The Color of Hope (The Color of Heaven Series) (10 page)

“You definitely should.” We all laughed, and I took another sip of wine.

“Diana also tells us you grew up in Washington,” Mrs. Moore added. “It’s odd, how we were so close to each other, but didn’t know it.”

“It has to make you wonder about fate,” Senator Moore said. “Maybe you were always meant to cross paths. I only wish it could have happened sooner.”

“So do I.” Diana’s gaze locked with her father’s.

In that moment, I saw, in his eyes, a look of apology and regret. It was impossible not to recognize the depth of their attachment.

He was an ambitious man who wanted to give his daughter everything, but in this instance, he had failed. He had not known his little girl lost a sister on the day she was born – a sister who could have been restored to her if they’d been informed.

The door opened just then, interrupting my brief moment of reflection.

Diana’s mood lifted. “Rick!” She stood and moved to greet her future fiancé at the door. “I’m so glad you’re back, and you brought dinner. Come on in. You have to meet someone.”

He set a large plastic bag full of live lobsters on the kitchen counter, then followed Diana into the living room.

As he stood before me, I found it a challenge not to stare, because he was the most attractive man I’d ever seen in my life. I had the same reaction when he walked into my office the other day and asked for directions to the restroom.

Broad-shouldered and charismatic, with wavy dark hair and a pair of expressive blue eyes, he had the overwhelming presence of a movie star. I felt as if I’d been shot out of a cannon into some kind of fantasy world on prime time television. Were these people even human? They seemed too perfect to be real.

My sister had definitely scored a home run with this guy. I could barely catch my breath.

“
W
OW
.” R
ICK LEANED
forward and shook my hand. “Amazing. You two look exactly alike. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” I replied, lowering my hand to my lap.

“Though it’s not really the first time we’ve met,” he reminded me. “Diana must have told you about my reconnaissance mission into your office.”

“Yes,” I replied with a chuckle. “I remember you.”

“Rick, what would you like to drink?” Diana asked him.

“Whatever’s open,” he replied.

He turned to greet the senator and Mrs. Moore, while I sat quietly, feeling shy all of a sudden, like an outsider. They chatted about the flight from Washington.

When Diana returned from the kitchen with Rick’s wine, handed it to him, and sat down next to me, I was relieved.

“How are you doing?” she quietly asked me.

“I’m fine,” I assured her.

“I hope you’re not allergic to shellfish,” she said. “I’m not, so I assumed you weren’t either.”

“No,” I replied in a light tone, “but I’ve never had lobster before. Except in chowders and casseroles.”

“Really? Well, you’re in for a treat then.”

We smiled at each other, and I realized I was entering into a new phase of my life – a phase full of novel experiences that would change the person I was.

The lobster turned out to be delicious, but it wasn’t easy to crack the shell. I didn’t know where to start. Thankfully, Diana sat beside me, and she was very discreet as she showed me what to do.

O
VER THE NEXT
three months, the speed and depth of my relationship with my twin grew at an exponential pace. Diana and I spoke on the phone at least once a day and exchanged emails and texts constantly, to share even our most trivial thoughts. We met for lunch whenever our schedules allowed it, and she invited me for dinner every weekend.

She and Rick took me to movies and ball games, introduced me to their friends, and invited me to parties and clubs. It wasn’t easy at first, because I didn’t feel I fit into their world – and I certainly couldn’t afford a twelve-dollar drink at the places they frequented – but they were quick to make me feel at ease. They had a way of effortlessly inviting me into conversations, and one of them was always quick to whip out a gold credit card and take care of the bill.

Diana and I soon became a novelty among her friends and co-workers. People were fascinated by my existence, and wanted to know every last detail about how we found each other and what it was like to see our exact likeness in another person.

On one particular night, over dinner at a restaurant with a few other couples, Diana said, “I just hope Oprah doesn’t come calling.”

“It’s bound to happen,” one of her friends said. “Especially considering your dad’s popularity right now. I’m amazed you’ve kept Nadia a secret this long.”

Diana sat back and turned to me. “What would we do? What if someone approached us to write a book or something?”

“A book,” Rick said with a nod, holding up his wine glass and pointing at her. “You guys should consider that. You could make a fortune.”

Diana and I gazed at each other for a moment. It felt as if we were reading each other’s thoughts.

“I think it would be interesting from a scientific point of view,” I said.

“Yes,” Diana agreed, “it could attempt to answer questions about how much of a role genetics plays in the development of a person... versus their environment and how they were raised.” She paused and our eyes remained fixed on each other’s. “But I’m not sure we’d want to open ourselves up like that,” she added.

“I’m not sure either,” I agreed, because the circumstances of my life up until that point weren’t exactly things I wanted to share. I imagined that people would compare me to Diana, and judge me accordingly.

“Yes,” they would say, “this definitely proves environment plays a large role, because look how Nadia turned out, versus how Diana turned out.”

The waiter brought our desserts just then, which was a welcome interruption, because I didn’t feel like explaining my insecurities to the others.

I picked up my dessert fork and was about to dig into my caramel topped cheesecake.

Rick, who sat beside me, leaned a little closer. “I’m sorry about that,” he quietly said. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

I glanced up at him. “It’s fine,” I replied. “You didn’t.”

He gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze before he tapped and cracked the sugary shell of his Crème Brûlée.

“
S
O TELL ME
everything you know about him,” Diana said to me one evening as we sat on the sofa in her living room.

“He’s a financial consultant,” I replied, “and Bob said he’s a fun guy. That’s all I know.”

Rick poked his head out from the computer alcove around the corner. “Who’s Bob?”

“A guy I work with,” I told him. “He’s new.”

Diana piped in to explain further. “Bob set Nadia up on a blind date, and they’re going out for dinner tomorrow night.”

Rick stood and moved into the kitchen to refill his water bottle. He’d just come from the gym and was still wearing his shorts and T-shirt. “A financial consultant, eh? I don’t know about that...”

Diana chuckled. “What do you mean? What do you have against financial consultants?”

“Nothing at all,” he replied, tipping his water bottle up to take a swig. “Where’s he taking you?”

“I’m not sure yet. Somewhere nice I hope. He’s picking me up at 7:00.”

“On a school night,” Rick said. “Don’t stay out too late.”

Diana waved a dismissive hand at him, and he went back to his chair at the computer.

“So what are you going to wear?” she asked me.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Want to check out my closet? You can borrow anything you like.”

I smiled at her. “That would be so great.”

We both rose from the sofa to go into her bedroom, and she gave Rick a kiss on the cheek as we passed by.

Strangely enough, my blind date’s name was Richard, which made me wonder if I was living in some sort of parallel universe. When he buzzed my apartment, I told him I’d be right down, and as I descended the steps, I tried to imagine what I would do if he turned out to be Rick’s doppelganger as well, and Diana and I were about to become twin couples.

When I reached the ground floor, however, and spotted him waiting in the entrance hall by the mail boxes, I was relieved to discover that although he had dark hair and was good looking, he bore no other resemblance to Diana’s other half.

“You must be Nadia.” He held out his hand to shake mine.

“And you’re Richard.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, “but my friends call me Rick.”

I almost chuckled. “Do you mind if I call you Richard?”

“Whatever,” he replied after a brief hesitation. “My car’s parked just outside. You ready to go?”

I nodded and followed him out of the building to a shiny silver Mercedes at the curb.

I didn’t live in the greatest neighborhood, so this swanky car of his stood out like white on black.

I paused a moment to get my bearings. Whose life was this, anyway? I wondered. Surely it wasn’t mine, because I couldn’t possibly be wearing a six-hundred-dollar dress, a four-hundred-dollar pair of shoes, and a purse that was probably double the price of everything combined.

Richard unlocked the passenger side door with the press of a button on his key ring, and the loud beep startled me out of my dithering. He opened the door and waved me closer, then held it open while I got inside. A few seconds later he was circling around to the driver’s side.

Don’t get clingy, I said to myself.
We’re just having dinner
.

He started the engine and pulled onto the street, then gave me a curious look. “You’re not quite what I was expecting.”

“No?” I replied. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Not sure yet.” He stopped at the corner and turned left. “We’re only just getting started.”

I wasn’t thrilled with his non-committal answer, but I was determined to remain aloof.

R
ICHARD TOOK ME
to an expensive restaurant, where we engaged in the sort of casual conversation most couples endure on a first date.

I did my best to learn all I could about him. Though he clearly made truckloads of money, I didn’t take him for one of those Old World, Old Money snobs. He told me that his parents owned a hardware store in Iowa, but he hated all things rural, and preferred a more cosmopolitan lifestyle, which was why he’d moved to LA. He talked about his work, and had no qualms about describing his wild college days when he was a member of a fraternity, partied every night of the week, and barely made it to graduation.

I laughed at some of the stories he told about bizarre drinking games and freshman girls puking out windows. Part of me felt as if I should feel more at home with someone like him, but that wasn’t the case. To the contrary, I was disappointed in myself for laughing and trying so hard to act as if we shared a connection.

It reminded me of who I was on the inside – a woman desperate to be accepted, and to be invited into someone else’s world. Someone else’s life.

I tried to tell myself I had my own world now – a twin sister who cared about me – and I didn’t need this man to validate my self-worth. Nor did I have to fawn over every word he said, and sound so bloody impressed, as if he and I were the same.

We weren’t. First of all, I never went to college, so I didn’t get the whole fraternity thing.

Second, I had horrendous memories of a man in my life who drank too much, and for that reason, I was intensely aware of how many gin and tonics Richard tossed back during dinner.

Later, when we walked out, Richard reached into the breast pocket of his jacket for a pack of cigarettes. “Want one?” he asked, holding it out to me.

“No thanks.”

“Bob said you smoked.”

How did Bob even know that about me? I wondered. I’d quit cold turkey not long after I met Diana, and that was before he started at the firm.

“Not anymore,” I said.

“Ah, come on.” He pushed the pack at me. “Just one. You know you want to.”

My heart began to race, because yes, I
did
want to. I could smell the fresh fragrance of the tobacco, still in the package, right there in front of my nose.

“No thanks,” I said, though I was teetering on a cliff edge.

“Suit yourself.”

Richard lit up as we walked back to his car. Thankfully it wasn’t long before my urge to do the same retreated, and I was proud of myself for resisting the temptation.

“Where do you want to go now?” Richard asked. “I know a great club not far from here.”

“I should probably get home,” I replied. “I have to work in the morning.”

“But it’s Thursday,” he argued. “Practically Friday. Come on, just one drink. I talked too much about myself at dinner, and I want to know more about
you
. You’re intriguing.”

Intriguing. No one had ever called me
that
before.

“All right,” I said, wanting to give him one more chance before I threw in the towel. “Just one drink. But then I really need to get home.”