Page 67 of My Twin Sister

“Dead,” he says.

“Were you relieved?” I mean it as a joke. I even smile. But it falls just as fast at his sad expression. “Sorry. It would just make things less complicated for everyone.”

“Don’t talk like that. Your life is more important than a few complications.”

I press my lips together, a “thanks” because I don’t have the words.

“Hey,” Geny says from the doorway. We both look up at her. She’s smiling but her face looks strained. “Dinner is almost done. Come inside, it’s freezing.”

I climb the stairs, trying to ignore the feeling like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. I haven’t. But she has a way of making me feel that way.

In the kitchen I’m greeted with the smell of roasted garlic and a hint of rosemary. I know right away what it is. Our mom’s stuffed chicken recipe. I heard somewhere that scent is the sense closest tied to memory, and I believe it because a flood of them overwhelm me all at once. Memories of being younger at home. And even more recent ones when I’ve made the dish on special occasions.

“I brought wine,” I say. I’d stopped to pick up a bottle on the way over. “It’s in my car. I’ll grab it.”

I run outside and lean over the driver’s seat to grab the bottle. I should have grabbed more than one, I think. This crowd is one that needs a fair amount of alcohol to blur the sharp edges. I walk back inside but freeze when I hear harsh whispers around the corner. It’s clearly Wyatt and Geny, but I can’t make out the words. Only the tone. Another argument. Have they always fought like this? The couple’s therapy and his empty side of the bed say probably.

And yet I still feel at fault. And part of me, a very small and selfish part, feels vindicated. They aren’t a good match. There was a time I once knew these two people better than anyone else. They are vinegar and oil. I thought for a second that maybe I didn’t know them as well as I thought. Or maybe it’s just that I don’t know them anymore. Maybe that’s still true. But it’s true, too, that they don’t mix. They’re forcing it.

Even so, I can’t be the reason they fall apart. I don’t think Geny and I could work through that, and there’s nothing worth irreparable damage to my relationship with my sister now that I have her back. Even Wyatt.

“Got the wine,” I call from the doorway to give them a second to play it cool.

When I turn the corner into the kitchen, Geny is bent over, pulling the chicken from the oven and Wyatt is setting the table. They’re good at pretending.

I pop the wine into the fridge and consider going to the table, but I don’t want Geny to think I want to be near Wyatt. I stand by her instead.

“Can I help make up the plates?”

“Sure,” she says. She points to the stack of plates. “You can go ahead. I’m going to get freshened up and make sure the boys are on their way.”

I nod and get started. I make a plate and walk it over to the kitchen table because there isn’t enough counter space to set them anywhere else.

Wyatt is sitting at the table and I set the first plate in front of him. Our eyes meet and I falter. The plate hits the table too hard. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. You’re starting to sound like Geny.”

I pull my lips between my teeth. “Are you guys okay?”

I shouldn’t ask. It’s none of my business and it’s the last place I should be sticking my nose. But if I ask Geny, she would just lie. And I want to know. Need to know.

He shrugs. “Only slightly more strained than usual. I wouldn’t worry about it though. Neither of us has ever had the balls to leave. We’ll just keep fighting. And keep living.”

My gaze falls to the floor. His words make me incredibly sad. For him and for my sister, who both deserve a happy life. I walk back to the stove and continue plating the food and setting them on the table without another word to Wyatt.

Geny is back in a hurry, so much so that she’s out of breath.

“Thanks, Grace. I’ll get some glasses for the wine. The boys will be down any second.”

On cue, Carter strolls into the kitchen. “What are we eating?”

“Grandma’s chicken,” Geny says. “I don’t want to hear a word.” She spins and points at him just as his shoulders fall in a full-body pout.

“But I don’t like that chicken,” he whines.

“What did I say?” she snaps.

Carter’s face crumples.