She regretted it instantly, but it didn’t matter. Olivia flushed scarlet and stood up, the stool making an uglyskrrrksound as it scraped against the floor.
“You can be such a bitch sometimes,” she hissed, before turning and flouncing upstairs. Dev’s eyes darted from Olivia’s hastily retreating back to Merritt slouched against the stove. Without a word, he turned and hastened up the stairs after her.
Merritt’s face burned with shame. That was one way to make moving out easier: get Olivia to hate her first.
She grabbed a bowl and scooped up some rice, then spooned the curry over it before shutting herself in her room to eat alone.
Merritt heard the glass doorto the enclosed back porch slide open a little after ten, but she forced herself to wait a few minutes before venturing out to investigate.
Olivia was sitting on one of the lounge chairs, legs tucked up under her oversized hoodie, hood up, sleeves hanging flaccid and empty at her sides. When she was a kid, their parents called it “going turtle.” No matter how old she got or how professional the rest of her wardrobe was, there was always room in the back of her closet for a sweatshirt that trailed below her knees, ready to provide armor against the first sign of distress.
She craned her head to look at Merritt but turned back without saying anything. Her face looked pale and tired. Merritt settled on the wicker chair next to her.
“How did Dev take it?”
Olivia looked down at her socks, which were poking out from the hem of her sweatshirt. “He’s really excited. We called all the parents, everyone was crying. It’s the first grandkid on his side, too.”
They sat in silence for a moment. Olivia rested her head on her knees and closed her eyes tightly, her brows knitting together. Her shoulders rose and fell in a jagged stutter.
“Are you thinking about Dad?” Merritt asked, surprising herself with how softly it came out, almost childlike. Olivia nodded without opening her eyes, a single tear sliding down her cheek. Her throat tightened, and when she spoke again, the words were raspy with emotion. “He would’ve been really happy.”
Olivia nodded again, a short burst. “He would’ve been a great grandpa.” Her voice was thick, too.
Twenty-five years after their father’s death, the waves of grief came less frequently, the ocean calm more often than not, but they still had the power to knock her off her feet. It overwhelmed her, that shared ache she knew they were both feeling, how even the happiest moments were tainted by the reminder of how fucking unfair it was that he was gone and their lives kept going anyway.
Merritt blinked rapidly, then cleared her throat. “I’m so sorry, Liv. For spoiling it.”
Olivia shook her head. “It’s okay. It’s too big for you to spoil. Nice try, though.” The corners of her mouth turned up slightly as she dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I should know better than to tell you secrets by now.”
Merritt didn’t respond, just tilted her head back, taking in the ink-black sky through the skylight. It seemed unthinkable that it was the same one she’d looked up at in LA, muddled with smog and light pollution. Out here, there were so many stars that her brain struggled to process them all. She looked back down again before she got dizzy.
“I found out something else at the appointment,” said Olivia, and Merritt glanced over at her, too quickly. “I’m having twins.”
Merritt’s eyes widened, her worry dissipating as quickly as it had arrived. “Really? They can tell that early?”
“It’s not that early. I’m ten weeks. Apparently, the chances go way up if you’re a fraternal twin.”
Most people were surprised to find out that Merritt and Olivia were related at all, let alone twins. They were the same height and roughly the same build, but the similarities ended there. Olivia’s features were soft and delicate, bearing little resemblance to Merritt’s angular, exaggerated ones, and while Merritt had hidden under an unruly mop of dark brown hair practically since birth, Olivia’s was straight and fine and pale as cornsilk. Even once it had darkened in adulthood, she still bleached it that same color, which she wore in a sleek bob just below her jawline. But their most striking difference was their eyes—Merritt’s were brown like their father’s, and Olivia had inherited their mother’s, light blue and eerily clear (a source of burning jealousy for Merritt during their childhood).
Aside from their physical appearances, they’d grown into polar opposites as teenagers. Olivia had excelled in both academics and athletics: she was varsity field hockey captain, valedictorian, and had a full ride to Princeton for undergrad, graduating with honors. As for Merritt, who’d excelled at none of those things, she was just grateful her own gifts had been distributed in such a way that nobody really remembered she’d never graduated high school.
Living together over the past two years had brought them closer than ever, though, and despite how dissimilar they were in so many ways, there was no one on earth that Merritt understood better, had more fun with, or loved harder than her sister.
There was also, if she was being honest with herself, no one she’d hurt more deeply.
“Wow. Lucky them,” said Merritt, and she meant it, even asshe shook off another residual shudder of guilt. She sighed. “Iamsorry, though. I’ve just…really loved living here.”
Olivia’s voice was dreamy and lethargic. “Yeah. Us, too. Having you. It’s been nice.” She paused. “Mostly.”
Merritt laughed. “I guess I deserve that.” She rubbed her hands over her goosebump-covered upper arms, the chill creeping through the glass. “Maybe I should just sell the house and go back to LA.”
Olivia lifted her head, peering out from under her hood. “What? Why would you do that?”
Merritt shrugged. “I don’t know. Living with you was supposed to be kind of a transitional thing. And now I have to figure out what the rest of my life is going to look like. If I settle down here for real, is that just, like…running away?”
“Running away from what? What’s in LA for you anymore?”
Merritt considered it. Whatwasin LA, besides relationships she’d ruined, bridges she’d burned, and the smoking rubble of her career?
