The Redo (Winslow Brothers #4) (86)

“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.”

My eyebrows rise and my eyes widen.

“How do I know, you ask? Ah, well, one time, I just so happened to be in the office with him when she busted in and ripped off that overcoat, revealing her whole self, bare as the day she was born.”

“Oh man,” I remark with a laugh.

Maria giggles. “Oliver jumped up so fast, I swear he set a land speed record.”

“To try to cover her?”

“Ha! No way. He was like the freaking Flash with how quickly he got me out the door of his office and dropped the blinds.” She smiles and smacks her hands together in a speedy gesture, remembering. “It was the one, singular time in my adult life that I ever wished to be married. That I ever felt sadness for not going the traditional route. That I mourned the house and the white picket fence and the two and a half kids.”

My smile cracks a little, her sadness becoming my own.

“But I never experienced anything remotely close to what they had. I never had the rush to the office in nothing but an overcoat kind of feeling for someone, you know?”

I nod. Fuck, but do I know.

She shrugs. “I was content anyway. I almost never even thought I was missing out. But now, I can see… Now, I see all the things about living every day like you have no more left, and they make a whole lot of sense.”

I swallow hard against telling her something like it’s okay, you’ve done what you were meant to or platitudes equally as dismissive to her feelings right now. It’s in my nature to fix things, but as in this case, some things really aren’t meant to be fixed.

“What about you?” she asks quietly. “You never thought about it again…you know…after Charlotte?”

I shake my head.

“Do you still think about her?”

The question almost catches me off guard, but it’s not hard to understand why she might think I would. Just tonight, I acted in a way that suggests I’m still harboring those demons. But the truth is, none of my demons has a single thing to do with Charlotte. If anyone deserves to know what really goes on inside me, it’s Maria.

“Charlotte and I were not meant to be. I know that now, and, to be quite frank, I knew it then.”