by Anita Higman
“Sure I would.” He laughed.
I gave his shoulder an affectionate shove. “I know you don’t mean that. You will wait for me, won’t you? It’s always a little scary when there’s two of us, you know, Camille and me … exact copies.” The moment that remark left my mouth I knew I was in for a lecture.
“Surely I didn’t hear you right.”
“I meant it as a joke. Well, not totally.”
“Lily Winter, do you believe in me so little that you’d entertain such a thought?” He stared at me, his expression incredulous. “You’re not Camille. You both may look alike, but you are not her. You are Lily. You have your very own fingerprint on this world, literally speaking, and in every other way. I like Camille, but I love you. Huge difference. How can I make you see? My love for you has fenced me in, and I’ve never been happier to be ensnared by anything. So, I don’t want to hear those words coming out of your mouth again. All right?”
I saluted him. “Yes, sir.”
He chuckled. “But in the meantime, while I’m waiting for you, I’ll need something to do. So, when I’m not working, I’ll be busy trying to win you over. Make you think I’m irresistible.”
You already are. “I will enjoy the ride.” My heart got all twittery just thinking about all the creative ways Marcus might choose to romance me. Not a bad way to live.
He glanced out the windshield. “Well, I guess the storm has passed over.”
“I’m ready. We should head back before it gets dark.” I started the engine, and just as I was about to pull out again I put the car back into park.
“What’s wrong?”
“You know what? I’m kind of tired, and I need a nap. Do you mind driving for a while?”
Marcus loosened his tie. “You’re going to get me back, aren’t you? For all those times I forced you out of your comfort zone in Australia.”
“Absolutely.” I gave the console a sound pat.
“This could go very badly.” He rolled his eyes at me, yanked off his tie, and threw it in the back. I went around to the passenger side and he opened the door, got out and let me in, and then shut the door. Then he walked around to the driver’s side and slipped behind the wheel.
Just as I surmised, we cruised forward in perfect harmony with the traffic, and in spite of Marcus’s white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, I fell into a deep drowsy mode like a newborn baby with a tummy full of milk. But just before I fell to dreaming, I wondered this—how long would Marcus wait for me? Would he eventually tire of my hesitations and fly back to Melbourne?
When Marcus and I arrived back in my little neighborhood in Northwest Houston, he turned the corner to my house and there in the driveway was such a surprise—Julie’s car. I could barely contain my excitement as I chattered on about how she’d come early and I hadn’t even purchased all her favorite foods yet. “She must have gotten finished with her tests early. Won’t you come in to meet her?”
“You don’t even have to ask. I wouldn’t miss this for anything, meeting your Julie.” Marcus parked the car. “And please don’t wait until I come around to open your door. I know you’re anxious to run to the house.”
“My thoughts exactly.” I paused with my fingers on the handle. “But first let me say, I’m very proud of you, Marcus. You’re an excellent driver. I went off to sleep and wasn’t worried at all. Really, you’re a much better driver than I am, so—”
“Enough about me. I’ll let you praise me with a kiss later. Go.”
“Okay.” I jumped out and ran-walked to the front door with Marcus not far behind me. I fumbled with the house key so much, I rolled my eyes and handed it to Marcus, who opened the door for me.
“I can tell you love your daughter.” He handed me the key back and grinned. “Let’s go meet Julie.”
Once inside, I yoo-hooed, “Julie.” No answer. “Camille.” Still no answer. “Hmm. Maybe they went somewhere together.”
A tiny eruption of giggling came from the kitchen. It was their voices—my Julie’s and my twin sister’s voices mingling together like stirring chocolate syrup into milk. What a pleasant sound. Marcus and I peeked around the corner into the kitchen. There they were, the two of them, mixing something in a big bowl on the island counter. Probably making homemade cookies—one of Julie’s favorite things to do. The scene looked so homey I hated to break it up. It was good for Camille to be embraced by my family, and it was a new and wonderful experience for Julie to have an aunt. Especially since she no longer had a father.
Julie looked so cute and yet all grown up in her figure-hugging blouse over slacks. But the biggest change was her hair. The long wavy locks of her youth were gone. I sniffled a bit.
My motherly whimper was just enough of a sound to make Julie glance toward the doorway. “Mom!”
She ran toward me, and we threw our arms around each other. I held her tightly and kissed her shoulder. “I missed you so, my darling girl.”
“I missed you too. You smell like Australia.”
“What? I hope I don’t smell like kangaroos in the bush.”
Julie released me and added, “No, just the chic scent of a seasoned traveler.”
“Okay. Good save,” I said, using some of Julie’s lingo. “And look at your pixie haircut.”
“Do you like it?” Julie fluffed the top and turned from side to side, making her feathery earrings dance.
“I love it,” I said without hesitation, but for a mother, it would take some getting used to. Amazing that I’d driven Julie to college as a child and only weeks later she’d come home as a young woman. Ahh, the mysteries of life.
Julie gestured toward Camille. “Is this too weird or what, Mom? Aunt Camy looks just like you. Sounds just like you. Laughs just like you. It’s spooky and awesome at the same time to have an identical twin. Right? You guys must freak out every time you look at each other.”
“We’ve done a lot of freaking out since we’ve met.” Camille tossed me a knowing grin. “Your Julie is a darlin’.”
“Thanks, Aunt Camy.” Julie draped her arm over Camille’s shoulder. “But I mean, it’s like having two moms. I don’t know if that’s good or bad.” She put up her hands. “Just kidding, Mom.” Then she turned all her attention to Marcus. “You must be Mr. Averill.”
“Hello.” He strolled into our warm little circle.
“So, is this the guy you texted me about? You know, a billion times?” Julie asked.
I gurgled out a nervous laugh. Okay, that was awkward. “I don’t think it was quite a billion times.”
“Mmm, the candor of youth.” Marcus grinned, way too widely. “And here I was afraid your mother wasn’t all that interested in me.”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” Julie went on to say. “Mom thinks—”
“We get the general idea that I like the man.” I set my mortification aside. “Julie, this is Marcus Averill, but what I didn’t tell you, because I was leaving it for a surprise, is, well, this man is also … drumroll … Miles Hooper, which is Marcus’s pen name.”
“What?” Julie pulled a funny face of disbelief and then astonishment.
“It’s true.” I grinned. “You’re hearing me right.”
“So, you’re not joshing me? Wow. Gimme a sec.” Julie’s attention landed on Marcus, and it stayed there. “You mean you’re the Miles Hooper?”
We all laughed.
“Guilty,” he said.
“How ultra cool is that?” Julie leaned against the counter. “Mom and I lived inside your stories when I was little. And that’s how I learned to read. Your stories made me fall in love with books.”
“What an endorsement,” Marcus said. “I should hire you for my publicist.”
“One of my favorites was Toucan and the Sparrow. Let’s see, how does it go? ‘Morning arrived at the zoo, and the sun poured over the park like a glass of spilled lemonade. All the animals, big and small, ate their bowls of cold breakfast porridge without a single complaint. Well, maybe one o
r two grumbles from the gators. But when the park gates opened for the day and the watchers came, the animals stood tall, each trying to look wild and brave in some way. But it was always hard to look noble when one was locked in a cage.’ Mom and I always got sad on that part.”
“Goodness,” Marcus said. “You guys really are big fans.”
“We read Toucan and the Sparrow until the binding fell apart. I had five favorites, but Mom liked all your books. Well, she fell in love actually. Didn’t you, Mom?”
I caught her sneaky double meaning, and I flushed hotter than a woman in the throes of menapause. “Yes, we bought all your books, and I loved every one of them.”
“Thanks.” Marcus flushed. “And it’s nice to finally meet you, Julie. Your mother talks a great deal about you. All good and wonderful things.”
“Yeah, I know.” Julie looked at her fingernails and blew on them. “It’s the price I pay for being the perfect daughter.”
We all laughed.
Marcus leaned over the bowl on the counter. “Okay, so what are you making here?”
“Aunt Camy and I are making chocolate-chip cookies. Classic, right?”
“Very.” Marcus was already rolling up his sleeves and washing his hands. “I’d love to help if you want me to.”
“Great.” Julie poured a cup of coffee and took a sip. “I’ll just sit here with my coffee and watch Miles Hooper bake cookies in our kitchen.”
“So, you’re drinking coffee these days?” I raised an eyebrow at my daughter.
“Yep. I discovered that I love it. Aunt Camy introduced me to it. Do you guys want a cup?”
“I’ll have some,” I said. “So, you’re going to be one of those aunts.”
“Probably.” Camille gave me a playful poke in the ribs.
How heartwarming that Julie had already started to call her by such an endearing nickname. “Julie, you’re plenty old enough for coffee, but be careful not to overdo the caffeine. It can be pretty addictive in college, and it will keep you awake all night if—”
“Ding, ding, ding, ding,” Julie sang out in an operatic voice.
I put my hands up in surrender. “Okay, I get it.”
Julie chuckled. “That’s my bell to caution Mom that she’s about to go overboard with advice.”
“Good one,” Camille said to Julie. Then as if right on cue they raised their hands and gave each other a high five.
Goodness, my sister had dropped into the aunt mode faster than I could have ever imagined. So fast my head was spinning. God, please don’t let me be jealous. Ever. Please. I was living so many answers to prayer that I’d lost count, and I’d be an ungracious child to feel anything but grateful to the Almighty.
Marcus eyed my coffee. “I only have milk with my cookies.”
Julie pointed at him, shaking her finger. “Just like Popsy Purvy in Elephants Love Cookies Too.” She laughed. “Only he had to have chocolate milk with all his cookies.”
“That’s right,” Marcus said.
When Marcus glanced away, Julie looked at me, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief, and nodded in his direction. I knew what she wondered about—how serious were things between Marcus and me. Little did she know that he’d proposed. Sort of. And that I’d put him off. Sort of. Funny thing—I’d been hoping Julie would get along well with Marcus. Guess I could check that potential glitch off my list.
Camille pulled a cookie sheet from the bottom cabinet and turned on the oven. Then she backed away with a flourish and gestured for Marcus to take over with a spoon. He tied on an apron, which he looked masculine in as well as cute, and began plopping dollops of cookie dough onto the sheet.
Twenty minutes later, we all sat around the kitchen table, laughing and eating hot gooey cookies and totally ruining our supper but totally not caring. I pulled out a Monopoly board game, and we settled in to some serious fun in between popping a frozen pizza in the oven and dragging out some leftover salad from the fridge. We were the Four Musketeers with our swashbuckling camaraderie, and the thought of all of us being together for the coming holidays was a dream I could live with just fine.
“Mom,” Julie said, “I have something to tell you about college.”
“Hmm?” I asked absently, since my token and I were doing well. “You always do that interrupting thing when I’m winning. And I think you shortchanged me just now, Ms. Banker.”
“No.” Julie laughed. “I did not!”
I woke up from my board game daze. “What? Nothing bad at school I hope.”
“What makes you say that?” Julie restacked the piles of cash just like her Momma always did.
“It was the hesitant way you said it.” I took another mouse nibble off Camille’s cookie. Accumulating vast properties always made me hungry.
“Well, I hope you don’t think it’s bad.” Julie threw the dice. “I love school, but I don’t like my major.”
“Oh?” I studied her then. “But your life has always been about music.”
“Yeah, I like music, but I guess now that I’ve had more time to think about it, well, I don’t want it to be my whole life. I want music to be a joy I do for myself and a gift to others, but I don’t want to do it for a living.” Julie zoomed her race car token around the board.
What brought on that change of plans? “Well, what do you want to do with your life?”
“I know how this is going to come off … like I’m changing my major because I met Miles Hooper today. Sorry.” Julie chuckled. “I mean, Marcus Averill. But I’ve been thinking about it for the last several weeks, and I want to switch my major to English.”
“English? Really? Do you want to discuss this later?” I hoped she’d say yes.
Julie brightened. “No, now is a good time.”
Hmm. That’s how we ended up with a pet gerbil nobody wanted to play with and a trampoline nobody wanted to jump on and so many other nonessentials through the years. Julie knew I couldn’t say no very well in front of other people. But this wasn’t her pet. This was her life. “It will be harder to talk about the downsides to an English major with Marcus here. I wouldn’t want to say anything that might hurt his feelings.”
“Hey, I’m the first to admit that writing is a hard field to break into. The money can be at poverty levels for a long time. I was one of the fortunate few who made it big when I was young. But that’s pretty rare.” Marcus picked up his cup of milk, gulped it all down—loudly—slammed the cup back down like it was a shot glass, and then wiped off his white mustache.
We all sat staring at him and then burst out laughing.
Marcus shrugged. “Hey, I like cold milk.”
Julie dunked her cookie up and down daintily into her coffee. “But you guys are just assuming I want to be a writer. That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh? You mean teaching or—?”
“No, I like the writing world, but I was thinking of a behind-the-scenes kind of job. Like an agent.”
“Really?” I sat back in my chair and really studied Julie.
“I’ve researched it, and it seems like something I would enjoy.”
Impressive. She’d obviously spent some time thinking it over. My Julie was growing up.
Marcus perked up. “I have an agent in Austin. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind calling you, and you could ask her a bunch of questions about her career. You know, like what was her major. How she got started in the business. What’s required to make it in that kind of career. The upsides, downsides.” He tossed the dice.
“Really? You’d do that for me?”
“Well sure. If you’re interested, I’ll set it up.”
“Brilliant. Thanks.”
Marcus looked over at me, and his smile spilled all around the table like the lemonade in the whimsical park from his book. Then he scowled as his boot token landed on Go To Jail. “So not good. Hate that spot. Anyway, did you know that in the Aussie version of this game they have a koala bear for a token?”
“Well, this is the American vers
ion, Marcs,” Camille said, “and I’m thrilled to say that you’re going bankrupt.” She gestured to her own houses and hotels and rubbed her hands together.
I continued to watch Marcus within my little family and found myself falling more deeply in love with him. He was enchanting with Julie, and she obviously adored him already. Camille also kept giving me nods of approval about Marcus. But I knew what Marcus was up to. He was trying to check every obstacle off my list to getting married. And trying to romance me through my family. His sweet diabolical plan was wonderful, but it still wasn’t the right time for a proposal.
Camille drew a card and gasped. “I totally forgot to tell you, Lily. But Dragan called.”
“Dragan? You mean the woman who wears flip-flops and reeks of rum and whose name rhymes with Fagin?” I grinned. “Sorry, that was unkind.”
Marcus chuckled. “Dragan. She’s got quite a funky name.”
“Not nearly as funky as she is.” I gave the dice a good shake. “So, Camille, what did Dragan want?” I blew into my hands as if for luck, just to make everyone chuckle.
“You’ll never believe what she wanted.” Camille stuffed a whole cookie in her mouth. “These are soo good. And I’m soo hungry,” she said between chews. “When will the pizza be ready?”
“Soon.” I stopped rattling the dice. “So, what did Dragan want?”
“She said that Mrs. Gray wants us three—” Camille licked her fingers— “you and Julie and me—to come to her house tomorrow for tea.”
The dice slipped out of my hand and kerplunked right into my coffee.
Hearing about Mother’s invitation to tea was like something out of a fantasy movie—it was simply not to be believed. And yet the three of us stood all dressed up fancy on Mother’s porch for high tea at 3:00 sharp, waiting for Dragan Humphreys and her red-rimmed glasses, luau dress, and flip-flops to answer the door. Lately life changed as fast as moving around a board game. I only wished that when things got bad you could fold it up and go to bed.