There were plenty of labels I could use now.
I grew up expecting to find that one special person like everyone else, but as my world opened up, I began to explore and question. Monogamous relationships didn’t really satisfy me. I, being the avid researcher I was, went to the Internet to put words to my feelings.
I found there were many ways to fall in love. Likewise, I didn’t have to be tied down to one particular person. The only rules in a relationship were the ones the partners made, or the group, if that’s what floated your boat.
While I was there, my best friend Breanna became enamored with three different guys, and they all worked it out. The guys didn’t necessarily fall in love with each other, but they liked and respected each other enough to commit to a shared lifestyle. Happy for her, I was just a tiny bit jealous at the same time.
Maybe, one day, I could find my own version of a happy ending too.
I followed my twin out to the nearest parking lot as I considered the notion. Meara showed me to her car, a compact Kia perfect for city streets. The only trouble was that there was only enough room in the trunk for one suitcase. The other fit into the back seat, taking up just as much room as an adult passenger. I dropped into shotgun, shaking out my hair. I was ready for a shower and a good night’s sleep.
“What time is it?” I asked while turning my phone on.
“Seven o’clock,” Meara answered.
I sighed. “Right. Time differences.”
Sleep was going to have to wait.
Meara pulled out onto the road, maneuvering toward the highway. I closed my eyes for a second before slipping into a dreamless sleep. Thirty minutes later, we were pulling into my sister’s apartment complex. She whipped into the parking garage, taking the car two flights up before choosing a spot. I yawned, a little embarrassed to have dozed off.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered.
“Don’t be,” she told me. “You had a long flight.”
I couldn’t argue with that. I hauled the suitcases out of the miniature car and stood with them while Meara locked the door. She led the way down the parking ramp to an elevator that took us to the lobby of her apartment building. It felt like an alien maze.
The last time I’d seen my sister, she was living in a quaint little walk-up in Logan Square. I wasn’t sure if the new digs were an improvement or not. The Bohemian flavor was gone, replaced by an urban-chic vibe. It didn’t seem like Meara fit in very well. Everyone else we passed wore three-piece suits or high heels.
“Don’t let them bother you,” Meara said when she noticed me eyeing one woman in the elevator. “On weekends, they throw down like no one’s business.”
I chuckled, trying to picture Mr. Junior Executive and Ms. Fast Food Chain Heiress slamming back shots in the hallway.
Meara’s room was on the third floor at the end of the hall. My sister juggled her keys around before finding the right one. Opening the door, Meara headed through, helping me shuffle my massive bags into the common space. I was rewarded with a beautiful view.
The living room was a brilliant white with fluffy faux fur area rug and matching modern furniture. There was frosted glass everywhere: the accent tables, the bookshelves, and the interior doors. Large sliding doors across the room opened onto the balcony.
Everything oozed luxury, especially the compact kitchen. With marble countertops and brand-new appliances, it was designed for people who only cooked on special occasions to show off.
“You know, you’re welcome to stay here as long you like,” Meara insisted while taking off her shoes and setting down her purse. “I never touch the spare room, and it might be nice having someone else chip in on rent.”
“I guess I won’t break my back looking for rentals then,” I replied.
After seeing the city view from the balcony, I didn’t think anything else would compare, and it only got worse. My twin wandered through the shared space, pointing out various things.
“You can have half of the refrigerator,” she said, opening the door to demonstrate the work she had done. “I don’t do the dishes every night. I’m trying to conserve water. There’s trash and recycling below the counter.”
“How many bathrooms?” I asked.
“Two.” She grinned, holding up two triumphant fingers.
I exhaled in relief. It would’ve been torture trying to share a single bathroom between us.
“I have my own bathroom,” she continued. “You can use the one in the hall.”
“That works,” I agreed.
“Let me show you your room.” Meara picked up the suitcase handle again and wheeled the thing across the white oak floors.