Like it was an emergency, she bought me my first plane ticket and gave me some cash. A few days later, under the cover of darkness, she drove me to the airport. It was a transformative moment. I was suddenly completely responsible for myself and not part of a set of twins. It was like all the turmoil I’d caused was released out of a pressure valve, and I knew it was the right thing to do.

Loretta handled the fallout from my parents and brother, and I threw my first coin into the Trevi Fountain in Rome, completely addicted to this new reckless anonymity. Nobody saw a girl with a heart condition and a more electric brother. They saw me for the first time, and even better, I could walk away from anything I didn’t like.

My wish, when I threw that coin into the fountain? That Tom wasn’t too bruised by my carelessness.

I drift off now, on the couch with the quilt over my face, imagining myself walking down the carpeted jet bridge from the gate into an airplane. That’s my favorite part: walking out of real life so that everyone I love can exhale.

Except that first time I did it, I walked out a little too long. When I returned, ready to look into Tom’s eyes and be guided by what I felt, I was pulled up short by the sleek, composed girl at his side who would one day wear his beautiful ring.

And here’s the real kicker: Jamie introduced them.

* * *

“ALIVE?” THERE’S A voice above me. I wake with a snort, flip the quilt away, and open my eyes. “Ouch.” Tom has sympathy in his voice, so I must look pretty bad. He puts a takeout cup on the coffee table. Next, a takeout box.

I attempt to speak with my dead mouth. “Have I mentioned that you are the world’s best person?”

“A few times. Waffles. That’s still right, isn’t it?” Just like his cheese-lettuce lunch, my hangover food hasn’t changed. I nod and pull myself up onto my elbows. I’m glad he doesn’t know about my trip down memory lane.

“What time is it?” The coffee is the most perfect temperature and sweetness and I drink it in a series of gulps. I’m a hummingbird. “Oh my God.” I tip the last drops into my mouth. I lick the inner rim. “How was that so good?”

Does everything taste this good when delivered by his hands? Megan, you lucky bitch. He could make a cold toast crust succulent, I swear. He takes the lid off his own coffee, pours in a bunch of sugar sachets, and gives it to me. Such charity. Such goodness.

And I tore it up. I tore it all up.

“Don’t cry, they’re just waffles,” he says, smiling. “It’s heading toward lunchtime. I’ve got stuff to show you before we call Jamie.” His phone begins ringing. “Speak of the devil.”

I take the ringing phone and hit speakerphone. Even with tears in my eyes and a regret-thickened throat, I can still say: “Hello, you’ve reached the micro-penis counseling service.”

There’s silence on the other end, then a deep sigh that I’d know anywhere. I heard it before I was born, probably. Tom grins, teeth white, and it’s probably a better feeling than a stadium of people laughing. He’s 2 percent mine. It’s official.

Jamie speaks. “Hilarious. She’s just hilarious.”

“I thought so,” Tom replies.

I stay in character. “How small is your penis, sir?”

“Don’t encourage her,” Jamie orders as Tom breaks and begins laughing. “Darcy, where’s your phone?”

“Women’s bathroom at Sully’s. Second stall from the end.”

“Well, get a new one, dimwit.”

“I’ve got an old one in my car you can have.” Tom’s all about solutions, especially when his boss Jamie is within earshot.

“No, I think I like things better this way,” I tell him. Coffee, waffles, Tom, Patty leaning against my shin, and my brother is calling me dimwit again? Tom’s fixed everything.

Jamie says, “So, let me guess. She’s so hungover she’s a ghost.”

“Ah, well …,” Tom says, because he doesn’t have a lie mode.

I’ve got lie mode on autopilot. “I’ve just gotten back from a walk.”

My brother just laughs in response, for a little too long. “Sure. Are you going to stay out of Tom’s way while he gets started on the house?”

“I’m sure I’ll be gone before he even opens his toolbox, don’t worry.”

“That’d be right,” Jamie says, sarcasm dripping. “Skip out before anything hard. Poor Tom’s going to have to do everything himself.”

“Poor Tom is here to do a job and get paid,” Tom reminds Jamie.

I open the box lid and there are two perfect waffles. “Hey, I have to pack the house. That’s plenty hard.” I drown them in syrup and begin breaking them apart with my hands. I feed Patty a tiny piece and myself a huge piece.

“You’ll flirt Tom into doing it.”

“I will not,” I snap, mouth full, licking my fingers. Above me, Tom’s face is partway between pained and amused.

“You will. You’re going to be worse than ever now.” Jamie scoffs. “No doubt your sympathy was completely unconvincing.”

“I’ll be worse why? What does he mean?” I look up at Tom. He shrugs and interrupts our petty flow.

“We’ve got a lot to do between now and next Monday when the crew arrives. Darce needs to pack, and I want you both to agree on the style we’re doing.”

“Modern,” Jamie says at the exact same moment as I say, “Vintage.”

Tom groans and plops down heavily on the end of the couch. I move my legs just in time. He pinches his hand across his eyes. “Goodbye, cruel world.”

“It’s going to be fine,” I assure him through my bite of waffle. “Don’t you worry.” I tear off a chunk and feed it into his mouth.

“Easy for you to say,” Jamie says. “You’re going to be walking around in a random country licking an ice-cream cone while Tom and I do all the hard work. What’s next on your personal reinvention journey, by the way? You’ve done the piercing and the tough haircut. It’s gotta be a tattoo next.”

I step over that, because Tom’s looking for the piercing. Nose? Ear? Eyebrow? Nope. Now he’s averting his eyes, and his mind is running through the remaining possibilities.

I give the phone a glare. “So your hard work will consist of sitting on your ass in your office and occasionally answering Tom’s calls and emails? You’ll pick out a faucet or some tiles online? That’s hard work?”

“It’s more than you’ll do,” Jamie hisses back. Something inside me lights up; I want to retort, like old times, Challenge accepted! But my hungover brain scratches around and comes up empty. Could I pack the house super-fast?

“It goes without saying that I’m doing the hard work, and you’re paying me to do it,” Tom interjects, ever the calm referee. “Does five percent of the sale price work for you, Darce?”

“Math isn’t her strong point,” Jamie says cruelly, at the same time as I say, “Sure.”

“You don’t even know how much that will be,” Tom prompts, unwillingly agreeing with Jamie. “Do you know what the current market is in this area?”