He glances at me, then smiles. “Okay. Maybe a little. At first. But I kind of understood it was necessary. I hated it,” he says, pausing to drink from his glass, “hated it a lot, but I don’t resent you for doing what you needed to do.”
“Well, that makes one of you.”
“Why? Did your mother say something?”
I’ve told Noah everything. He knows exactly the kind of relationship I have with my mother, the kind where I can do no right. Where I’m always a disappointment.
“I lost her too, you know,” I say, exhaling slowly. “She was my twin sister.” I laugh, though it doesn’t sound like one. “If anyone was closer to her, it would’ve been me, right? I shared a womb with her. I’m grieving too.”
Noah turns slightly, angling his body toward me, his attention fully on. “What did she say? Is that
