“”At first, when nobody knew who I was, it was terrifying. But later, when I started remembering pieces, something else happened.””
“”What?”” I asked.
“”Sarah, wait.””
I reached the door.
“”I can explain.””
“”Then you wrote them for yourself, Clara.””
I glanced back at her.
“”You had six years.””
Then I walked out.
I didn’t call Mom and Dad that night.
That was my choice. Clara had already controlled* enough* of the truth.
At home, I opened a drawer and found my two blue mugs.
I didn’t call Mom and Dad that night.
One for me, one “”spare.””
I’d been buying spares for a decade.
The next morning, I called Mom.
“”Are you sitting down?””
“”Sarah, I hate when you start like that.””
“”Please.””
One for me, one “”spare.””
Her voice shifted.
“”Okay.””
“”Clara’s alive.””
Silence.
Then, carefully, “”Sweetheart…””
“”I saw her.””
Another silence.
“”Sweetheart…””
“”She remembered the moon. She remembered the broken vase. It’s her.””
Dad joined the call.
“”What do you need from us?””
Not where, not how, just what do you need?
“”I don’t know.””
“”Then we’ll start there, sweetheart,”” he said.
“”She knew about the broken vase. It’s her.””
Two days later, I brought them to Clara.
Mom stopped just inside the apartment.
Clara stood beside the window.
Then Mom crossed the room.
“”My baby.””
Clara stiffened before falling against her.
I took them to Clara.
Dad remained behind, wiping his eyes.
“”Hey, kiddo.””
I looked away.
I loved her.
I was furious with her.
Both things fit.
After a while, Mom began speaking too quickly.
I was furious with her.
“”I still make the cherry pie you loved. Your room isn’t blue anymore, but we could change it back. And remember that song you girls used to sing?””
Clara’s hand slipped.
The mug she held struck the counter and rolled onto its side.
“”Stop.””
Mom froze.
“”And remember that song you girls used to sing?””
Clara covered her face with both hands.
“”Please, just stop.””
“”Clara?”” Mom whispered.
“”I can’t do this anymore!””
The room fell silent.
Dad stepped toward Mom, but I stayed where I was.
“”I can’t do this anymore!””
Clara looked at all three of us, breathing heavily.
“”This is exactly why I didn’t want to come back.””
Mom’s face crumpled. “”Because I mentioned pie?””
“”No, Mom. Because five minutes after seeing me, you’re already rebuilding the person I used to be.””
“”I thought you’d want something familiar.””
“”I don’t even like cherry pie anymore.””
“”This is exactly why I didn’t want to come back.””
Mom stared at her.
Then she looked at me.
“”But Sarah always loved it too. You girls liked all the same things.””
Clara let out one sharp laugh.
“”There. That.””
I felt something cold move through me.
“”You girls liked all the same things.””
“”What are you saying?””
Clara turned toward me.
“”Growing up, everything was Sarah and Clara. You got the better grade, made the team, won something, and people looked at me like I was the version that hadn’t.””
“”I never asked them to do that.””
“”I know.””
“”Growing up, everything was Sarah and Clara.””
“”Then why are you looking at me like I caused it?””
“”Because you never had to think about it.””
Her voice cracked.
“”You got to walk into a room and just be Sarah. I walked in and became the other one.””
Mom began crying.
“”I never knew you felt that way.””
“”I walked in and became the other one.””
“”Neither did I, not fully. Not until after the crash.””
Clara tightened her grip on the counter.
“”At first, when nobody knew who I was, it was terrifying. But later, when I started remembering pieces, something else happened.””
“”What?”” I asked.
“”Not until after the crash.””
“”For the first time in my life, nobody compared me to you.””
Clara looked at me through tears.
“”I found things I liked because I liked them. People met me without asking where my sister was.””
“”So when you remembered us, you stayed gone.””
“”At first, I was scared.””
“”And after that?””
“”I found things I liked because I liked them.””
Her mouth trembled.
“”After that, I chose myself.””
I stepped back.
“”You chose yourself by letting us bury you? Mourn you?””
“”I know how awful that sounds.””
“”It sounds awful because it was.””
“”After that, I chose myself.””
She nodded.
“”I know.””
Mom reached for her.
Clara pulled away.
“”I loved all of you. I did. But I was terrified that if I came back, I’d stop being Clara again.””
I looked at her.
“”I loved all of you.””
“”And you thought the only way to be yourself was to make sure I spent ten years grieving you?””
Clara wiped her face.
“”I looked you up four years ago.””
“”You found me?””
“”Yes.””
“”What did you see?””
“”You found me?””
“”Your house. Your job. Friends. You’d built a life.””
“”And that made you stay away?””
“”I was curious about you.””
“”Curious enough to search, but not call.””
She looked down.
“”No.””
“”Why?”” “”I was curious about you.””
Clara sat down on the edge of the couch.
“”Once I was stable enough to make my own decisions, nobody could force me to contact my family.””
“”But you didn’t even know who you were.””
“”Not at first. Rehabilitation gave me routines before it gave me memories. By the time I remembered enough to piece my old life together, I’d already begun creating a new one.””
“”And eventually you remembered us.””
“”But you didn’t even know who you were.””
“”Yes.””
“”So why didn’t you come home?””
Clara looked at me.
“”Because, again, for the first time, I was simply Clara.””
“”No twin questions, no comparisons, nobody saying, ‘Sarah did this,’ or ‘Sarah was better at that.’ I could figure out what I liked without wondering whether you liked it first.””
“”No twin questions.””
“”You could’ve told us that.””
“”I know.””
“”You could’ve come home, looked me in the face, and said, ‘I need my own life.'””
“”I know.””
“”Instead, you allowed me to grieve a sister who was alive.””
Her eyes filled.
“”You could’ve told us that.””
“”That’s the part I can’t defend.””
“”Good. Don’t.””
She nodded.
“”I was selfish. I wanted freedom. Then every year I remained gone made returning harder. I told myself you were okay. That coming back would only hurt everyone again.””
“”And seeing me happy online made that easier.””
“”Good. Don’t.””
Her face crumpled.
“”Yes.””
I looked away, then turned back toward her.
“”I can understand wanting to be your own person.””
Clara watched me carefully.
“”I can understand hating comparisons. I can even understand being afraid you’d lose yourself if you came back.””
