TIME

by Penny Reid

  Sometimes I forgot how great of a reporter my sister was. She had the most detailed memory of anyone I knew.

  I shook my head, pushing my fingers through my hair. “Fuck.”

  “Abram, it’s no big deal. I’m your sister. My job is to keep your secrets and love you unconditionally, and your job is to do the same for me. I don’t care what you and Mona send each other. You should see the stuff Matt and I send back and for—”

  “STOP.” I buried my face in my hands. “Please, stop. I do not want to know about you and Matt.”

  My sister chuckled. It sounded sinister.

  I wasn’t laughing, because now I was concerned. Photos of Mona with my parents, coming to visit me in the LA hospital had surfaced, but the photographer had mistakenly assumed she was Lisa. Since we hadn’t been photographed together—because there’d been no opportunity—rumors of my involvement with Mona’s twin sister had already faded.

  My family knew about us. According to Mona, Leo knew, but I hadn’t talked to him since our disagreement. Obviously, Lisa knew, and if you didn’t count Tyler or Gabby, which I didn’t, that was about it.

  It’s not that our relationship was a secret. It wasn’t. We just weren’t advertising it. Keeping things quiet, being private, especially when everything was so new and we saw each other so rarely, seemed to be an unspoken desire we had in common.

  But if my phone was hacked, and the photos we’d been sending each other were leaked, it would make national news for sure.

  Lifting my head, I frowned at Marie. “Okay, do you mind? Can you ask Alex to help?”

  “I already did.” She picked an invisible piece of lint off her jeans. “It’s being taken care of as we speak. The invoice will come from Cypher Systems, just make sure it gets paid. He’s very expensive.”

  “Thank you. Whatever it takes. I don’t want any pictures of her out there. It would be, uh, not good.”

  Marie’s eyebrows flickered up a half inch. “You mean, it would be terrible. For her. And her career.”

  “Yeah. Exactly.” I scratched my beard, which was now thick and bushy. I should have thought of this. Crap.

  “Are you two keeping things secret for a reason? I get the sense that no one here knows about your relationship.”

  My sister’s tone, like she was choosing her words carefully, had me inspecting her. “It’s not a secret, but I don’t think the crew knows. They might suspect.” I thought back to the argument Mona and I had in front of everyone in Aspen, and how we’d missed dinner the last two nights. “Honestly, I have no idea. Charlie and Ruthie were in Aspen with us, but I don’t think either of them were paying much attention. And, I mean, from the outside looking in, it’s not like we make much sense. Plus, according to Leo, Mona has this reputation with his friends of being completely disinterested in musicians.”

  “Do you think dating you will impact Mona’s career?” Again, her tone seemed suspiciously careful.

  “What do you mean? In what way?”

  “I’m not certain, because I’m not a stunningly gorgeous and brilliant twenty-one-year-old PhD student in astrophysics, who is also the daughter of two hugely famous—but also slightly ridiculous—pillars of the global music community.”

  “Are you asking if, by dating me, she’ll have even more difficulty being taken seriously?”

  Marie’s gaze moved up and to the left. “I don’t know. It’s not like she’s inconspicuous, no matter who she dates. But I do know, just from watching famous couples trying to navigate the media, how one of you acts or behaves will definitely make an impact on how the other is perceived.”

  “I guess that makes sense.” I shared a glance with my sister.

  She’d given me a lot to think about, issues I might’ve already been aware of subconsciously, but hadn’t consciously considered. If how I behaved, the choices I made, had consequences for Mona, well, then I was determined that my choices would be stellar from now on.

  “Hey.” I gave Marie a grateful smile. “Thank you for your help getting my phone secured.”

  “No problem.” She smiled sweetly. But Marie was sweet. “What are older sisters for? Oh! And before I forget, I asked Mona to be a bridesmaid.”

  I flinched, my head rearing back, not sure I’d heard her correctly. “You—you what?”

  Marie cupped her hands around her mouth and mock-shouted, “I asked Mona to be a bridesmaid.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I can hear just fine, Hufflepuff. I’m just surprised.”

  “Why? She’s great.”

  “Yeah. But you barely know her.”

  “Well, you’re in love with her, which means so am I.” My sister shrugged, her blue eyes twinkling. “And, may I say, you have exceptional taste in women. She is a friggin’ delight.”

  “She is, right?” Unable to stop my grin, I dropped my eyes to my hands again, thinking about her goodbye kiss before she left. Obviously, she couldn’t kiss my mouth. So she’d kissed the tips of my fingers—all ten—and my forehead, cheeks, chin, nose, and temples.

  “You know who she reminds me of?”

  “Janie?” I guessed, only because Marie’s friend Janie was also brilliant.

  She tilted her head back and forth, her eyes narrowing as she considered. “Um, yes, her too. But I was actually going to say Matt.”

  “Matt?” Again, I reared back, but this time I frowned. “Don’t get me wrong, you love Matt, therefore so do I, but what about Mona reminds you of Matt?”

  Matt Simmons was Marie’s fiancé, a super good guy, and a nerd. Matt was great, really great, but he didn’t make me want to write poetry until sunrise.

  Marie chuckled. “Think about it, doofus. They’re both in science, at the top of their field, in high demand. They both love to tell science jokes and puns, they both—”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute. When did you hear Mona tell a science joke?”

  Marie gave me a smirk, it looked self-satisfied. “We talk.”

  My eyebrows jumped. “Who?”

  “Me and Mona.”

  My eyebrows pulled low. “When?”

  She glanced at her nails, saying loftily, “All the time.”

  I choked. Because—with the time difference and her schedule and my schedule—I could barely get Mona on the phone.

  Marie laughed. “Okay, okay. Not all the time. But Mom, Mona, and me are in a three-way.”

  Wincing, horrified, I closed my eyes. “Please. Please never use the phrase three-way while referencing you or Mom ever, ever again. In fact, you’re not allowed to use the phrase at all.”

  My sister laughed, good and loud, and a second later a pillow hit me in the face. “Get over yourself! A three-way text message conversation, you ass.”

  Now I was laughing, and I opened my eyes to locate the pillow she’d thrown, tucking it behind my back with the others. “Thank you. I needed another pillow.” God, it felt good to laugh.

  Mona makes you laugh.

  My smile waned and I swallowed, breathing through the tight pain in my chest. I miss her.

  “But back to what I was saying.” She rested her cheek against her palm. “Mona and Matt, very similar.”

  “Other than being brilliant, into science and nerdy puns, I don’t see the similarities.”

  “What about their parents?”

  Lifting an eyebrow, I settled more completely against my pillows. “What about their parents?” I didn’t know much about Matt’s parents.

  And, now that I considered things, other than what could be read in the newspaper, in magazines, etc. I didn’t know much about Mona’s parents—as parents—either. Leo didn’t talk about them, but I always thought that was understandable. As Marie had said, they were hugely famous. I figured he wanted to protect them, like I would want to do with my parents.

  “They both grew up with neglectful parents,” Marie said, as though this was common knowledge.

  Crossing my arms, I shook my head. “What are you talking about?”

  Now
Marie lifted an eyebrow. “Matt was raised by a series of nannies, housekeepers, and cooks. So was Mona.”

  “Just because a family has a nanny doesn’t mean the kids aren’t raised by their parents.”

  “Oh, I definitely agree! Just like, if a kid goes to daycare, it doesn’t mean the parents don’t raise the child. But in their cases—Matt and Mona—they were. They were neglected.”

  “How do you know this? I mean, about Mona. How do you know this about Mona?”

  Marie seemed confused. “Uh, it’s obvious.”

  Staring at my sister, I struggled to complete a thought, my brain was going in too many directions.

  Taking pity on me, she leaned forward. “Look, tell me if any of this sounds familiar, okay? And this probably applies to Leo too. Mona feels like she needs to prove herself to people in order for them to be her friend or love her. True? You know how Leo is always doing people favors? Worrying about the status of his friendships? That’s what it’s about.”

  I scowled, but I didn’t know why I scowled.

  Marie continued, “But back to Mona. She doesn’t open up easily, at all, and trust is super hard for her. In fact, she can count the number of people she trusts on one hand. Maybe three fingers. But once she trusts, she trusts. She bends over backward to make those people happy, worries she’ll lose them if she does something wrong. So, she tries to put people in boxes, assigns labels to relationships, so she can lower her expectations, so she’s never hurt.”

  My body ached. It had nothing to do with recovering from the flu. I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “That’s, uh, that’s pretty accurate.”

  My sister gave me a sympathetic smile. “That’s Matt.”

  “So, what do you do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How do you, you know, make sure he’s happy?”

  She frowned, her mouth forming a subtle sneer. “Uh, I don’t. Making sure Matt is happy is not my job. It’s his job, and only if he wants to be happy.”

  I blew out a breath, frustrated. “How do you keep him from worrying?”

  Marie shrugged again. “I can’t. If he wants to worry, that’s on him.”

  “Marie,” I growled, gritting my teeth. “Come on. You know what I mean.”

  “Actually, I don’t. It almost sounds like you think you’re responsible for Mona’s feelings. That’s one hundred percent wrong. You’re only responsible for your own feelings, just like she’s only responsible for hers. If she wants to worry, that’s her decision.”

  “But what can I do to help her worry less?”

  “You’re not hearing me, Abram. You do nothing. You love her—which you’re going to do anyway—and that’s it.”

  I didn’t like that answer, and my sister must’ve realized it, because she chuckled, shaking her head as she stood and walked to the door. “The horse is going to do what it wants. You can’t make the horse drink the water, even if it needs the water, even if it’s miserable without it.” She turned and walked backward out of the room. “Once you figure that out, and if you need to commiserate with someone about stupid, brilliant thirsty horses, give me a call.”

  Mona picked up on the first ring. “Abram! How are you? How was the concert? How many encores? You didn’t push yourself, did you? Please be careful not to push yourself. Did you get the package I sent?”

  A slow grin spread over my features and I fell back on the bed, covering my eyes with my forearm. “God, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

  One beat of silence, then, “Uh, I think you called the wrong number. This is Mona, not God. Related, do you have His number? If so, please ask Him to reconcile quantum gravity with the theory of relativity. I’ll wait.”

  I laughed. “You are a nut.”

  “As long as it’s a do-nut, I’m fine with that. Hey, did you know, donut-shaped planets are theoretically possible? Great. Now I want a donut.” Her voice and her cute facts relaxed my muscles and nerves and bones. My smile deepened.

  This was perfection, almost. Almost exactly what I needed. Her being here or me being there was actual perfection, but this was pretty darn close. And yet, even as I relaxed, the shadowy thought, I miss her, made drawing a full breath impossible.

  “What time is it there?” she asked.

  I thought about looking at the clock on the side table, or at the screen of my phone, but laziness had me shaking my head. “I don’t know. Almost two?”

  “Yeesh. You sound so tired.” In a quieter voice she added, “Please take care of yourself. Don’t get sick again.”

  “I won’t, I promise.”

  “You can’t promise that. Germs have a mind of their own. And if it’s a virus, well, let’s just say it has a hive mind of their own.” She chuckled at her joke and so did I.

  “How about, I’ll do my best. I can’t wait to see you.” I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to say it until later in the conversation.

  “I can’t wait either! London in March. Have you ever been to London?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “Oh yes. My parents have a house there. We would go around Christmastime, if we went. The cook made yule logs, which were my favorite.”

  I frowned, removing my forearm from my eyes to rub at my sternum. Our cook. I’d wanted to ask Mona about her family, her upbringing, since Marie had raised the topic two weeks ago, but I didn’t know how to start. Our phone conversations hadn’t been exactly satisfying recently. One of us was either extremely tired or in a rush.

  Before I could make up my mind whether or not to ask her about her family, she said, “So, speaking of London, I actually have a question about something related to the trip.”

  “Uh, okay. Shoot.” After she asked her question, I decided I would ask how her conversation with Leo had gone at the hospital in LA. We hadn’t discussed it yet, and it would be a good segue into asking about her parents.

  “Great. So. About sex.”

  My eyes flew open.

  “Tell me what you like.”

  I stared at the white ceiling of the hotel bedroom, thoughts and concerns and planned questions fleeing my mind as all blood rushed south. “You mean, phone sex?”

  Were we doing this? Now? We still hadn’t done it yet. I was tired, but I’d get untired real fast if phone sex was on the table.

  “No, no, no. I mean sex-sex. Tell me what you like so that, when we see each other, I’ll be able to do precisely what you like. Here, you can’t see me, but I have a notebook for taking notes, to make sure I get it all down.”

  Most of my blood had abandoned my brain for my pants, so I think I can be forgiven for the slowness of my response. “You want to interview me and take notes? About what I like during sex?”

  “Exactly. And then I’ll tell you my preferences the next time we talk, because you sound really tired now and probably don’t have pen and paper ready.”

  What the hell?

  I made a face, speaking without thinking, “That’s cheating.”

  “Cheating?”

  “Yes, cheating.” I sat up, mildly irritated. “No. I’m not telling you what I like. I want you to figure it out.”

  She made a noise, it sounded indignant. “But if you don’t tell me what you like, then I might do something you don’t like as much, and the sex will be mediocre.”

  “Yeah, I doubt it. I’m pretty sure I’ll love it all.” I bit my bottom lip, thinking about her face when we were in Chicago as she came, the feel of her silky heat on my fingers.

  Now I was awake.

  “Abram. I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  Another sound of indignation. “I need some direction. I want this to be good for you.”

  “Oh, I have no doubts it will be. But I’m not giving you instructions to follow. I’m not a recipe.”

  She laughed, it sounded surprised. “Okay. That was funny. But, look, like I said, I’ll tell you what I like, and—”

  “No. No way. Don’t you dare. Come on, Mona
. Give us a chance to be good at this. I don’t want you to tell me.”

  “But—”

  “That’s the same as telling me what you got me for my birthday before I get a chance to open my presents.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s being communicative,” she said through renewed laughter.

  “Nope. You are not allowed to tell me a thing. I don’t want shortcuts. I want to discover you. Giving me a grocery list takes all the fun out of it.”

  “It absolutely does not.” She huffed, but her voice held a smile.

  “No, Mona. I’m not a menu. You don’t get to order what you want.” Jeez. All these food references. I wonder if room service is still open.

  “That’s not—”

  “It is. It absolutely is.”

  Mona made a strangled sound. “How can you be so laissez-faire about this? If we tell each other what we like now, and how we like it, we can skip over all the awkwardness and just get straight to the great parts. It would be very efficient!”

  I bit back a laugh because she reminded me of Mary Poppins when she said, very efficient! Like efficiency was superior to seduction.

  “Have things been awkward?” I asked. “You don’t like what we’ve done so far?”

  “You know what I mean.” Her voice was quieter.

  “I don’t, honestly. And if we skip over all the awkwardness, we’ll never discover anything new—about you, about me—and the discovery is the fun. Yes, maybe we’ll have some bad sex, but nothing—nothing—is ever perfect, and that should be okay. I don’t want you to be perfect, to get things right all the time. How boring would that be?”

  She didn’t respond, but I could almost hear her thinking, debating with herself.

  So I added, “Think of it this way, if I only did what you think you like, then you’d never be pushed out of your comfort zone.”

  “Why do I need to be pushed out my comfort zone?”

  “Because it’s exciting.”

  She grunted. “It sounds unnerving.”

  “It might be. But it might blow your mind. Give us a chance to find out. Give us a chance to win big, and also fail spectacularly. And if we fail, know and trust that it’s no big deal. We can always try again, and again. And again.”