M/Tia

The room smelled faintly of mahogany, dust, and cheap candles. It was the first time in years that a room with her sister present didn’t smell like whiskey, badly masked by her signature, warm perfume.

Mia could still vividly remember her and her twin sister wandering through Sephora trying to find her “signature scent” nearly a decade ago.

“You wear a lot of light colors. I can picture you wearing something floral. Cutesy-like,” Mia sing-songed, picking up a travel sized bottle of Daisy Love by Marc Jacobs. She held it up to Tia’s face annoyingly. Affectionately.

She wrinkled her matching button nose, and pushed the bottle out of her face with a smirk, “Yeah? No.”

“What?! Why not-”

“Too childish, Mia. We’re turning 20. We’re entering adulthood. No more girly perfumes. We’re becoming wo-men,” Tia pronounced each syllable of the last word dramatically. She bent down and picked up a bottle that was the same shade of dark brown as their hair. “Now this is what I’m talking about. Sweet. Musky. Sexy.”

“You haven’t even smelled it yet.”

“I don’t need to smell it. I can just tell,” Tia teased as she spritzed some on her wrist and sniffed. Her smirk grew, “See? I was right.” She held it up to Mia’s face, too close for comfort. Mia jolted back. Tia laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Mia sniffed it gingerly, “Stinky.”

Tia huffed, “Stinky? It’s refined.”

“It’s giving me a headache,” she smirked teasingly. “But if you want it? Fine. Whatever makes you happy.”

There was a slight pout on Tia’s lips, the one that Mia knew all too well. Tia put the bottle of perfume in her shopping basket, “It does make me happy.”

“Okay, then…” Mia grabbed the same bottle – but in a travel size – and placed it in her own shopping basket. She smiled at her sister and she smiled back. Mia elbowed her affectionately, “That’s all I want.”

Mia didn’t know why she bought that same perfume for herself back then. It still sat in her banged up, but reliable leather purse, only partially used. But like all things when it came to Tia, her smile was contagious. If she liked it, Mia usually would too.

Despite how they always tried to set themselves apart, their interests always ended up stubbornly aligning.

In the same way they shared a face, they shared the same soul.

Which is why, despite the constant well-meaning yet annoying nudges from estranged family members to go up and pay her respects to Tia, Mia stayed rooted in the back of the church like a spirit that never passed on.

And maybe that’s what she looked like to some people among the guests who didn’t know that Tia had a twin.

Maybe some people were quietly spiraling, wondering why the same girl in the casket was seemingly also standing in the back of the church mourning herself at her own funeral.

A tiny smirk cracked on Mia’s face. Not because she was happy about confusing people who loved Tia enough to attend her funeral, but because it was the type of hysteria that would’ve made Tia laugh in that obnoxiously loud way of hers. Mia could hear it now, without even trying.

And just like that, the smirk faded back into an emotionless line.

She continued to watch the line of people go up to the casket.

Some quietly sobbed, some just stared blankly.

All of them, better than Mia.

She could hear her sister softly scolding her, hounding her for not seeing her in her final moments above ground, “Seriously? You’re not even gonna visit me one last time?”

Tia would pout.

Cross her arms.

Glare at Mia in that signature way of hers that said, I love you, but you’re so annoying.

The viscerally clear image of Tia’s disappointed face – the one that Mia always tried to prevent, whether she’d admit that or not – was enough to shock Mia’s feet into motion.

She could feel their parents’ eyes on her. Well, they had been on her all day, quietly shaming her for not speaking at the podium about Tia. Mia hesitantly looked up to meet the red eyes of their mother and the tired eyes of their father.

She expected relief, looks that said, Oh, good. She does care about her sister after all.

But instead, they looked worried.

Normally, unlike Tia, Mia loved having the rare attention of her perpetually serious parents.

But now?

Mia quickly ripped her gaze away from them, trying to will the increasing lump in her throat to vanish.

She looked forward like a soldier standing at attention until it was finally her turn to say goodbye.

But really, it wasn’t just a goodbye. And maybe their – her – parents knew that.

Mia’s neck was stiff with tension. She still stared straight ahead at the absurdly large crucifix that hung above them.

The same crucifix Mia and Tia stood under when they received their First Communion, decades ago.

The same one Tia always yearned to get married under and now never would.

Her dreamer.

Her hopeless romantic of a sister.

She was there with her again, but this time, she couldn’t bring herself to look at her.

Sometimes, Mia used to look at Tia just to remind herself of what she looked like to other people. How did her hair fall? Did her eyes look hazel or dark brown in this type of lighting? Although it was a habit Mia could never really break, she knew it was pointless.

Mia and Tia may have been twins, but nobody could replicate her sister.

Nobody shined quite like her when she smiled.

Nobody’s laugh rang quite as musically as hers.

Even when they fought – and Tia would scream and curse at her at the top of her lungs over something as ridiculous as a borrowed skirt – nobody was as lovable.

They may have shared a soul, but Tia’s was always more radiant.

More precious.

So contagiously lively that it brightened Mia’s own.

Something timeless.

And yet, here Mia was.

Standing before her.

No more sand in the hourglass.

Only the woman who made her a sister – a twin – in a wooden box.

It wasn’t until the first salty tear slipped onto her lip that Mia was able to look down at her.

This was the first time in all of Mia’s existence that she didn’t think they looked alike.

Cheeks, usually as rosy as the lipstick she used to keep stashed in her bra, now hollow and gray.

Hair that used to fall in bouncy curls, now lays flat and stiff with hairspray.

And eyes that always met Mia’s with an invaluable, playful mischief, remained eternally shut.

She looked at peace, for the first time in what felt like forever. Before aches of her regrets swallowed up and drowned out that light Mia loved so much about her.

She just hoped that finally, her sister felt the way she appeared.

Flowers from friends and family surrounded her in the casket, making her smell like that cutesy, girly girl Mia always saw her as. The type of girl Tia tried to outgrow with her signature scent.

Mia’s purse suddenly felt heavy. Without thinking, her hand dug into its messy contents and found the travel-size perfume bottle like a forgotten spirit finally finding its way to the pearly gates.

She didn’t care if this was sacrilegious.

She didn’t care if it would make the satin dress rot faster.

Carefully, Mia spritzed some on Tia’s neck, under both ears where her pulse should be. Then, she softly tucked it by Tia’s hand, just in case her sister wanted it… wherever she was now.

Mia’s face was streaked with black mascara. Wetness covered her cheeks, effectively smudging the makeup she had tried so hard to put on that morning with shaky hands.

All their lives, they had tried so hard to differentiate themselves from one another.

Different friend groups.

Different styles.

Different career paths.

But now, as she continued to hog up time at her sister’s casket, she couldn’t help but wonder how she could’ve yearned so badly for something she now couldn’t wrap her head around.

What do you mean that once she walks away and leaves this place that she’ll never see her sister again?

What do you mean she’ll never again be able to call up Tia whenever one of her favorite characters dies in a TV show?

What do you mean no one else is walking around with her face anymore?

Mia suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. She swallowed her sobs and finally realized how loud she had been, the echoes of her cries still bouncing off the high ceilings of the church as her father stared down at her.

He didn’t ask her if she was okay. Just cooed gently, stroking her hair like she was a little kid again who just scraped her knee.

After he pulled her aside and away from the casket, he continued to try and comfort her, “What do you want, Kid? Hm? We can go out for some fast food-”

“No.”

Mia shook her head, not to be defiant, but to be honest.

“I don’t… want that.”

He didn’t reply to that.

He didn’t need to.

It was clear enough in the way her empty gaze trailed from her father and back towards her sister the way sunflowers seek the Sun.

A habit she’ll never get to unlearn.

I don’t want to be unique anymore.