The Apple's Fall from the Tree

(The only note is that there's a brief mention of sex. Hope you enjoy the story!)

This will be the first time I meet my family.

My husband will be so thrilled to see me. He'll take me up in his arms and kiss me, those are the kind of gestures he likes to do. When Violet told me this, her bottom lip drew tight in an expression I recognized in myself as disgust. It's one of John's love languages, she told me. Why does he always do that, then, if you don't like it, Violet? Her brown eyes, brown just the same as mine, bored into me with a blank expression that told me it should be obvious. She told me it's because she likes him, but I saw that thought stutter even in her own mind, and she corrected herself to say that she liked him. 

Her daughter, my daughter will cling to my ankles tightly and probably be quite loud. Violet said to make sure she's told to be quiet, that Kayla should know by now it's not appropriate in an airport, but loud volume was expected. This was the only solo trip Violet had taken since Kayla was born, and she was sure that her daughter would miss her very much. They were very close. Kayla, only seven years old, adored her mommy. 

So, I am excited to meet my daughter, Kayla, perhaps a little more than I am to meet my husband, John. John is apparently wealthy and generous, polite and even-tempered, and there's a part of me that wonders what he's like during sex, what noises he'll make. No matter what he's really like anyway, there is a certain appeal to having a man when you need one. But he's just my husband, a stranger, a person Violet had picked based on a whim. And my daughter, she will have my genetics. I wondered if perhaps since Violet had conceived and birthed her that she would have a special sort of influence, but that's just not the case. Violet and I were identical, right down to the D.N.A. Kayla is my daughter.

As I sit in this little airplane seat, watching people mill in with their own families, my heart beats and my body fills with heat. I know that this is the right thing to do. A question nags at me but I ignore it. I'm Violet now, and that old stranger doesn't matter to me. 

I will not miss my life back home. A studio apartment that always gets ants and bugs, a savior job for an already-dying company, having to take the bus with a group of people I had grown to detest, anonymous though they were. Everything was anonymous. That life was flat and dull. Every noise that rang out, whether it was someone at work calling me 'We need you to take a look at-" or the hollow evening music from the cafe across the street, it was all a weight on me.

My adopted father, Tom, once told me I was empty. I had a void in my heart and it ate everything else up. I didn't feel what I was supposed to feel. My soul was a big empty room and I refused to put anything inside it, to fill it up, to decorate my life. But I disagreed- my life was empty, not me. I tried to eat up everything I could, but I was still hungry. It's not my fault that the world is hollow, bitter, unfulfilling. Tom never seemed to get things right. 

It was just exhausting to be back there. I knew it wasn't right. It couldn't be right. Something must have gone wrong to land me in a dirty place like that. Nothing was mine, I wanted nothing, I felt nothing. Everything, everyday, was the same and yet I recognized none of it.

But when a stranger knocked on my door three days ago, I recognized her. It was me. Me with longer hair, an expensive purse slung on one shoulder, a wedding ring on a hand tightly gripping some documents. I looked worried and yet beautiful, more beautiful then I had ever been. I said, she said, we had to talk. Without preamble, I opened up the door to my apartment and she stumbled in.

It was a blur, intoxicating, and her wide-eyed explanation permeated my house until I couldn't see that shitty little place anymore. I looked into my own eyes. I didn't question a single thing I said, she said. Her name was Violet and she was my long-lost identical twin.

We were placed in the same adoption center as infants, and I had been chosen by a family before she had. She was left behind for two months longer before joining a family of her own, never knew about me, never even properly knew she was adopted. It made perfect sense. She showed me the paperwork the orphanage filled out, which she found by coincidence. A night drive led her past the place, and she forced her way in the next day. It was instinct. Her feet carried her through the halls without stuttering, without stopping, and when she found the office she spoke to them in an impassioned haze. Violet says she didn't remember exactly what she said, but whatever is was, they gave her the forms. They didn't mention the twin sister acknowledged on them. The details of this story didn't matter. I saw the paper work, and it was good enough. She was here.

There were no flaws to find in her story. She was glowing, beautiful, and she said everything I needed to hear.

I knew that some things were being held back, but I couldn't bring myself to feign interest in whatever it was that worried her. Her hands were shaking, clutched in her lap, fingering the clasp on her purse. An energy within her seemed to be spilling out. She cackled at some of the things I said when they weren't funny, but seemed ready to cry the next moment. She didn't end up crying, thank God. I didn't cry, and I didn't deal with people that did. Besides, I had something, she had something to say. If she hadn't said what she said then, I was certain I would be the one to do it.

Violet had prepared, and I needed to do almost nothing. Her husband and child, who did not have the slightest idea I existed, would be waiting for Violet at the airport in two days to pick her up after a supposed spa weekend. But they would pick me up, me, me with her wedding ring and her maroon bag that would be rid of any evidence of my old life. The forms would not come back with me, in fact, I don't know what Violet planned to do with them. Burn them for all I care. She didn't tell me what she planned to do with herself either. When I said she was welcome to take my place too, she nodded quietly. But there was a blankness behind her eyes that confirmed nothing. It didn't matter to me. There was no way, I don't think, she could have lied to me, so she omitted her plans and I let her.

Her faces were my own. I knew them, I had worn them myself, and even though I could label her feelings and identify, I could not really guess what Violet was thinking. Her expressions would change reflexively, yes, but whatever was going on through her mind was carefully choked down and never admitted quite fully. When she first told me who she was, she was wide eyed, open mouthed, holding her breath. When she sat down on my couch for the first time, she bit her lip. Nervousness shined through jittering gestures and actions. When her wedding ring, now my wedding ring, clinked against the mug of tea I had given her, she flinched. I tried to take it all in at the beginning, but by the end I decided it didn't matter that she was holding something back. This isn't about the old Violet. At the end of the day, I care about her just as much as I would for a stranger. This was about, and for, me. Her wedding ring fit on my finger perfectly.

Of course it occurred to me that she could be running from something, that maybe this whole thing was too good to be true. But time wasn't wasted on those thoughts. Too good to be true was better than what I had. Now, I was Violet, and I was pretty. I was a housewife and a mother. There was nothing left to want. Besides, it was my life we were talking about, not her's. The past was a waste, her's and mine, I knew it.

What would be the point in asking why she wanted to leave, or where she would go? She was a stranger in my house.

I was going to meet my family. I was going to meet my new life, and I didn't care about the person who used to have it. 

Every once in a while, on this flight, I do think about my father. I think about him now more than I ever did back home. His skin sags now, covered in spots of age and sun, and he is rotting away across my old city. He calls sometimes, but I don't think he wants to. Voice flat, he gives me advice. I ignore it. But I suppose a habit has grown, as I wonder what he would think of this. I wonder if the old Violet will visit him, because I know I never will, but immediately that's ridiculous. She didn't ask about my family, and I didn't tell her. 

Just as with her tears, questions did threaten to spill out from her. But I gave away nothing, and my apartment was barren enough not to offer her any information.

She left everything she had to me. When she left my apartment, all she had were the clothes on her back. She wore very clean little white sneakers, blue jeans, and a warm yellow blouse. The image of her about-to-burst face, skittering fingers, my own body all done up in such a silly little outfit, has stayed with me. That will always be what the old Violet dressed like. Her closet will probably be full of other bright colored tops and sensible shoes. They will fit me. 

She lived across the state in a big house. So now my house is there, white colored, with large green bushes trimmed waist-high, a circle driveway with some lights shining on it. The master bedroom has a private bathroom with his and her's sinks. I knew certain things about where I was going, what my family was like, how my days would go, but Violet told me she wanted some things to be a surprise. The only things she had written down were John and Kayla's birthdays, and a few passwords for accounts and home amenities.

I'm meeting my family. I'm meeting my life for the first time.

Whatever that old Violet is going to do doesn't matter to me. Whatever becomes of the old me, (her name used to be Grace which only makes me giggle now) it just doesn't matter. She's dead. Everything is behind me, lifeless as it's always been, and I will be flying into the future. I'm not afraid.

When the flight is over and I've arrived, I smile. I don't smile usually, and I sense there are stares, but I ignore them. I've never been in this airport before, and it takes me a moment to acquaint myself with directions. Then people are pushed out of the way, and the purple carry-on suitcase she brought has wheels and they hum as I rush down to the meeting point. Her shoes, my shoes, are black flats I had picked out from the items she had travelled with. They slap against the tile of the airport quickly, happily, until at last I'm underneath the hanging directory sign at the main entrance. I pull out my new phone and look at it, so that my family doesn't see me struggle or hesitate when recognizing them. 

"Mom!" I hear, quite loudly. All of a sudden, there is a brown-haired little girl that slams into me and wraps around my legs, squealing with joy. She's pushing her forehead against my legs, shaking it back and forth with excitement. A spot of irritation blooms in my chest because I want to look at her face, not at the top of her head. This is my daughter, and even though what I really want to do is force her chin up so I can get a real look, I only put my hand in her hair to mess it up, and let out a loud giggle. Bending, I tell her to be quiet.

There's John, I assume, a few yards away. He's shorter than I would have thought, but it doesn't matter. He looks happy too, his face wrinkling up in one big smile, and he's pacing towards me. There's a large book bag hanging from his shoulders, hitting his legs as he moves and then me once he's wraps his arms around. He's saying something but my mind is stuck on the bag. It's enormous, it's packed completely full, and it's zipped up tight. 

John kisses my cheek, suddenly, and I try not to startle. "Honey," he starts, a lilting tone that suggests a question, and he's pulling away to look at me. His green eyes search my face thoroughly. His tightlipped smile seems to be present but separate from him and whatever his eyes are doing. He smells strongly of mint and I hate that. A moment passes, and just when I think he's going to say something, he doesn't. An even bigger smile appears on his face, and he leans over to pull away Kayla from my legs. 

They huddle, him squatted down to meet her height, and he says faux softly, "Aren't you going to say something to mommy?"

She grins up at me, and I notice a thin white scar on the left side of her jaw. She has hazel eyes, which means that John diluted the brown I have. But the hair and her tall nose is the same. I see the resemblance, and am pacified for the moment.

But Kayla has a big, hungry smile. It makes me sweat, just a little. I didn't see her old mommy have that look, but I know I do, and she says, "I like your new hair. It's shorter." Then she turns to her father, and they both make a face that is completely new to me. Bright eyes, set jaw, and John tilts his head to the left. I can't decipher it at all.

"Glad you're back," John teases, getting up with a grunt, "There's lots to do at home. Ready to come back to the real world?"

I remember that the last thing old Violet said to me was very similar, but I couldn't remember the exact phrasing. Her face, my face, was red with blush and I feel like I should remember what she said. What did she say? What did I say?