If the Shoe Fits

by Julie Murphy

  “Nice outfits!” I say as the two of them sandwich me on either side and the triplets go for my knees.

  “You likey?” Drew asks.

  “Thanks, babe,” Anna says. “We were shooting a sponsored post earlier today.”

  “We could totally get you a set,” Drew tells me.

  Anna gasps. “Oh my God, the three of us should totally colab. Ahhhh! It’s so good to have you home.”

  If Instagram were a living, breathing thing (and sometimes I think that perhaps it is), it would be Drew and Anna. They’re often mistaken for twins, but they’re nine months apart. Honestly their only distinguishing feature is Anna’s birthmark on her shoulder and Drew’s fuller lips. (Though last Christmas Anna got lip injections, and even Erica kept calling her Drew.) They both graduated the year before I did. For the first few months after high school, they tried school and a couple of different odd jobs, but eventually they started a joint YouTube channel called VeryNearlyTwins, and since then they’ve become full-time influencers.

  “How was your flight?” Drew asks. “Was it warm nuts or room temperature?”

  “Did you ask the pilot for wings?” asks Gus, his arms wrapped around my leg and a thin line of chocolate ringing his mouth.

  “Oh, I totally forgot,” I tell him.

  “Did you bring us souvenirs from New York?” sweet little Mary asks.

  “I might have a surprise or two in my bag,” I say, thankful that I had the foresight to snag three mini snow globes from the newspaper stand next to my gate at JFK.

  Jack does a dance and pumps a fist into the air. “Yes!”

  My heart swells at their wild excitement. The triplets were born via a surrogate Erica and Dad had both picked out before he suddenly died. After some consideration, Erica decided to go through with it, and at first, I was so deeply angry…but then they were born, and it was like I got three little pieces of Dad back. It was like we all did.

  “No, you see—” Erica walks in from the kitchen with her phone wedged between her ear and shoulder. My stepmother is the kind of woman who looks like a tall glass of water in anything, but most often opts for wide-leg pantsuits that nip in at the waist. Her silver hair is cut into a severe angular bob that perfectly highlights her sharp cheekbones. If Anna Wintour and Katharine Hepburn had a baby, her name would be Erica Tremaine. “Darn it! Did I miss the surprise?” She sighs, and says into the phone, “Let’s put a pin in this.”

  “It’s okay, Erica!” I say. I honestly wasn’t expecting anything.

  She beckons me to her with both arms, and I limp toward her with Gus still wrapped around my leg.

  “My darling!” she says, pulling me close to her, and it’s easy to lean into her affection, letting my body slump against hers. “Did you put on a sheet mask for the last thirty minutes of your flight like I told you to? Plane air just wreaks havoc on my skin.”

  “No, but I’ll be sure to moisturize tonight,” I tell her.

  She lets go and takes a step back to get a good look at me, and I can see the way her eyes shift a little. And I see it too every time I look in the mirror: Dad. His jaw. His nose. His eyes. He said Mom was always so jealous of how much we looked alike.

  “I’m so glad you’re home,” she finally whispers. “Okay, let’s order sushi tonight! Anna? Drew? You girls better not have any plans. Family night.”

  Anna whimpers a little, and I think I hear her say something about a date, but Drew kicks her in the shin.

  I’m so used to being here for holidays for just a few days at a time that I’m not sure what to expect from everyday life here. Is family night a regular thing? It wasn’t when we were all in high school. In fact, there were a lot of nights when it was Dad cooking for the three of us kids and leaving a plate for Erica in the fridge. He never seemed to mind much. He knew what he was getting into with Erica, and family nights were not a regularly scheduled event.

  After Bruce brings in my bags, Erica has a meeting to run to and ropes Anna and Drew into watching the triplets before demanding I take a nap and shower.

  To my surprise, Erica has me set up in the little pool house off the backyard. She says I need my space (which I do, though this is way more than I ever had in the city) and that it gave her a reason to renovate the pool house sooner than later. It’s definitely a step up from the guest room next to the triplets.

  After a long hot shower, I plop down on the bed to FaceTime Sierra. The phone rings and rings, and just when I’m about to give up, Sierra’s face lights up the screen. It seems somehow impossible that I saw her just earlier today. That moment feels so far away. The time difference between NYC and LA makes for a very long day.

  “C!” she shouts over blaring house music. “We’re at Graham’s! I wish you were here!”

  “I wish I were too,” I tell her.

  “What?” The speaker crackles. “I can’t hear you!”

  “Text me later,” I shout in my otherwise-quiet room.

  “Sierra! Get back here!” someone calls from behind her.

  “C, I can’t hear you, but I love you! I’m glad you made it okay. I’ll text you later!”

  I nod and wave. The phone goes black, and I put it on my bedside table before curling up on my side. This was supposed to be my big year. I was going to graduate with an epic portfolio and get a handful of incredible job offers. But that’s not how my senior year at Parsons went.

  Instead, all the grief I’d ignored and shoved off after Dad died hit me all at once. Dad died. Erica went ahead with the surrogacy. And I went off to New York to run away from my feelings about all of it. Everything was fine. People were so surprised to see how well I’d dealt with it all. But then Erica bought this new house last summer and I came home over Labor Day to pack up my room and go through a few of Dad’s things Erica had saved for me. And it hit me all over again, except then it was three years’ worth of pain all bottled up just waiting to be felt. Fresh waves of grief, not only for Dad, but Mom too, because not only was it Dad’s stuff, but also some of hers. Small pieces of jewelry he’d saved for special occasions like graduation or my wedding. Everything I’d never have with them settled like a weight in my chest.

  And ever since then, I can barely bring myself to even sketch. All the joy is gone. It’s not an escape anymore, because there’s no hiding from this kind of grief. But maybe someday it will quiet just enough for me to find my way back to design. Maybe…My thoughts slow just long enough for me to drift off to sleep.

  Anna squeals with excitement as she unpacks dinner, and Drew and I help the triplets set the table.

  “That smells so good,” Drew groans.

  “Fork on the left, Jackie,” I remind him as I come up behind him. “Mary, can you grab some napkins?”

  “What about me?” Gus asks, his little glasses sliding down his nose.

  “Gus, how about you take drink orders?”

  He nods with a hop and runs straight for Anna.

  Erica floats in from her office, inhaling deeply. “I need a gin and tonic.”

  “Gus, did you hear that?” I ask

  He studies the little notepad he’s begun to take orders on. “How do you spell that?”

  Drew and I laugh. “I better go help him,” I tell her.

  I take over the adult drinks while Gus rounds up juice boxes for himself, Mary, and Jack.

  After a few mixed-drink trial and errors (I’m no cocktail genius), the seven of us finally sit down at Erica’s long dining table.

  With Erica at the head, and me seated beside her, Erica takes out her Bluetooth earbuds and puts them on the table. “No more calls at the dinner table,” she tells me.

  “Wow,” I say. “You’ve come a long way.”

  She laughs dryly. “It’s a daily struggle. But my parenting coach says it’s essential.” She raises her glass.

  “Parenting coach?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” says Drew. “Our dear mother has hired some kind of parenting guru to shepherd her through motherhood.”


  “Where was this guru when we were kids?” Anna asks with a snort.

  Erica smiles and rolls her eyes. “The chaos of your childhood bonded the three of us together. How many other women could say they were raised in a production trailer?”

  Drew shrugs. “A third of LA at least.” She turns to me. “Erica’s parenting coach has her doing dinner without interruptions, biweekly family nights, and get this—no more on-site production duties. She’s passed the torch.”

  “Wow.” This version of Erica—or really just the fact that she’s here and not at work—is completely foreign to me.

  Erica sighs. “It’s true. They’ve tamed me. I miss the adrenaline of being on location, but a full night’s sleep is a luxury I never knew I was missing.” She clears her throat. “Okay, brood.”

  All around me, my stepsiblings raise their glasses and juice boxes.

  Erica glows as all our attention turns to her. “Our sweet Cindy is finally home with us again. Cindy, my darling, we love you. I know you’re figuring out your next steps, but whatever you do, your future is bright.”

  “To Cindy!” Anna says, clinking her glass with mine.

  “You guys!” I say. It’s no wild night with Sierra, but maybe being here with my family…for a season…won’t be so bad after all.

  I reach across the table and cheers with their wineglasses and juice boxes.

  The triplets eat fried rice, while Anna, Drew, Erica, and I tear into the sushi. After the initial quiet that comes with the start of a good meal, Erica turns to Anna. “Is Victor coming by tonight?”

  “They broke up,” Drew says before Anna even has a chance to answer.

  “Drew!” Anna says.

  “If Mom knows you broke up with him, it’ll be harder for you to take him back when he comes groveling.”

  “Well, that was a truth bomb,” I say.

  Erica reaches over Drew and takes Anna’s hand. “I’m sorry, dear, but I know you’ll find someone who truly deserves you. And can also hold down a job.”

  Anna huffs. “Victor had a job.”

  “Poorly managing your Poshmark closet doesn’t count,” Drew tells her.

  “Ouch.” I suck in a breath through my teeth. “You’re better off, Anna.”

  It honestly blows my mind that Anna or Drew would ever put up with trash guys like Victor.

  Erica’s phone rings from inside her pocket, and we all look to her.

  “Mom,” says Anna, “you can answer. You don’t have anything to prove by not answering your phone. It’s no biggie.”

  “No biggie!” chirps Mary followed by Jack and Gus.

  Erica pulls the phone out of her pocket and resolutely sends the call to voicemail. “Whatever it is, it’ll be there for me to resolve after dinner,” she says, like she’s trying to convince herself. “Now, Cindy, tell me all about your senior project.”

  I open my mouth to tell her that my adviser cut me a last-minute break and let me exhibit some handcrafted shoes from my semester abroad junior year, that in actuality I could only bring myself to do the bare minimum for the last nine months, and that it’s a miracle anyone even let me graduate. But Drew interjects herself. “It was balls-to-the-wall amazing!”

  “Balls to the wall!” Jack shouts.

  Drew bites her lip and whispers, “Sorry.”

  “Jackie,” Erica says, “that’s not something we say outside of this house, understand?”

  He salutes her. “Balls to the walls!”

  Erica rolls her eyes. “Can’t wait to explain that one to Coach Geneva. Cin, I wish I could have been there for your senior project and for graduation.”

  “But you sent the next-best thing,” I tell her.

  Erica couldn’t make it across the country—in the peak of casting season for Before Midnight—with the triplets in tow. She sent Anna and Drew in her place, who showed up to my graduation with literal cowbells and made enough noise when I crossed the stage to rival the large Italian family behind them.

  “And then—oh my God,” Anna says, “Cindy took us to this epic graduation party one of her classmates’ parents threw on the rooftop of the Standard, and, like, I had a moment—cross my heart—where I thought maybe I could be a New Yorker.”

  Drew laughs. “That moment passed very quickly.”

  “It was brief but real!” Anna leans her head on my shoulder. “Cindy would have shown me the ropes, right, Cin?”

  “Anna, my sweet sister,” I say, the word still feeling a little weird in my mouth after all these years, “I don’t know how to say this, but I just don’t think you’re cut out for public transportation.”

  Erica laughs so hard she’s gasping for air, and the triplets look from one to another in confusion.

  “Adult jokes,” Gus says with a sigh.

  Erica’s phone rings again, cutting through our laughter. She glances at the caller ID and says, “Oh, shoot. This will only take a sec.” She swivels to the side in her chair and speaks into her earpiece.

  “I’m telling Coach Geneva!” Mary says in a singsong voice.

  Erica inhales deeply, giving Mary a pointed look, and says, “Beck, you’ve got ten seconds. I’m in the middle of family dinner.”

  We all watch while she listens intently.

  “You’re here? At my house?” Erica sighs and turns to us. “Any chance we could set an extra plate?”

  “On it,” Drew says.

  Erica stands and heads for the door. “All right, I’ll buzz you in.”

  Moments later, Erica returns with a stout white woman with half-shaved black hair wearing combat boots and jeans rolled at the cuff with a white tank top and thick red suspenders—which it seems are more of a necessity than a style statement.

  “You all know Beck,” Erica says. “Cindy, you might remember Beck from the wedding years ago. She’s sort of my—”

  Beck plays at flipping her nonexistent hair. “Protégée!” Then her eyes widen as she notices me. “Wait. This is Cindy? Simon’s Cindy? You’re—you’re a woman!” She turns to Erica. “She’s a woman!”

  Erica smiles, guiding Beck to an empty chair. “Our little Cindy is all grown-up.”

  Without a moment of hesitation, Beck reaches across the table to help herself to sushi, and with her mouth full, she says, “Big problem. Who blurbs dropped out!”

  “Who?” asks Erica.

  “Who!” says Beck, pointing at her mouth. “Who!” Finally, she waves two fingers in the air, and swallows the remains of her sushi with a gulp of water. “Two! Two girls!”

  Erica groans. “There’s always one or two. Who do we have in the wings?”

  I watch with fascination as their conversation ping-pongs back and forth.

  Beck takes another bite of tuna, and her eyes practically cross with satisfaction. “You know, I can’t remember the last time I ate a meal at a table.” She finishes off her bite and points her chopsticks at the triplets. “You enjoy this while it lasts, because one day you’re thirty-two years old and eating a romantic dinner by yourself over your trash can so that it will catch the crumbs and save you the three minutes it would take to clean up after your damn self.”

  The triplets blink, staring blankly back at this strange creature who has very suddenly infiltrated their home.

  I let out a low whistle. “That went bleak fast.”

  Beck grins. “And that’s why reality television is never real.” She holds up a finger to count. “We lost the virgin from Kentucky. Something about her grandma being upset or—I don’t know. And then turns out the swimsuit model from Miami isn’t bisexual. She’s monosexual…for women.”

  “Oh,” says Erica with a laugh in her voice. “Well, I guess that one worked out for the best. Though that would have made for some delicious television.”

  “I want to eat your brain,” Beck says with complete sincerity.

  “Mommy!” Jack screams, instant tears running down his cheeks as he darts around the table to Erica. “Don’t let Beck eat your brain!”


  Mary crosses her arms over her chest and says, “Jack, you baby, she’s not going to actually eat Mommy’s brain.”

  “You’re right.” Beck grins. “Because I only eat little children’s BRAAAAAAAAAINS!” She gives her best zombie growl, and Mary and Gus both squeal with delight while Jack curls into Erica’s lap.

  Erica sighs. “We don’t really have the time to vet any new contestants. Not fully, but…” She taps her index finger against her closed lips as she loses herself deep in thought.

  All of us—even the twins—are completely silent so as to not interrupt any possible genius idea she might be sprouting.

  “I’ve got it,” she finally says. “Drew and Anna.”

  “What?” they both say in unison.

  Beck gasps. “Twins.”

  “We’re not twins,” they both say.

  “According to who?” asks Beck. “This is perfect. Twins? Twins! Our viewership will lose their minds!”

  Erica turns to Anna and Drew, and I can’t help but notice how absolutely perfect they are, even with their messy ponytails and workout clothes. “What do you think, girls? Are you up for it? You’ve both been begging me for years. Besides, I think you’d both have fun…and now that you’re a little older, I think you’ve got a better grasp on how to handle something like this.”

  I think what she means is that sending her eighteen-year-old daughters on the show just a month after high school graduation would have been a disaster, but now that they’re older and have had some real-life heartbreaks at the ripe old age of twenty-three, they might not be so surprised to learn that the suitor didn’t fall for them at first sight.

  “Wait,” says Anna, trying her best to temper her excitement. “Is this for real–for real?”

  Drew gasps. “Who’s the suitor?”

  Erica clicks her tongue. “I can’t even divulge that information to my daughters. But listen, if you do this, we need to keep our family connection on the down low.”

  “And hell!” says Beck. “We might as well throw in Cindy while we’re at it!”