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“Sounds like a goldmine,” I declare, though I have no idea because again, I’m not a business brain like Kayla. But I do have one idea. “You should sell those headbands with unicorn horns on them and have a coliseum filled with balloons where the kids can ram their heads into them. Pop, pop, pop!”
Kayla laughs and acts like she’s writing that idea down. “Increase liability insurance,” she notes. “What about you? I haven’t seen or heard from you in a while.”
Kayla would make a top-notch interrogator. She was trained by the best—Mom. Who was trained by the original—Grandma Beth. Technically, Grandma Beth is Dad’s mom, but she and Mom have been like two peas in a pod since all us kids were twinkles in the sky.
They’re three generations with interrogation skills that would make the CIA jealous. They don’t need truth serums, or bright lights, or waterboarding either. Their weapons of choice are a few select words, a smile, and blue eyes that see to your soul, revealing every secret you ever thought to keep.
Having learned from Mom, Kayla doesn’t pry or go straight for the jugular, but she’s paying attention to every nuance of my expression, voice, and movements. I adjust accordingly, keeping my face straight, my voice level, and my body completely still. If eighty percent of communication is non-verbal, I’m not saying shit.
I’m about to answer with something flippant like ‘been here and there’ or ‘just busy’. But then I remember Janey’s expression when I said no one knows when I’m out of town. I brushed it off at the time because Louisa knows. She knows everything. But if something went wrong, my family wouldn’t even know to contact Louisa. They don’t know she exists. They barely know I exist, which is mostly by design.
“I need to give you someone’s phone number,” I tell Kayla begrudgingly. “For emergencies. Like if anything happened with Gracie or the family and you couldn’t get ahold of me, you could call her.”
I said the magic word.
“Her?” Kayla echoes, her ears virtually perked up in interest like one of those poufy, purse-type, yippy dogs.
“Calm down. Louisa is my assistant. She knows where I am at all times,” I explain as I send the contact to Kayla’s phone. Even as I downplay it, I’m smiling a little despite myself. “I’m trusting you—only for emergencies,” I remind her.
She narrows her eyes, giving me a calculating glare. Considering Kayla and I are fraternal twins, we look remarkably similar. When we were babies and both bald, we even looked identical, which is why Mom always dressed us in pink and blue. As adults, though our looks have changed and we both have hair, our expressions are sometimes scarily alike. Like now. I might as well be looking in a mirror.
“What happened?” Kayla demands. “Why now?”
Okay, change of plans. She’s definitely going for the jugular now.
“Nothing. I was reminded that someone should know where I am, and Louisa does. If something happens to me, she has orders to contact Mom. But if something happened at home, you wouldn’t know how to find me. Now you do.”
I shrug like it’s no big deal, even though it’s a big fucking deal. This is the closest I’ve let anyone get to my work, and though Kayla’s not asking outright, I know she’s curious as hell.
“You were reminded? By whom?”
The woman who’s invaded my every waking thought and sleeping dream. The woman who I’m doing my best to not stalk so she can have time to heal. The woman I want to call right now so I can listen to her ramble on about absolutely anything because I never realized how quiet my house, office, car, and life are until her.
I don’t say any of that. I don’t have to. Despite not having twin telepathy, Kayla is grinning like I just told her all my deepest, darkest secrets. “Whoever she is, I like her already. Do you know that you’ve said approximately twenty times more words since I sat down than you usually would? You’re making small talk, for God’s sake. Asking about my work, offering information, and looking like you’re going to murder whoever stole your favorite puppy.”
“I always ask about stuff,” I argue, not touching the other things because she’s one hundred percent right about those.
She lifts a wry brow, shutting me down. “No, you don’t. And that’s okay. Anything you do say is important, which means this conversation” —she points from herself to me— “is important.”
I take a sip of my now-cold coffee, the bitterness feeling like home. But it doesn’t have to be like this. Janey showed me that.
Her family is awful, and while I’ve never been particularly fond of mine, they’re nothing like hers, and I don’t give them enough credit for that. Maybe I can start with Kayla?
Slowly, carefully, I confess, “I met someone.”
Fuck, that’s a huge admission right there. And rather than a weight lifting off my shoulders, it settles there heavily, making it that much more real.
Kayla looks ready to explode with questions, but she’s doing a fairly decent job of holding herself back, so I try again.
“She’s a talker, and at first, that meant I didn’t have to talk. Like, at all, which was pretty great,” I say sarcastically. “But then, it became easier and we... talked.” I don’t think I’ve used the word ‘talk’ that many times in my entire life combined.
“I think I love her. Listen to you waxing poetic about all the ways she’s changed you for the better.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Undeterred, Kayla asks, “When do we meet her?”
I shake my head. “It’s not like that. That wasn’t the deal.”
