New York, Actually (From Manhattan with Love 4)

“I know your turnover. I can recite every number in your company’s balance sheet. That’s my job.”

“You’re a divorce attorney.”

“But I stay on top of my sisters’ business. Do you know why? Because it’s a token of my love and affection. Do you know how? Because I work a hundred hours a week. It’s barely a life for a human. It’s certainly not a life for a dog. And might I point out that your dramatically increased turnover came as a result of your new relationship with that up-and-coming concierge company, Urban Genie, a partnership I arranged through my friend Matt. You’re welcome.”

“Sometimes you are so smug I could punch you.”

Daniel smiled, but still didn’t look up. “So are you going to help or not? If not, I’ll ask Harry. You know she’ll say yes.”

“I am Harry.”

Finally Daniel looked up. He studied her closely, wondering if he’d made a mistake. Then he shook his head. “No, you’re Fliss.” It was a game the twins had played on him hundreds of time growing up.

Which Twin?

His score was 100 percent. They’d never fooled him yet.

Her shoulders slumped. “How do you do it?”

“Tell the two of you apart? Apart from the fact that you’re as abrasive as an armadillo, I’m your big brother. I’ve had plenty of practice. I’ve been doing it for twenty-eight years. The pair of you have never fooled me yet.”

“One day we’re going to.”

“Not going to happen. If you really want to pretend to be Harriet you need to tone down the attitude. Try being a little softer. Even in your crib you were always the one yelling.”

“Softer?” Her tone had a dangerous edge. “You’re telling me to be soft? What sort of sexist comment is that, especially as we both know that ‘soft’ gets you nowhere?”

“It’s not sexist, and I’m not telling you to be soft. I’m giving advice on how you might be able to convince some poor fool you’re Harriet. And that’s not me, by the way, so don’t waste your time.” He looked up as the door opened.

“Breakfast is ready. I made your favorite. Pancakes with a side of crispy bacon.” Harriet walked into the room carrying a tray. She had the same hair as her sister—a smooth, buttermilk blond—but she wore hers pinned haphazardly at the back of her head, as if her objective was simply to move it out of the way so it didn’t interfere with her day. Physically, they were identical. They had the same delicate features, the same blue eyes, the same heart-shaped face. Temperamentally, they couldn’t have been more different. Harriet was thoughtful and calm. Fliss was impulsive and fierce. Harriet loved yoga and Pilates. Fliss favored kickboxing and karate.

Sensing an atmosphere, Harriet stopped and glanced between them, her expression changing. “Have you two had a fight already?”

How, Daniel wondered, could three siblings from the same family be so different? And how could twins, who on the surface were indistinguishable to most people, bear no resemblance on the inside?

“Us? Fight? Never.” Fliss’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “You know how much I adore our big brother.”

“I hate it when you fight.” The anxious look in Harriet’s eyes made him feel guilty and he exchanged glances with Fliss. It was a glance they’d shared a million times over the years. A tacit agreement to suspend hostilities until Harriet wasn’t in the room.

They’d all developed their own way of coping with conflict. Harriet’s was to hide from it. As a child, she’d hidden under the table to avoid the screaming fights that had been part of their early family life. On one occasion Daniel had tried dragging her out to remove her from the fallout. Her eyes had been squeezed shut and her hands over her ears, as if not being able to see it or hear it might mean it wasn’t happening.

Remembering how impatient he’d felt at the time, Daniel felt a needle of guilt. They had all been so self-absorbed, his parents included, that none of them had understood what was going on with Harriet. It had become apparent in the most public way possible and even now, twenty years later, he couldn’t think about that evening at the school without breaking into a sweat.

On the surface Harriet didn’t appear to be particularly tough, but he and Fliss had learned that there were different kinds of tough. Despite appearances, Harriet was made of solid steel.

He watched as she set the tray down and carefully unloaded plates of food and napkins.

Napkins. Who bothered with napkins for a casual breakfast with family?

Harriet bothered. She was the architect of all domestic comfort in the apartment she shared with her twin.

There were times when he wondered if the three of them would still be a family if it weren’t for Harriet.

As a child she’d had an obsession with her dolls and her dollhouse. With the insensitivity of an eight-year-old, he’d dismissed it as a typical girl activity but now, looking back, he could see that she’d been constructing something she didn’t have, clinging to her image of home and family when their own had fallen short. She’d found some semblance of stability in her own private world, whereas he and Fliss had found other ways to dodge the cracks and the shifting emotional landscape of their parents’ marriage.

When Harriet and Fliss had moved into the apartment, Harriet had been the one to make it a home. She’d painted the walls a sunlit yellow and had chosen a rug in muted shades of green to soften the wooden floor. Hers was the hand that arranged the flowers on the table, plumped the cushions on the sofas and tended the plants that clustered together in a junglelike profusion of green.

Fliss would never choose to own a plant. Like him, she wouldn’t want the responsibility for something that required care and attention. It was the reason neither of them had any interest in a long-term relationship. The only difference between them was that Fliss had tried. Only once, but still it was enough for Fliss to feel she had proved her point. Been there. Done that.