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Chapter Twenty-Five

On my way to Mother's quarters, all cleaned up and in my Valentino dress, I cross paths with a few family members, only one of whom wishes me a happy birthday. When I enter the master bedroom, I'm surprised to see how many people are there. The clothing racks are also unexpected, and indicate there's a stylist present, with loaned dresses and accessories.

I'm not sure where to start, a little disoriented by the swarming activity. Vivienne comes out of her massive dressing room, wrapped in a silk gown and with her hair already done.

"I'm just done with hair, so you can start with that," she instructs. Then she changes her mind. "Actually, see with the stylist first. Your hair will depend on the dress you pick."

"I already have a dress," I protest, looking down at it.

Mother disapprovingly glares at the Valentino. "That won't do. Ask the stylist."

She doesn't wait for a reply and leaves me with my jaw hanging to sit on the makeup artist's chair. "Hello, Miss Kensington," a woman says to my right. "I'm the stylist. All of this rack has been picked for you," she explains.

It's just a weekend, I tell myself. Forty-something hours, and then I'm back in the city. Back to Jake.

I try on the first dress, and while the zipper closes, it's way too tight. A second dress knows the same fate, and by the third, the stylist is mortified. "I am so sorry, Miss Kensington. Your mother told me you were a size six, so I planned accordingly."

I glare at the back of Vivienne's perfectly styled head. "Well, I was a size six in high school ten years ago. Now I'm a size eight."

Vicky was a size six as well. Is this my mother's cruel way of reminding me that the memory of my sister will forever be better than whatever I might become?

"I may have a couple of dresses that will work great with your lovely shape," the stylist explains. "Otherwise, your green dress was gorgeous, and we could accessorize it."

"Let's try on your dresses, then we'll assess."

Eventually, we settle on a beautiful black Alexander McQueen that fits me well, except at the chest, where my breasts are squished together and up. It makes the cleavage a little too intense, which might not be appropriate given the occasion. But two can play my mother's game, so I choose it.

I head to the hair stylist before Vivienne can see the dress, and then come out with perfect waves cascading down and spilling to the front, over my left shoulder, with Swarovski pins that secure the hair above my right ear to reveal the diamond chandelier earring I'm wearing there.

Mother is gone when it's my turn to get my makeup done, so I ask for smokey eyes and red lips—the furthest thing from innocence I can think of. As selfish as it might be, I don't want everyone to look at me tonight and see Victoria. Ever since meeting Jake, I've felt seen and worthy. Tonight, I want to be more than the remaining half of a twin set.

I want to be my own person.

By the time Mother's team is done with me, I feel incredibly sexy. I'm pretty sure I am, so I snap a few pictures and send the best one to Jake, then another one to Hana.

I'm still sad my best friend can't make it tonight because she's the only person I like who was invited. But she's visiting her fiancé's family with their toddler all the way down in Orlando. Honestly, she'll have a better time there than here.

Because I can't have my phone with me, I take a detour to my room and leave it there. Then, I reluctantly make my way to the vast entry hall, where a few guests are already arriving.

Somehow, I managed to avoid Father the whole afternoon, so I'm seeing him for the first time as I join them by the door.

Gerard Kensington has been in a rush his entire life. Or it seems like it, at least. The man barely made any time for Vicky and me when we were growing up under his roof, too absorbed by his work, meetings, and travels. He also never hid that Gerry was his favorite child, the perfect son who can do no wrong. As long as we came home with good grades and didn't make waves, he saw no point in getting involved in our education. And with Vivienne and her hand of steel in charge, we didn't need discipline from anyone else. I've always been fine with it because I don't need another parent meddling in my life.

"Good evening, Father," I tell him with a nod.

"Evening, Genevieve."

Gerry is on the other side of him, wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo, and we give each other a nod. When I settle next to Vivienne, I can feel her eyes on me, and without even looking at her, I know she's fuming. I'm usually a lot better at complying and doing whatever she needs from me, but today, I can't be bothered to fake it. "What are you wearing?" she asks, barely containing her annoyance.

"McQueen. Isn't it beautiful? I really like it, especially the neckline."

"You need to change."

"I can't. The hair was done for it," I counter, meeting her glare.

Someone new arrives, saving me from whatever she's about to say. After a moment by the main door, all four of us migrate to the ballroom, where the guests have been converging. Most are unknown faces, very few are acquaintances, and none are friends.

The bar offers a variety of overpriced alcohol and fancy cocktails, and before Mother can catch me, I order myself a lemon drop martini. I haven't been to one of these events in almost a year, and I can safely say that I still hate it. Even when it's to save the environment, I despise this exhibition of wealth, the vain conversations, the networking… But on an evening like today, to celebrate my dead twin?

I abhor it.

At some point, my brain dissociates, and everything goes on autopilot. I sit, eat, drink, talk, and laugh. But I'm not there anymore. I feel empty, devoid of human emotion. This entire "commemoration" is a painful reminder I don't need. Victoria, the best twin, isn't around to do all the good she always planned on doing. And I, the bad twin, can never live up to the promise of her bright future. No matter how hard I try, I never will. This past decade is proof of it.

When Mother tells me to stand, I comply like a puppet. I follow her, Gerry, and Father to the stage, where a microphone awaits. With everyone's eyes on us, I regret choosing this dress because I know what they're all thinking. Victoria would have been a size six and fit it better. She would have picked something less tacky. She would have been the perfect image of the Kensington's legacy.

I really am a stain in this picture-perfect family—a failure among success.

Father talks, his words a blended litany of self-pitying declarations, retellings of moments he remembers wrong, truths that are only his and Mother's—not mine and Vicky's. His sentences mourn the loss of his precious daughter ten years ago, but his throat isn't tight, his hands aren't trembling, and his eyes are dry.

They didn't deserve her. Victoria was precious, yes. She was my other half, the best sister in the world, the sweetest person to have ever lived. But they barely knew her because they couldn't be bothered to care for us, other than analyzing report cards, disciplining us when we weren't perfect, and dressing us up for the family's Holiday pictures.

It's Mother's turn to speak now, and she's a little more affected than Father was. Tears glimmer in her eyes but never spill over. I don't know how she does it, but it's a skill she's mastered with time to make sure her makeup doesn't get ruined. She too retells an account of Vicky that I remember differently, painting the image of this impossibly perfect teenager who never did anything wrong.

But she was right there with me, smoking that joint we found in a guest room after our uncle's visit. We were together when we first snuck out of the house and walked two miles up the beach in the middle of the night to attend a bonfire. It was she who convinced me to leave the hotel undetected in the middle of the night during our sophomore-year trip to Paris. I can still remember how we walked the streets the entire night, watched the Eiffel Tower's twinkling lights, and returned exhausted but fulfilled, just in time for breakfast.

She was perfect, yes, but not for the reasons my parents think.

Gerry didn't spend enough time with us to truly know her either, but he shares a few anecdotes about his sometimes-mischievous baby sisters, and it rings truer than what our parents said. Because I wasn't given notes or asked to prepare a speech, I know I won't be expected to speak as well. It should hurt, but it doesn't. I'm not sure I'd manage to say anything anyway.

When both Vivienne and Gerard share the microphone, I distractedly listen, curious to hear what other false truths they will utter about Vicky.

"This is why," Father says, "to commemorate the ten-year anniversary of our cherished daughter's passing, we are inaugurating the Victoria Kensington Foundation."

My jaw slacks open, my eyebrows knitting together with surprise. Behind them, two people come to pull on the fabric that covers a massive panel. Before I can see what's on it, my attention is grabbed by Mother, who speaks to the assembly.

"This foundation will support individuals affected by car accidents and promote road safety. It will aim to provide financial assistance, emotional support, and rehabilitation services to accident survivors, helping them rebuild their lives and regain independence. Our girl might not have survived her fatal crash, but in her honor, the Victoria Kensington Foundation will be the road to recovery for many."

With all the worthy causes she fought for during her brief life, and knowing all the injustices she wanted to defend once she grew up, they decided to center this around her death? To make the worst day of her life the one thing she would forever be remembered for? How conceited can someone be?!

People applaud, some stand up, and all I can do is try to remember how to breathe. But it's all over when my eyes fall on the panel behind them. I'm going to be sick. The acrid taste of bile gathers in the back of my throat, and the realization that I might vomit in front of those people hits me. This can't be happening.

A deer. They chose a deer to be the foundation's emblem. The very animal that sent Victoria crashing into a telephone pole. Do they not realize how wrong that is?

Since no one's paying attention to me, I stumble down the three steps while my parents announce that the foundation will gladly accept donations tonight. I hastily walk toward the exit, nearly colliding with a waiter and his tray full of champagne flutes.

My feet take me to safety, to the bedrooms, while my brain scrambles to make sense of everything that just happened. When I open the door, shock strikes me.

This isn't my room.

It's Victoria's.

Contrary to mine, my twin's room is the perfect diorama of her on the day we turned seventeen, an untouched time capsule, a still that'll never move again. The curtains are open, and the moon's glow gives it an ethereal appearance, like all this might disappear if I switch on the lights. But I can see it all: the Taylor Swift poster over her bed, the fairy lights she put around her vanity table, and the Polaroid board she'll never fill out. On the bed, there's even Sir Spotty, the plush ladybug she got when we turned five. Her clever little brain decided that since not all ladybugs were ladies, hers would be a gentleman.

My chest hurts like there's a bag of sand that weighs a ton settled on it. This tight dress is smothering me and not leaving enough room for all the emotions wrecking me. Ten years have passed, but I still would give anything to hold her again, to hear her pearly laugh, to inhale her scent.

Feeling like I might crumble if I don't, I close the door behind me and wobble to the bed to lie on it. Sir Spotty ends up in my embrace as I pull myself into a fetal position, fighting against my uncooperative lungs to breathe, forcing them to fill. Ten years of guilt are crushing me, and I don't know how to stop it.

"I miss you, Vicky," I whisper. "I'm so sorry. It should have been me."

I'm still not breathing correctly when the door cracks open, the warm light of the hallway spilling in. Because I cannot let Mother find me like this, I let go of the plush and sit up.

"Genny?" The feminine voice isn't Vivienne's, and the silhouette is too tall. Also, no one's called me that in years. "I couldn't find you in your room, so I figured you were here. Are you alright?"

The newcomer flicks the light on, and I can see her face now. It only takes me half a second to recognize her, even though we haven't seen each other since she finished high school a year before me. To me, she was an acquaintance, a familiar face in the hallways, but to Vicky, she was more.

"Penelope?"

She confirms it with a smile. "Hi."

Vicky had the biggest crush on her. I still remember how she used to rush to my room to tell me about all the little things that happened between them. Our parents were never open-minded, so Victoria kept it a secret. She lived in fear that they might figure out that she preferred women because they would have made her life hell for it.

"Hey, hi," I say, standing from the bed and walking up to her. "It's so good to see a friendly face."

"Sorry I didn't come and talk to you down there."

"It's alright. I was so out of it I didn't even see you." I give her a quick hug, genuinely happy to see her.

When we release each other, she says, "I think your mom invited everyone who was at the funeral. And then some."

"Looks like it, yeah. You're probably the only person Vicky would have wanted here."

"Your sister would have hated it," Penelope says with a wince. "Even that foundation. She always preferred animals to humans."

I'm surprised to see how well she knew my twin. They were both on the cheerleading squad and had a couple of school projects together, but I never realized they were close enough to know such details about one another.

"How have you been?" I ask.

"Good. Great, actually. The small business I started is booming. I'm married," she proudly explains, showing me her wedding and engagement rings. "And my wife and I are looking to adopt, so it's all perfect."

"I'm so glad to hear that."

"And you," Penelope asks, "how have you been doing?"

"Uh, good. Surviving."

"Aren't we all?" she laughs.

"I actually got dumped a few months ago," I confess. "But that's okay because I've been having the time of my life since."

"Have you met someone new?"

Just like that, I feel like a gossipy teenager again. "Actually, I have. It's been fantastic, even if we're not anything serious."

"My wife and I weren't anything serious either," she explains with a wink.

"Oh no, it's not like that, I promise. I'm too busy for that, and Jake isn't the kind to settle down."

"Well, flings can also be fun in their own way. But with the way you're blushing just talking about him, I'd say you have a solid crush on that man."

"I have a cursed complexion, don't I? Vicky was the same, so she must have blushed all the time around you." My blunt admission, which stems from God-knows-where, surprises her as much as it does me. "Oh God, I'm so sorry. That is not something I should have said."

"No, it's fine. I knew she had a crush on me. And I had one on her."

"I noticed." The following moment is a little awkward, so I look around to find another topic. When my eyes land on the nightstand, something clicks. "Would you—I'm so sorry, but would you help me elucidate a mystery that's been in the back of my head for a decade?"

"Uh, yes, sure."

A little shaky, I go to the nightstand and take Vicky's diary out of its drawer. It's her very last one, and the unfinished words inked in it have been driving me mad with curiosity ever since I read them. I return to Penelope with it, seeking the last written page.

"So, Victoria had this diary, and the night she… the night it happened, she was writing an entry. It's unfinished, but I thought you might know something about it because she mentioned you."

"She did?" Pen asks, both troubled and sentimental.

"Yes. But under a code name because our mother used to sneak in and read our journals. I stopped writing in mine because of it, but Vicky used a different approach." I finally find the page, so I show it to her. "You were Odysseus."

Pen smiles at that, and then her eyes scan the delicate cursive letters my sister wrote on the pinkish page ten long years ago. I don't even need to read it to know exactly what's written on it.

Dear diary,

Today is my birthday, and it has been the best one of my life. I haven't written in a few days, but it's because so much has been happening. First of all, Mother and Father agreed to let Genny and I choose the destination for our next family vacation as one of our birthday gifts. I really want to go to Japan in the spring, to see the cherry blossoms. I'm sure I can convince my sister to agree to it. But that isn't the best gift I received this year. On Friday, Odysseus asked me to meet under the football field's bleachers before 6th period. I really didn't know what to expect, but—

And the words stop there, the continuation of Vicky's story forever lost. I'm full of hope when I look up at Penelope. Her eyes are glassy, her trembling hand covering her mouth.

"What happened under the bleachers?" I ask softly. Penny's gaze meets mine, and just like Victoria that day, I don't know what to expect. "Our parents barely did anything for us that year, so I know they weren't the reason why it was the best birthday of her life," I explain.

Penelope shakes her head, which gives me hope that she knows exactly what Vicky was talking about. "I knew it was her birthday that weekend. And I was way into those string bracelets I used to make. So I made one just for her and gave it to her. She asked if it was a friendship bracelet," she recalls, smiling. "I told her it could be if she wanted, but it could also be a relationship bracelet. I finally confessed that I wished to be more than her friend if she was okay with that. Then I kissed her, and she kissed me back."

My heart skips a beat and relocates to the back of my throat. Ever since her death, I've been convinced that Vicky never got to kiss someone she genuinely liked—a girl rather than a boy because it was expected of her. I remember those long conversations we had all the time, where I pushed her to embrace her nature and stop trying to conform to a norm she would never be happy with. Knowing she and Pen actually shared this moment changes everything.

"It was just supposed to be a peck," Penelope continues. "But I think we liked each other more than we ever realized because we spent the entire period making out. We agreed to keep it a secret at first, but we were officially a couple. Your sister was my first real girlfriend," Pen discloses with fondness. "Then, the next day, Saturday, we spent the entire afternoon together, doing it again."

"I remember. She left because she had to meet with her study group at the library," I say, surprised.

"Well, I was the study group, and the library was my bedroom."

"Did you two…?"

Pen shakes her head. "It didn't go that far. We did say ‘I love you' to one another, though. Which sounds so silly now because it was so early, but we were teenagers with our own understanding of love."

Penelope looks around the room, and I can see in her eyes that she was genuinely fond of my twin. When she spots something on the desk, I look in that direction while she approaches it. There's a cardboard box that looks out of place, which contains Vicky's belongings from the day of the accident. Pen picks up something small and colorful that's sitting on top.

"This is the bracelet I made for her," she explains, looking at it like she's seeing a ghost.

"Really? I remember seeing her with it, but since she only had it for a couple of days, Mother figured it wasn't sentimental, so she wasn't buried with it. I'm so sorry, Penny. Had we known—"

"No, it's fine. It was a secret, no one could have guessed."

I reach for her to gently touch her shoulder. "Do you want to have it?" I offer.

"Could I?"

"Yeah, of course. It holds more value for you than it does for any of us, Pen. You deserve to have it."

Her eyes are watery when she nods. "Even though we barely dated, your sister's death really shook me, you know? It took me two years to finally take the leap and ask her out and then two days to lose her. I think we all have this idea that we'll live forever when we're that age, so that wrecked me."

"I know, yes. I became non-verbal for an entire week, and then it took months for me to return to a semblance of normalcy."

"I can't imagine what it's like losing a twin."

"Like losing half of yourself."

Pen offers me a small, compassionate smile and then looks at the bracelet again. "Do you really not mind?"

"Not at all. She would have wanted you to have it."

Penelope nods, wipes away a stray tear from her cheek, and then moves to take me in a warm embrace. "Thank you, Genny."

We hug for another few moments, and then she pulls away. "I should go back to my wife," she says. "Thank you so much for the bracelet."

"And thank you for the answers. Knowing she was loved and in love when she died changes everything."

She gives me a small nod. "Let's not wait another decade to meet again, okay?"

"Yes, I would love that, Pen."

Penelope hugs me one last time and salutes me with a smile before heading out into the hallway. After a few seconds of confused uncertainty, I set the diary back in its place and walk up to the Polaroid board. For the first time since she died, this room feels different. I learned something new, even though I was sure there wasn't anything I didn't know about my sister.

In the middle of the photos, I see the one we took in Paris during our illegal outing. I unpin it from there to look at it closer. Despite being identical copies, we were so different in some aspects. She was much more reasonable and prudent—the quiet one. But she was always ready to go on an adventure if it was with me, which I pushed her to do quite a few times.

The one time that mattered the most though, she didn't. And I'll forever regret not listening to her words of caution.

With the picture still in my hand, I go out into the corridor. One last look at the room, one last smile at Sir Spotty, and I turn off the light and close the door. I'm in my own bedroom soon after.

I don't want to be here anymore. I never wanted to be here in the first place. But now that my parents did what they did, I can't possibly spend the weekend here, in a house of lies where I'm the only one who really knew Victoria. I don't think I can last two days of smiling and biting back the truth or letting my parents treat me however they want because I robbed them of their favorite daughter.

Although I grew up here, it hasn't been my home since the moment Vicky stopped living in it. Following Penny's revelations, I need to be somewhere I feel cared for and valued.

A couple of knocks on the door pull me out of my thoughts. Before I can invite in whoever is outside, it opens, and Gerry enters. He looks uneasy, and I expect him to reprimand me for my hasty exit. But I realize I'm wrong when he gives me a compassionate look.

"I tried telling them it wasn't a good idea," he explains with a grimace.

"We shouldn't even have to, Ger. They should have realized that on their own."

"You know how they are. Mother has been working on it for months with her team of advisors. They did polls and everything, and they decided to go with this."

"So they can give themselves this flattering image of mourning parents who survive their child and look adversity in the eye to turn it into something for the greater good?"

"Exactly."

"Then this is about them, not about Vicky. There's a hundred things they could have done for her. Like opening shelters for dogs. With how much she begged and begged them to let us have one, it would have been fair."

"I don't know what to tell you, Genny. They are doing it, and there's nothing we can do to stop it from happening now."

I press my lips together in discontentment. He's right. It's too late now. "Well then, if that's the route they want to take, I won't stay here and act all supportive of their decision. It's above my strength."

"You want to leave?"

"I can't stay, Ger. I'll go insane."

He looks around for a moment while pondering. "I'll tell them you had a work emergency, then. I'm sure they'll understand."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I know you and Vicky had something very special. I loved our sister, but for you two, it was beyond that. So I understand if you can't stomach this mess."

In three steps, I'm hugging his tux-clad frame. "Thanks, Gerry."

"Consider this my birthday present, bug. Oh, and Malory and I also got you this. I didn't get to hand it to you earlier," he says, pulling away to take a small velvet box out of his pocket.

When I open it, the two beautiful and huge diamond studs inside catch the light, glimmering on the black velvet. "Wow, Ger, it's—They are beautiful."

"You can thank my wonderful wife for them."

"Let's have dinner together soon so I can do it properly, then."

"Great idea. Now, the fireworks are going off in ten minutes, so you should use the distraction to sneak out when everyone's on the beach."

"Fireworks?" I echo, a little stunned.

He shrugs, aware as much as I am that this is ridiculous. I hug him once more, we exchange a few more words, and then he's out. As soon as I'm alone, my hands fly to the zipper hidden under my armpit, and I pull it down my side to remove the McQueen. Time to pack everything again and leave. If Mother or Father has something to say about it, they can come say it in person, in the city.

I'm done with this farce.

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