“Did you tell her you were going out?”
“No.”
“Maybe she was curious.”
I bite my bottom lip. Maybe, but what was she doing in my room in the first place? Hers is right next to mine, so she could see me outside from her window too.
“Hmm,” I reply, not entirely sure where I’m going with this. I’ve been in her room, so it’s not a big deal. “Yeah, maybe. It just seems weird.”
Ty lies down beside me. “It’s not weird for her to want to be close to you. There’s a lot of change for her, and she’s the one who’s had to move, leaving behind all of her friends.”
I wince at his words. “Yeah, I know.”
Iris has lost so much, and if being around me and my stuff helps her even a little bit, then it’s fine with me. Oh God, and I’m here. She was in my room probably wanting to be close to me, and I left.
I left her!
My heart sinks to my stomach. “I should go.”
His hand freezes on my jaw. “Already?”
“I have an hour, but…” I’ve already been a terrible sister, no need to continue that.
He nods. “You need to be home with your dad and Iris.”
“Thanks for understanding, Ty.”
Well, this was brief, but worth it. We get off the bed and walk downstairs past the line of pictures showing Ty growing up. The last one is of us both, arms around each other smiling at the school Christmas dance.
Ty put things into perspective for me. I’ve been cooped up in a bubble of me, Dad, Iris, and Mom’s side of the family—I haven’t gotten enough distance to give myself any clarity.
I follow him out of the house, chewing my lip as I go. I’ve been so focused on me and how I feel that I haven’t really thought about Iris. Maybe we will grow closer, and that can be the one good thing to come out of this tragedy.
“Call me if you need anything,” he says, holding on to the edge of the front door.
I lean in and give him a quick kiss. “I will. Thanks.” Then I turn and run along the sidewalk all the way back to my house.
My feet hit the asphalt so hard it sends sparks of pain along my shins, but I don’t slow down. I pass our neighbors’ houses in a blur, their pruned hedges and rosebushes flashing by. Sucking in air that burns, I reach out and almost slam right into the front door. Bowing my head, I grip the door handle, my lungs screaming for the oxygen I’ve deprived them of during my sprint.
“Dad? Iris?” I call as I walk into the house.
“In the kitchen,” Dad replies.
I swing left and find Dad sitting alone at the table.
“Where’s Iris?” I ask, breathless.
“Upstairs. She didn’t want to talk.”
Oh. It was selfish of me to run off the second we pulled up. “I’m going to check on her.”
Dad nods. “And I’ll start dinner. What do you want?”
I shrug. This past eleven days have been nutrient free. We’ve grabbed whatever food we could manage, usually sandwiches and takeout. I feel hungry, but when food is placed in front of me, I can barely stomach a bite.
“Anything,” I reply, heading upstairs.
Iris must feel so lost. I don’t know if she’s had much contact with her friends, but I do know I haven’t seen her on her phone at all. She needs them now, probably more than she needs me and Dad.
I climb the stairs, tying my long wavy hair in a knot on top of my head, and knock on her door. “Iris, it’s me. Can I come in?”
“Sure,” she replies.
Okay, I was expecting some resistance.
I open the door and offer a small smile as I head into the room. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, doing nothing. Her long hair fans around her body like a cloak.
“Dumb question, but…how do you feel?” I ask.
She shrugs one shoulder. “I’m not sure there’s a word for it.” Her eyes are sunken, ringed with dark circles that make her look a lot older than she is. I don’t think she’s sleeping well either.
We have the same shade of dark blond hair and the same pale blue eyes.
“Well, do you need anything?” Besides the obvious.
“I’m good.”
Raising my eyebrows, I move deeper into her room. “Are you?”
She meets my gaze. “Are you?”
“No, I’m not.” I wring my hands. “We can talk…if you want?”
We don’t talk, not about real, deep stuff, anyway. She has her friends for that, and I have mine. It’s actually kind of sad how we’ve missed out on that close twin bond. It’s the only thing I regret about staying with Dad when Iris moved away with Mom.
She tilts her head. “Can we talk?”
“Well, I know that’s not usually our thing, but it can be. I mean, I’m willing…and we are twins.”
“We shared a womb, share a birthday and DNA, but I’ve never felt like a twin. We never talk.”
Okay, ouch. We used to talk when we were little. I remember being five and sneaking into each other’s room at night. We didn’t share because we were too different—her room candy pink and mine ocean blue. But it didn’t matter after dark; we would make a den out of blankets, grab our flashlights, and talk about random fairy-tale things our imaginations would conjure.
Iris was going to marry a British prince and eventually become queen, and I was going to travel the world in an old Mustang like the one our grandad used to own.
Somewhere over time and our parents’ separation, our silly dreams died, and we stopped sharing any new ones.
“Do you want to talk, Iris?”
Her haunted eyes look right through me. “I want so much more than that.”
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