Convincing You I'm Me

Chapter 57: DNA Differences

"Nothing. You just. . ." she pauses, urging me to lift my eyes up to meet her gaze. "You remind me of Rosie. That's what she used to tell me."

"Because it's what I used to tell her." I laugh.

"Right," she says. "She said that too."

I clear my throat, still smiling, despite the sadness settling in. "What else did Rosie say?"

"Rosie never said much about you," she says quietly. "Davina was the one that filled in the gaps. She never shut about you. I think she thought after you were gone, that it was her responsibility to bring us up, to teach us. She would take us shopping, buy us new clothes, because, well, Dad didn't have a clue. Bless him."

I laugh, widening my eyes. "Well, yeah."

"Davina was like a sister to us," she continues. "Rather than an Aunt. Well to me, anyway. Jade wandered down a different path. She didn't start wearing make-up until she was in college. But that was totally her choice, so I understand that now. I just pressured her a lot while we were growing up. I wanted a sister that I could relate to, that I could share interests with, but we were completely different."

"Like me and Rosie," I say. "We were different too."

"Yeah but, you both had Davina as the sister to fall back on, to ground you both. Jamie wasn't exactly an ideal candidate to talk to about female problems. And neither was Jade. Davina was all I had, and she wasn't enough."

"You wanted your twin to be your twin."

"I wanted a mother."

A lump suddenly gets caught in my throat. I lean backwards, frowning to myself. I had no idea that Jessie struggled so much, and I don't think Jason does either. She basically grew up in a male-inhabited house, and that includes Jade. Jade couldn't be a sister to her and Davina nor Rosie could fill the void of what she needed, what she truly needed. She needed someone to laugh with while watching a chick flick. She needed someone to brush her hair in the morning, to teach her how to braid. She needed someone to talk to about boys at all hours of the day, she needed someone to tell her honestly if she looked silly in an outfit. 

She needed a best friend.

"Sorry," she mumbles, taking notice of my silence. "I'm being silly."

"No," I say. "It makes sense."

"To accept who you are, I need to go back," she says. "I need to evaluate everything that has happened, because it's made me who I am. I'm who I am because I didn't know you, because you weren't there. Because you died. I am who I am because I was motherless. Jade is who she is because she was motherless."

"I don't think it would have made a difference," I say. "Whether or not I was there, whether or not I died, I believe that you both became exactly what you were meant to be."

"That's bull shit," she laughs, discarding what I said entirely. "The truth is that if you had have been here then everything would be different."

"Possibly. But, we can never know that. You can't blame my death as the reason that you and your sister aren't close."

"I'm not. . ." she bites her lip angrily, glancing at the posters again. "I'm not blaming you. You couldn't have stopped what happened. I'm not angry with you, I'm angry at whatever took you from us. I've been angry for a long time."

"Then now is the time to let it go," I say, smiling hopefully at her. "Because from where I'm sitting, your father did an award-winning job of raising you all."

She nods, pushing strands of hair behind her ears. "He did. He was the best. I just wish things could have been different."

"Things are different," I say. "The fact that I'm sat here right now talking to you about this is a miracle in itself."

"It's more than a miracle," she says, she begins to cry and a stream of massacre trails down her face. "It's magic. It must be."

I hoist myself up from the stool and I cross over to the bed, she stands unsteadily and I open my arms around her shoulders to try and shelter her from the consuming agony of her childhood. 

"What matters now is that I'm here," I whisper against her hair. "You have to let the past go."

I feel her head nod as she tightens her embrace around me. Her scent is lovely, she smells of cherries and strawberries, I've wondered for a long time what she'd smell like. What she'd feel like. It still seems like a day-dream.

"I guess we've got the rest of our lives to make up for it," she says. 

I stare over her shoulder at the photo collage, my eyes scrolling over pictures of her and her friends. She's smiling in all of them, she's happy. 

She found happiness despite my death before, I just hope she can do it again. I hope they all can.

"Yes," I agree. "The rest of our lives."