Tisper readied herself the next morning the same way she always did. She showered, twisted her hair into a bun, moisturized, concealed, slabbed on a foundation worth twenty cents a drop, and powdered her face in all the colors of a rich rose orchard.
Delicate, she repeated to herself, slicing lines of black across her eyelids. Delicate, as she smeared a sheen of gloss along her lower lip. It didn’t matter the costly makeup—didn’t matter the painful tweezing and surely it didn’t matter just how many times her fly-aways got caught in the plastic handle of her curling iron, and ripped cruelly from her scalp. It didn’t matter because Tisper would give anything to look delicate.
As she sorted through her closet for a choice of clothing, Tisper propped her phone between her ear and her shoulder and wiggled to the sound of the dial tone. Jaylin’s sleep-caked voice answered with an abrasive, “Hello?”
“Get dressed, I’m picking you up at eight.”
“For…?”
“The party,” she gushed, ripping a pink bell skirt from its hanger. The hanger swung and toppled to the ground, and Tisper nearly lost her towel retrieving it. “You know I’ve always wanted to go to one of the Sigvard’s fourth of July parties.”
She heard Jaylin groan on the other end, then the rustle of his bedsheets. “It’s not that great, Tisper. Crowded spaces, booze…crowded spaces.”
“Come on, it’s exciting. We need to get out more—see the world, meet people.”
“That’s what this is about. You’ve got boyfriend fever.”
“Of course I do,” Tisper grumbled. She swapped her phone to the other shoulder, slipping her slender legs through a set of silk panties and jumping on her toes as she yanked them up. “You get laid for cash. Some of us have to make do with good fan fiction and shirtless photos of Joe Manganiello.”
Jaylin went quiet. Then he said fondly, “Joe Manganiello.”
“Right? But back to my point: Alex Sigvard is our age, so most of his friends will be our age. So wear something nice, because if you show up in cargo shorts and a band tee from the guy-liner era, I’ll throw your ass in the pool myself.”
“Do they even have a pool?” he asked.
“No idea. So, noon?”
“I can’t. I have a job interview.”
Tisper perked at those words like she’d been struck by a pleasant little lightning bolt. A job meant no more sex for money. A job would take him away from all that. Away from Olivia, away from Tyler Black. “An interview? Jaylin, that’s great!”
“It’s at the library. Since their renovations, hordes of students have started showing up for the coffee and Wi-Fi. They’re so overwhelmed, they were looking for someone to re-shelve the books and check in the drop-offs at night. Won’t have to deal with people, plus it’s one of those jobs you could slack off on and no one would be any the wiser.”
“Wow. Really shooting for the stars here, tiger.”
“My mom, Tis….” There was a sudden change to Jaylin’s voice. Like the sun had cracked through the clouds. “I think maybe she might be getting better. And if that’s true, maybe she’ll want to start treatments again. So, money… I need a steady income.”
Tisper held her tongue. For a long while, she said nothing, only picked at the cotton pills on her duvet. Then she took a deep breath. “Jay….”
“I know. I know not to get my hopes up.”
“As long as you know.”
“I know.”
Exhaling again, Tisper livened her tone. “So what time should I pick you up then?”
“I should be back by three,” Jaylin said.
And as fate so had it, three snuck up on Tisper far sooner than she expected. She was deciding between two tops when a knock rapped at her door. She frowned and chose the shirt on the right—the one that always clipped just above her midriff—and hustled over to the deadbolt locks.
She’d been cautious answering the door since Bobby started coming around. Jaylin was right—anyone who had the audacity to befriend Tyler Black couldn’t be trusted. But that was also why she feared anything she could do to keep Bobby away might be motive for terrible retaliation. And if not from Bobby, Tyler was always there to raise hell on his behalf. Together they were a nightmare—a two-headed monster of insatiable jackassary. Shitty enough to want to do bad things and powerful enough to do them well. Alone, they were different. But not by much.
Tispertook a look through the peephole expecting Bobby’s weaselly face on the other side, but she saw nothing. Then beyond the door, she heard a brittle old voice: “Tisperella, my god—you absolutely must get some décor out here; this is an outrage.”
Tisper wrangled on the shirt and flung the door open with a grin so large, her cheek muscles burned. The little old woman on the other side hobbled in and opened her arms wide and Tisper had to bend to fit herself into them.
“I didn’t know you were stopping by, Grandma.”
“Well, I thought I’d make it a surprise. I won’t stay long.” She pardoned herself with a slap at the air and barged in, waving her cane about. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Pink. You always did like pink.”
“Can I get you some tea?” Tisper offered, floating on her toes as she followed the woman’s careful hobble. She was growing too old to get around on her own, but she was still a beautiful thing. High cheekbones and curly hair like rich tea. An unnatural color for the graying old woman, but lovely still.
The beads on her crochet shawl rattled as she waved a hand. “Oh no, dear. I’ve gotta get to the pharmacy and grab your grandpa’s damn medication. I just came to let you know that your brother will be back in town. Thought I’d stop by and see you instead of calling you—it was on the way to the pharmacy anyhow. Oh, I miss my granddaughter. How’s school?”
But Tisper couldn’t answer. She blanched and sunk down into the sofa with her hands folded flat between her knees. “Phillip’s back?”
“Well, not yet. Takes the flight in tomorrow.” Grandmother Sophie took a seat beside her and cupped the cap of Tisper’s knee in her shaky old palm. “Don’t you worry about Phillip. He may act like he’s got it all figured out but lord knows there’s trouble in paradise.” She gave Tisper a squeeze and flashed her pearly teeth—still straight and white and intact. “Your brother’s got no room to judge anyone. So you just…you don’t mind him, alright?”
That’s how it had always been. Don’t mind him. Don’t mind them. Survive. Survive.
So Tisper smiled, though it was lacking, and she spoke with Sophie about school over a cup of hot tea. And once she went on her way, Tisper sat back down before her mirror and studied her own eyes in the reflection—the same gold-flecked irises she shared with her brother. She swore to herself that he was an awful, horrible person—that she never wanted to see the likes of him again. But there was a bond between them that left her empty. Phillip had been snipped from her heart with cutting scissors and Tisper was only the scraps left behind.
She thought, maybe it was like this with all twins. Maybe she’d never really find it in herself to hate him. They were souls, attached to one another by a singular thread. Phillip would always be a piece of her. He was a curse, that way.
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