She checks her tablet and smiles. “This way.”
I follow her inside. All the tables are round, with lazy Susans in the center. Every single one is occupied, which isn’tsurprising. The delicious aromas of food fill my senses. My belly rumbles, and I swallow a sigh, wishing there was a cure for my allergy. Man, I miss Chinese food. But eating any might literally be the death of me.
When Katt and I turned fifteen, the family went to a local Chinese place to celebrate, and I had a reaction after taking a bite of shrimp fried rice. Terror seized me as my body swelled and it became increasingly difficult to pull air into my chest. Everything was a blur—and somebody must’ve called 911. While I was dazed and out of it, I vaguely overheard Mom lament that she and Dad could’ve driven me to the hospital because an ambulance ride was so expensive. We didn’t have health insurance, and she worried that the bill would make things worse for the family’s already tight finances.
“Why does she have to be allergic to something like Chinese food? How are we going to pay for all this?” she added with a sigh full of exasperation and worry. Guilt crushed me, even though I didn’t mean for any of it to happen. Why did I have to develop an allergy to something I used to enjoy? Why did I have to hurt my family this way?
At least I didn’t have to stay at the hospital overnight. Even if the doctor had insisted, I wouldn’t have wanted to burden my parents more than I already had. They always agonized over every expense until Katt hit it big. Then—everything changed. No more pinching pennies. Mom and Dad could be as extravagant as they wanted. Katt always beams proudly for being able to give back to our parents. I applaud from the sidelines because, well…that’s all I’m capable of.
My stomach growls again, and I put a hand over it. I can wait until I get home to have dinner. A nice piece of leftover lasagna is waiting in the fridge.
Even before the hostess gestures, I find the table. It’s impossible to miss Katt’s golden hair or the gorgeous magentaVersace minidress, which is her favorite. Or Mom’s bright red lipstick. She didn’t used to wear vivid tones until Katt started making money. Now she’s like a peacock, a blue-and-purple Dior dress draped over her like it was made to order. The bleached hair is twisted into a knot at the nape, and a pair of huge sapphire earrings dangle from her earlobes. Two enormous diamond rings glint on her hands—gifts from Dad on her birthday and Mother’s Day. Her violet eyes smile at Katt, her entire face charming and sweet. I’ve seen photos of her when she was younger, and she probably broke a lot of boys’ hearts growing up.
Dad occupies a chair next to Mom, his tall frame neatly folded—Katt probably got her height from him, while I failed to get any of the height fairy magic. He’s trim.Another genetic lotteryI missed out on—everyone on his side of the family is as slim as cigarettes except me. Dark eyebrows and deep-set pale blue eyes with lines fanning out from their corners give him a friendly, all-American appearance. He’s in a white polo shirt, pale khakis and shiny leather shoes, and the tip of his straight nose glows red. Must’ve played a round of golf with his well-heeled friends before coming over.
The table’s already laden with food—lobster fried rice seemingly being the main course. Lots of shellfish dishes swimming in glossy sauces and an egg drop soup. Mom and Dad each have a small mound of seafood before them. Katt only has some fried rice and a couple of shrimps on her plate.
“Hi,” I say. “Sorry I’m late. Something came up at the last minute.”
“Finallyyou’re here.” Mom’s gaze rakes me up and down, cataloging everything from my hair to my outfit to see if I’m Instagrammably fashionable.
I resist the urge to shift my weight and just smile. I know exactly what she’s going to say.
“Honey, you really have to do something about your hair. Why is it always so messy? And that beige is terribly dull. Makes you look like a lump of mud. You need something brighter. Maybe violet or vermilion. You know,feminine. And pretty.”
Last time I wore a vibrant red-purple dress, she told me I looked like a two-legged highlighter. I’m sure Mom didn’t say the same to Katt in her magenta dress today. “I’ll see what my stylist recommends,” I say vaguely, keeping the smile on my face.
“Better do it soon. You’re wasting your youth away. If you made some real effort, you could do better than being somebody’s coffee fetcher,” Mom says, another not-so-subtle reminder that I should audition for movie roles before I’m too old. She’s convinced if I can just try to make myself prettier, I’ll make a fortune in the entertainment business like Katt.
Mom doesn’t care that I don’t want to be in Hollywood, and I certainly don’t want to rely on my looks to earn a living. I can’t imagine crying over a pimple or agonizing over an extra scoop of ice cream the way Katt does. Besides, looks fade, and fame is fickle. No matter what, I’m just not celebrity material, even if weweretwins born from the same womb at the same time. I’d rather depend on my brain for my career. “My coffee fetching is appreciated by my boss, so I think I’m okay.”
Mom’s mouth purses in disapproval, but I ignore her and hand the tiger lilies to Katt. I used to give her accessories and things, but stopped when I discovered my gifts in the trash can in her room. At least flowers are meant to be tossed when they wilt. “Congrats, sis.”
“Thanks.” She takes the vivid orange blossoms, then promptly puts them on an empty chair next to her before posing with her elbow on the table. No need to turn to know that somebody’s discreetly taking a photo of her to post on social media.
I park my butt in the only empty chair left, between her and Mom, and serve myself oolong tea out of the blue-and-white porcelain pot. If my mouth is full, people won’t try to talk to me.
“You should’ve gotten her something innocent and pretty. Like white camellias. That’s the kind of role she’s auditioning for,” Mom says, her voice full of reproach. At least she doesn’t call them unlucky.
“Sorry. Didn’t realize.” Katt was hush-hush about the role when I asked at our last family dinner. I didn’t probe since it was none of my business. Ted Lasker is an eccentric man, and he might’ve had people sign NDAs.
“You should pay more attention to Katt’s career. Something might inspire you,” Dad says. As if I spent more time studying her career, I’d become like her—a star with fame and fortune, the latter being the more important.
I merely smile and knock back the lukewarm tea to douse the searing sensation creeping up from the pit of my belly. The uncomfortable burn is probably from the guilt and sad realization over not being good enough to make my parents proud.
“Try some lobster in black bean sauce. It’s very good,” Mom says to Katt, as she gestures at a pile of heavenly smelling food.
Twisting to ensure she looks good from every angle, Katt smiles at Mom. They’re the perfect picture of mother-daughter harmony. I wish I could disappear into the ground, knowing someone is snapping photos of us and feeling like I don’t belong in the pictures. Maybe my twin likes this restaurant because the entire dining area is open—no privacy walls or partitions. It’s a great place to be seen.
“Thanks, but I already had a bite,” Katt says. “Can’t eat too much. It’ll make me bloated.” She always complains that Chinese food makes her gain water weight the next day, butshe never fails to pick it for most of her outings. Guess even a dedicated model like her can’t stay away from “bad” food.
“She can always indulge after she gets the role,” Dad says. He’s probably calculating all the money it’ll add to the family coffers.
I pour more tea to fill my empty stomach. Since Katt needs to stay lean, maybe dinner won’t last too long. Mom and Dad are always worried about making dieting more difficult for her.
Mom turns to me. “Oh, by the way! I found the perfect man for you. His name isNeville.”
My stomach sinks. Mom’s definition of “perfect” is usually somebody with money. The rest is “negotiable.” Ever since I started working at Huxley & Webber, she’s been determined to pair me up with a man who meets her approval. “Well, Mom—”
