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

by Anais Bordier

  I often wondered where Sam had spent her first three weeks after she was born since her foster mother had said she had started taking care of her when she was three weeks old. At Holt, they had a theory that the mother wanted to keep one baby, but only one. They thought she gave me up first, right after birth, then came to terms with not being able to keep Sam, either, and brought her back to a different adoption agency later. Our records said we were given up for adoption the next day after the birth, so we might never know what transpired next. We were born together, me first and then Sam, and then we were separated.

  I have many theories how we came to be, like we are robots, or clones sent from outer space, but apart from that, the story could be anything from the simplest to the most complicated dramatic story ever. I guess I used to need to know why I had been abandoned. Now, Sam is here, and nothing else matters anymore. We found our way back. We lived the same story once, and now we can go ahead and live happy lives together. We don’t really need to look backward. That is their story, not ours.

  16

  SAM

  birthday trip to paris

  In retrospect, there were parts of our trip to Korea that weren’t fun. At some points, I wasn’t sure if anyone was actually having any fun. But Anaïs and I had a life-changing nine days together and had learned a lot about each other and ourselves. I was seeing my birth country with my identical twin sister. We struggled through a lot of it, but we had come out the other side closer than ever. Now we were going to be spending our birthday in Paris together, and that was where I was putting my focus. I couldn’t be apart from Anaïs too long, and I couldn’t imagine spending our first birthday since finding each other over Skype or social media.

  The plan was for me to fly to London, spend the night with Marie, and hop a Eurostar to Paris the following morning, a train ride of only two and a half hours. Whoever would have thought that something this lucky was possible: spending a birthday with a twin for the first time in twenty-six years. Even luckier was the fact that Jacques paid for my flight. I was going to hang out and tour France.

  My flight was Sunday, November 17, two days before our birthday. Tomas and Kanoa were coming with me, which was a treat for both Anaïs and me. My two friends had been incredible throughout our trip to Korea, and our birthday party in Paris was going to be far more relaxed. Getting our bags from Heathrow to the Finsbury Park Tube station wasn’t fun, but at least I had two handsome men to help me. It was so good to see Marie when we arrived at her flat! And to my delight, Kelsang arrived at the apartment right as she was serving her three Asian-American guests Chinese chicken with black bean sauce. I truly adore Kelsang. Without him, and his finding me on the YouTube video, none of this would have been possible. It was so nice to see him, too!

  All through the evening, I was texting or Skyping with Anaïs. It was so weird to be so close to her, yet still so far away. That night, I stayed in Anaïs’s old room, which was strange and funny. Marie said it was like having my sister back in the apartment. She was coming with us to Paris, partly to be with Anaïs and me for our birthday party, partly to spend time with her family.

  What could be more fantastic than boarding a train to Paris on my birthday?

  Anaïs had told me to expect her mom at Gare du Nord, so was I ever shocked to see an adorable little French version of myself in a cute fur-lined coat at the end of the platform in Paris. She looked so pretty and happy and French. She was in her element and at her best.

  Apparently, Neuilly-sur-Seine is a pretty ritzy part of town. Should I ask again how much luckier could I get? At the apartment, the three Americans all settled in. I hoped Anaïs wouldn’t get too stressed with so many people setting up camp in a one-bedroom apartment, but she seemed thrilled to have us. She took us on a short walk in her neighborhood, and while out, I searched the scenery for some healthy green juice, my favorite L.A. veggie beverage. Well, there was no green juice, so the two stops were the bread store for some croissants and pastries, and the “health food” store for a coconut water, which pretty much tasted like water and a splash of Earth.

  The Bordiers didn’t live far from my sister, but we still drove. It was so crazy to see Anaïs’s tiny royal-blue Mercedes. In L.A. my RAV4 looked average-sized. Here, it would look gargantuan. It was so funny watching my sister drive. Even though her car was semiautomatic, it drove like a manual car, so she had to change gears. It was so enlightening to see Anaïs in her own environment. Up until now, I had only been able to imagine the Bordiers’ apartment, but soon I’d know exactly how it looked. It was comforting, yet I also enjoyed the mystery of letting my imagination run wild. Maybe that was why my sister never wanted to know about our birth mother. She wanted to have a beautifully painted picture of what she looked like and what happened, because sometimes reality can be disappointing.

  Jacques and Patricia, as always, were so kind and sweet. Sometimes I get nervous that I’m going to be too outrageous for them, with my wry, rude sense of humor. But all my fear of disapproval goes out the window when I see the joy in Patricia’s eyes. When someone gives you that much positive and genuine happy energy, it’s pretty difficult not to reciprocate.

  To get to the Bordiers’ apartment, four of us had to squeeze into the smallest elevator I had ever been in. When we emerged, I was curious as to whether Eko, their American Cocker, would confuse me with Anaïs, but animals are not fooled. She could smell the difference, but she was sweet to me, nonetheless. The apartment was beautiful, with incredible lighting, elegant wood and glass bookshelves, and insanely comfortable leather chairs and sofas. The glass dining table was covered with what I could only assume were our birthday presents. I don’t remember if I had ever seen a display of gifts like this one. There was a beautiful bouquet of flowers in the middle of the table, and then the gifts were perfectly mirrored on each side.

  The kid in me wanted to jump on the table and shake every single package and rip it open without care, but the timing was wrong. We first needed to take seats in the living room part of the apartment for a toast. On the TV stand were pictures of Anaïs throughout her life. It was so strange to see myself in all those photos, in a life I hadn’t lived. I guess it could have made me wonder about what my life could have been had I been adopted by the Bordiers, but I don’t really think about our situation in those terms. This was Anaïs’s childhood, and these moments were the defining factors in who she was. They were little glimpses into the pieces of her puzzle. They were not lost years of my own life, but the moments that had helped Anaïs flourish and grow into an amazing young woman. Anaïs and I were the first to exchange gifts with each other. I had bought her a dress and a shirt. Our styles were quite different, and although I thought I would look awkward in the outfits I selected, I knew that she could make them work and look as classy as ever. Buying clothes for your identical twin is pretty easy—you just try something on, and if it fits you, it fits her. I also got her some small cosmetic products from a brand I love, but I chose a shade lighter for Anaïs, as her skin is a dab lighter and pinker.

  Anaïs had bought me a French sailor shirt, white with blue stripes. She was trying to make me French! What would I open next, a beret? Yes, a beret—how did I know? She had also bought me a luxurious candle from Paris, personalized with our names engraved on the back.

  After all the gifts were opened and the photos were taken, it was birthday dinner time and my chance to experience Korean food in France. To be honest, I was skeptical. L.A. had the most amazing Korean BBQ, but of course, this was France! The traffic getting to the restaurant was insane, but the sights were more insane. One minute out the window, there was the Arc de Triomphe! The next minute out the other window, there was the Eiffel Tower! It was unbelievable. I had always fantasized that I was underneath the tower with a baguette and a bike having the kiss of my lifetime, romantic mush that I am. Strong and stubborn was just a cover.

  When we arrived at the restaurant, o
ne of the hostesses, a middle-aged Korean lady, began to stare. Anaïs smiled and introduced me. She seemed to enjoy telling people the news. To be honest, I loved revealing it, too, and seeing the reaction on people’s faces. It is like a little secret and we are the keepers of the key, with the power to reveal it at the moment of our choosing.

  Throughout the first six months of Anaïs’s and my journey, I had concentrated on all of our similarities, but now I was beginning to notice the differences. I was starting to see insecurities in my sister. She had not grown up with brothers who had constantly teased and tortured her, and she seemed to have a little bit of low self-esteem. Every time someone said something even slightly negative about her, she would mull it over to decide whether or not it was true. If my brother called me fat, I would make sure to booby-trap his room, or embarrass him the next time a girl came over, but I wouldn’t believe him. That’s a rule in families, right? No matter what others say or do, you love and stick by them without taking them too seriously. Through “in-house” training, I had developed thick skin and learned how to walk away from insults. But what about Anaïs? She didn’t have the torturous days and nights of big brothers. So I guess we developed a different sense of confidence and resilience. Even the creative outlets we chose as adults seem to reflect this. I chose a more outwardly creative field, and Anaïs’s was much more inward. I put my energy out, and Anaïs pulls hers in.

  Jacques was the patriarch of the birthday dinner. He is so knowledgeable about languages, and he greeted the Korean hostesses in Korean as he gave them a slight bow from the waist. Patricia was sweet and warm, too, and, fortunately, familiar with the fusion-style fare this restaurant served. I’ve been to many Korean restaurants. In both L.A. and Korea, there is an extensive range of entrée choices that are eaten family-style. Everyone double dips his or her spoon into the shared meal. Here, there were very few choices and everyone ordered his own.

  Another thing I had never experienced before was the pairing of Korean food with a bottle of rosé wine. I would never have paired a rosé with marinated beef, but, oddly, it worked! To be at this special restaurant with Anaïs, eating Korean food on the day we shared our first birthday in twenty-six years, will be one day that I will always remember.

  I woke up in the morning next to my sister. Funny, twenty-six years apart and I was so comfortable sharing a bed with her. It was like balance restored. Usually, I must be fairly intimate with someone before I let him share my bed. And I pretend that it’s fine so as not to insult my suitor, but toss and turn and never get a good night’s sleep. With Anaïs, I slept like a log. We always sleep in the same pattern when we share a bed: Anaïs on the right and me on the left. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I ended up on the right. When we were in bed together, it made me picture us as babies, poking each other’s noses in the womb, me on the left side and her on the right. Dr. Segal had said some reared-apart twins might be more similar in some ways than those raised together because they weren’t fighting for separate identities. They were letting nature take its course. I was seeing that she was right.

  Anaïs had to work the next day, but she gave us an entire itinerary. She planned for us to visit the Eiffel Tower, and then head toward Notre Dame by walking along the Seine. From there, we would go to Saint Germain and the Rive Gauche. She suggested we have lunch at Saint-Sulpice, a trendy square near Saint Germain, and then walk over toward Hôtel de Ville for some shopping, with a final stop at the Centre Georges Pompidou, the contemporary art museum. There was a lot to accomplish in only one day, but we were ready.

  We were kind of dragging by the time we met Anaïs and her six friends at the end of the day. She had made dinner reservations for us, and we were going to meet her at the restaurant. Only when we sat down in the window and were drinking a glass of wine did we realize that we were in the wrong place. We looked across the street and saw another restaurant with the same name. When we arrived at the right restaurant, Anaïs was with Marie; two Korean French adoptees, one whom I had spent time with at the IKAA conference in Korea; and a couple of other good friends of hers from Paris. I loved knowing that because of Anaïs, I now had so many friends and family around the world. The next day our first stop was the Louvre. The two things that struck me most when I was trying to see the Mona Lisa were how pushy the Chinese tourists were and how many security cameras lined the ceiling. My sister loves art. She could spend days looking at paintings. She said she spent so much time at the Louvre as a child painting and drawing that it was old hat to her. Can you imagine? Someone who has had too much Louvre?! I like art and painting, but I prefer TV and film. If I’m in a bad mood, I can sit down, watch something, turn off my mind, and feel better. I need more interaction, more of my senses participating to be satisfied. I guess that was the introvert/extrovert manifesting itself in Anaïs and me. Dr. Segal’s study had shown that I was more extroverted than my sister. (No surprise there!) Of the Big Five Personality Traits—openness, agreeableness, conscientiousness, neuroticism, and extroversion—this last trait was where we differed the most.

  After lunch with Anaïs, we went to her parents’ shop. It was in such a beautiful part of town. High-end boutiques and beautiful Christmas lights lined the narrow cobblestone street. Patricia was happy to see us, but she was very busy. She kept glancing over to me and smiling while talking to her customers, and I could tell she was beaming on the inside. When she did have a moment, she excitedly introduced me to the rest of the staff, who, by their enthusiasm, had been hearing a lot about me.

  Our next stop was Anaïs’s office in the headquarters of Gerard Darel. The building was on Rue Réaumur, right in the heart of Paris’s fashion district. Anaïs introduced me to her boss, who was as awestruck and amazed as everyone else who had first known only one of us, then met the other. I loved seeing Anaïs’s workplace. I had only seen her office in selfies, with rows of pocketbooks in the background. Now, I could see exactly where she sat while she designed leather accessories and pocketbooks for the label.

  Our big birthday bash was taking place the following night at a bar, where Marie had reserved the back part for us. As the guests started to arrive, there was way too much kissing on the cheeks, the way the French do, for my liking. I hate when people touch my face, especially strangers. But I had to be a good sport for my sister. As the evening wore on, her friends started to pour in, people from every part of her life—her internship, her childhood, her college, her work . . . It was amazing. Even two friends of mine from Boston University came. One was in Paris on business and the other was there to visit her.

  I got a good kick out of how many of our guests couldn’t tell the difference between Anaïs and me. They’d stop and stare at me, and I’d make eye contact long enough for it to be awkward and then point to Anaïs. One of Anaïs’s friends gave us baby toys to mark our “first” birthday together.

  Then I saw Marie carrying our birthday cake—one half was the American flag, and the other half was the French flag, and on top sat a beautiful cupcake, representing our first birthday. I couldn’t have asked for anything more. I was in Paris for my birthday, standing opposite my identical twin sister. When it was time to blow out the candle, I didn’t make a wish—I forgot. I was just so excited to be there in that moment. I hoped Anaïs had remembered to wish, though. If so, she got double the chances. Whatever she wanted, I wanted.

  I still hadn’t seen the famous light show at the Eiffel Tower that happens every night on the hour. So we had a bowl of French onion soup in a restaurant with a view of it, and it was the best onion soup I’ve ever had.

  When we got back to Anaïs’s apartment, we were hanging out watching a few YouTube videos when Anaïs pulled up “How It Feels to Be Adopted . . . I Am Sam.” Ugh, I didn’t want to watch that cheesy thing.

  “No,” Anaïs said quite seriously. “Can you imagine what I was feeling when I saw this?” She wanted me to experience the video as she had nine months ago when Kelsang h
ad first shown it to her. “I was in shock. But I kept watching it, over and over,” she told me. She was right. . . . What the hell?! What if it had been the other way around, if I had seen Anaïs/myself on the video stating that I was adopted, and I had just found out that I had been born on the same day and in the same city as this stranger/look-alike? There would have been no easing into it. The moment Anaïs had seen it for the first time, she knew we were twins. Her past, the past that she had never wanted to uncover, had to have been barreling toward her in a massive tsunami of fear, happiness, and probably any other human emotion we are capable of. Holy shit, it is hard to imagine.

  • • •

  Lunch at the Bordiers’ was delicious. Patricia had prepared sauerkraut with sausages and ham, an Alsatian dish known as choucroute garnie. Earlier that morning, Anaïs had asked me if I liked sauerkraut, and I asked if we were having hot dogs. She had told me, in a very French voice, “Non, you don’t eat sauerkraut with hot dogs!” My experience with sauerkraut has always been on a foot-long frank wrapped in sliced white bread with neon-yellow mustard drizzled over the top. Delicious, but I guess slightly subpar to the French palate. To be honest, Patricia’s sauerkraut was excellent, but the dish was sauerkraut and hot dogs. Not really, but it was sauerkraut topped with two types of sausages from the hot dog family, and some additional bacon and ham steaks, so I wasn’t totally off. It was kind of like an upside-down, open-faced hot dog! But anyway, it was superb. In America, we don’t steam our foot-longs in white wine and juniper berries, and our mustard is bright enough to see in the dark and can probably survive the apocalypse.