“Jennifer Lawrence bought everyone fancy hot chocolate.” He shrugs nonchalantly, but a subtle smile appears on his lips when Cecily gasps with excitement.
These small, seemingly insignificant details have all of our friends and family eating out of Spencer’s hands. I have never had that, an innate ability to charm people so naturally it’s like breathing. When we shared a womb, the charming, confident, and good public speaker genes went wholeheartedly to Spencer. His latest acting gig, a minimum wage featured-extra role in a period biopic, Hugh Jackman’s directorial debut starring Jennifer Lawrence, was the hero piece of the annual Cole Christmas newsletter. Subject line: Spencer the Superstar!
Wyst has never made it into the family newsletter. My mother assures me once I secure seed round funding, she wouldinclude it, but for the time being she doesn’t want to “embarrass” me in case the business fails.
While Spencer’s natural charisma and career trajectory followed a trail of breadcrumbed hopes and dreams, my skill set mostly came in the form of sheer will power. A willingness to prioritize achievements over sleeping, eating, self-care, and, as my father likes to say, “Being an active member of this family.”
“Mum keeps asking me to send her pictures of my costume for her Facebook page,” Spencer remarks.
He avoids saying it’s not explicitlyherFacebook page, but a Facebook page she runsfor him, posting updates of his latest work and “exclusive behind-the-scenes content.” In Spencer’s defense, he didn’t ask her to set it up, but he never asked her to take it down.
“Oh, so she is alive,” I say. She hasn’t returned my calls for the past two weeks after I turned down Dad’s job offer from his mate Darren who is looking for a new line manager at his local waste processing plant:
“You want me to literally manage shit shoveling?”
“There’s plenty of career growth; the waste industry is booming right now.”
“So is FemTech,” I countered.
“If it’s booming so much, why are you always struggling?”
Spencer wheels his chair over to my desk. Light from the third-story window illuminates his face as he crosses his legs and laces his fingers together on his knee. “So I actually came to talk to you.”
“You just said, ‘Please don’t talk to me,’” I remind him, remaining focused on copying and pasting the company information into the application.
He smiles a cheesy grin. “That’s fine because I just need a nod of the head from you.”
I say nothing, as previously instructed.
“You know how you are myfavoritetwin sister?” he continues.
“One: I am your only twin sister. Two: Are you suggesting if you had any other non-twin siblings, I would not be the favorite?”
He refuses to play ball. “I was thinking now the movie has wrapped, I could up my office hours a bit?”
In between acting gigs, Spencer helps out replying to user emails, tidying the office, creating expense sheets, and answering the phones. Essentially a glorified intern with a company email address, but I can only afford to give him sixteen hours a week.
Swinging my chair round to face him, I say, “I’d love for you to find us a mountain of cash?”
“What happened?”
“A potential investor turned out to be a date,” Cecily says.
He shoots me a look of concern you would give a child who just fell over while running. “Oh, Jess, surely you’re not that desperate?”
I throw a pen at him. “No! I just wish we could have had something in place for the meeting with Dr. Bernie tomorrow.” My mind goes blank for a few seconds as the voice echoes in my head:
Maybe it’s your name, maybe all previous investors recognize it just like Will did—that’s why they keep rejecting you. Maybe Dr. Bernie will see you just like everyone else: a woman who made a stupid decision that cost two people their promising careers.
“Maybe we should reschedule,” I say to Cecily, anxiety rising like dry heat up my throat.
She looks offended. “Do you know how long it took me to just get a sniff of a meeting with Dr. Bernie? There’s absolutely no way we can reschedule.”
“Who is Dr. Bernie?” Spencer asks, pouring himself a 2 p.m. glass of the very expensive wine.
Cecily gapes at him. “How do you not know Dr. Bernie? She only has the best podcast of all time. I’ve sent you episodes!”
He spins back and forth in his chair, chewing on his lip. “The one where they talk about niche SewingTok internet drama?”
