The Gift

Chapter 2
Lucas

Chapter Description: The photo with pajamas

Have you met my sister? Lily was born 19 minutes before me and Lily rules the world.

Or maybe it just feels that way.

There are some characteristics that are cute, a source of affection when you’re young. On an adult, they’re not nearly as endearing.

Lily’s compulsion to boss her ‘baby’ brother around is a good example. I have let her call the shots for most of our eighteen years. Mainly for the peace and quiet.

I can remember Lily fussing with her dolls when she was a little girl, arranging the stuffies at the foot of her bed. (Is that why Dad kept hiding them around the house and sending us on rescue missions? Was there just a little part of him that wanted to frustrate his daughter’s obsessiveness?) I can remember her fussing with me as well, and plenty of times I’m wondered if she would have preferred a twin sister instead of a brother. Or at least someone more like her.

But like Dad always told me - whenever I whined about having to clean my room so that Mom could actually see the carpet, or when Lily begged him to tell her where he’d hidden her Mister Bear or Bitty Baby doll) - You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.

Lily didn’t get a perfect twin. Lily got me.

I know I’m messy. Hey, I get by. It’s not like I’m wandering around half-naked with drool running down my chin! I can pull myself together, I can make an effort where necessary. If you don’t believe me, you should ask my mom to show you the last pages of the red scrapbook, with me in my tuxedo for Prom. I can do all that, I just don’t often see the need.

If we’re on a spectrum, she’s on one side and I’m on the other. There must be a balance, right? Between my mess and Lily’s control-freakery.

We go upstairs and as soon as I enter Lily’s bedroom, I see the three clear plastic storage totes, the kind we used to take our stuff to college.

One is empty. There’s bath stuff in the second. It’s the third box I where I lift the lid and pull out two pairs of adult-sized onesies. They feel as soft as the ones I dimly remember from my childhood.

I hold the blue one out in front of myself. Tragically, it looks as though it will fit.

I laugh. “Man, Mom sure wanted to keep us warm at night. Remember how slippy the feet were? Surprised we didn’t break our necks.”

Lily shakes out the pink onesie and smiles. “It was nice, feeling so cozy. Like we were wearing our blankets.” She laughs. “Some of the girls at Ohio State have onesies.”

I roll my eyes. “Super sexy.”

Lily looks at me with disdain. “They’re not wearing them to please you. Not everything’s about that.”

I hold up my hands. “I know, I know.” And then I look down into the plastic tote. “Hey, you found my car!” I pull out the Corvette that feels reassuringly chunky in my hand.

“It’s bigger than the one you used to have,” says Lily. “So, the scale works in the photo.” And then she picks out something that makes me laugh.

“Really?” I say, watching her hold an oversized yellow pacifier.

“Really,” replies Lily firmly. She shrugs. “It’s just one picture.” She takes out the final items in the tote and I shake my head.

“Yeah, no thanks, no way.”

“We gotta look chunky,” Lily says, holding the pair of cloth diapers. “Look, there’s no pins,” she says, unfolding one. “Velcro. Easy.”

“I don’t…where’d you even find them?”

Lily frowns. “Um, Etsy, I think. Yeah, all the baby stuff was on Etsy.” She laughs. “Kinda went down a rabbit hole with all that. She looks levelly at me. “Don’t fade on me, baby brother. You can handle wearing a silly outfit for the ten seconds it’ll take for the photo.”

I take the diaper and cringe. “Lily…”

“We need the bulge,” Lily says. “I already promised Mom.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You promised Mom we’d wear diapers?”

“Pretty much,” she replies. She puts the clothes down and starts pulling off her top. “Come on, Lucas, soonest we get dressed, soonest we can take it all off again.”

She’s down to her bra and already this feels weird. I step away from the offending items. “Tell you what, I’m gonna have that shave. Still got my kit in the bathroom.”

“Lucas…”

“Give you some privacy at the same time,” I say brightly. I walk out of the bedroom as my sister continues to make her protests.

In the bathroom, I keep my word and wet shave the stubble from my face. And I take the time to decide whether I’m really going through with this.

I think about Dad, standing right here, teaching me how to shave. Just like he taught me how to throw (and catch) a football, just like he taught me how to drive a stick.

And while I’m sure glad Lily and I agreed not to do the bubble bath picture, I know there’s no chance I’m going to back out of doing the gift.

I go back to the bedroom to find Lily zipping up the front of her onesie. I catch a glimpse of her breasts that that’s all. That’s enough, frankly.

“Well?” says Lily, and she actually spins around in her fuzzy feet. “What do you think?”

“You got steez, for sure,” I reply. All zipped up, she does look cute. Not sexy-cute of course, but sweet-cute. And then there’s the telltale bulge around her waist.

“Put the pacifier in your mouth.” I take my phone from my jeans pocket and Lily shakes her head.

“Come on,” I say, grinning, “couple of practice pics.”

Lily strides over and seizes my phone. “Low-key. No way you’re sharing on Insta.”

I manage to look offended. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Mmm-hmm.” It’s Lily’s turn to leave the bedroom. “I’m going to fix my hair, make sure you’re dressed by the time I get back.”

I sigh. Dressing up like a baby was not on my college freshman checklist. But as long as the photo only ends up in a frame for Dad, then I guess it’ll be okay.

I quickly undress and then pull on the diaper. Lily’s right: the Velcro tabs make it easy, and at least I won’t get jabbed with pins. I zip up the onesie, and all at once I’m reminded of how warm I used to get and how fidgety my feet felt, enclosed in the fuzzy material. Can’t kick off the blankets when you’re wearing them, right?

I crouch in front of the mirror by Lily’s dresser, and I’ll be honest; I look ridiculous.

I hear a giggle behind me. Lily has returned, her hair perfectly (of course) arranged in high pigtails to match the seventeen-year-old photo.

Her hair, mine too, is darker than it was in our toddler years, but it’s too late to fix that, and really, it’s hardly the biggest inconsistency between the old photo and the imminent one.

“You look just right,” Lily says, beaming at me. “You look perfect!”

“You too,” I reply. I pick up the yellow pacifier and toss it to her. “Don’t forget your Binky.”

My perfect sister, who isn’t a fan of being told what to do, will probably throw it back at me. Instead, she holds it in her hands with a fond expression. “You were right earlier,” she says. “I really did love it.” She puts the over-sized pacifier between her lips, manages to smirk around it, and then says, her diction muddled but clear enough, “Don’t forget your race car.” She giggles. “Vroom, vroom!”

“Corvette,” I reply. I pick up the car and say, “Okay, are we taking this downstairs?” I’m trying to remember where the original was taken.

Lily goes over to her bed and runs her fingers over the comforter. She sighs, and says, “This is my room,” in a funny voice. A sing-song kind of tone.

“Yeah,” I deadpan. “True story.” I point to the landing. “Let’s go downstairs, yeah? I think Dad took the original shot when we were in the living room.”

“Where’d my stuffies go?” Lily blurts, frowning at me. Her eyes widen. “Did…did Daddy hide ‘em?” Her face morphs from confusion to excitement. “Are we havin’ a sca…scavengy hunt?”

I shake my head slowly. “No, Lily” I reply. “Your stuffies, they all probably went to Goodwill. I mean, we gave away our toys and stuff years ago.”

I watch in amazement as Lily’s eyes fill with tears, and then she sticks out her bottom lip.

“Sis, what…are you okay?”

“I want my Mister Bear,” she says. Although, with the Binky in her mouth, it sounds more like I wan my mistuh-beh. It sounds, if I’m completely honest, like a toddler.

I’m concerned, I’m ready to declare a mental breakdown on my sister’s part, until I remember how frosty she was when I got to the house (admittedly, I was a little behind schedule), and the time she’s had to think of how to get me back.

I fold my arms. “Okay, you’re hilarious. Really playing the part.” I nod with sarcastic approval. “Perfect.”

Her petulant expression fades, and I think I’ve made my point. Instead, she toddles over to the second plastic tote and squeals. “Duckies!”

I toddle (there’s no other way to travel, wearing the thick cloth diaper) to join her. “That’s for the bath photo.” I put a worried hand on her shoulder. “We’re not doing that one, remember?”

Lily looks at me and nods solemnly, her pigtails jiggling. “Uh-huh,” she says. “No bubble bath.” She keeps looking at me, and I can see that she’s actually sucking on the Binky, her cheeks working away.

It occurs to me that Lily is actually waiting for me to tell her what to do next. Because I’m the grown up. Because I’m in charge.

And when has Lily ever given up control?

I can think of a handful of times.

First day of Kindergarten, going to our different classes and she doesn’t want to let go of my hand, and I can see the panic in her eyes, and I squeeze her fingers and hold up my lunchbox and say, See you at juice box-time! Because I forgot the word for Recess.

Or asking me how she looked before Homecoming dance, needing me to nod and say, Look at that snack, making her laugh, making her brave enough to dance like no one’s watching.

Now I’m freak. This isn’t a prank; she’s not playing a game. Something really has happened in her mind, and I start to think of the strain Dad’s illness has taken, the pressure of leaving home and starting college, and who knows what else because we…haven’t…spoken…since…Labor Day.

What have I been doing, the last few weeks? What? The second I start college, I forget about my twin sister? We’ve been each other’s touchstone, our soft place to land, since we were born, and after Labor Day, I got so caught up with myself that I practically ghosted her.

What kind of twin am I? Lily’s been ready to snap and all I’ve been doing is partying. I’m such an asshole!

“Oh, Lily,” I say gently. I look at her wide-eyed expression. It’s as though she’s got the mind of a child. “Big yikes, Lily…”

 She smiles around her pacifier. “Lily…” she echoes. And then she giggles. “Lily-lolly-loo!” she shrieks delightedly, jumping up and down, and I watch her breasts try to catch up behind the fleecy material of her pink onesie.

“Look, sis, we need to get you some- “

She shrieks again. “Wanna play duckies!” she announces, crouching by the tote and lifting the lid.

Yeah. Probably not the best plan for a woman in her mental condition. I’m going to have to get her changed back into her regular clothes and then…what? Do I call Mom and Dad, or do I take Lily straight to the ER? Is this something temporary, is it something worse?

Right now, I understand those Internet memes about “adulting.” I really don’t want to have to adult right now.

“No time for duckies,” I tell Lily slowly, gently, like I’m talking to a little kid for real. “No ducks, okay? We need to get you some help, ‘cause you’re not feeling good.”

Lily’s face is a mask of confusion. “Not feel good?”

I nod. “You’re confused.” I take her hand, give it a squeeze. “Remember, sis, you’re not little. We’re big.” I sigh. “The clothes don’t help…” I reach for the pacifier, but Lily turns her head away, whining.

“Please, Lily, you’re freaking me out here. Remember school, remember Ohio State.” I groan. How on earth do I say this? “You’re…a big girl, Lily,” I say, my tone ridiculously condescending. “No time for duckies!”

“No duckies?”

I see something in Lily’s eyes, a flicker of understanding, and I nod encouragingly. “Yeah, you’re getting it. No duckies, right, ‘cause we gotta get organized for the photo. “

“No time for duckies,” Lily echoes, looking down at the tote. “Get organized.” Geh or-githed.

“That’s right,” I say, and then add, “Good girl.”

Lily smiles, and she’s closer to her old self. “Get organized,” she says, working hard to say all the syllables. And then she sucks on her Binky, blinks slowly, and her eyes grow glassy. She giggles. “Get duckies…in a row!” She points down at the tote and laughs uproariously. “Duckies inna woh! Duckies inna woh!” Her diction is more muddled than ever.

She crouches back down and reaches for the bath toys. I’m losing her again.

Here's what I do. And keep in mind, I’ve only been an adult, strictly-speaking, for a few months.

“No duckies!” I grab her around the waist, pull her away from the tote, and she falls back on top of me, so we end up entwined, arms and legs, and yes, I know we just look like a pair of wrestling toddlers on the bedroom floor.

Lily keeps giggling. It’s as if she really is back in that world, of befuddled innocence. I’m on my back, with my twin sister lying on top of me, her infantile pigtails tickling my face.

“Stop,” I say, “get off me.” I don’t want to hurt her, but I’m feeling claustrophobic. She presses down on my crotch with a knee, and I feel the pressure on my bladder. If I don’t remove my sister’s weight, I might just need that diaper for real. “For real. Get off!”

Faced with the absurdity of being pinned by my twin sister (who, for the record, is around eighty pounds lighter than me), I prepare to push her away.

And then I see a new expression on Lily’s face. She looks almost serious, looking down at me in contemplation.

Is this another flash of understanding? Is she coming to her senses?

And then she takes the Binky from between her lips and crams the nipple into my mouth. “You need your Binky,” she declares, and even as I gag in surprise, I know that tone. It’s the voice Lily used to use with her dolls when she was dressing them, feeding them, being all-round in charge of them.

She’s taking control. She might have the mind of a toddler, but just like she did all those years ago, Lily rules the world.

She stays on me, straddling my waist, looking down critically as I decide to pull out the Binky and give my dear, darling sister a helpful push. Next thing, I’ll call Mom and Dad. They can help me find a way out of this mess.

But before I do that, I take a moment to understand that this really is like how we used to wrestle and cuddle as toddlers. Tickling and rolling, laughing and shrieking, both of ending up red-faced and with wet diapers.

With the pacifier in my mouth, I can imagine Mom and Dad coming hearing the thump and shrieks, one of them will rush in and ask, What’s all this ruckus? And then we’ll be in big trouble. Except we won’t be, not really, because we’re just…so…darn…cute.

I look up at my sister. I gaze up at my big sister – because Lily’s always in charge, she always decides, and I’m a good brother but Lily is older, a whole mess of minutes older, more minutes than I can count – and I’m sucking on my Binky.

Lily nods with apparent approval. “Good baby,” she says, and then she climbs off me, giving my bladder one more push with her knee.

There’s a moment of discomfort, and a longer moment of embarrassment, before I forget both feelings. I roll onto my stomach – tummy, Mommy calls it – and then onto my hands and knees.

I don’t feel embarrassed or uncomfortable. Instead, I feel a funny, warm tickle between my legs as I wet my diaper.

I smile around the pacifier. Silly baby! Silly Lucas!

“What you doin’?” Lily asks curiously.

I giggle. I crawl over to the plastic totes, my diaper so thick and reassuring between legs. There must be toys inside the boxes. Fun games to play! And then I pause.

I feel a new pressure – down near my tummy, I think, or further down – and I just stare at nothing for a few seconds as my body takes over. I grunt softly, and I know my eyes must look silly like Lily’s did, all glassy and dumb, but that’s okay, because I feel all better in my tummy, and when I sit back onto my rear, the squishy warmth makes me giggle and wave my hands.

Lily comes over to me, sniffing the air. She’s so smart. “Did you do a messy?” she asks softly.

I nod without a trace of embarrassment. “Done a methy,” I agree.

Lily prods the crotch of her onesie. She looks surprised. “I wet,” she says, but she’s not embarrassed either.

And then I feel a note of uncertainty. What are we doing? Are we allowed to play like this? Where’s Mommy and Daddy?

Lily sees the expression on my face, and she pulls me against her so that we’re cuddling on the floor. She puts my face against her chest. “Good bay-bee,” she coos, as if she’s talking to her doll. She reaches around and pats my squishy bottom. “Baby all messy,” she announces, and I nod, sucking on my pacifier and feeling more and more blameless, more and more infantile and docile, with each suck.

“Mommy gonna fix it,” says Lily in her maternal tone, and I close my eyes as she strokes my hair.

I sigh in muddled contentment. Lily says all kinds of nice things about what a good baby I am. And I know that we’re going to be okay.