The Twin

by Natasha Preston

  I press my lips together. Was I making a face at her blanket? It’s a nice touch, I suppose. But I don’t want it.

  “This session is all about you, Ivy. We’ll go at your pace. You can talk about whatever you want. I won’t push. If I ask a question that you don’t feel safe answering, please let me know, and we’ll move on.”

  I nod and clench my trembling hands. “I…I don’t know where to start.”

  “May I start?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper.

  “Your dad said that you recently lost your mom. Can we talk about her?”

  A smile touches my lips as tears sting my eyes. “She was awesome. I remember laughing every day with her. When I was ten, she and my dad divorced. I felt like I should go with her—you know, moms often get custody and all that—but I couldn’t leave my dad.”

  “Do you regret that decision?”

  “No, but I wish I had spent more time with her. My twin sister, Iris, lived with Mom, and as we got older, we both spent less time with our other parent.”

  “Teenagers have lives of their own, friends and activities. It’s rare that a person spends as much time with their parents when they reach teenage years. You did nothing abnormal, and I’m sure your mom understood.”

  “Oh, she definitely understood, but I feel bad.”

  She nods. “What was your relationship with her like?”

  “It was good. We spoke often, but I went to my dad with any problems I had. I guess living away from her shifted our relationship.” I frown. “I think we became a little more like friends.”

  “How did you feel about that?”

  I shrug. “I never really thought about it. Besides missing her being at home, I didn’t feel like I was missing a mom, if that makes sense. She would discipline and all that, but only when she absolutely needed to.”

  “How is your relationship with Iris? Did it change like the relationship with your mom did?”

  “Despite everyone assuming twins are joined at the hip, we weren’t particularly close,” I say. “Iris is very…people-y.”

  Meera chuckles under her breath. “And you’re not?”

  “I like my group of friends. I prefer a small circle of people I trust.”

  “Wise.”

  I think so too.

  “Iris doesn’t have anyone now. She was popular and always hanging around with a massive crew, but she doesn’t talk to anyone from her old school anymore. It’s crazy how someone who was always surrounded by people doesn’t have a single friend left.”

  “She has you.”

  “Yeah, but she doesn’t know me.”

  “Well, only you and Iris can change that. Is it something you want?”

  “Mom would have loved it if we were closer.”

  “But is it what you want?”

  “It is.”

  She lifts an eyebrow. “I’m sensing a ‘but,’ Ivy.”

  “Intuitive.”

  Smiling, she says, “I would hope so.”

  “Things have changed a lot. I’m still getting my head around losing Mom, and now my sister has moved home. I want her with me and Dad, but I’m not used to her being there.” Lowering my head, I add, “And I feel awful for feeling like that.”

  “I don’t know, I think most people would feel the same, to a certain degree. You can want your sister with you while wishing the circumstances were different. If she wasn’t living with you, that would mean your mom was still here. No one can deny that would be the best scenario.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.” I still feel bad, though. “She hasn’t cried yet.”

  “That’s not uncommon. Some people need more time. What about you, Ivy? How do you feel?”

  Suddenly, the blanket seems like a great idea. It’s not to keep you warm; it’s an emotional blanket, and I want to wrap it around me and curl into a ball.

  Meera waits a second before saying, “Ivy, that’s there for you. I got it out of the closet before you arrived.”

  I chew on my bottom lip like it’s steak. Meera is silent, waiting to see if I go for it.

  This is stupid. I shouldn’t need a damn blanket to talk about my mom’s death. But I do. Gripping the blanket, I tug it over my lap and keep my eyes low.

  That was ridiculous.

  I raise my eyes because there’s silence.

  Meera doesn’t react. She watches me with the same expression as before.

  “I miss her,” I whisper. “This summer she was going to take me and Iris to Europe for two weeks. She had been to London, Berlin, and Paris and wanted to show us. I was so excited to share that experience with her. I wanted that time together.” I take a deep breath. “I want that so much.”

  Meera’s smile is full of sympathy. “Do you think that maybe you could take a trip to Europe with your sister one day?”

  I shrug. “I’m not sure if Iris would want to. She’s not really up for anything to do with Mom right now.”

  “Well, it doesn’t have to be a now thing.”

  “No, I suppose we could do it in the future. Maybe.”

  “Why do you not sound convinced that it’s a possibility?”

  Frowning, I search for an answer to her question. We won’t always be strangers; she’s here to stay now. “There’s just…something there. I feel a total disconnect with her, and it’s only gotten worse since Mom died. She doesn’t seem real with me.”

  “If Iris and her friends have cut ties so easily, do you think she knows how to be real with her peers?”

  Oh. I squirm on the sofa. “No, maybe she doesn’t.”

  That’s really sad. How lonely it must be to not have someone you can confide in. I don’t know what I would do without Sophie, Haley, and Ty. I love my family, but my friends are the people I talk to about important things. I need them.

  Iris doesn’t have anyone.

  What is she keeping to herself that she wants to share? I think I would go crazy if I kept all my secrets to myself.

  “I don’t like to think of her with no one to talk to.”

  “Are you able to let her know that she can talk to you?”

  “Yeah, I told her she can talk to me anytime. Didn’t go so well….She turned me down.”

  “She’s not used to sharing her thoughts and feelings. If working on your relationship with your sister is something you want, take it slow. There has to be a level of trust with a person before you open up.”

  I smile. “It took me, Sophie, and Haley about six months before we spoke about real stuff. The day we did, though, it was like opening a dam. They definitely know me better than anyone else. Even Ty.”

  “Ty is your boyfriend?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you been able to talk to him or your friends about your mom?”

  “A little. I haven’t seen them much since the day she died. Dad and I left, and we were there a week and a half. I’m not going back to school until Monday. Dad didn’t want anyone to come over just yet.”

  “He wants to give Iris time to settle in first?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “You don’t believe him?”

  “I believe him, but I think he doesn’t want to see anyone just yet either. He’s been quiet and withdrawn. And he has stubble now.”

  “He was with your mother for a long time.”

  “Did he tell you that?” I ask.

  “He answered a few basic questions when he booked your appointment.”

  “I feel like things are falling apart. I know it’s been no time at all, but I hate waiting for it to get better. Dad and Iris don’t think they need to talk to anyone. How are they going to heal without it? I don’t want to walk around with this…fear forever.”

  “Is the heaviness because you haven’t healed or because you’re worried they
won’t?”

  I pull the blanket up a little. “Both. I feel a tiny bit better that I’ve taken the first step, but I won’t ever be totally comfortable at home if they’re not happy.”

  She smiles. “Does it affect you when there’s something you can’t fix?”

  I take a breath. “Like you wouldn’t believe. It’s a horrible feeling that’s always there. I can forget it for a little while, but there’s this, I don’t know…tugging feeling in my chest that keeps reminding me something is wrong.”

  “We can work on that. Give you some tools to help ease the feeling. There will be a lot of things in your life that are out of your control.”

  Yeah, that’s what scares me the most.

  “Shouldn’t we be talking about my mom?”

  Meera tilts her head. “It’s all relevant, Ivy, I promise you.”

  It doesn’t feel very relevant anymore. Her words feel like an itchy sweater I can’t take off. There is so much more I need to work on than just my grief.

  I swallow. “I need to take a break.”

  Meera nods. “All right. I’m sorry I pushed too hard. Take your time.”

  I reach out and grab my glass of water.

  Everything is off.

  8

  By the time I arrive home after therapy, I’m questioning whether it worked. I’m not sure I feel any better than I did before I went. Dad was right. Therapy really isn’t a quick fix. Not that I was naïve enough to believe that one session would solve all my problems, but, you know, it would have been nice.

  If I could jump into a pool right now and swim my problems away, I wouldn’t hesitate.

  Dad is waiting for me when I walk into the living room. He’s sitting on the sofa, watching the door. The gray hairs near his temples have increased, but Dad has always taken care of himself. Although he could easily pass as ten years younger, he’s definitely aged over these last two weeks. The stubble is still there, which isn’t helping.

  “Hey, Dad. Where’s Iris?”

  He looks over his shoulder and clears his throat. “Locked in her room.”

  That doesn’t sound good. Like, actually locked or she just doesn’t want to see anyone?

  Sitting up straighter, he asks, “How was therapy?”

  That’s a pretty loaded question. One I’m not entirely sure how to answer.

  “Well, it was interesting.”

  He nods. “Interesting? Ivy, you have always been good at expressing your emotions. Is interesting a good thing?”

  I drop down next to him. “I think it will be good, but right now it feels exhausting. Kind of like I ran a marathon, turned around, and ran back. My whole body just wants to be horizontal.”

  “I think that’s therapy. Talking about your life and your problems can be tiring.”

  How would you know? My dad has many talents, but admitting he has any weaknesses is not one of them. I don’t think he has ever spoken to anyone about any of his problems. It was certainly a point of contention with Mom. It was one of the things I often heard them arguing about, right up until they split.

  “So…do you think you’ll go too, Dad? Meera was surprisingly easy to talk to.” When she wasn’t pressing too hard.

  “I won’t pretend that everything is okay, but I don’t need therapy.”

  Yes, you do.

  “You really believe that?” I ask, curling my fingers into my palms. “Because I know Mom’s death has affected you more than you let us see.”

  “Ivy, I loved your mom because she gave me you and Iris. I’m sad that she’s gone and that you will grow up without her, but I am okay. This is about you two. I want to help you.”

  Classic Dad move. Nice to see that not everything around here has changed.

  “Fine,” I reply, conceding, because Dad can be stubborn when he wants to be. I don’t think I’ll be able to convince him to talk to anyone.

  “Do you want to discuss your session?”

  “Not really,” I reply.

  He holds his hands up. “Fair enough. Promise you’ll let me know if you change your mind. I’m always here for you.”

  “Yeah, I promise.”

  “Good.”

  Dad hands me the remote, and for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, we watch movies. Iris doesn’t come downstairs once.

  When our second movie finishes, Dad stretches. “All right, it’s almost five. What do you want for dinner?”

  “Burgers and lots of fries.” Today calls for carbs.

  “Your comfort meal.”

  I shrug. “Seems like a good day for it.”

  “I’ll place the order soon. Will you see what Iris wants?”

  Standing, I raise an eyebrow “And by that you mean find out if she’s okay.”

  He laughs and scratches his stubble-covered jaw. If he wants me to believe he’s fine, he’s going to have to take better care of himself again.

  “I’ll admit, I’m not very good at talking to your sister.”

  I give him a sympathetic smile. “You’ll get better at it. I’m kind of hoping I will too.”

  “You at least have the whole teen thing working in your favor.”

  “The whole teen thing? You really need to stop trying to be down with the kids, Dad.”

  “Noted,” he says with a smirk. “Now go talk to her.”

  I want to help Iris, but I feel the responsibility pressing down on my shoulders like I’m giving someone a freakin’ piggyback. Holding on to the bannister as I walk upstairs, I purse my lips, trying to think of what to say to her.

  Iris is in her room listening to music. I hover outside her closed door with my hand raised. I need to find out what she wants to eat, but for some reason, I can’t convince myself to knock.

  Besides sitting in the kitchen before sunrise, she has barely left her bedroom. Meera’s words pop back into my head. Do you think she knows how to be real?

  Is that why she hides in her room? We’re twin strangers and she hasn’t made friends here yet, so she doesn’t even have anyone to pretend with. She’s all alone, and that thought makes me queasy.

  With a deep breath, I swing my hand forward and let my knuckles rap on her door. “Iris, can I come in?”

  The music cuts off. I lean closer to the door. She can’t pretend to not be in there.

  “Sure,” she replies.

  I open the door and step inside. “Wow, things look different in here.” Her bed, chair, and drawers are in different places, and all the posters on her walls are gone. “Ah, you finally caved and moved the bed to the right place,” I joke.

  Our bedrooms are the same size, with the closet and window in the same place. My bed is on the far wall near the window, and hers used to be on the opposite side. We used to argue about it. She thought it was stupid to be near a window in case someone came in, and I thought it was stupid to not be in case you need to quickly get out.

  Her jaw tightens. “I wanted a change, Ivy, that’s all.”

  “Okay,” I reply cautiously. She did not take that as a joke. “Dad is ordering dinner. It’s a burger, salads, pizza place. I personally recommend the guacamole cheese burger.”

  “I can’t eat burgers.”

  “You can’t?” Is that a thing?

  “Do they have grilled chicken salad?”

  “Probably. I didn’t know you don’t like burgers anymore.”

  Now that she’s said it, I don’t remember the last time I saw her eat one. Certainly not since we started high school.

  “I like burgers. I don’t eat them.”

  “Right. I’ll tell Dad you want the salad.” Man, I have a lot of respect for people who can completely cut certain foods out of their diet. I still need to have the junk food sometimes. “So…what have you been doing in here?” Besides rearranging the furniture
.

  Her blue eyes stare at me. “I’ve been on my laptop and listening to music.”

  “Oh, yeah? You been catching up with your friends?”

  I’m treading on thin ice here. She hasn’t been doing that; she hasn’t mentioned anyone, and I haven’t seen her use her cell once. But I want her to say that. I want something from her, something real.

  “Not really.”

  “I’m sure they miss you.”

  Stop pushing.

  “Do you think?” she snips, her voice curt. She is totally over my questions.

  Well, now I don’t think they miss her. Snappy.

  She had this one friend she would always go meet whenever I was there. They seemed close, not that I actually met her or can remember her name.

  “Is everything okay, Iris? You seem stressed.”

  She twists her whole body toward me. “I’m fine. I’m bored, that’s all.”

  “We probably have about an hour before food arrives. Do you want to go for a walk?” I ask. “It might make you feel better.”

  Iris smiles but it doesn’t touch her eyes. “Okay. Can I borrow a jacket? I’m not really feeling mine right now.”

  “Sure.”

  I give her my denim jacket and we tell Dad what we want to order. I still want the burger, but I decide to swap out the fries for a salad to be slightly healthier. I’ll be back in the pool next week.

  “Where do you want to go?” I ask her as we walk across the road toward the field.

  “Let’s go through town. It’s so pretty with all the trees, flowers, and shops.”

  As we walk through the fields and the few trees separating us from town, Iris says, “So…convince me therapy isn’t a waste of time.”

  9

  I’m sorry, what now?

  Iris wants me to convince her that therapy isn’t pointless.

  My skin prickles with heat. She may not believe that therapy works, but that was a pretty crappy thing to say to a person who does.

  “I think you have to be open to it for it to be helpful.”

  She purses her glittery pink lips. “Hmm. Maybe.”

  My shoulders rise. “Why do you think it’s a waste of time? Have you ever been?”