Twain
Tinsel let the door bang shut behind her with a sigh. She was normally too considerate to do so, but it had been a long day. Her roommate and best friend was gone for the night, or more likely the weekend, and Tinsel was not looking forward to another Friday night alone.
Becky’s boyfriend was back in town, after a week of out-of-town hockey games. Tinsel didn’t expect to see her before Monday morning. When Dave was in town, Tinsel only saw Becky at work.
She set her bag of groceries on the counter and checked the answering machine—one message. She hit the button as she put away her purchases.
Becky’s voice, “Hey, Tins, just wanted to remind you to look for that book you promised to find me. I don’t want to be a pest, but I really want to get it for Dave before he leaves town again. Thanks a ton, darling. Remember, it’s by Samuel Clemens. Have fun this weekend.”
Tinsel groaned. She hadn’t exactly promised, but she’d known Becky since they’d both been five years old. Even Tinsel’s overprotective mother could find no fault with young Becky. They soon became best friends, and done everything together, even gone to junior college together. Now they worked as dental assistants at the same office. Becky planned to go back to school to become a dentist. Tinsel had no idea what she wanted to do with her life.
She did know she didn’t want to spend her Friday night looking for a book that her friend could easily find herself. But the truth was, she didn’t have anything better to do. Tinsel was shy and hated going out by herself. When Becky was single, they went to bars and plays and concerts, and she loved it. But when Becky had a boyfriend, Tinsel was on her own.
Which meant eating alone on a Friday night, and trying to find something to watch on TV.
Tinsel shoved the last of her groceries in the fridge, suddenly determined. She’d order a pizza and rent a movie on pay-per-view. There were a couple she wanted to see, and she was tired of waiting for Becky to watch them with her.
She started for the phone, but stopped herself. First she’d better find that book. Walking to the computer, she opened the browser and typed in the search.
“Samuel Clemens,” she said aloud. She often talked aloud when she was alone. It made her feel less lonely.
The screen popped up with a list. She clicked on a link for Mark Twain. In five minutes, she’d located the book Becky wanted, and placed an order with a local bookstore. Tinsel grabbed the phone and dialed. No surprise, it went straight to voicemail.
“Becky, Tinsel here. I found that book. You can pick it up tomorrow. I had them charge it to your card. Here’s the address.”
She disconnected, paging back through her search absently. She scrolled down the list of Mark Twain websites, surprised by how many there were. At the bottom of the screen, the last link made her pause.
“And Never the Twain Shall Meet,” she read aloud. That didn’t look like a bookstore website. She clicked the link before she thought.
It didn’t lead to a porn site, or trigger a deadly computer virus. The site was strange. She skimmed through it, interested in spite of herself.
It was all about twins—twins separated at birth. Tinsel read a little closer, and realized it was really about a particular set of twins. She couldn’t quite tell what was so special about those particular twins, but the website claimed a conspiracy was keeping them apart.
Tinsel sat back, disturbed. She didn’t know why, but this website bothered her. She rubbed her arms, feeling a sudden chill on her skin.
“It’s not like I’m a twin,” she whispered, but she still felt uneasy.
She went to the closet, took down the box that held her passport, her diplomas and all the awards she’d earned as a girl. There was no birth certificate there.
“I could call my mother and she’ll tell me,” Tinsel said. “She’ll tell me it’s okay, and I’ll feel better.”
She had the phone in her hand when she had second thoughts. Her mother was overprotective, almost obsessively so. She had tracked Tinsel’s every move as a child, enforcing strict curfews and always insisting on knowing everything Tinsel did. She’d even installed a tracking program in Tinsel’s phone when she went to college. Luckily for Tinsel, Becky had been dating a tech expert at the time. He’d discovered and disabled the tracker.
“Devon ,” Tinsel murmured, her fingers already dialing. The phone was already ringing when she realized it might be awkward asking Becky’s ex for a favor. But it was too late.
“Hello?”
“Devon ? This is Tinsel. How are you?”
“Tinsel!” Devon seemed genuinely delighted. “I’m great. How are you? How’s Becky?”
“She’s fine. We’re both fine. Becky’s dating a hockey player—but that’s not why I called. I need a favor. Are you busy?”
“Completely free,” Devon answered immediately, surprising her. “What do you need?”
Tinsel was caught off guard by his quick agreement. “I just realized I don’t have a copy of my birth certificate. I thought you might be able to find the birth records online? I’ll buy the pizza.”
“Should be no problem. But why don’t you have a copy of it? How did you get your passport without your birth certificate?”
“My mother takes care of all of that.”
A short pause. “I see. And I bet you don’t feel like calling her to ask for a copy, right?”
“Not really. Do you mind coming over?”
“Sure. I’ll be there in about an hour. Call the pizza order in to Gianni’s and I’ll pick it up on the way.”
“Sausage and olive with hot peppers, right?”
“You know me too well, Tinsel. See you soon.”
Tinsel placed the pizza order, pre-paying with her credit card. She straightened up a bit, shoving Becky’s clutter into her room. She took a quick shower and had changed into casual clothes when the doorbell rang
She answered, accepting a pizza box and a kiss on the cheek from Devon . It really was good to see him. His breakup with Becky had been amicable, but they didn’t hang out any more.
They chatted easily as they dined on pizza and root beer, catching up on old times.
“Are you seeing anyone?” he asked casually, as he threw away the paper plates they’d eaten from.
“No.” Tinsel answered simply. “You?”
Clearly he’d just been waiting for a chance to brag. Tinsel smiled indulgently. “Sounds perfect. So why are you alone on a Friday night?”
Tinsel laughed. “Don’t tell me she’s a hocky player, too?”
“Model,” he replied. “All you have is vanilla?”
“There’s chocolate syrup in the cupboard.” Tinsel went to help him with the ice cream. “Is it going to cause problems, you being here?” she asked.
“She’s a model, Tinsel,” Devon reminded her. “She doesn’t have a problem with me having female friends.”
Tinsel wasn’t so sure, but she let the matter drop. Pouring hot chocolate syrup over two bowls of ice cream, she led him to the computer.
After a fortifying bite of ice cream, he pulled up the hospital’s website and accessed their records.
“Easy as pie,” he told her. “Now all we need is your date of birth . . .. “
He punched in the information and pulled up a list of records.
“Here it is—“Tinsel Marlin, Mother was Janine, Father unknown.” Devon went still.
“I knew that,” Tinsel assured him. “My mother never tried to hide it from me.”
“It’s not that,” he told her, his fingers flying over the keys again. “There’s a file attached here. Looks like an encrypted email.”
“Can you open it?” Tinsel leaned over his shoulder.
He shot her a glance. “Please! It’s twenty years old. I’ll have it open . . . now. Let’s see. ‘Re: Twin Girls-- Tinsel and Coco . Alternate identity has been established for the twin in my care. I have no information on the other. Protocols have been created to assure their paths won’t cross. Never the Twain shall meet.’”
Tinsel drew in a breath. “Do you know what this means?” she whispered.
“You’re adopted?”
“I have a twin sister out there. Somewhere.”
“But why all the secrecy?” Devon wondered. “Lots of twins are separated. This is all too weird, Tinsel.”
“Never the Twain shall meet.” Tinsel whispered, and knew her life had changed forever.
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