“You know the last thing my sister said to me before she got on that helicopter?”
I pop my eyes open, the unexpected beginning enough to scare a man sober. I’m glad she’s talking—so fucking thankful, honestly—I just never imagined this would be the place we started.
I shake my head, murmuring only a soft “No” into the space between us. She nods then, smiling long enough to steal the bottle back and tip it for another swig.
“She said, ‘I’m pretty sure Orlando Bloom is going to be at this party. If you send your tits with me, I’ll have him sign.’”
I blink one, two, three…sixteen times. And then, I burst out laughing. Out of the myriad of things I expected her sister to have said in their last moments before her death, this would come in last place.
“You always expect it’ll be something deep, you know? Something with meaning you can take with you in their absence, something to apply to your life.” She giggles hard. “And all I have are Orlando Bloom and my tits.”
“Well, I can’t speak for Orlando Bloom personally since I’ve never met the guy. But I have seen your tits, and Ria, they’re not a bad thing to be left with.”
She laughs again, and I can’t help but smile as she snorts. She’s in a deep vortex of messy feelings, but I’m glad to be here with her.
“I honestly forgot how funny your sister was,” I admit then. “But she was always making me laugh when we were kids. You both were.”
“We loved to cut up, that’s true. Oliver always said he was going to record us and submit it to a stand-up comedy competition.” She rolls her eyes. “He never did, obviously, because he was a man, and, no offense, but as a whole, your follow-through isn’t the greatest.”
I put up both my hands in surrender. “None taken.”
“We were supposed to start doing Lamaze together—all three of us,” she says with a shake of her head. Her gaze is longing and distant as she reaches through memories she’s long since locked away. “Man, I’m sure that would have been the talk of the town. A sight to see, really. I can just imagine all of New York society gossiping about Oliver and his harem.” She cackles. “He was so conservative. He would have died.”
Her face straightens suddenly at the unsavory play on words, and my eyes widen in return. She bursts into laughter then. Completely unbound, uncontrolled, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest-style hilarity.
It’s a great sound. One I know is laced with pain, but necessary. If she doesn’t get it out, that’s what will be festering inside her.
When her laughter slows, she takes another pull of tequila and dives right into another story. I make sure the bottle finds its way back to upright on the carpet and listen intently.
“The day she got married, she actually freaked out so badly, she almost made me put on the dress and go in her place.” She bites her bottom lip and lies down on the floor, staring at the ceiling as she talks. “I had to remind her that we weren’t twins, and that I was pretty sure Oliver would know the difference.”
I don’t cut in to tell her that’s how Jude and Sophie met, after she switched places with her twin sister, Bella. I don’t cut in to say anything at all. Because Maria is there and, at the same time, she’s not.
She’s where she needs to be, years ago, in a room with her living, breathing, crying, laughing, loving sister.
“It was just stupid cold feet. I couldn’t have handpicked a better match for her—a better brother-in-law, really. He was always the soft support we needed.”
“I bet he was a great guy.”
She snorts. “He had to be a great guy to put up with the two of us. Every Monday when we got to the office, both of us spent at least half an hour complaining about being back in heels. The same complaints, every week, and he listened every single time. Never told us to do something about it or wear flats or asked us to stop. Just listened and laughed while the two of us bitched and bitched.”
I smile. “I bet it was worth the hours of entertainment.”
“We were miserable, complaining shrews. But he didn’t care.”
I get it immediately. I get it so much, that I find myself grieving for a guy I never met. Because looking at Maria right here, right now, I wouldn’t care either. I’d listen to her and Isabella complain all damn day if they wanted to.
“Although we bitched a lot, my sister took good care of Oliver. Always made shit fun. I know for a fact that she surprised him with nothing but an overcoat on more than one occasion.”