I popped the top on my soda and drank. The menu offering wasn’t my favorite, but Clare’s. Like the tequila, Clare had loved a good barbecue. I’d always reached for pizza or fries when I had the choice. This wasn’t the first time that Brit had confused Clare and me. When Clare was alive, it had happened all the time. Other than our fashion choices, there was no way to tell us apart if we were far away or it was dark. If Brit had been close, she might have noted Clare’s eyes were slightly more almond shaped than mine. When we were newborns, our mother had written our initials in Sharpie on our heels.

This menu mix-up was par for the course. In fact, it felt right to have Clare’s favorite meal tonight. We’d always shared our birthday with each other, so today should be no different.

“And the cake?” Kurt asked.

“Chocolate on chocolate,” Brit said.

She’d gotten the cake right. So the rest didn’t matter. “Perfect.”

“Tell me about your wedding-photography business,” Kurt said. “Never saw you chasing that dream.”

Clare had been the artist when we were growing up. She’d loved to draw, filled dozens of sketchbooks, and even dabbled with photography. “Fell into it like I have most things. Became obsessed with taking pictures of Richmond: Main Street Station, the old tobacco warehouses, Hollywood Cemetery. When I realized I could make money doing this, I went full time.”

“Feast-or-famine kind of business.”

“The second part of this year is looking like a feast,” I said.

“I heard you had an art show back in January.”

“It was a small event.”

“Still, a show is a show. Where does all the commercial work leave your art?” Kurt asked.

He had always been a good listener, keying in on whatever I was saying. He made me feel like an individual, and not one-half of MC, the nickname Brit had given her twin sisters. “Making it work.”

“Marisa is underselling her January show,” Brit offered. “It went well. She sold a couple of pieces.”

“One piece,” I corrected. “But who’s counting?”

“One more than I’ve ever sold,” Kurt said. “I’d like to see them sometime.”

I sipped my soda, savoring the bubbles. After booze and the accident, the new loves of my life were carbonation and crunch.

“All right, you two, time to put on a hat,” Brit said. “M, you’re Dorothy, of course. And, Kurt, you’re the Tin Man.”

Kurt waggled his eyebrows, as he’d done in high school when Brit went all Mom Squad. “If I only had a heart.”