My sister had popped Barbie’s head off one day, when she was mad at me, but it didn’t really bother me. I got even. She was always more into Ken, so I popped his head off, too.
We always had a way of balancing things out. As twins, we pretty much had to for survival. At least, we did back then.
Nowadays, I didn’t even try to keep up with Daniella’s stunts.
I left her to do her thing, and she left me to do mine.
Unless, of course, she disapproved of whatever thing I was doing.
Then, I’d hear about it.Allabout it.
My twin sister was a woman of strong opinions.
What I’d learned from her, though? It was astonishing how quickly people would look past Barbie’s missing head if you knew how to accessorize properly.
Daniella had always had a flair for fashion, and I’d started making jewelry when we were kids. There was a time we thought we’d go into business together, but by the age of sixteen, we knew that would never work.
So I went to work for my favorite aunt instead.
For the past five years, my day job had been making my clients’ homes reflect their inner desires. But not necessarily their inner reality. This was probably my greatest skill: making everything in sight look beautiful, put-together. Even if things were a mess under the surface.
I excelled at this in my personal life, too. For example, right now.
Here I was, looking all put-together in my pale blue bodycon dress and sexy-yet-professional heels, sitting in my gorgeous office. I definitelylookedlike a woman who had her shit together.
And all I could think about was some rock star my sister had met and made out with, then ghosted, four years ago.
And it was kinda killing me.
It bothered me, way more than it probably should, that she’d blown him off. It bothered me that she’d met him first. It bothered me that he thought I was her.
Actually, a whole lot of things about the situation bothered me.
I wanted Daniella to somehow own up to what she’d done. To feel bad about it, maybe. To apologize? If not to him, tome. Which was ridiculous, I knew.
But I still wanted it.
I wanted her to say something like,Danica, I’m sorry I was so nasty to that man, and I’m sorry you’ve gotten caught up in it. I was wrong. I should learn to treat men better, especially when they’re beautiful rock stars who seem perfectly nice and a little broken. And I’m sorry he thought you were me, because clearly, I’m an asshole.
But I didn’t know how to make her do that. I didn’t even know how to make her care—or how to believe her that she didn’t care.
I didn’t even know how to make myselfnotcare.
I also didn’t know how to manage my so-called friendship with my ex-boyfriend. Yes, we were still friendly, just like I’d told Dani. But he had been overstepping lines. Pushing boundaries.
Calling me too much. Showing up unannounced.
Asking me to pick up flowers for the new girl he was seeing, because he had a hot date with her and he didn’t “have enough time.”
Who does that?
And who actually goes and gets the damn flowers?
Did it make me the better person because I’d done that for him… or did it just make me a fool?
I didn’t even care. I just wanted it to stop. I wanted to know how to tell him to stop and have him actually hear me… without having to be mean about it.
Like Dani said, I needed to set clear boundaries.
