His, and His Brother's

"My twin sister and I were canaries for Caleb Hayes for five years. A perfect little arrangement in his gilded cage. She slept with him, I handled the money. We had our roles. The night we graduated from Columbia, my sister, Zoe, was draped over some male model with an eight-pack at a downtown speakeasy. She looked up from his abs, suddenly thoughtful. “Chloe,” she said, “the wedding. Are you going, or am I?” I swirled the ice in my drink, grabbing a pair of dice from a nearby table. “Let’s roll for it. Loser goes.” Before we could settle the bet, a familiar, deep voice cut through the noise behind us. “Bro, how was she? My little canary.” “Serviceable,” another voice, identical, replied. Staring at two faces—the exact same face—Zoe and I froze. We spoke in perfect, horrified unison. “Which one of you is Caleb?” 1 We ducked behind a velvet curtain, peeking at the VIP booth, our minds racing. “It’s the one on the right,” I whispered. “No, the left,” Zoe shot back. I stared at her. “You’ve been sleeping with him for years. You can’t tell them apart?” “I don’t exactly look at his face when we’re in bed. And anyway, they’re identical!” she hissed, chewing on a fingernail. “Unless he dropped his pants right now, I’d have no clue.” She had a point. It was an impossible situation. Before we could solve the riddle, we saw the man we knew as Caleb—let’s call him Caleb One—smirk. The smirk was a lazy, cruel curve of the lips. He turned to his twin. “So, bro,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. “The wedding. You going, or am I?” His brother—Caleb Two—paused for a fraction of a second. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he picked up the dice from the table. “Let’s roll for it. Winner takes the prize.” “Deal.” Caleb One grinned, picking up his own shaker. Their booth erupted in laughter. “Better bring your A-game, Caleb,” one of his friends shouted. “Roll snake eyes and you’re the one walking down the aisle.” “Hell, why don’t you both go?” another slurred. “Give Chloe a real surprise.” “Can you imagine her face on the wedding day?” a third chimed in, his voice laced with venom. “When she finds out she’s been passed between the two of you for the last two years? Priceless.” A woman perched on Caleb One’s lap giggled, covering her mouth. “That Chloe girl is so lucky, having two Hayes brothers fighting over her. I’m almost jealous.” The whole table howled at the jab. Caleb One took a sip of his whiskey, then tilted the woman’s chin up and passed the liquor from his mouth to hers. He laughed softly. “What, you want in on the action? Maybe my brother and I could take care of you, too.” She melted against him, a puddle of feigned desire. “Oh, no,” she cooed, “I only have eyes for you, Caleb.” Zoe and I locked eyes. The disgust was mutual. But beneath it, in her gaze, I saw a flicker of something else. A quiet, heartbreaking disappointment. 2 “You lose, bro.” The dice shaker was lifted. Caleb One had rolled a six. He didn’t seem bothered. He glanced at the woman in his arms and smiled. “This little thing wants to see the Northern Lights. I’m taking her to Iceland. The wedding’s in five days. You hold down the fort. I’ll be back before the big day, I promise.” Caleb Two just gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. A few minutes later, someone in the group yelled, “Let’s go race the cars.” Caleb One stood, clapping his friend on the back. “Anyone who loses better have a fat check for me on the wedding day. Chloe loves counting her money.” No one caught the strangeness in his tone. They all just laughed and agreed. “You got it, man. We’re ready.” “Solid. Let’s roll. Bro, you coming?” Caleb One asked his twin. The group started to get up, but Caleb Two remained seated, staring into space. When he heard his brother’s question, he seemed to snap out of a trance. “Nah, I’m good. Gotta go home and… keep up the act.” Keep up the act. We all knew what that meant. After Caleb Two had also left, Zoe and I finally emerged from our hiding spot, both letting out a breath we didn’t realize we’d been holding. The dice sat on the abandoned table, a relic of a decision we no longer had to make. It seemed our little dilemma had been solved for us. After some quick analysis, we figured it out. The loud, playful, life-of-the-party one was the younger brother, Caleb. The quiet, gentler, more reserved one was the older brother, Connor. “Well, with the economy the way it is, I guess this particular freelance gig is over,” Zoe said grimly. I thought for a long moment. “So, we run?” She nodded, her eyes hard. “You run, I run.” 3 That night, we split up. Zoe went to a clinic for a full check-up, and I went back to the penthouse to pack our severance. On the way, I called a friend from my hometown in Maine and had her rent a secluded house for us on the coast. I booked two one-way bus tickets for five days from now. The same day as the wedding. When I got back to the apartment, I ran right into Connor. He was fresh from the shower, a towel slung low on his hips, his dark hair still dripping onto his shoulders. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, toying with a small, velvet box. He saw me and beckoned with one finger. I walked over, and in the next second, he pulled me into a tight embrace, resting his head against my chest. A cold, thin band of platinum slid onto the ring finger of my left hand. Then he took my right hand, lifted it to his lips, and placed a soft kiss on the bare ring finger there. He smiled. “Baby, in five days, we’re getting married. And I’m going to put the most beautiful pink diamond in the world right on this spot. Okay?” I crushed the heavy feeling in my gut and nodded numbly, unable to speak. He reached out to pull me closer, but his phone buzzed on the nightstand. When he saw the caller ID, his expression shifted, just for a second. He answered, a simple, “Okay,” into the phone. “Are you going out?” I asked. He stood and kissed my forehead, his voice a warm, gentle whisper. “Something came up at the office. I have to take care of it. You be good and get some sleep. Don’t wait up for me.” He disappeared back into the bathroom to dry his hair. The phone on the nightstand buzzed again with a text notification. I picked it up. The passcode, for both their phones, was my birthday—a detail meant to be a sweet part of their charade. They both knew I’d never check. This would be the first and last time. Two messages from someone named “Ash.” Ash: Connor, darling, I heard you’re getting married to that Chloe girl. A show like that? You know I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Ash: I’m back. Come pick me up. Waiting for you xo. Ash. The name echoed in my mind, and then it clicked into place. Ashley Davenport. The queen bee of the New York social scene, Caleb’s childhood sweetheart. The one he’d worshipped, followed around like a puppy, until she left for Oxford after high school. Of course. It all made sense. Connor came out of the bathroom, dressed in a sharp suit. He saw me lying in bed and leaned over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. “I’m leaving now, baby.” I forced a smile. “Okay.” “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he murmured, his eyes fixed on my lips. I tilted my head up, and our lips met in a brief, feather-light kiss. Satisfied, he lingered, kissing me again and again as if he couldn’t bear to leave. Finally, he pushed himself up. “Get some sleep. I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.” The roar of his car’s engine faded into the night. I wiped my mouth, as if touching something unclean. Then I swung my legs out of bed. Sleep? Not a chance. The walk-in closet full of bags and jewelry wasn’t going to pack itself. An opportunity like this only comes once. I had to hand it to them, Caleb and Connor were generous. The designer bags were all limited editions. The necklaces and rings were either emeralds or diamonds. My mouth practically watered as I looked at a flawless, emerald-cut diamond the size of a pigeon’s egg. Pack it. Pack it all. 4 While I was clearing out the closet, I found the crimson-colored stationery where we had written our vows. I opened it. The handwriting inside was a messy, joyful scrawl. I spread the paper on the floor and, with a blank expression, took a black marker and drew a thick, final line through my name. I had to remind myself. A promise, like a heart, once it’s cracked, can never be repaired to look like it was never broken. After packing everything, I put the voided vows back in the safe. It was where Connor kept his most precious things. Suddenly, a different box caught my eye. On impulse, I pulled it out. It was filled with letters, none of them addressed. The envelope simply read: For Ashley. “Ashley, how’s London? Are you okay?” “I heard you cried over your thesis. Don’t cry, my Ashley. Your beautiful eyes should only shed tears of joy.” “I found it. The pink diamond you always wanted.” “You said you wanted a wedding dress that looked like it was made of stars. I’ve already designed it.” “When you walk down the aisle, I should be the first one to take your hand, right?” “Ashley, I miss you so much. I’m lying. I’m not trying to pressure you to come back.” After reading them, our own vows felt like a sickening joke. I was about to put the letters back when my phone buzzed. Three screenshots from Zoe. The first was a photo of a girl holding a bouquet of roses. In front of her, a man was on one knee, holding a ring box. I stared at the back of the kneeling man for a long time. It was the same suit Connor was wearing when he left. The next two photos were close-ups of two different diamond rings, each one breathtaking. The caption read: “Pink or white, girls? I think the white is so basic. Help me choose!” Followed by another post: “No surprises, no drama. Just my childhood sweetheart, back with the pink diamond he promised me. He proposed! Wish me luck! #blessed #isaidyes” I looked at the simple platinum band on my own finger and laughed until tears started to stream down my face. I pulled it off and placed it on top of the crossed-out vows. I searched for her Instagram profile and scrolled through it for a while. Then I liked the post and left a comment: Congratulations. Just then, a message from Connor came through: Baby, so much to do tonight. I’m not coming home. Love you. The man who had just proposed to another woman was now, as if nothing had happened, calling me baby and telling me he loved me. For a second, I wanted to ask him. Connor, does it ever get tiring, playing this devoted character? But in the end, I swallowed the words, deleted the text, and replied with a simple: Okay."

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