“I got a notice from my landlord today,” I said, getting right to it. “Wants to know if I’m renewing my lease.”
Whitley appeared in the frame from somewhere off screen, wedging herself between Stella and the camera the way she did anytime she felt like she was being left out of something. “And?”
“And I don’t know,” I said.
Whitley gave me a look that was way too grown for her age. “Nique, I check your location. You are at Dex's house ninety percent of the time. The other ten percent you’re at the warehouse shipping orders. Nobody is actually living in that apartment. Just because you decorated doesn’t make it home.”
Stella pressed her lips together trying not to smile. “She’s not wrong.”
“Y’all are too much alike,” I said, pointing at them through the screen.
“You just know we’re right,” Stella said. “From what I’ve seen on these FaceTime calls for the last six months you are paying very good money for a very expensive workspace. Just move in with the man.”
“I have a process,” I said.
“Your process is costing you two thousand dollars a month,” Whitley said. “That’s a car note. Two car notes actually. Move in with your man and let that apartment go.”
“You sound like you’re forty,” I told her.
"I sound like somebody with sense," she said, not even looking up from her phone. "Which is more than I can say for you right now."
Stella laughed, a real one, the kind that still surprised me sometimes because I had spent so many years not knowing what her laugh sounded like. Six months ago, I wouldn’t have believed we would be here. Face Timing on a Tuesday evening like it was the most natural thing in the world. But therapy had a way of doing that. So did time.
After Tulum Stella had gone home and done what she promised. She sat Whitley and Deuce down and told them the truth about her past, about the rape and the circumstances of mine and Nel’s birth. They had been devastated. Whitley had called me crying so hard I could barely understand her. Deuce had gone quiet in that way teenage boys go quiet whensomething breaks their understanding of the world. But by the time Oak Bluffs came around that summer it was the first time all of us were together after everything had come out and something about being somewhere new and beautiful gave us all permission to just breathe. To stop processing and start healing. By the time we left Martha’s Vineyard we weren’t performing family anymore. We were actually becoming one.
“Aight,” I said finally, looking around at the apartment that Whitley was absolutely right about. “Y’all win. I’ll talk to the landlord when I get back.”
Whitley pumped her fist. “Finally. Now go finish packing. You have a flight to catch.”
“Don’t forget to check in when you land,” Stella said. “You know I worry.”
“I will,” I said.
“And Nique,” Stella added, her voice softening. “Happy birthday, baby.”
Tomorrow was my birthday and hearing it from the woman who gave me life landed differently than I expected. Different than any happy birthday I had ever received before.
“Thank you mama,” I said quietly.
Whitley was already waving at the camera. “Happy birthday sis! Okay bye love you post pictures!”
The screen went dark and I stood there for a second in the quiet of the apartment, my eyes landing on the framed photo on the mantle. All of us in Oak Bluffs last summer wearing shades of white on the lawn of the Vineyard house. Stella and Wendell in the back. Whitley with her arm thrown around Nel’s shoulder. Deuce trying to look serious and failing. Me and Dex on the end, his arm around my waist, both of us squinting into the sun like we couldn’t believe we had ended up somewhere this good.
I grabbed my suitcase and headed to Dex’s.
He was still at work, so I let myself in with the key he had given me months ago after the fourth time I showed up and had to wait on the porch. I spent an hour packing his suitcase because he would absolutely forget something essential if left to his own devices, then started on a light dinner, moving around his kitchen like it was mine. Because if I was being honest with myself, it basically was.
My phone buzzed on the counter. Nel.
“Hey twin,” I said, answering on speaker and turning the heat down on the stove.
“Hey.” His voice was heavy before he even said anything else. I knew that tone. I had known that tone my whole life. “The agency called. The new surrogate candidate isn’t a match. Again.”
I closed my eyes for a second. “Nel.”
“I know,” he said. “I know. It’s just.” He exhaled slow. “This was supposed to be the one. The agency felt good about her. Harvey felt good about her. I let myself get excited and I told myself I wasn’t going to do that again after the last time and I did it anyway.”
The last time had nearly broken him. Their first surrogate had miscarried at ten weeks, and the grief had leveled Nel in a way I hadn’t seen since Grandma Anne died. The girl had opted not to try again after that and Nel had spent two months barely leaving his home before therapy and time and the people around him slowly pulled him back.