Tiffany Sly Lives Here Now. Dana L. Davis

girl moves across the driveway with a face that matches Nevaeh’s. She’s got the same braces, light skin, blue eyes and wild, curly hair pulled into a ponytail. A realization quickly sets in—they’re twins. Identical twins. I might have identical twin sisters?

      “This is Heaven.” Nevaeh rushes to meet her. “Get it? Heaven and Nevaeh? So lame.” She groans. “Why couldn’t our parents have named us Mindy and Pindy or Lisa and Pisa?”

      “Pindy and Pisa? Those aren’t even real names.” Heaven rolls her eyes. “I happen to like my name.”

      “I like your name, too. It’s not spelled backward.” Nevaeh turns to me. “We have another sister. She’s fifteen and her birthday is exactly two months after yours. Isn’t that so awkward? Dad knocked up two women at the exact same time!”

      “Another sister?” I croak.

      “Nevaeh, shut up.” Heaven elbows her in the side. “You can’t get two women pregnant at the exact same time. It’s physically impossible.” She turns to me. “I’m so sorry about her. She has Tourette’s. And she never stops talking, so I hope you brought earplugs.”

      “I do not have Tourette’s and I do so stop talking. I gotta sleep, don’t I?” Nevaeh says seriously. “Besides, I’m just stating the facts. Dad was obviously some sort of Casanova sixteen years ago. A real ladies’ man.” She makes a thrusting movement with her hips and Heaven covers her face in embarrassment.

      Two women pregnant at the same time? Three sisters? What the hell did I just walk into? “I’m superconfused, you guys.”

      “Of course you’re confused.” Nevaeh casually wraps her arm around Heaven’s shoulders like they’re the best of friends, which I imagine they are. “I told Mom sending a car was rude and would confuse you. But Dad was supposed to pick you up and then he couldn’t and Mom didn’t want to leave the party prep.”

      Heaven elbows Nevaeh. “It was supposed to be a surprise! You ruined it!”

      “Ruined what? We weren’t gonna jump out from behind furniture and scream, ‘Happy birthday.’”

      A party? Now Nevaeh’s fancy dress makes sense. And Heaven is dressed up, too. Sort of. An ankle-length blue cotton tank dress blowing ever so softly in the evening wind.

      As if reading my mind, Nevaeh grimaces. “You should change. Dad’s weird about holes in your clothes. In fact, I’d hide those jeans if I were you. Dinner attire is always Sunday chic. It’s the house rule.”

      “We have lots of house rules,” Heaven adds.

      I pull the leather strap on my case to take some of the weight off my shoulder.

      “Cool guitar case. Is there a guitar inside it?” Nevaeh asks.

      “Why would she be carrying an empty guitar case?” Heaven replies.

      “It could be, like, a suitcase or something... I dunno. Whoa!” Nevaeh jumps excitedly. “You know who you look like? Janet Jackson!”

      I sigh. It’s like I’m watching the twin Olympics and Heaven and Nevaeh are going for the gold. Can’t they be quiet for, like, one second so I can figure out what the hell is happening here?

      “Janet Jackson is short and sporty. Tiffany’s tall and thin,” Heaven states simply. “She looks more like Kelly Rowland.”

      “Holy shiz, you’re right!” Nevaeh squeals.

      “Stop cussing!”

      “I said shiz, Heaven.”

      “Whatever. Shiz is stupid. You sound moronic.”

      “Do you see the resemblance?” Nevaeh asks Heaven, sizing me up once again as I stand awkwardly in front of them.

      “Totes,” Heaven replies, matter-of-fact. “The height. Thin like all of us. An air of awesome. I totally see it.”

      Nevaeh nods. “Yeah, yeah. I see it now!”

      They stare at me with matching smiles and a glorious moment of silence passes. I seize my opportunity to get a word in. “Just curious but...where is, um...?”

      “Dad?” Heaven saves my lips from having to form the word on their own.

      “Yes. Where is he?”

      “Emergency C-section.” Heaven tosses out the words like it’s as normal as a walk in the park. “He’ll be home soon. Hopefully. Maybe.” She rolls her eyes.

      “She ate In-N-Out,” Nevaeh whispers.

      “Don’t tell my mom that. She’d die. She’s been cooking since 5:00 a.m.”

      My phone buzzes in my back pocket. I grab it and check the caller ID. “It’s my grandma. Sorry, could you guys give me a second?”

      Heaven pulls Nevaeh by the arm. “Take your time. We’ll see you inside, okay? Then we can show you your room. And you can change. And meet Pumpkin.”

      “Pumpkin?”

      “Yeah. Our sister.” Nevaeh smiles.

      “Oh, right. Gotcha. Our...sister.”

      I wait until the girls have disappeared inside the house and take a few steps toward the street as I swipe across the screen. “Did you know Anthony has other kids?” I whisper angrily into the phone. “He has kids!”

      “So I’m assuming you made it safely?”

      “Grams, did you hear me? I have sisters!”

      “Sisters? I only knew about one, Tiffany. I swear. I only knew about London.”

      “London? Who is that?”

      “That’s the sister I knew about. London. She should be about your age.”

      Then who the hell is Pumpkin? It hits me. “Oh, my gosh! Grams, there must be four!” I contemplate slamming my phone down onto the cobblestone driveway and watching the glass screen shatter into a hundred pieces, but that would only tame my rage for a few seconds and then, of course, leave me with a broken phone. Maybe there’s not four. Maybe London’s nickname is Pumpkin. But why would London’s nickname be Pumpkin? Maybe she looks like a Pumpkin?

      “Tiffany, you have to believe me. I only knew about the one.”

      “So why didn’t you tell me that? Would’ve been a nice heads-up!”

      “It wasn’t my place to tell you.”

      “Yes, it was!” My eyes burn as hot tears form. “You had no right to keep this from me. I feel totally blindsided.” I wipe a tear. What did I expect? That Anthony Stone would be sitting in a giant empty house waiting for me all by himself, feeling the way I’ve felt for all these years—incomplete? How could he possibly feel incomplete with a wife and four daughters? And how will he feel when he discovers I may not be his? With four daughters and a wife, my guess is...relieved.

      As I’m pacing, the door to the house across the cul-de-sac swings open and a teenage boy steps out onto the neighboring driveway. He’s wearing a sweatshirt with the hood pulled low, concealing his face.

      “Tiffany,” Grams says with a tired sigh. “Get to know your father. It’s his job to tell you the truth. The whole truth. You deserve it.”

      “Grams—” I’m distracted as the boy looks up and our eyes meet. The sight of his face literally takes my breath away. It’s covered in some sort of heavy white makeup, pasty and drawn, his green eyes almost glowing under the light of the full moon.

      “Yes, Tiffany? What’s going on? You all right?”

      “Look... I’m here. I made it safely.”

      “Please don’t be mad at me. I’m already hurting so much. I can’t have you mad at me.”

      “I’m