Chapter 10: Runny Yolks

I woke up in Tiernan's bed at seven, with the sun on the quilt and a smell of coffee drifting up the stairs.

I lay there for a full minute, listening to a man move around a kitchen below me.

I did not feel like a copy of anyone.

It was a very strange feeling.

I put on his gray sweatshirt and went down.

Tiernan was standing at the stove in jeans and no shirt, with a spatula in one hand.

"Morning," he said.

"Morning."

"Eggs?"

"Yes. How do you make yours?"

He turned his head slowly.

"How do I make mine?"

"So I can have them the same way."

The spatula stopped.

"Gwendolyn."

"It's not a big deal. I always do it."

"I know you do." He put the spatula down. "That's the problem I've had for two years."

I stood very still on the kitchen tile.

"What problem?"

"I've sat at a table with you and your sister three hundred times, give or take.

"Every time, the waiter asks how you want your eggs.

"Cordelia says, 'Scrambled, hard.' And you say, 'Same.'"

"She likes them hard."

"Do you?"

I opened my mouth, and nothing came out of it.

"For two years," said Tiernan, "I've watched you do everything she did, a minute behind.

"I watched you buy her coat in a different color.

"I watched you read the book she was reading, and hate it, and finish it.

"And not once did you pick anything because you wanted it."

"You were watching me," I said.

"I couldn't stop."

"That's a very long time to be quiet about it."

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