Page 44 of Someone Just Like You

He grinned. “Whenever you are.”

I mumbled, “Here goes nothing” under my breath, opened the door, and gasped in delight. The dining room was perfect. The fireplace was lit, the cascading flower bouquets to mimic both couples’ eighties weddings were vibrant and gorgeous, and the chandeliers were set to the optimal meeting place between so-dark-the-senior-citizens-would-complain and so-bright-the-senior-citizens-would-complain. “Happy Anniversary” Mylar balloons hung from the high ceiling, and photos of both couples and their children and grandchildren had been set up around the periphery. There were even two decorative boards—one for each family—for guests to sign. It was very “Sweet Sixteen.”

“Molly!”

“Nani!” A moment later I was swept up in my grandma’s plump but strong arms, inhaling her signature perfume, and squeezing her tight.

When toddler Michelle had first called our maternal grandmother “Nana Nina,” Dad said it sounded too much like “Nanu nanu” from the seventies television sitcomMork & Mindy.Instead, they’d combined the grandmother nickname, Nana, with her first name, Nina, to form “Nani.”

She disengaged from our embrace and grabbed onto my hands. “Such a shayna punim.”

I did a twirl, then turned to Timothy. “My grandmother said I had a pretty face in Yiddish.”

His dark eyes did a circle of my face. “I have to agree with her.”

“Thank you,” I said, patting his arm. “Nani, meet Timothy.”

She dropped my hands to shake his before appraising him without a hint of subtlety, the way only grandparents could get away with. “Handsome boy.”

I beamed. “Agreed!”

“Thank you,” Timothy said.

“Looks just like Jude.”

My breath hitched. “W-what?”

Just then her sister, Great-Aunt Arlene, came over and whisper-yelled, “There’s more pictures of the Stark couple than Stacey and David!”

As a bellow of laughter filled the room, I located the source—Jude. Of course he’d heard. We locked eyes and he mouthed “Aunt Arlene” with a shrug.

I raised my palms in apology before appraising him and his date in a way I hoped was less obvious than Nani’s. Jude had shaved for the occasion—I guess he’d received the same memo as Timothy—and was wearing black dress pants and a dark purple button-down shirt. His date was the same brunette and blue-eyed woman from Hillstone. Now that she was standing, I could see she was about my height with a similar slender build. Like me, she wore a sleeveless knee-length patterned dress.

I turned back to Nani. “I’m sorry I haven’t called in a while.” Between work and getting sick, I’d been a negligent granddaughter. It was unacceptable. She was the only grandparent I had left.

“That’s okay, my sweet. I’m sure you have your hands full.” She glanced between me and Timothy and winked. “I remember it well.” Even as her blue eyes twinkled, a shadow crossed her lined but still beautiful face.

My heart slowed. She’d been married for sixty years. How did one go on after such a significant loss? “How about I come visit you in Riverdale next week? We can watch reruns ofMary Tyler MooreandRhodaon Hulu.” I doubted my company would fill the hole left by Papi’s death last year, but it was the least I could do.

“I would love that.” She planted a kiss on my cheek, surely leaving a pink lip-shaped mark behind, and whispered, “Enjoy your date.”

As she joined her sister, I spotted one of mine, Michelle, making her way toward me, her husband, Patrick, at her side.

“I just molested a strange woman thinking it was you from behind,” Michelle said.

“Because molestingmewould have been normal?” I asked.

She scoffed. “I swiped her ass. BFD. But it was Jude’s date. She could be your twin.”

I clenched my jaw. “She looks nothing like me. Why do people keep saying that?” I realized I was whining and flicked an invisible piece of lint off my dress.

Patrick said, “She resembles all three of you. All five of you, actually.” He turned to Timothy, whom he hadn’t technically met yet. “The entire family looks perversely similar, like they were cloned over and over again. And then there’s me. Like a Black polka dot among a sea of white blue-eyed wonder quintuplets.”

Patrick was right. While growing up, we elicited looks whenever we went out as a family, all of us with fair skin, dark brown hair, and blue eyes. My dad said it was because we were head-turningly attractive. I suspected it was because we looked like freakish multigenerational replicas.

“I only married you to end the cycle.” Michelle jutted her hip against his, then threw her hand against her mouth. “Maybe Charley’s our secret bastard sister from another mother. Remind me to ask Dad later.”

“Because asking him about an illegitimate daughter at his thirty-fifth wedding anniversary party wouldn’t be weird at all.” I shrugged her off, wishing I could unhear her comments about my alleged resemblance to Charley as easily, and snuck in belated introductions to Timothy just in time to be attacked by my niece.

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