As a twin, there was always a natural tendency to compete with one another and to stand out as an individual. From preschool and onward, Anna and I always made an effort to be different from the other. If Anna liked purple, I liked pink. If I liked Cinderella, she liked Belle. If Anna wanted a pink bike, then I wanted a blue one.
As we reached our teenage years and onto adulthood, our differences became even more pronounced. Anna always got in trouble growing up, I always followed the rules. The only time I really got in trouble was when Anna had something to do with it.
Anna was the cheerleader and the pretty one. That, of course, made me the smart one. The paradox of being twins was that even though people tried to lump you together, they also always compared you to your twin, even when they weren’t conscious of the fact.
We each had our strengths and we never held it against the other for our own weaknesses. If Anna got more attention and more dates in high school because she was prettier, that was okay with me. I took pride in my 3.9 GPA and had passed three AP exams for college credit. Besides, saying that I was less attractive than Anna was putting it mildly. It’s not like I was on the other end of the beauty spectrum or anything; I didn’t turn heads when I walked into a bar, but I like to think that I’m a relatively attractive person. It’s just when compared to Anna, she’s the “prettier” one.
We’re a quarter Korean, from our maternal grandmother, and shared the same light olive complexion. Our hair was dark brown, but Anna’s a shade lighter. Anna was more ethereal looking than me; her eyes were a unique shade of gray mixed with green and light brown. I just had plain brown. Anna had the classic, thin runway model body, whereas mine was more athletic. She always wore the latest fashion trends and I went for the more classic, girl next door look. I was preppy and Anna was a specialty shop, cool vintage clothes sort of girl. I loved reading for pleasure; Anna only read if school required it or if a book was being made into a movie. Of course, our tastes in men were different, too. She had always preferred the more artistic type and I went for the cleaner-cut professional type.
Our Venn diagram would look something like this:
Even in our effort to be our own people, we had deep empathy and loyalty to one another; we had that “special twin relationship” people always referred to. I recalled times as a child when one of us would get hurt, the other would cry alongside. If I got a lollipop from my eye doctor, I would insist on getting one for my sister as well. I preferred the pizza crust over the toppings, so she would always save her crust for me and I’d trade her a neatly stacked pile of pepperoni.
Things hadn’t changed much. If one of us had a broken heart, we would hold the other all night, as Anna did two weeks ago when I learned of Andrew’s recent engagement. I realized that Andrew actually did want to get married, he just didn’t want to marry me.
Anna was my best friend, my sister, and my other half. She was my twin and we had shared not only our mother’s womb, but nearly every single life experience together, literally, since birth.
I took a seat at the bar and looked down at my watch. It was 6:20. To offset my perpetual timeliness, Anna was always late. While she wasn’t late yet, I had every confidence that she would be. Our habit had always been to arrive thirty minutes before Happy Hour ended, which ensured we could get the cheaper drinks before we were moved into the dining area. I was starting to get worried she would be stuck with full-price cocktails. Come on, girl. I heard my phone ring and looking down at the lit screen. Anna.
I heard her voice before I could even say hello. “Jules, you’re going to kill me.”
“You’re going to cancel on me, aren’t you?” I didn’t even sound that surprised; only mildly irritated. Last minute cancelations were nothing new for us.
“But I have a really good excuse,” she countered.
Of course she did. I sighed, resigned to a celebratory evening alone. The bartender had just placed my wine in front of me, which at least softened the blow.
Anna continued arguing her case. “The Edgewater Hotel called me just now and said that they could do a tasting tonight after all. Since the wedding is in less than a month, I really want to get this out of the way.” Anna was getting married at the end of August. I was tired of hearing about it.
“Couldn’t you have called me earlier? I just waited twenty minutes for you and already ordered my drink,” I said, trying not to whine. This was so Anna.
“I’ll totally make this up to you. How about we go for brunch on Sunday somewhere?”
“Fine, that will work. I’m making you buy, though.”