Teaching Willow: Session One (3 page)

FOUR- EBON

I chastise myself all the way back to my apartment.  If I was half as intelligent as I’ve always thought I was, I would’ve cut all ties with Willow and her sister, other than the most basic of common courtesies in class.  But watching her today…listening to her…reading her words
again…
I knew that I needed one more night.  One more night with her sister, just to get them both out of my system. 

You mean Willow.  Get
Willow
out of your system.

I correct myself with brutal honesty.  Yes, to get Willow out of my system.  Sage has never been the problem.

Maybe if I go to Sage’s tonight and have her read some of Willow’s words, I could get it, get
her
out of my blood.  It’s a shitty thing to do to Sage, but it would only be once. And it’s not like she won’t be willing. While we’ve never had a particularly thrilling sex life, she’s always been willing.  She won’t ever know that when I touch her, I’ll be thinking about her sister. 

I just hope it works.  It’s as close as I’ll be able to get to actually
having
Willow.  But it can only be once.  Self-preservation demands that I let this go.  As soon as possible, before I lose my job and all that I’ve worked so hard for.

I’ll do the right thing.

After tonight.

FIVE- WILLOW

All the way home, I feel sick.  Even though I accomplished what I’d set out to do—throw the scent off my trail and explain it in such a way that it goes back to my sister—I feel possibly more wretched than I did before.  My heart is still a twisted mess when I open the door to the apartment and see something that takes me by surprise.

Two suitcases are standing up on their end by the door and Sage is dragging another one out of her bedroom into the hall.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask.  It’s the first words I’ve spoken to her since I found out that she gave my story to Ebon.

“I’m leaving,” she proclaims flatly.

“Leaving?  Why?  Where are you going?”

Sage deposits the third big piece of baggage next to the first two and stops, blowing bangs out of her eyes and huffing.  “I need to get away. And I think you
need
me to get away.  I don’t want to be the reason you have a…a…”

I sigh.  I know what she’s getting at.  “Sage, it’s been years since I’ve had any problems.  I’m fine.  Really. You can’t just
leave.”

“Actually, I can.  Now that I don’t have a boyfriend tying me down, I can take that consulting job with the start-up project of Greg’s.”

Greg is Sage’s boss at Hybrid, the critical staffing service where she works as Human Resource Manager.  She only has an associate’s degree, so I can only guess that her looks helped her land that job.  “Wasn’t that overseas?  And only for a couple of months as a trial?”

“Yep,” she replies abruptly.  She acts mad, which baffles me.  What possible reason
she
could have for being mad at
me
is beyond my comprehension. 

“But what about your job now?  You can’t just leave for two months and expect them to hold it for you.”

“I can when I’ll be working for Greg for those two months and when I still have the emails that he sent me when his wife went to Paris last year and he was feeling lonely in that big old house of his.”

I gasp.  “You’re blackmailing him?  Sage!  You can’t do things like that.”

“And why not?  He’s the one who sent me those selfies.  No one forced him.  Besides, I’m not blackmailing him.  Yet.  As long as this goes off without a hitch and I have a job to return to, there will be no reason for me to ever share those pictures.”

I’m stunned. Truly stunned. This was the last thing I would’ve expected from my sister. 

“All this because you did something shitty, Sage?  This isn’t like you.”

She whirls around to face me.  “Well, maybe this is the new me. Maybe we’ve been holding each other back and it’s time to cut the apron strings.  Maybe I’m tired of walking on egg shells so that I don’t upset my fragile sister.”  Her voice turns waspish at the end.

“I’ve never—”

“No, you haven’t.  You never
asked
to be this way or for everyone to treat you like we do.  It’s just always been this way, Willow.  And I need a break. This week has just been…it’s been too much for me.  I need to get away. So I’m going.  And don’t bother trying to call or telling Mom and Dad to call.  My phone won’t work over there.”

With that, Sage shoves past me, flings open the door and carries first one, then the other two suitcases down to a waiting airport shuttle that I somehow missed seeing on my way in.

I stare through the window in shocked disbelief as she climbs inside the white van while the driver loads her bags.  She’s watching me watch her as the shuttle pulls away from the curb to carry my only local family to parts unknown.

********

It’s a full two more hours before I snap out of my stupor and remember that I was supposed to give Sage a message from Ebon.  He’s coming by tonight.

“Oh shit,” I breathe quietly into the empty apartment.  In my mind, I’m already back in damage control mode again, thinking of ways I can explain my sister up and leaving when I just went to great lengths to convince Ebon of Sage’s love for him.  All the plausible scenarios that I can contrive are contingent upon Sage being around to pull them off, which she isn’t.  No matter what I think of, her being gone leaves me in the lurch.

That’s when an idea occurs to me.  It begins as a seed of absurdity and desperation, but the more I think about it, the more appealing it becomes.

I could pretend to be Sage. 

With some makeup and her wardrobe, there are probably very few people outside of our parents who could tell us apart.  And I doubt Ebon is one of those people.  He hasn’t been dating Sage
that
long.  And he
did
remark on how much we look alike.  The differences are very few, physically.

I accept and reject the idea a hundred times before I wander into Sage’s room and open her closet.  The girl is a clothes whore to say the least. It would take a dozen suitcases to clean out her closet, which means there is plenty left for me to choose from if I decide to pursue this elaborate ruse tonight. 

Which I might.

If I’m evil.

Or desperate.

I’m sitting on the end of Sage’s bed, staring blankly into the closet when my phone rings, nearly unseating me.  I check the caller ID hoping it’s Sage, saying that she’s changed her mind.

But it’s not. It’s Tiffany.

“Hello?” I answer in a small voice, feeling like a lesser person already, just for even considering such a deception.

“Hey, Willow, it’s Tiffany,” she says, as if I wouldn’t recognize her voice.

“Hey, Tiff.  What’s up?”

“Are we still going to see that new Channing Tatum movie tonight?”  

I consider her question for a minute, wondering silently if I could possibly be fit company
for
anybody
tonight.  My mood is so sour even the handsome Channing Tatum might not be able to eclipse it.  Which would ruin the whole experience for Tiffany.  Channing is her favorite.  And why not?  He’s hot.

But not hot like Ebon
. 

In my head, there isn’t even a pause before I finish the thought. There isn’t a man on the planet who appeals to me the way Ebon does, physically or otherwise. 

I wonder absently if I could ever regret going to
any
extreme to be with him. Is any risk too great for a chance to spend an evening with Ebon as his love interest?  Are there any lengths I wouldn’t go to for more time with him?

In that moment, I tell myself that there is little that I wouldn’t do for him.

That’s when the tide shifts deep inside my heart.  That’s when I make up my mind.

I will pretend to be my sister. I will spend the evening with the man I’m in love with and then I’ll end it between them.  That’s it.  Just this one. To do what must be done. 

Feeling more in control now that I have a plan, I set about putting it in motion.  The first step is to cancel on Tiffany.  “I think I’m going to stay in tonight.  Can I get a rain check?”

I hear the disappointment in her tone and guilt washes through me.  “Yeah, sure.  Maybe next weekend,” she proposes solemnly.

“Yeah, let’s plan for that.”

“Okay.  But you’ll still be coming to play rehearsal Monday night, right?”

Romeo and Juliet, shit! 

I’d forgotten all about it.  I’ve been in a daze of humiliation since Sage confessed to what she’d done. It seems like a lot has slipped my mind these last couple of days.

“Oh, of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good.  I’ll see you Monday night, then.”

“Perfect.”

After I hang up, I stand to my feet and approach the closet again, this time looking in earnest for something suitable to wear.  I’m really going to do this.  But just this once.

Questions like
what if Sage finds out
and
what if Ebon knows the difference
run through my head, but I’m so focused on fixing things that I refuse to consider being found out.  I’ll make it up as I go. And I’ll do it flawlessly.  I have to.  I have to make him think I’m Sage.  One way or the other.

Besides, if I get busted, there’s always the death/plastic surgery/surf shop options.  Either way, Ebon is worth the effort, worth the risk.  And, if I succeed, things will go back to normal and I’ll be able to keep him in my life, at least for a little while longer.  And
that
is worth almost anything.   

********

Becoming my sister is harder than I thought it would be. Of course, it’s not something I ever really considered doing so…

I shower, making sure to use Sage’s perfumed shower gel and her favorite shampoo.  Thank goodness she forgot some of that stuff when she packed. That or she was planning on getting more when she arrives…wherever it is that she’ll be.  Was it London?

I shave my legs and under my arms, and then carefully groom my bikini area.  I have no idea how Sage takes care of her business, but I’d be willing to bet she gets Brazilians.  With that in mind, thinking I’ll get totally into the Sage role, I go back and shave it all.  Might as well feel like my sister from head to toe. Maybe it’ll help me act more like her, too.

I get out and towel off, smoothing lotion over my silky skin and then dressing in Sage’s clothes.  For tonight, I chose a short, black skirt and an off-the-shoulder sweater in dark pink, something I’ve seen Sage lounge around in before and something that really complements her—
our
—coloring.  I blow out my hair and flip the inky wave to the left, tucking a few strands behind my ear, like I’ve seen Sage do.  I even find in her vanity a few of the colorful streaks that she puts in her hair sometimes.  I clip one pink strand into the hair beneath my right ear. It plays peek-a-boo as I move my head and the color matches my sweater almost perfectly. 

Now, to tackle my mask.

I’ve never worn much in the way of cosmetics, but (like every girl) I used to love to play with them and I’ve watched Sage apply her makeup my whole life.  That alone helps my “face” to go on better than I expected.  Luckily, I had some cosmetics left from having to fix myself up to attend a cousin’s wedding back in the summer. Otherwise, I’d have been screwed.

When I stand back to look at my reflection, just under two hours later, I’m quite pleased with what I see. I’m a prettier version of myself.  I’m…Sage.

Once my transformation is complete, I wander out into the living room and stop beside the couch. 

“Now what?” I ask the silence.  My palms are sticky and my heart is racing.  The worst part is that Ebon didn’t say what time he’d be by, so all I can do is wait.  And worry. And pace.  And try not to sweat.

I make my way into the kitchen and open the fridge to get some water. I spy the half-full bottle of red wine on the top shelf. I reach for it, uncorking it and holding it to my nose.  The fruity aroma makes my dry mouth water.

“You’ll do,” I say as I kick the door shut and take a wine glass off of the overhead rack.

I pour myself a glass and take it to the sofa, curling up on one end and leafing through one of Sage’s magazines.  I’m starting to feel more comfortable in “her” skin with every sip of wine that I take.

One glass turns into two and my head is feeling noticeably light.  I think to myself that maybe getting a little tipsy is the answer.  Ebon can chalk any minor…inconsistencies up to Sage drinking too much.  And considering that he just dumped her, getting drunk doesn’t sound unrealistic at all.  With that in mind, I pour myself another glass, finishing off the remainder of the bottle.

I glance at the clock.  Eleven minutes past eight.  How long might I have to wait?

My answer comes precisely fourteen minutes later. 

At 8:25, I hear a soft knock at the door.  My heart leaps into my throat, choking off my air supply for a few seconds.  I stand to my feet, and smooth my hair and my skirt, forcing a deep breath into my tight lungs.  I hold out my hands and find them steady, which bolsters my confidence.  Yes, the wine was definitely a good idea.

I walk to the door and open it a crack.  Standing on the other side of the threshold, looking positively gorgeous in a soft gray and white-striped rugby shirt and black jeans, his hair still damp from his shower, is Ebon.  I can’t help but stare.

He gives me a small, crooked smile.  “You gonna let me in?”

“Oh,” I say, understandably reserved.  “Sure.”  I swing the door wide and let Ebon pass before closing it snugly behind him.  He walks to the center of the room, glancing around before turning back to me. 

“Is Willow here?”

I keep an iron grip on my features.  “No,” I reply calmly.  And, tonight, she’s really not.

Ebon nods his head toward the coffee table where my nearly-empty wine glass sits.  “Have you been drinking?” he asks.

“I had a glass of wine. Is that a problem?”

“No.  I’ve just never seen you drink before.” 

I don’t know what to say to that.  Sage drinks here all the time. I only assumed that she acted the same way around Ebon.

“Well,” I begin haughtily, struggling to recover, “it’s not like I don’t have reason to drink.  I mean, you
did
just break up with me.”