Convincing You I'm Me

Chapter 58: The Question

"Does she like coffee?" Jamie asks. "Or we have tea, or I could make a cappuccino. Does she eat breakfast?"

"What kind of a question is that?" I laugh, eyeing him from across the kitchen. "Everyone eats breakfast."

"Jessie doesn't."

"Your sister is weird," I say, flicking through TV channels. "I definitely don't think she's related to me."

"I definitely do."

"Shut it." I mouth at him with a grin. "Just make her some tea and toast."

He meets my eyes and flexes his arm. "She's not that special."

"Anyone that gets you to flick a kettle for them definitely is."

"Ouch. That's quick for you, Dad."

"I'm learning."

He begins walking across the kitchen and joins me at the table, he places his hands on the glass and takes a deep breath. "Is it weird that I find Isla hot?"

I raise an eyebrow. "It'd be weird if you acted on it."

"Ew," he grimaces, shaking his head. "No. That's gross. I just mean. . . she's my age. Technically. I don't know, this whole thing is bizarre."

"Bizarre doesn't even cover it."

He scrunches his face up. "How about, unorthodox? An unorthodox reality."

I glare at him. "Since when did you swallow a dictionary?"

"Since my sister became a scientist," he says. "Didn't you get the memo?"

"I sure did. I've got the knowledge of a planet I can't even pronounce to prove it."

"If it's the same planet I'm thinking of, same, I can't pronounce it. To be fair, I don't think Jade can either."

I laugh, resting the remote on the table. "Kettle's boiled."

"Along with your brain."

I turn, widening my eyes. "That was quick for you, too."

He chuckles to himself and begins pouring the water into mugs with his back to me. "So, is she moving in?"

"Who? Isla?"

"Is it odd that we keep calling her that?" he says, reaching across the counter to put the kettle back. "But, yeah."

"I can't call her anything else," I say. "Not yet. And no, she isn't."

"I get that," he sighs, he turns around to face me while stirring his coffee. "But doesn't that mean that there's still a little. . . I don't know. . ."

"Doubt?" I offer.

"Mhm." He puts the mug down and taps his fingers against the counter. "I mean, you knew Mum better than any of us. Definitely better than me. Do you really, truly, honestly believe it's her?"

"If I had any doubts, I would never have introduced her to you." I lie. I hate lying, it's not me, it's not who I am, but I can't let him take on that doubt burden too. Not yet, not until I can prove there's no doubt left.

"I suppose so. I guess, I've just lived for so long with guilt that I killed her that it just doesn't feel real to be finally able to let that guilt go."

"You didn't kill her, Jamie."

"Yes, I did, Dad," he snarls at me. We've had this conversation a thousand times over the years, it's useless for me to try and sway his mind, but I find myself doing it anyway. "And you know I did."