Maybe Later(66)

“Babe,” he calls again. “Please, wake up. You’re worrying me.”

It pains me to open my eyes, but when I do, I see him, handsome, worried. Why is he here?

All at once the entire day comes back to me in a flash, increasing the pounding in my head. I flinch, remembering the asshole on the scooter hitting me on the side and sending me flying a few feet.

“How’s the head?”

“It aches,” I complain. I want to cry but don’t because I know it’s going to worsen the pain.

“Who am I?”

“Jack,” I respond.

“When is your birthday?”

“September twenty-first,” I reply automatically.

“What day is it today?”

“Saturday?” I say, snuggling back into the most fantastic bed in the world.

“Em, I need to ask more questions. You had a bad concussion.”

“Purple, red, my favorite number is one because Amy took away two. What else do you need from me?”

“Who is Amy?” he asks.

“My twin sister,” I answer covering my head with the blankets.

I don’t feel like talking or even remembering my sister. Being in the hospital reminded me of her last days. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. My desperation pushed me to call Jack to pick me up.

“Wait,” I say. “What happened to the Uber I requested?”

“We canceled it,” Jack responds. “You can’t be by yourself.”

“Where am I?” I ask. This isn’t my bed, and I don’t own such comfortable sheets.

“My place,” he says. “Jared is taking care of Ramen and Sushi.”

His voice sounds dreamlike and I imagine myself thinking only of him, or is it really Jackson I’m dreaming about? I long to be far away from here, maybe on vacation, in New York.

“Let’s go to New York,” I mumble against the pillow. “My phone has the perfect weekend plan.”

I laugh and then flinch, holding my head. “Amy hated traveling. Poor Amelia, she was afraid of everything, but most of all the fear that our parents would never love her enough. She had so many phobias. The older we grew, the more they developed.”

“Where is Amy?”

A sniffle breaks the silence, and my head hurts even more. I shrink into a fetal position as I think about my sister and how much I miss her. She was taller than me but so much more fragile.

“Em, I have ibuprofen,” he offers. “It’s the one the doctor prescribed.”

“Amy died,” I say after swallowing the pill, and burst into tears.

Jack takes me in his arms.

“It was the summer after sophomore year,” I explain,

I cry as I remember the last days I spent with her, holding her hand, begging her not to give up and to stay with me.

“She left me behind.” I continue crying, not caring that my head is about to explode.

Not having her here hit me so hard today. I’m missing a part of my heart. No one will ever understand what it’s like to live without the person you came into the world with. We fought, and our relationship was terrible in the end, but she was the yang to my yin.

“What happened?”

“It was a plane crash.” I snort at the irony. “She hated flying. It was one of her biggest fears. The pilot, her fiancé, is still alive.”

Amy always tried to be like me because she swore our parents loved me more. They didn’t. They just demanded and expected more from me than her.

I let out another sob. “I couldn’t save her.”





Chapter Thirty-Four





Jack


Sunday, June 5th, 9:01 a.m.



My sleep is short and dreamless. I’m not even sure that I slept at all. I’m both tired and wired up since I drank several cups of coffee. Since I brought Emmeline home, I’ve been checking on her every two hours. The only time she woke up for more than a few minutes was when she talked about Amy. Nothing makes sense, but at the same time, I kind of get it. When she works as an assistant, she uses her sister’s name and also channels her personality to some extent.

From everything she says, Amy wasn’t anything like Emmeline—yet the woman who has been busting my balls from day one is the exact same woman sleeping beside me—pseudonym or not. I don’t understand why she’s so afraid of letting people into her life.

I approach my bedroom, holding a glass of orange juice and her medicine. She’s still sleeping, in my bed. Any other day, this would be a fantasy. Right now, I just want her to be okay.

“Em,” I whisper, setting everything on the nightstand. “How are you feeling today?”

“Like a truck ran over me,” she says with a sleepy voice. “When do you think I’ll be able to sleep for more than two hours at a time?”

“Let’s make a deal, take your medicine, come with me to the dining room for some breakfast, and afterwards you can go back to sleep. I won’t wake you up until noon,” I promise.

She glances at me and says, “You’re too perfect.”

The words catch me unexpectedly because she doesn’t say them as a compliment, her tone is laced with disapproval. It’s not something I’d ever expect from her. She’s one of the people I believe knows me best. Or at least, I thought knew me best. She calls me out on my shit every fucking day.