Shades Of Her

by Priya Grey

  I approach the luxury high rise building as a doorman opens the door for me. When I get closer, I notice the shocked look on his face.

  “Mrs. Miller?”

  He must think I’m Ashley. I shake my head and smile awkwardly. “I’m her twin sister,” I lie.

  I don’t know what else to say. I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone who knew Ashley.

  “I’ve come to drop off some things,” I tell him.

  He slowly nods, the look of shock still on his face. “Yes. Of course. Do you want some help with your groceries?”

  I nervously shake my head. “That’s okay. I can manage.”

  As he holds the door open for me, he remarks, “I never knew that Mrs. Miller had a twin sister.”

  I don’t respond to his comment and simply nod. I make a beeline toward the elevators.

  As I ride the elevator to the fifth floor, I breathe a sigh of relief. I still get freaked out when people – other than Jackson – think I’m Ashley.

  When the elevator opens onto the fifth floor, I walk the long hallway toward the apartment. As in our previous scene – at the warehouse studio – Jackson has sent me a set of keys in advance so I can enter the unit and prepare for his arrival. When I finally reach unit #515, I search for the keys.

  After I unlock the door and step inside, I switch on the lights. I quickly realize a lot has changed for Jackson and Ashley in this new memory. Gone are the days of living in a warehouse loft in a sketchy part of town. This apartment is luxurious and massive. All the amenities are modern and state of the art.

  The walls in the foyer are covered with framed pictures. In every picture, Jackson and Ashley are beaming for the camera. In one picture, they are smiling together on a trip to Bali. Then another photo shows them on an African Safari. And lastly, the largest image is a portrait of them on their wedding day. They look so happy.

  Staring at the pictures is really spooky. It’s like I’m staring at myself but feel no connection to the image. It must be similar to what someone suffering from amnesia or Alzheimer’s experiences when they see themselves in pictures, but don’t recall the experience of being there. The picture from their wedding also makes me a little sad…and strangely jealous. I realize I’m being ridiculous and tell myself to focus on preparing dinner and getting my lines straight.

  I continue walking through the apartment and step into the kitchen.

  My jaw drops.

  This kitchen is awesome! Stainless steel appliances, massive counter space. It has everything a chef could want, and makes my kitchen back home – the one I share with Kristi – look like a broom closet.

  I plop my groceries onto the counter and fetch the cookbook from one of the bags.

  I leaf back to the page with the recipe for Parmesan Sage Pork Chops.

  Although the pages in the cookbook are stained from the flood, they are still legible. I’m so grateful I didn’t lose this cookbook. I cherish what it symbolizes. I really miss cooking with my mom on Sundays. Hopefully, when my mom and dad get settled into a new home, I can spend some time cooking with her again. She may not be able to help me the way she used to, but just having her in a kitchen with me would make me happy…and I’m sure her as well.

  Any awkward feelings I experienced staring at those pictures quickly vanishes as I prepare to cook. I belong in a kitchen and feel right at home. I only have an hour and a half to prepare everything. If I focus, and don’t waste time, everything will be ready when Jackson walks through the front door.

  As I begin chopping the mushrooms and preparing the chicken, I continue to go over my lines for the scene. This memory will definitely be an emotional roller coaster. But as I mentioned earlier, it will be Jackson – and not me – who will be experiencing intense feelings. Part of me wonders why he wants to relive such a painful memory? Maybe it’s because during such a difficult period in his life, he could count on Ashley for support.

  I combine the bread crumbs, parmesan cheese, sage, and lemon peel in a shallow dish. As I gently press the pork chops into the mixture, I realize just how jealous I am of Ashley. I really hope one day I get to fall in love with a man like Jackson. Each memory I experience, draws me closer to him. But after reading this new scene, it’s going to be really hard not to fall for him completely. I have to remind myself that it’s not me he sees when we are together, but her. Even though, deep down, I wish that weren’t the case.

  I glance at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall. I have to stop letting my mind wonder. Jackson will be arriving soon. And this time, as he relives this memory, I want him to always remember the wonderful meal I cooked for him.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Jackson

  I prepare for what lies ahead as I walk down the hallway toward our old apartment. As I take the hesitant last steps toward the front door, I take a deep breath. This memory is the one I struggled the most to include. Why? Because that evening, many years ago, I realized just how grateful I was to have Ashley in my life. But it was also the night that I realized how vulnerable I truly was. I needed someone in my corner that I could trust. Thankfully, Ashley was there for me.

  As I remove my keys and unlock the door, I recollect how my hands were shaking the last time I tried to enter this apartment. But this time things are different. I know she’s waiting for me inside.

  Then I smell something… something wonderful. There’s a delicious aroma emanating from inside the apartment. Ashley was never a very good cook, even though I loved that she tried. This tantalizing smell is something new, something I don’t remember.

  I insert the key and turn the doorknob. Then I step inside. And just like that, as I cross the threshold of the doorway, I step back in time. I’m about to relive one of my most painful and vulnerable moments.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” I say to her as I step into the kitchen. She’s sitting at the table in the corner. A full meal is prepared and waiting for me.

  I take a seat at the kitchen table and marvel at the incredible, delicious display before me. Rebecca has clearly taken some liberties and cooked a wonderful dish of pork chops and risotto. For a split second, the mouthwatering aroma overwhelms me, and I temporarily forget that I am here to relive the past.

  “You could’ve called,” she says annoyed, spreading a napkin across her lap.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s just eat, before it gets cold,” she mutters.

  I pick up my fork and knife and cut into the juicy pork chop. As I take a bite, I’m inundated with delightful flavors. Then I try the mushroom risotto. It’s spectacular. I simply cannot ignore how delicious this all tastes.

  “This is really good… incredible,” I confess out loud, veering off script.

  “Thank you,” she replies with the hint of a smile.

  We share a moment, staring at each other.

  Then she remembers the next line in the script, and we fall back into the memory.

  “I just don’t understand why it’s so difficult to call when you know you’re going to be late,” she states with just the right amount of annoyance as she cuts up her pork chop.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologize once again. “I was just in the zone, and I lost track of time.”

  She takes a sip from her glass of red wine and shoots me a look. “I just thought we agreed that nothing would interfere with our plans tonight. It’s been a while since you and I have spent any time together – just the two of us. Lately, you spend every hour at the studio. And when you’re not there, we have all these stupid social engagements to go to. I feel like we never talk anymore, one-to-one.”

  I look at her and see the concern and slight resentment in her eyes.

  “I’ve just been busy,” I declare. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Let’s make plans for next weekend.”

  “Why bother?” she snaps angrily. She gets up and grabs her plate. She carries it to the trash bin, disposing of the half-eaten meal. What a waste, I think to myself. This food is delicious.<
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  “Don’t you think you’re overreacting?” I comment, still seated at the kitchen table.

  She turns around and leans against the kitchen counter, staring at me. She lowers her head and sighs. When she finally looks up, I see the worry in her eyes.

  “Are we okay?” she asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Us,” she says softly. “Are we okay? You and me?”

  “We’re fine,” I reply.

  She laughs sarcastically and runs her fingers through her hair. “Fine,” she mutters. “Things don’t feel fine to me,” she admits with a shrug, her eyes back on me.

  With a heavy sigh, I get up from the kitchen table and join her by the counter.

  “I’m sorry I screwed up our plans tonight. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” I grab her by the shoulders and give her a kiss.

  She sighs. “Lately, I just feel like there’s distance between us.” She looks at me and says something I do not want to hear. “Jackson, I just feel like ever since your dad died three months ago, you’ve closed off. You’re just working like a madman in the studio. I never see you. And we haven’t been the same. I just want you to know that I’m here for you. If you want to talk about your dad, I’m here for you. But if you’re keeping your distance because there’s something wrong between us, you have to let me know. Because these last three months, I’ve been really lonely. We’ve just been going through the motions of being a couple. We’re not connecting the way we used to. Maybe we’re drifting apart.”

  I step away from her and walk into the living room. She’s forcing me to confront something that I’ve been avoiding for months.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not drifting apart,” I insist. “I’ve just been busy with work. We’re fine. And once this next exhibit is over, we’ll be back to normal. Everything will go back to the way it was.”

  “I don’t think it’s that easy,” she says following me into the living room. “You can’t just flip a switch and everything suddenly goes back to normal, Jackson. And I don’t believe you, when you say the only reason you’ve been distant is because you’re busy. You’re always busy. You’ve been working hard since the day I met you. This is different. If you’re falling out of love with me, just tell me.”

  “I’m not falling out of love with you,” I reiterate, somewhat annoyed.

  “Then is this about your father?” she asks. “After his funeral, we haven’t talked. If you’re still struggling with his loss, I understand. Just let me know that’s what’s going on. Because otherwise, I’m worried it might be us. But if you still want your space because you need to mourn his loss, I totally understand that.”

  I laugh bitterly to myself. “Mourn his loss,” I repeat sarcastically.

  She nods. “Jackson, he was your father. And now he’s gone. You can’t act like it didn’t happen. I was watching your face at the funeral. I’ve never seen you like that before. There was no emotion. It was like you were made of stone.”

  I stare out the window of our apartment, down at the street below. “I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction,” I mumble softly.

  Ashley joins me by the window. She places her hand on my shoulder. “He’s gone,” she says delicately. “You have to allow the grieving process to happen, Jackson. You have to accept his loss and deal with those emotions.”

  “He was an asshole,” I reply, finally looking at her.

  “He was still your father,” she says with a slow nod. “And he’s gone now.”

  I move away from her, trying to find solace somewhere in the room. I feel like a caged animal. The same emotions I felt years ago – after my father’s passing – are boiling to the surface. It’s as though no time has passed. It’s like I’m reliving his death all over again. The wound is still fresh and painful.

  “You can’t avoid your feelings,” Ashley continues. “It’s not healthy. I know what he did to you growing up wasn’t right…”

  “Wasn’t right?!” I burst out loud, cutting her off. “He beat the shit out of me, Ashley! I still have the fucking scars from the cigarette burns on my arms! I fucking hate him, Ashley.” I take a moment to calm down. Then I confess what is truly upsetting me. “But what I hate more than anything is that I actually miss that asshole. Now that he’s gone, part of me misses him. What the fuck is that all about? How can I miss someone who did nothing but belittle and terrify me my whole life?”

  I’m now in the grip of that memory. I’m reliving all the uncomfortable feelings I have about my father. It’s incredible how some wounds never heal with time.

  “I fucking hate the fact that I’m sad that he’s dead. Can you explain that to me, babe? Can you, Ashley? Why am I sad that he’s gone? I should be popping a bottle of champagne. Biologically, that asshole might’ve been my father, but he was a bully and a jerk to me my entire life. And I hate him for it. So why the fuck am I sad that he’s gone?!”

  I feel tears streaming down my face. I’m crying for him now. Crying over his death. That asshole is making me cry even though he’s finally dead.

  “I don’t want to feel this way about him,” I protest. “I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of crying right now, just like I used to when I was a kid.” I sob uncontrollably. “I don’t want to miss him. I just want to keep hating him like I did my entire life. I don’t want to miss him.”

  I’m breaking down now, crying uncontrollably, like I never have before. Ashley rushes toward me and wraps me in her arms. I cry into her shoulder.

  “It’s okay to feel this way,” she whispers into my ear. “Honey, it’s okay to feel this way. Even though he was an asshole, he was still your father. It’s okay to miss him. Don’t hate yourself for missing him. Maybe you’re missing him because even though he was a jerk, and didn’t deserve you as a son, he was still your father.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve been distant,” I confess. “I just don’t know how to handle this. I’m shocked that he’s turned me into this. – into a crying fucking mess.”

  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” Ashley says tenderly. She kisses my cheek and raises my head to hers. She kisses my lips and stares lovingly into my eyes. I’m so grateful to have her in my life. Losing my father has only reinforced how lucky I am to have someone who is caring and affectionate standing by my side.

  “I don’t know what I would do, if I ever lost you,” I mutter quietly as I press my forehead against hers. “I love you, baby.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Rebecca

  “I love you too, baby. And you’re not going to lose me,” I whisper back.

  Embracing him in my arms, I give him the comfort and support he needs. Seeing him so raw, so tender, makes me want to cry too. I feel his pain and anger regarding his father’s death.

  I also feel his love. He’s so grateful to have me in his life.

  In my head, I know this is an illusion. But I can’t help but fall in love with him at this moment.

  He’s the kind of man I want to be with. The kind of man I always dreamed of marrying.

  He’s a strong man who can be vulnerable when he needs to be. He’s also a man with a tremendous capacity to love. He’s not afraid to express his needs. And what he needs right now is me.

  There’s no other place I’d rather be than right here, holding him, loving him.

  “I feel like such an idiot crying like this,” he mutters into my shoulder.

  I raise his head and stare into his eyes once more. “You’re a man mourning the loss of his father. You’re not made out of stone. It’s okay.”

  He leans in and kisses me, his saliva mixing with his tears. I savor the sensation of his lips against mine. We stand like this for what seems like hours, in a tight embrace, just kissing, grateful for each other.

  Slowly, this tender and loving moment translates into something else. Love soon transforms into passion. His hands begin to explore my body.

  Before my mind has a chance to process what my body craves, our clothes ar
e already coming off. As I unbutton his shirt, he unbuttons my blouse. I quickly unzip my pants and slip off my panties. With our eyes locked on one another, Jackson finishes taking off his jeans and boxers.

  We’re now both standing naked in front of one another. Naked in body and in spirit.

  I walk toward him and place my hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat. He places his hands on my hips as we continue staring into each other’s eyes. We kiss again.

  “I want to have a family with you, Ashley.”

  Hearing him say her name, wounds me. I had forgotten I was playing a part. I lost myself in the moment and truly believed it was me he was seeing, me he was kissing, me he was saying all those honest, beautiful things to.

  But it’s not me, it’s her. It’s always her.

  I hide my hurt feelings. After all, he has done nothing wrong. This is part of the arrangement. I was the foolish one for losing myself in his presence… and in his arms.

  With a warm, affectionate look, he waits for my response.

  Forcing myself to suppress my awkward emotions, I try to remember my next line of dialogue.

  I lean forward, kiss him, and say, “I want to have a family with you too, baby. Why don’t we get started right now?”

  The joy in his eyes is quickly reflected in a wide grin. He wraps me in his arms and kisses me passionately. Then, unexpectedly, he lifts me off my feet and carries me to the bedroom.

  He gently lowers me onto the bed and begins to kiss my neck and cheeks. “You are my addiction, Ashley,” he says softly. “You are the only one I ever want. You’re the only woman I want to fuck. I want to grow old with you. I want to love you until I die.”

  He declares these beautiful things with the most unguarded look in his eyes.

  I have to fight back the tears. Why? Because he’s not saying these words to me. He’s saying them to her.

  To hide my anguish, I press my lips against his. I glide my hand down his chest and toward his manhood.