“There’s my outer skin, that the world sees, and knows about me. And then there’s my inner skin, that only I see, and know about myself. That’s where Sequoia lives now. That’s where I keep her safe. The tattoo reminds me that I’m not moving on as I live my life, like every idiot says you should do, because moving on implies leaving her behind. I’ll never do that. I might have lost my twin, but I’m moving with her. I’m carrying her along as I go. The tattoo helps my outer skin match my inner skin, at least a little.”

Kavita traces the tattoo with her gaze, the curved teardrops joined at the middle, absorbing every curve, shade, and bit of negative space.

“Maybe you need to find your own way of testifying to Sunil’s life, too.”

“You mean get a tattoo? I’m afraid of needles.”

“No ink, then.” He chuckles. “What I mean is, maybe you need to find a way of inviting him back into your life. I was a lot less lonely once I started inviting Sequoia back into mine. My sister might be on the other side, but I still have a sister, if you get what I mean.”

“Rediscovering our relationship sounds a little ambitious, considering I’m still mourning the one we lost.”

“Your relationship’s changed, but it isn’t over.”

“Yes, it is,” she mutters. Anchor pulls. “It’s gone. And it’s my fault.”

“That’s just your broken heart talking.” Hawthorn dunks his tea bag. “I remember that place. Thinking life was over. That I was a failure. That I’d failed Sequoia. I felt guilty about everything. I barely ate because Sequoia couldn’t eat. I wouldn’t see my friends because Sequoia couldn’t see hers. For a while, I didn’t even think it was right to laugh because she couldn’t laugh anymore. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was slowly choking myself off. I was squeezing the life right out of myself, a little more each day.”

“I can’t even get a haircut.”

“How do you think mine got so long?” he jokes. “But after a while, I finally understood that I wasn’t honouring her memory, or showing her loyalty. I was punishing myself. I had decided, subconsciously, that if she couldn’t live, then I wouldn’t either. I would just get by until it was over.”

Kavita blinks into her tea.

“How long is it going to last? Another year? Five? What’s it going to take for you to stop punishing yourself?”

She looks up, unprepared for this question. “If I’m honest, I can’t see an end to it.”

“Forever’s a long time, friend.”

She peers into her tea, not seeing. Anchor pulls, pulls, pulls.