“I’m not sure I’m even going.”
And here it is. What I’ve been expecting for months now. But I let the comment slide. It’s the stress of the moment. She’s not serious. She wouldn’t cancelthislast minute.
“Cros,” she says. “Just please check on Sam.”
When I go back into the living room, he’s still deep in his imaginary world. I slide over to the couch.
Finally, Sam looks up at me, smiles, and comes barreling onto the couch next to me, a stegosaurus in one hand, a biggerT. rexin the other.
“Hey, bud.” I give him a big squeeze. “I see you’ve got your old dinos out.”
“Yep.” He folds his knees before him, then returns to his play, gnashing theT. rexand the stegosaurus together like chips of flint.
I sit and watch. Wishing I could escape into an imaginary world like that, flee from the tornado of guilt constantly snatching away my most peaceful moments like they’re unsecured mobile homes. Or to simply wake up each day and not feel a cloak of shame pressing down on me.
I fidget. I have a bad nervous habit of using my forefinger to pick at the skin around the thumb on the same hand. I’m doing that now. To stop myself, I grab a clothing catalog off the coffee table and mindlessly page through it. I pause on one of the models, who’s wearing an earth-toned poncho over some effortlessly worn jeans, to admire her look. She has a natural air, her face free of worry.
Sam stops his playing and points his stegosaurus at her. “Aunt Crosbie.” Except he saysCwasbiesince he’s still having a little trouble with hisr’s. “You?”
“Me?” I tilt my head and study her. Like me, she’s got dark hair, hazel eyes, and she seems tall, but does she really look like me? I hadn’t thought so. I was admiring her whole vibe, just like I was admiring Sam’s play. “No, honey. It’s not.Youthink she looks like me?”
He nods enthusiastically before hopping down, returning to his other dinos on the floor. He resumes smashing them together, roaring and snarling louder now, like violence—and I might add, dino porn—is the most natural thing on earth.
In this moment, I have no idea this tiny interaction is an omen of sorts. That it’s preparing me for a terrifying absurdity about to come down the pike, and that realistically, I’m not a great judge of who resembles me and who doesn’t.
Chapter 4
I toss the magazine on the coffee table. Sam keeps playing, and I’m about to go in the kitchen and see if Jess needs some help when my phone vibrates in my back pocket. I pull it out and see a text from one of my friends, Fiona.
OMG. The resemblance! Call me.
I text her back.
???
I wonder what she’s on about, but the message sets my nerves tingling. Was there some video on TikTok of a woman resembling me doing something embarrassing at a bar or a party? That’s all I need now.
Then from the kitchen, something shatters. Concern immediately snaps Sam out of his play. He rockets to standing, his brown eyes wide, a dino dangling in one hand.
“Don’t worry, hon,” I say. “Your mom just dropped something. You stay and play. I’ll check.” But my heart races. I resist the urge to dash into the kitchen in front of him. The last thing I want is to drum up more drama in his life.
When I enter, Jess is standing still beside a broken glass shattered across the counter and the floor. She’s looking down at her phone.
“Cros.” She looks up. Her face is white. “Have you seen this?”
Jess holds out her phone, steps my way.
“Stop, Jess,” I say. Fortunately, it doesn’t look like she’d filled the glass with anything yet when she dropped it because I see no liquid. “What?” I step over the mess and take her phone. “What is it?”
I look down at Jess’s screen and see ...
Me.
For a long moment, I freeze, staring down at me, with me looking back at me.
Below the sketch, a message stands in yellow:Same Drill.Six Days.Cocky now, like the guy is self-satisfied he’s grabbed the attention of the entire nation. Most of the world, too, thanks to social media.
“It’s you,” she says, breathy and dramatic, like she’s starring in a horror flick. She puts a hand to her mouth.
