Page 63 of Dopplebanger

Tori propped her elbow on the back of the couch and leaned closer. “You were saying?”

“Smug is not a good color on you,” I said.

“Hey, I won’t even make you say that I was right. I can see it written all over your face. And don’t even try to claim it’s because you’d dated Evan and thought it was him. You’re talking to the girl who was trying toconvinceyou to have sex with your boyfriend because you didn’t feel—and I quote—the thing. If Ethan hadn’t shown up that morning for coffee, you would’ve broken up with Evan. Or Ethan as Evan. Or…” She swiped a hand through the air. “Let’s not focus on that, because it’s confusing as shit.”

“At least we agree on something.”

“But what’s important is how you feel about Ethan. It might be complicated, but it’s not confusing, and you know I’m right. I’m not saying forgive him. I’m saying maybe see what he says. Find out how good he is at groveling and give him, like, half a chance. Then decide if you forgive him.”

My mind often tortured me with snippets of our trip. Of the sparks and the kisses and opening up to each other. Of breaking into the pool and the way he’d worshiped me with his tongue.Don’t think about that.But what rose up right now—what got to me most—was that moment in the hotel shortly after I’d found out exactly who I’d spent the road trip with and the betrayal was so fresh it was shredding my insides. The moment when, in spite of being in the middle of a mess and me telling him to leave, he’d still asked how it’d gone with Paige. He’d held on to me with this combination of tenderness and fierceness, comforting me while also clinging to me like I was his lifeboat in a storm.

Then he’d said my name. As I’d told him the night of the carnival, I wasn’t sure I liked Guinevere, but when he said it… My heart swelled in my chest, filling with all things Ethan. I squeezed my eyes closed, attempted a centering breath that didn’t help, and then looked at my best friend. The girl who’d never shied away from saying things like they were, no filter or tiptoeing around my feelings. After being stabbed in the back, I admired even more how she was always likethis is who I am, and I don’t give a shit if you like it or not.

Maybe she was right. Maybe I had fallen in love. Not that I was ready to admit that yet and hearI told you so. “Even if I did decide to give him a chance… I can’t be the girl who accidentally fell for the brother of her boyfriend. Say it did actually work out, what would I tell my children and grandchildren when they asked how we fell in love?”

I added a little age and wisdom to my voice as I mimicked what that’d be like. “Oh well, you see he pretended to be his brother who was my boyfriend at the time, and then we had this amazing road trip where I felt things I’d never felt before. Oh, and he gave me the best orgasm of my life after breaking into a hotel pool.”

“I’d probably leave the orgasm thing out until they turned eighteen, but otherwise it sounds like a kickass story to me. So much more interesting than we met at a coffeeshop. Or, oh, we had mutual friends. I abhor dullness, you know.” Tori not-so-subtly nudged my phone toward me. She even brought up my contacts so that all I’d have to do to talk to Ethan was tap the tiny phone icon.

My fingers twitched with the urge to do so. I forced my palms flat against my thighs. “I can’t trust him, T. And I can’t be in a relationship where there’s no trust, no matter how tempted I am to try.” My eyes watered, unable to help themselves. “My heartcan’t take it. Not after what it already had to go through between my last relationship and what happened with Evan and Ethan.”

Just like that, Tori pushed my phone aside and grabbed my hand. “Okay. Then I won’t bring it up again. Even if your broken heart breaks mine, too.”

“It’ll heal in time.”

I could’ve used a smidge more conviction than the placating hand pat, but like I said, I loved Tori because she wouldn’t lie to me.

Maybe I’d never fully heal. Maybe I’d be the girl who was always a little in love with the funny, caring, liar-pants lawyer who’d driven me home for one of my best friend’s weddings.

But someone once told me I could take on the world if I decided to, and while he did have that gray area problem that resulted in our breakup—or was it not an official breakup since he’d never technically been my boyfriend? Anyway, regardless of the complications, I believed he’d been telling the truth about having faith in me.

I’d hold on to that, claim that it was one of those things I’d learned from a past relationship, and get over this sucky bump in the road of life.

I’d move on. Eventually, I’d even attempt another relationship. After I asked the guy if he had a twin brother, that was.

THIRTY-ONE

A week and a half into my new job, and I was finally starting to feel like I had the hang of things. Well, save the copy machine. Every time I tried to do something as simple as duplicate documents, it’d eat them or spit out a hundred versions of page one. Or it’d jam or smear black ink down everything, including my white shirt.

Yeah, the copy machine was clearly possessed by a demon.

But everything else from the compact desk in the tiny, windowless office to the stack of paperwork that’d take me approximately a month to go through but had to be done by the end of the week… All of that was exactly what I’d always pictured when I’d decided to become a lawyer.

In other words, I had everything I’d always wanted.

And it felt so damn empty. I gripped the armrest of my cushy chair, bracing myself for the destructive ping pong ball that’d beat up my insides, awakening all the regret that refused to be shoved away.

This giant piece was missing, and that piece was named Gwen.

With that, the words on the document in front of me swam together, and I tossed the file I’d been going through onto mydesk and raked a hand through my hair. Since I’d reached the end of my coffee cup a while ago, I decided to pack up and call it a day.

Gwen loved coffee. If only I had an ounce of her energy, coffee or not.

Even in court, it’d be handy to talk as fast as she could. To twist up my opposition with so many words they wouldn’t know which ones to address first.

I bit back a smile, even as more regret crept up to bind my chest. God, I missed her. I’d called her once a day for two weeks, alternating between morning, midday, and night, as if that’d make a difference. There’d even been a drunk dialing incident around midnight when I’d been feeling especially desperate, which counted as calling her twice on one of the days, although I wasn’t sure which one, so I figured it could be a freebie.

Not that it felt like a freebie. None of the calls did. Every single unanswered one drained more of my hope, until I wasn’t sure I had any left. I didn’t want to give up, but the past few days, I couldn’t bring myself to dial her number and have the call roll to voicemail where any messages I left would go to die.

---