Twice The Trouble

Chapter 99: Chance Meeting

Sophia

Masks.

We all wear a different mask in different situations.

Let's face it. Nobody truly sees who we really are. The person we become when the curtains are drawn and the spotlights are turned off.

I've read hundreds of novels to know people see me as a survivor, that I've lasted this long.

But how does someone define 'survive'? Are you still the same person after enduring pain? Or do you put on a brave facade to conceal the invisible scars--the third degree burns inside your soul?

Try as I might, I sensed that my family could tell how weak I was growing each day even though I've been acting like nothing was wrong.

I've been neglecting my appetite, but Stacy persistently helped me eat something.

I seldom left my bed, but Stacy, summoning a cheerful demeanor, made jokes as she hauled me by the feet, dragging me out of my green blankets, then warily dumped me into the bathtub.

My pajamas were still on when she opened the shower head.

That morning was full of outraged screeches and parental sermons.

Conscious of my sister's pure intentions, I did my best to humor her: I ate the meals she served me. I often shared the bathtub with her, like when we were kids and took baths together. And whenever she attempted to lift my spirits by taking me to my favorite bookstores, treating me to movie marathons at the cinema, and spoiling me with various ice cream flavors, I didn't protest.

Hey. Free food is free food.Who was I to refuse good graces?

In turn, I also gave a lot of effort into distracting Stacy from her predicaments. I took her to the mall and I paid for mountains of tokens at the arcade center, where we played for hours--it was great: We took turns on every game--Whack-A-Gopher, Test Your Strength, Karaoke, The Claw Machine, That annoying machinery with the coins everyone tries to win like in casinos, simulated car races, and I filmed Stacy while she slayed her opponents at the Dance Dance Revolution.

Saturday afternoon. December 24, 2016.

An ocean of hassled, last-minute shoppers were scattered inside the mall.

Talking on their phones. Lugging around thirty gift boxes. Keeping tabs on their wailing kids.

It was absolute mayhem.

Stacy and I were dressed in holiday-themed outfits which she proudly designed last month.

When it comes to donning crazy costumes, I'm glad to confess I'm shameless like my twin.

Today I am wearing a silky red Santa Claus hat, my long wavy brown hair cascading down my back. My green chiffon dress had long sleeves, a modest neckline, and a scallop skirt which fell above my knees. My fashionable twin advised me to complete the look with a pair of white boots, so I did.

Stacy is clad in a short-sleeved, pale pink, silk blouse tucked into a deep violet A-line skirt whose crisp hem flowed down to her ankles. She teamed her attire with apricot-colored kitten heels. She flaunted her luscious golden tresses over her shoulders, and as usual, her neck was adorned with her silver half-heart necklace which completed my other half of the pendant.

Due to our laziness and procrastination, we chose to do our Christmas-shopping this Saturday.

Sigh.

After two hours of hunting down presents for our family and friends, Stacy and I agreed to have lunch in a restaurant instead of the crowded food-court.

We were loaded down with ten shopping bags each.

"This is nice," remarked Stacy as she peeked from behind her menu to eye me across the table.

"What is?" I asked before flipping open my own menu. We elected to have lunch at Max's.

The House That Max Chicken Built. 1945. Force of habit. I always say that in my mind.

My fair-haired sister flashed me a bright smile, which relieved me. I was still skeptical about her behavior, but she seemed to be in higher spirits for the past few days.

It could take weeks or months for her to recover from the trauma. She might never actually recover at all.Because a person's scars never heal. They just hurt less through time.

No one ever gets completely cured from a painful experience. One has to cope on their own.

She'll never fully move on, I realized. And maybe that's okay. It's her choice whether she wants to delete the bad memories from her browser history. The only thing I could do was be patient.

Be patient, because I'll never be able to understand how she feels.

"This." Stacy gestured around the restaurant,sweeping her hand along the cold air. My brown eyes followed her hand. There weren't a lot of people at Max's this noontime. Most mall-goers must still be trampling over each other at the river of sales. "We're on a sisterly date."

"You know what's nicer?" I teased, racing my gaze over the menu's extensive selection.

"What?"

"If you shouldered the dessert," I joked, slapping my menu between my palms.

My twin rolled her sky blue eyes heavenward. "Let me guess. You weren't really browsing the menu because you're going to order the same thing you always order?"

"Chicken with rice, a bowl of soup, and iced tea," I cited with a sheepish grin on my face.

When the waitress passed by, Stacy enumerated my order, including hers: The Clubhouse,rice and boneless milk-fish, macaroni salad, crab and corn soup, and mango shake.

For our dessert, two giant halo-halos.

After the waitress departed, I immediately bent down to inspect the bottom of our square table.

"Sop, what are you doing under the table?"

"Looking for the feeding program you've apparently organized," I flippantly answered.

Stacy's kitten heel kicked at my white boot beneath the table, making me laugh out loud.

"It's my cheat day. Leave me be," said my twin as I straightened up in my chair.

We goofed around while patiently waiting for our orders. Stacy relentlessly snapped random filters and angles of us using her white phone. I lightheartedly challenged her to a few rounds of hangman on plies of tissues we snatched from the napkin dispenser on our table.

My heart skipped a beat when I heard a guy say: "Let's sit over here."

Stiffening in alarm, I shot my blonde sister an accusing glare, to which she calmly shrugged.

"I swear on all my designer shoes, I had nothing to do with this," she defended herself.

The two tall males in button-down shirts and inky blue pants sat at the table next to us.

Universe, you cannot be serious.