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“If we’re talking about the same night, I remember exactly what happened.” I open my mouth to fire back at him, but Aiden cuts me off. “Emily showed up at my place. I was exhausted and halfway to drunk. I’m lucky I made it to the front door. She kissed me, and at first, I kissed her back because my brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders, but as soon as I realized what was happening, I backed away and told her that it couldn’t happen again.”
Emily hops off the stool, but I hold a hand up, stopping her while Aiden continues.
“I wanted to talk to you about it because even though nothing happened between Emily and me, I felt like I’d betrayed you. When you shut me down, I assumed that Emily had already told you and—”
“That’s not what happened.” I shake my head, tears burning my eyes. How could he think for a second that I was Emily? He knows me better than anyone.
“Yes, it is.” He takes a step forward, anger and frustration marring his chiseled face. “I was there. I might’ve been half-cocked, but I remember because I was terrified that it was going to change our friendship. And it did. After that night, you pulled away from me. Don’t you remember distancing yourself from me?”
“Of course, I do,” I shout. “But it wasn’t because you kissed Emily.”
Aiden frowns. “I’m so fucking confused right now.”
Emily rolls her eyes. “You didn’t kiss me, dimwit. You kissed her.”
“That’s impossible.” Aiden looks at me, his eyes wide, frantically searching mine.
“Don’t look at me like that. Don’t try to pull the twin card and tell me you didn’t know who you were kissing. You know me better than anyone. You’ve always been able to tell us apart.”
“I was drunk,” he yells. “And you were wearing Emily’s leather coat.”
“No, I wasn’t. And if you were so drunk, how can you remember what I was wearing?”
“Because I always know what you’re wearing.” Aiden curses and spins around. He paces the length of the floor. “That night, you were wearing those faded holey shorts that used to drive me crazy, and a pink shirt. Your hair was on top of your head. When you showed up at my door, your hair was down, and you were wearing Emily’s black leather coat. I remember staring at her—or you—for a second, trying to figure out who I was looking at. Because, yes, when I’m completely sober, I can tell you guys apart. But, apparently, when I’m drunk, and you’re in her clothes, I cannot.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, pushing a few tears over my lashes. I wipe them away and think back on that night. I don’t know how he remembers what coat I was wearing when I can’t even remember. When I decided to make my move, it was late. Without much thought, I jumped out of bed, threw on a coat and left. Maybe in my haste to leave, I grabbed the wrong jacket. That’s entirely plausible.
Aiden is staring at me—I can feel it in the same way I can feel his frustration.
“When you came to me, wanting to talk about that night, I was embarrassed. It took everything I had to show up at your place and kiss you. When you rejected me—” I shake my head and wipe away another tear.
“I thought it was Emily.” Aiden grabs my shoulders and turns me to face him. “I’m so damn sorry, Lizzie. I thought you were Emily.”
“That’s why I pushed you away afterward. I was embarrassed and hurt and—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself. I understand. I understand why you’ve been reluctant to give us a chance. But, sweetheart,”—Aiden runs his hands down my arms and links our fingers together—“I would never hurt you.”
“But you did.” I step back, watching the hope drain from his eyes. “You might’ve thought I was Emily, but it was me. It was me,” I say, pounding on my chest. “I can’t just forget the pain I felt that night. I can’t erase all the tears I cried because of you. How am I supposed to just forget all of that?”
“You’re not. I don’t expect you to. But you can forgive me. You can accept that it was an awful mistake on my part and forgive me.”
He’s right.
I know that he’s right, but it doesn’t magically erase the pain. And part of me—the selfish, arrogant part—is mad that he couldn’t tell us apart. After all the time we’ve spent together, all the comments he’s made about how different Emily and I are and how crazy it is to him that people can’t tell us apart—he couldn’t tell us apart.
“You’re right.” I try to smile, but it falls short, and more tears drip down my face. “It should be that simple. But it’s not.”
Aiden curses and walks to the window. “What the fuck is he doing here?”
“Who?” Emily asks.
I’d almost forgotten that she was here.
“Ethan.”
“Who’s Ethan?” Emily asks.
“He’s picking me up.”
