A year after my mother died, my father told me he was marrying her identical twin — and everyone around us treated it like a happy ending. Then my grandmother pulled me aside at their wedding and whispered, “You need to know the truth about your aunt.” What she showed me left my jaw on the floor.
My mom died in a car accident. One moment, she was here. The next, she wasn’t. That’s how fast your entire world can collapse, apparently.
She was the person I called first with good news, and the one I texted stupid memes to at two in the morning.
She was the voice in my head that told me I could handle things when I was pretty sure I couldn’t.
That’s how fast your entire world can collapse.
A year later, my dad called and asked me to come over for dinner.
“Just you, me, and Lena,” he said on the phone.
I didn’t think much of it at the time. Lena was my aunt, Mom’s twin sister. She’d been around a lot after Mom died, helping Dad out, bringing casseroles, that sort of thing.
I figured Dad just didn’t want to cook alone.
Lena was my aunt, Mom’s twin sister.
When I arrived, the house smelled like lemon cleaner and roasted chicken.
Lena opened the door before my dad could.
“You’re early,” she said brightly.
She was wearing my mother’s apron, but I didn’t let myself think about that too hard.
She stepped aside, gesturing me in with a smile. “Your dad’s finishing up in the kitchen.”
She was wearing my mother’s apron.
Inside, everything looked perfect.
And I mean perfect. The throw pillows were arranged just so, and the magazines on the coffee table were fanned out at precise angles.
It felt like Mom had just finished cleaning and tidying.
Which was strange, because Dad had never been big on cleaning. He used to tease Mom that she cleaned like we were preparing for a magazine shoot.
It felt like Mom had just finished cleaning and tidying.
We ate first.
The chicken was good. The conversation was small, polite, and neutral.
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