Page 42 of The Quirky Vet

"Am I, though?"

His answer throws me for a loop. "What do you mean?"

His light-brown eyes meet mine, and I know the answer before he even says, "Lleyton."

A heaviness fills my chest.

I'm an only child, so I have no way of knowing what having siblings feels like, and I sure as shit have no way of even beginning to understand the effect losing a twin brother would have on someone.

Over the years, Fitz has told me so much about Lleyton that I almost feel like I know him. And I guess, in a way, I do, because Fitz has kept him alive.

But I also know that's an issue for him, how he's tried to honour his brother's memory by taking on facets of Lleyton's personality to the point where he struggles with self-identity and who he would be if his brother were still alive.

"He'd want you to live your life," I say. "However you want to, whatever that looks like."

"I know." He straightens his legs and lets out a breath. "Problem is, I'm not sure I know what it looks like."

"You've got time to figure it out."

He nods, then turns to me. "I hope so."

"You will. As someone who is older than you?—"

"Yeah. By three months," he scoffs.

"Still counts. Believe me, you have time to figure this shit out."

"Thanks, mate."

I decide to change the subject to something lighter. "What about your folks?" I ask. "Have you had a chance to sit down with them and have a proper conversation about theussituation?"

Fitz shifts on the ground. "Not exactly."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to bring them down from their high of having a child who's in the rainbow family."

I shoot him a look.

That's a weak excuse, and we both know it.

A look of guilt flashes across his face.

"Fitz?"

"I… Well… Urgh." He rips out a long blade of grass and coils it around his fingers. "Things are kind of up in the air between us, aren't they?"

"They are," I say slowly. "Does that bother you?"

"No. I just don't know how to label what's happening between us…"

"Neither do I." I wince. "Do you want to stop?"

"No. But…" I stop breathing, anxiously waiting for what he's going to say next. "What does it mean?" he finishes.

"Ah, welcome to my identity crisis."

He shakes his head and looks me square in the eye. "I'm not having an identity crisis."

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