. Apparently, she’s going through that teen attitude stage.
At sixteen, she’s the baby of the family. Mom admitted to me one day, she was the result of a weekend away in Vegas with a bottle of Moscato.
Now that’s something I didn’t need to know.
The cake is calling my name, so I dig in, chatting with Mom as she stands opposite me. I may be biased, but Mom is insanely beautiful. She wears her long, black hair down as usual—her reading glasses perched on her head which pull the hair away from her face. Wearing minimal makeup, her skin is flawless and naturally bright. At family parties, my aunties all moan about the amount of Botox Mom’s apparently had injected, which amounts to—zero. They’re jealous women looking for any reason to pull down their little sister. I’ll never understand how jealousy can become such an unhealthy obsession that was until I started to mingle with the Hollywood crowd.
“So, what’s happening, and what was that text last night about Wes being a moron?”
Sliding my fork sideways, I scoop another piece of heaven and bring it to my mouth. “It’s not George’s fault. He’s bored, and we haven’t been paying as much attention to him as we should.”
“Still, that dog of yours has expensive tastes,” Mom casually adds, sliding a glass of homemade lemonade over to me. She knows the way to my stomach.
“I think he’s gay.”
“You think your dog is gay?”
“He only chews on Versace shoes. Plus, one time at the dog park, he totally just sat there and watched another male dog hump the streetlamp.”
Mom laughs, almost spitting out her drink. “Hollywood dog parks seem more controversial than here.”
“You’re telling me. Plenty of bitches.” I laugh with her. “And about Wes...” I pause with a sigh, “… I’m over his immature behavior. He wants to party and hang out with his so-called friends like he’s eighteen again. Haven’t we outgrown this phase? I’m all for a drink now and then, but grow up already.” I air out my frustrations, not realizing how heavy it’s being weighing on my shoulders. It feels good to chat to Mom in person because if anyone can understand me, she will.
“Maybe you’re taking life too seriously?”
Her eyes scan mine with curiosity as my words remain trapped in my throat. I’ve never considered myself as a serious person—I like to have fun, too. But lately I’m forever being the adult for the both of us, and that may be due to the pressure I’m feeling to be the next big thing. Pressure that stems from management, and myself.
“I do know how to have fun, Mom,” I respond flatly.
“Last Friday night you were pairing socks, adamant that there’s a secret place in the universe where socks migrate, leaving you forever pair-less.”
I smile, relaxing my shoulders. “There is, right? You’re a mom, surely you should be letting me in on the secret of where this place is?”
Mom strokes my cheek with her hand, calming my agitated mood. “Kid, it’ll forever remain a mystery, but if you ever find out promise me you’ll tell me first?”
“Pinky swear.”
There’s a commotion coming from the hall. Doors slamming and a gust of wind flutters down the hallway and into the kitchen. Seconds later, my brother steps in with his usual shit-eating grin, dumping his bag onto the floor.
Mom is quick to wipe her hands on her apron, bringing him in for a hug. Ash towers over her, but still looks like a little momma’s boy when she fixes his dirty-blond hair and parts it to the side. It’s hard to believe we’re twins considering we look nothing alike, aside from our blue eyes and the few freckles which are scattered over the bridge of our noses.
Throughout my childhood, I swore it was a ploy to bring us closer together and that we weren’t twins. Instead, in my mind, Ash was adopted from some alien being, who spawned around the time I was born. It explained to me why he had the IQ of a peanut.
“Missed ya, Ma.” He grins, his eyes wandering to the plate parked in front of me. It doesn’t take him long to acknowledge my presence. “Well, we
ll, well… if it isn’t my long-lost famous sister.”
“Well, well, well…” I mimic, “… if it isn’t my annoying brother with some sort of foot fungal disease.”
Ash moves around the counter letting go of Mom and wrapping his arms around me from behind.
Yeah, I kind of missed the fucker, despite how much he annoys me. He hasn’t changed much since I saw him last year, he’s still sporting some weird crew-cut and seems to be growing a mustache to hide his baby face. I don’t know how he became this man-whore with that god-awful mustache. And of course, he still wears the same clothes—Adidas everything. It’s like the brand threw up all over his shirt, shorts, shoes, even socks. He’s a damn walking billboard.
Just when I think I actually missed him and it’s good to have him around again, his giant man hands swipe the last bite of cake on my plate, throwing it in his mouth.
“Hey,” I complain, releasing myself from his overbearing hug.
“You snooze, you lose.”
“I wasn’t snoozing, you ape.”
“One minute and the two of you are fighting? I thought absence is supposed to make the heart grow fonder?” Dad chuckles, placing his keys on the counter and standing beside Mom.
“Not when my dear old brother texts you a million times a day. There’s no damn absence.”
Suddenly, Ash’s demeanor changes, he’s almost nervous. He does this thing with his eyebrows where he twists the ends of them as if to distract himself. I know something’s up, but much like Mom and Dad, I’m entirely in the dark.
I’m about to call him out on it until Logan—my brother’s best friend—and a mystery woman walk into the kitchen. Logan flies through girlfriends like I go through underwear, so it doesn’t surprise me she’s here. Yet, I find it rude and annoying he doesn’t have the courtesy to inform us a stranger will be joining us.
Logan’s face breaks out into a mischievous smirk, the same one he had when he played pranks on me when we were younger. The only thing that’s changed is the fact he’s taller than me. Actually, he towers over me like Ash. Add to that a muscular body, instead of ten-year-old fat pre-puberty kid. And he got rid of the bowl haircut.
According to some magazine, he was named the hottest athlete of the year. I remember reading the article thinking Logan Carrington... really? The same boy who practically lived in our house and was Ash’s Siamese twin. Let’s ignore the fact that I’m his actual twin.
Age changes everyone, and despite the fact I haven’t seen him in over two years, nothing much has changed except his legs are now covered in tattoos. He’s wearing shorts which give me a view of the intricate patterns and drawings.
I can’t get over it, he’s staring rudely while Ash rambles on about something. I’m surprised Dad or Mom hasn’t said anything either. Logan’s like a son to them and Dad’s anti-tattoos. It’s the reason why Ash keeps the one just under his stomach a secret. It happened on some bro-code drunken-night-out, and when he tried to text me a pic, I was quick to point out the fact I almost threw up in my mouth at the sight of his pubes.
What fascinates me about the tattoos on Logan is that his arms are ink-free. Usually, the arms are the first place you have inked, not the legs. Nevertheless, I move my rude stare away from him and onto Ash and his dirty face.
Logan moves around the kitchen and stops at Mom, embracing her in a tight hug and not letting go for a while.
Something smells fishy.
Aside from the lingering smirk, his ash-brown hair is flicked to the side, styled with a line cut through the lower part. A fad that’s apparently rocking this generation. He runs his hands through it, lifting his bottle-green eyes to meet mine. I jump off the stool as he walks around the counter to me, and wrap my arms around him.
In my bare feet and stretching on my tiptoes, I whisper in his ear, “What are you up to?”
Logan holds me tight, wrapping his arms around my waist. I hate to admit he smells good. Some fancy aftershave designed to lure in women I’m guessing.
Bringing his lips close to my ear, his tone is smooth. “This will send you into a tailspin.”
I pull back, confused, but quick to extend my hand to the girl standing quietly in the corner. She’s quite pretty—exotic with a nice fashion sense. It’s my polite way of saying not everyone can rock a caftan but she certainly can.
“Hi, I’m Emerson… Ash’s sister.”
She smiles with nerves, biting down on her lip with her very white teeth. I’m amazed at the length of her hair, which she’s wearing straight with a few blonde streaks reaching the tip of her waist.
“I’m Alessandra, I’ve heard a lot about you.” She speaks with an accent—it’s thick, and by the way she rolls her ‘r’ I assume she’s from Spain.
“Oh,” I say looking in Logan’s direction. I didn’t think he’d talk about me, but obviously, he does. Odd, considering we aren’t that close anymore. “That’s nice of Logan to talk about—”
“Mom, Dad,” Ash interrupts me, moving closer to Alessandra and wrapping his arm around her waist. “Alessandra is my... my wife.”
My eyes spring wide open, my jaw drops to the floor with a crashing halt. His wife? When in God’s name did this happen? He hasn’t even mentioned dating let alone marriage. This has to be some sort of prank. Logan’s put him up to it. This isn’t the first time they have done something like this. They used to gang up on me all the time and it drove me insane.
We were known as the three troublemakers in the neighborhood when we were kids, and I considered myself one of the boys until I turned fourteen. So, I can smell a prank a mile away and this one is rotten to the core.
“Excuse me?” Dad questions, clearing his throat. His usually fair skin takes on a beet red color, a tell-tale sign he’s fuming. I glance over at Mom, she looks equally as shocked.
“We got married in Spain. Alessandra is my wife.”
“Married?” Dad repeats.
Ash nods, keeping his stare persistent and not blinking to challenge Dad. The two of them are just as stubborn as each other, and the longer this drags on, the more it becomes evident this isn’t a joke.
“When did this happen?” Mom asks in a calmer tone, trying to disguise her shock.
Ash looks at Alessandra, thoughts passing between them, keeping the rest of us waiting impatiently. “It happened last weekend. It sorta just happened.”
“You don’t sorta get married, Ashley,” Dad grits, slamming his palm on the marble top. “You’re too young to be married.”
“I knew you’d say that.” Ash raises his voice, competing with Dad. “You had no problem when Emmy announced she was engaged… and to some dickhead she met on TV!”
“Hey,” I shout, quick to defend myself. “Don’t drag me into your mess. And thanks for thinking my fiancé is a dickhead.” I storm out of the kitchen, walking out to the backyard for fresh air. The nerve of him to throw me under the bus while he’s fucking standing in front of me. My anger refuses to subside, the air not calming the heat burning through me as the weight of Ash’s decision finally sinks in. He got married and didn’t say a word like I’m nothing and nobody to him. I can recall all the conversations we’ve had over the past week and none of them alluded to this. That’s what fucking hurts right now, my brother hid the biggest thing to happen to him from me.
I continue to walk further into the yard to stop myself from running back inside and yelling at him. My parents place sits on acres of land. I wandered over to my favorite spot—the hammock which swings between two large trees. Climbing in, I rock back and forth while staring at the sky.
We’re twins. We shared a goddamn womb for nine months. No matter how much we fight, he always has my back.
Perhaps he’s struck a nerve calling Wes a dickhead. Sure, Wes has his moments which unfortunately are caught on camera, but this isn’t about Wes, this is purely about the betrayal I feel from my own brother.
“I told you it’d send you into a tailspin.”
The sou
nd of Logan’s voice startles me. Yet, I continue to rock back and forth, lost in a sea of thought.
“Are Mom and Dad grilling him?”
“I walked out when Chris said ‘I had more hopes for you, son.’”
“Ouch.” Poor Alessandra. “But it’s not like Ash to be so…”
“Committed?”
“Yes.” I pull myself up, leaning on my elbows for support as I gaze directly at Logan. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not my news to tell. Plus, I think I’m still in shock myself. Move over.”
I wriggle my body a little allowing some space for Logan to lay beside me—something we often did when we’re both angry at Ash at the same time. Except, we aren’t ten plotting to hit him with water balloons on the way to school. Though, I wouldn’t mind finding some and releasing my anger with them right now.
“So you think this is weird, too?” I ask.
He nods, placing his arms underneath his head. The bottom of his shirt lifts slightly and I do my best to avoid looking at his happy trail. Okay, his happy trail is damn sexy. I didn’t even know it was possible to think like that—isn’t a happy trail just an extension of your pubic hair?
“We walked into the bar after the game. He says ‘she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen,’ and the next morning he calls to tell me he married her.”
“What?” I sit up on my elbows again but this time in a mad rush, which causes the hammock to swing faster. “He knew her for less than a day?”
“Yes.”
“And he has the nerve to say I’m getting married too fast.”
“Oh yeah…” Logan half-smiles. “Congratulations by the way.”
“Thanks.” I kill my curiosity by asking him for the truth. “Did you watch it?”
There’s a short silence while he gazes at the sky. He’s one of those people that when he smiles his whole face lights up, but most notably his eyes. The color of them used to freak me out—a green that sometimes changes to brown—and when I asked him how he did that he told me he was bionic, raised by robots pretending to be human.