It's ALIVE! I mean... DONE! It's Done! | Reading, Writing, and Randomness for November 2025

The first time you’re told you look just like someone you share absolutely zero DNA with is strange. The eleventy-billionth time it happens, you barely register it. 

“Of course, you must be Joshua’s little sister. I can’t believe the three of you kids aren’t triplets.” Some distant relation to my brother’s new wife laughs and wraps me in an uninvited hug. 

“Yep, so unbelievable,” I reply, going along with her assumptions. 

“Aunt Claire, I think mom wanted to talk to you about the place settings.” Jenny Levin— wait, Jenny Levin-Stone now — deftly redirects her aunt then turns back to me with a grimace. “Sorry Jules, was that awkward?”

“Jen, it’s fine.” I try to smooth over her worry with the biggest smile I have. She’s the bride today, this is not something she should be stressing about. “Been happening literally all my life. It’s just funny at this point.”

When my parents adopted me, I was only a few days old. My only defining features were a smushed face, indiscernible color eyes, and wisps of dishwater-blonde hair. There’s no way they could have known that my eyes would settle on light brown and my hair would eventually skew a caramel brown that almost exactly matched the look of the twin sons they already had. Trailing behind my brothers by two years, the family resemblance had been noted by every teacher, parent, school secretary, and any other adult who met the three of us and didn’t know that I’d been adopted. Hell, it had even been noted by some who did know that. “It’s uncanny!” or “What a coincidence!” were those typical reactions.

She nods, too fast to project any sense of calm. “Okay, it’s just… you’re my sister now, so if anyone makes you feel uncomfortable, you know I will have words with them.” Her bright green eyes fix me with an intense stare. 

“I have no doubt about that, Jenny. Thank you for being a good sister.” I open my arms for a hug and she squeezes me tightly. 

“Jules, are you making my bride cry?” Over Jenny’s shoulder, my brother Joshua approaches, a smile on his face and cheeks red with either lipstick from the aunties or a bit of a champagne buzz. Or both.

“Nope,” I answer as Jenny and I split apart. “Just telling her horror stories about what it’s like to live with you. How you only stopped bringing your laundry home for mom to do, like, a year ago.” 

“Oh, that I already knew,” Jenny says, winking at Joshua. “Who do you think made him learn how to use the laundromat?”

Joshua puts an arm around his newly wedded wife. “And I’ve only fucked up my load of whites twice.” He leans down to place a kiss on her lips. “Babe, photographers want to get a couple more shots before the reception.” 

I wave them off and weave my way through the room that’s holding the cocktail hour, waving at the people I recognize and smiling vaguely at the ones I don’t. Finally, I spot who I’m looking for and make my way over to a corner next to the bar where the third Stone sibling, Jacob is hanging out with our cousin Olivia. I hold my hand out to him. 

“Jen’s Aunt somebody-or-other thinks we could be triplets. Pay up.”

He scoffs and reaches in his pocket to pull out his wallet. “Damnit, why couldn’t she wait ’til the reception?”

Olivia waits for me to stuff the twenty-dollar bill I’ve won in my purse before she hands me a glass of pink wine from our secret White Zinfandel stash.

“Unrelated,” Olivia turns to me, “I have spent my time scoping out the singles situation and determined our top prospects.” She looks around the room before pointing at a spot over to the left. “Bleached hair with a fade over there is one of Josh’s frat brothers who is very interested in bagging a bridesmaid.” She moves her attention to the center. “Wire Frames by the photobooth is Jenny’s mother’s accountant’s son who went to Wharton. And Snazzy Maroon Suit to the right is Jenny’s coworker Ethan. He’s bi, so if you’re interested, too, the two of you will have to rock, paper, scissors for him.” [ha]

“Excuse me, I called dibs on Ethan,” Jacob objects. 

“You can’t call dibs on a wedding hook up.” Olivia rolls her eyes. 

“It’s fine,” I say before they start debating the ethics of ‘dibs.’ “I think I’m gonna pass on all three.”

“And miss out on the bridesmaid uplevel?” Olivia looks stricken.

“Just not feeling it this weekend.” A hook up might be a good distraction from the tell-tale heart of a letter that’s waiting for me at home and burning a hole in my conscience, but I’d have to really force myself to be into it and that’s no fun. 

Olivia shakes her head at me and finishes her glass of wine, holding it out to the bartender for a refill. “Then, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go figure out what table the redhead in the backless dress is sitting at and move myself there.”