Monroe learned that I had a crush on him when she barged into my room one night and caught me stalking his Facebook page. I denied it at first. But she didn’t believe me. So, I gave in and admitted that I liked him. She knew that I was too shy to tell him, so she offered to get his phone number for me. Needless to say, that didn’t happen. I was heartbroken, and I didn’t speak to her for days. I felt betrayed and humiliated. If it wasn’t for our grandmother, I may have never spoken to her again. I can still hear our grandmother’s voice in my ear.
Morgan, boys will come and go, but Monroe will always be your sister. She’s the other half of you.
I blink my eyes a few times, bringing my focus back to the conversation. “He’ll figure out what we’ve done. I’m nothing like you,” I explain.
It’s scary how much we look alike. We share the same fair skin, high cheekbones, and cognac-colored eyes. We both have shoulder-length hair. We’re the same height and same size. We both have long shapely legs, slim waists, and round hips. Our grandmother said that we inherited our curvy figures from our mother. Our voices sound the same, we laugh the same, and we have the exact same mannerisms. Even our grandmother would mix us up. But as much as we are alike, we’re also vastly different. Monroe is adventurous. Rebellious. She has a certain spunk that draws people to her. And she loves attention. She craves it. She dresses in the shortest skirts, tightest shirts, and highest heels. Women like her and men love her. I’m the conservative twin. The Goody Two-shoes, as some may call it. I’m quiet. Reserved. And I don’t flaunt my curves. I cover them modestly. Our grandmother always said that when it came to men, we should leave something to the imagination. I guess Monroe ignored that little tip. I shake my head and remind her again. “We’re nothing alike.”
“Which is why I came here. I need to teach you to be me before we do this, starting with changing your hair and wardrobe.”
I frown. “There’s nothing wrong with my hair, or my clothes.”
“Of course, there isn’t. But Jasen is used to seeing me look a certain way.”
“And what way is that?”
“I always wear makeup, my hair is always done, and my clothes are always well put together.”
I assess my sister. It’s early in the morning, and she’s wearing an expensive-looking dress, designer shoes of some kind, and a face full of makeup. Not a string of hair is misplaced. Meanwhile, I’m lounging around in sweats and a T-shirt, and my hair is in a bun. I cringe at the thought of wearing designer clothing and makeup all the time. I’d much rather be comfortable than stylish.
“This is a bad idea, Monroe. Why do you need me to do this anyway?”
“Because I’m seeing someone else.”
My eyes go wide. “You’re cheating on Jasen?”
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
I swallow a gulp of wine. “With whom?”
“With Cooper,” she answers.
“Who is Cooper?”
“Cooper is the best lover I’ve ever had.”
I watch my sister while she continues to talk about her lover. She rambles on and on about how much fun they have together and how it’s becoming harder and harder to sneak around. Meanwhile, I’m filled with confusion. Jasen has been good to her. They have the perfect marriage. Why would she cheat on him?
“What about Jasen?” I ask.
“I love Jasen, you know that. But things are different with us now.”
“Different how?”
“Eleven years is a long time to be married to a man. The passion just… fizzles over time. You get tired of fucking the same guy. I needed to experience someone new. I’ve developed feelings for Cooper.”
I’m quiet as I sip my wine. I know nothing about how passion fizzles over time because I’ve never been with anyone long enough to find out. My longest relationship lasted a year. And I wouldn’t call what we had passionate.
“Jasen is a good guy, Monroe, and you two made a commitment. Are you really willing to risk your marriage for this other guy?”
“Yes. I tried to be a good wife for as long as I could. But I’ve realized that Jasen and I are not compatible. And you don’t know him like I do. He’s changed since we got married, and it isn’t a good change. I’m tired of being unhappy.”
“But Grandma always said that marriage—”
She raises her hand to cut me off. “I know. She said that marriage is sacred, but this isn’t the fifties, Mo. I can’t take being married to him anymore. I just need a weekend to let loose with Cooper and figure all this shit out.”
I had no idea she was this unhappy. But I guess I wouldn’t. I tried my best to change the subject whenever she talked about Jasen. When our grandmother died, we were both grieving. We were emotional. She said that her life isn’t what I thought it was and she wanted to talk to me about it. But we never got around to it. We had a huge fight over our grandmother’s funeral. She wanted to make a spectacle out of it. I wanted it to be peaceful and simple. Just the way Grandma would have wanted it. She called me a tight-ass. She said I was lame and boring. She also said some other hurtful things I’d rather not repeat. Things I thought I could never forgive her for.
Tears form as I think about our grandmother. The woman who raised us. Monroe and I were born two minutes apart. Our mother had gone through a difficult pregnancy and died on the operating table, right after her C-section. We never had a chance to meet our father, who died in an accident four months before we were born. With both of our parents dead, our grandmother felt she had no other choice but to raise us. “Did Grandma Rose know?”
She almost spits out her wine. “Are you kidding me?”
“She gave good advice. I thought maybe you told her that you and Jasen were having problems.”
“Hell no. You saw how she acted when I told her I was moving to California with him.”
I nod. “She thought you were too young to move across the country.”
Monroe’s grades were terrible. So bad that she couldn’t graduate unless she completed summer school. After she completed her summer classes, she earned her diploma and followed Jasen to California. We did our best to stay in touch with weekly phone calls that mainly consisted of her raving about how great the West Coast was. She was living free and clear while I was left behind to work and help take care of our grandmother. Jasen started his company, and it took off like wildfire. He became very wealthy, which means that Monroe didn’t have to work. She spent her days shopping, soaking up the sun, and drinking smoothies. She was living the life. And she threw it in my face every chance she could get. She offered to fly me to California numerous times, but I declined. I still hated the fact that she had stolen Jasen from me, and I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing them together like I had been forced to do in high school.
“Well, I made out just fine. She should have been happy I got out of this dreadful place.”
She’s making excuses. There was nothing dreadful about the way we were raised. We lived in a middle-class neighborhood of Philadelphia, we attended a decent private school, and we had everything we ever needed. “We had a good upbringing, Monroe.”
She shrugs. “Doesn’t mean I wanted to spend the rest of my life here. Especially with Grandma Rose and her rules.”