Page 6 of The Twins

Seril rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue, “Someone smack her—Tovah, not you!”

Tovah’s hand stops mid-air, poised to carry out Seril’s wishes. “Why do you insist on denying me joy?”

Seril ignores her. “Any questions?” She holds her hand up without breaking eye contact with me. “Accept it, Bailey, move on. Vandy?”

“Uh, yeah, lots of questions, but my brain is rebooting at the moment.” Seril slides a packet to me.

“Review that. Write down your questions, concerns, hard limits, and we’ll talk again in a week.” And business is concluded for the time being. I sit, eat, and listen. They are a close-knit group. They joke around, they debate, at one point Sophie throws a fork at Tovah, but they love and respect one another. It’s unbelievable, unless you witness it for yourself. Toward the end of the meal, Bailey catches my eye and grins with a shrug. I return the gesture, my mind in constant motion going over everything Seril has presented.

I shake hands, receive a few hugs, and walk out of the family compound on shaky legs. Tovah escorts me outside, opening the door to the SUV for me. She leans against the vehicle with a smirk. She’s beautiful and dangerous.

“I’m not a jealous person, Vandy, but I gotta say. I’m pissed my brother got to you first.”

“Your brother?” I shake my head trying to figure out what she’s talking about.

“Tevye.” I gasp in surprise. “We’re twins.” She chuckles at my slack-jawed reaction. Twins? I run my gaze up and down Tovah and it snaps into place. Once you know to look for it, it’s easy to see they are identical. Two sides of a coin. When I look at her face, I’m stunned at the heat in her eyes, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “Been a while since I’ve eaten Filipino.” I gulp, my face heating. She isn’t talking about our cuisine. My God, she’s hitting on me! “Yeah, real shame he found you first.”

“We’ve met twice...did he talk about me?” I lean in close, my voice just above a whisper. My inconvenient hopes are dashed when she shakes her head in the negative.

“Fuck no. Fucker doesn’t talk. Call it a twin thing, or a special ability gifted to me by the dark prince.” Closing the distance between us, she leans into the backseat of the SUV and ghosts her lips across my cheek to whisper in my ear, “Or Seril has a big fucking mouth. See you soon, Vandy.”

She shuts the door and smacks her hand on the top. I scramble to buckle as the SUV begins moving away from the estate. I watch it fade from the back window, then turn around and face forward. I open my mouth to ask the driver except he’s loyal to them and won’t give me any useful information. So, I pull out my phone. I can’t wait to learn about Seril and the others organically, I need to know who I’m dealing with now.

My stomach flips as my fingers fly across my screen. Life is about to change, good or bad, I don’t know. Will I be the same once it’s all said and done?

“THE MOB?!?”

Tevye 5.

“We’re gonna get you a snack, then we’ll head to the doctor.” Arlo grunts in my arms, and my lips twitch with amusement. He sounds like me sometimes and while at the beginning it would freak me out, now…let’s just say that Ruthie is a good teacher. I’m just a shitty student. But we’re trying and she assures me that’s the most important thing.

Zeppo finds our “lessons” endlessly entertaining, but he’s kept his mouth shut and I’m grateful. I’m pretty sure sweet Ruth threatened to cut him off if he did. I’m already getting enough side-eye from my parents and Tovah, I’m not ready for the rest of the family to harass me as I navigate fatherhoodandemotions. Emoting is exhausting.

And so are children. I took Arlo to a park earlier this week. By myself. It was an exercise in patience, but I think Arlo had a good time. I chased after him all over the playground, pushed him in the swing, and held him up as he “hung” from the monkey bars. A few mothers or nannies, I don’t know which, were bold with their interest. Don’t know what it is about single fathers that get them wet and ready, but any other time in my life, I might have taken them up on their explicit offers. Instead, I continued to play with Arlo, listening to him laugh, then took him home without collecting any numbers.

Tovah nearly had a stroke when I told her. She said and I quote, “Crotch goblin or not, easy pussy is easy pussy.” We nearly had a fist fight when she tried to pull the waistband of my joggers from my body to check I still owned a dick. Once we retreated to our respective corners, she told me, “It’s about damn time. If I don’t have to babysit you and Arlo, I can getmydick wet. Which park were you at? I’m in the mood for a little Mommy and me time.”

My parents were more subtle with their surprise. I think they’re afraid to call attention to my increased involvement with my own son. And that’s fair. Their doubt is warranted. I’ve been half-assing it since he landed on our doorstep. I’m not sure how to explain it to them, or even myself, but I want to whole-ass parenting Arlo.

If only never to see the disappointment in my father’s…or Vandy’s eyes.

I skipped group this week. I just couldn’t faceher. Not yet. I felt vulnerable, exposed, cornered like a wild animal. Despite the progress Ruthie claims I’m making, Seril is channeling her inner Shakespeare, her eyes demanding a plague upon my house. Every meal, even passing in the hall…the Sarai Ima is displeased with me. Tough shit. She’s married to Moshe; she’ll have to get used to being displeased.

Arlo wraps a skinny arm around my neck; he places his other hand on my cheek and turns my face toward his. Our eyes meet and my feet stop. Middle of the hallway, I’m frozen. We have the same gray-blue eyes. He leans forward and presses his nose to mine with a giggle. Fucking hell.

I hate feelings. I’m willing to learn and dive a little deeper into them, but it doesn’t mean I like them or how the sound of his laughter is like carbonation in my veins.

I force my feet to start moving again, stomping my way through the compound. Passing by Aunt Esther’s office, which is now Seril’s as the current Sarai Ima of the Kosher Nostra, the sounds of conversation slow my movements, a laugh that has a similar effect to Arlo’s diverting us to the closed door.

I knock twice, then open the door before Seril can acknowledge me. She glares at me, but I ignore her, my attention caught by a surprised Vandy. I smirk when her light brown skin, indicative of her mixed heritage, slowly blushes. Our eyes hold for several beats before Seril clears her throat and totally ruins the moment. The moment is over, and Vandy’s attention switches to the squirming toddler in my arms making his presence known. I return Seril’s glare with one of my own. Vandy, however, ignores both of us and stands with a broad grin aimed at my son.

“Is this Arlo?” I grunt in the affirmative. “What a handsome little guy.” She steps closer to us, her fingers crooked in front of her. “Hello, Arlo, I’m Vandy. Are you ticklish?” He gives her a slobbery smile, throwing his head back with a howl when she starts tickling his stomach and under his arms. I’m barely able to keep a hold of him as he squirms to avoid her hands and lean into them at the same time. When she stops, running a hand down his back, he holds his arms out to her, grunting. “Like father, like son,” she murmurs, finally meeting my eyes again. She silently asks permission to hold him, I’m irritatingly powerless to refuse her anything, including holding Arlo. He cuddles right into her, laying his head on her shoulder, twirling a chunk of her long reddish-brown hair.

I think I’m jealous of my son.

I make the mistake of glancing at Seril, a scowl furrowing my brow at the smug smirk she flashes my way.

“I’m sorry. I probably should have asked before taking him—”

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