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401 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 2, 2018
“Sonatas and concertos tell stories. They make you feel every possible emotion, sometimes all within a single piece…they are joy and tragedy and fear and hate and love. They are everything I never say out loud.”
“The fear is never far away. My broken heel reminds me the disease could sneak up on me at any moment. One day I will twitch when I want to be still, rage when I want to be happy, forget when I want to remember. It has happened to my mother, and it will happen to me. We are a doomed family – but we are not done fighting yet.”
The thin ivory candles in the middle of the table are a third their original height. Jews are not to extinguish them; we are supposed to let them burn on their own instead. That’s what I have been taught.
Tonight I lean over and blow them out.
Tovah will bring me zero relief. If she and I grow close again, she will be a constant reminder of everything I am missing out on. It’s because we are twins that it will hurt so much, seeing her experience things that I cannot, knowing I am so close to them but unable to grasp them. I will watch her graduate college and become a surgeon and fix people and get married and maybe have children. I will watch her plan an entire fucking future without worrying about an impending death. I will watch her mull over choice after choice after choice.
Maybe life is better without her.
It is a mystery to me when lust turns to love, when sex turns into a relationship. If a relationship means playing duets and cooking together and teaching each other words in other languages, then maybe that is exactly what Arjun and I have. Maybe love is what comes next.
Zack reaches across the table and touches my evil-eye bracelet, his index finger spinning one of the beads. Jewelry’s always itched and scratched me, but this is a link to a family member I know so little about, so when Ima gave it to me for Chanukah, I vowed to wear it as much as possible.
“That’s new,” he says. A statement, not a question. This close, I can smell his ocean-salt cologne.
“So is your cologne.”
His cheeks flush. “You got me there.”
“This was my Israeli grandmother’s, on my mother’s side.”
“Can’t say the same about my cologne.”
”There are a lot of ways to be smart,” I say, though I probably wouldn’t have considered Zack’s art intelligent before this year. “It’s not all about grammar or tests. Your art, for example, that’s smart. I can tell how much thought you put into it, even when you claim it doesn’t mean anything.”
“What I’m trying to say is, you never make me feel that way. Like I’m not smart enough to be with you, even though you’re a genius too. And I really appreciate it.”
Our relationship probably won’t ever be what it was before we started growing into our own skin. Before we hurt each other. Before the world hurt us. Maybe we’ll never fully understand each other or know all of each other’s secrets, and surely we’ll never recapture our childhood innocence. But we can have something new. Something messy and real and imperfect, because that’s what both of us are.