Miles laughed at his seriousness and made small talk with me. I listened distractedly as he relayed that Gregory had told him all about the boys and he was happy to finally meet them.
“It’s weird, they don’t really look like twins, do they?” he said.
I nodded, so as not to contradict him. Everyone had their own opinion on whether they really looked like twins. To me, they had each looked distinctive for a while now, but every mother of twins feels that way.
The barber was just sweeping the last of the hair from Vanya’s neck when he declared, shaking out the cape, “The Russian twins! Your daddy has told me so much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, gentlemen.”
He shook their hands as though they were adults. I gulped slowly. He had practically shouted it to the whole salon, and the other customers looked at me with revolting goodwill. I felt the blood drain from my cheeks and my hands turn to ice. I mumbled some thanks as I paid, before pushing the boys toward the exit. I might as well have soiled myself in front of everyone.
The following days were devoted to an intense cleaning of the whole house. Dwell Magazine didn’t give its contributors much advance notice. We had only four days to get everything ready. I kept the house very clean, but I knew flashbulbs and professional lighting would forgive nothing, so I redoubled my efforts. As the week went on, I restricted the boys’ access to certain rooms so they wouldn’t mess them up.
“It’s a good thing they’re coming today,” teased Gregory the morning of the shoot, “or you’d have relegated us all to the kitchen by now.”
I was in no mood to laugh. The creative team was expected to arrive at ten o’clock, but I had gotten everyone out of bed at six and made a huge breakfast for the boys so they wouldn’t get hungry in the middle of the shoot. Seeing my state, Gregory insisted I skip a second cup of coffee.
We argued over the outfits we would wear, as Gregory planned to have us all in matching striped T-shirts.
“Isn’t that a little cliché?” I asked.
“Just make sure the kids don’t have a meltdown,” he said. “That’s all I ask of you.”
He wasn’t kidding. I put on my striped shirt just for the sake of peace, and tried to avoid him until the Dwell crew arrived.
Molly, the artistic director, looked like she was about fourteen years old. She bent down excitedly and placed her hands on her thighs, bowing in front of the twins as though they were puppies.
“Oh my God, they are so cute! Look at them!” she squealed.
She introduced the crew by their first names: Cathy, Sam, Harlan, and Peisley. I wondered whether those were their real names or if they had changed them to be cool. They all made an effort to speak French to us, with the exception of Molly, who apparently hadn’t mastered it. They were already bringing equipment into the front hall. They moved systematically; everything was organized, and they followed a strict order. The big trailer with the Dwell logo sat outside in front of the house. The neighbours slowed as they passed it, craning their necks when our front door opened. Gregory led the team upstairs. The twins had taken up position in front of the stairs with Jules, assessing the situation. Gregory’s enthusiasm had started to take hold of me. I made espressos for everyone and got out the lemon cake I’d made.
“Is it gluten-free?” asked Molly, touching the cake. I’d given up on this kind of dietary restriction, since it didn’t seem to have any influence on the children’s behaviour.
“Uh, no,” I said.
“Then I can’t eat it,” she said, turning on her heels without further comment. I stood looking at the slice of cake that still held the imprint of her finger. The rest of the team had finished their coffees and gotten back to work, leaving their dirty cups on the counter. I quickly cleaned everything up before joining them in the living room. I didn’t know where to stand. Wherever I put myself, I was in the way.
The house’s natural light was clearly insufficient for the photos and several big spotlights and reflectors had to be installed to augment the light. I congratulated myself on my impeccable cleaning. There were electrical wires crawling all over the floor and I had to be extra careful to make sure the twins didn’t snag them with their feet. For each take, Peisley and Sam rethought the decor, repositioning items and furniture for optimal placement in the shot. With a painting in her hand, Peisley passed by me and gave me a little smile before laying it down flat on a shelf off-camera. Her job presumably was to pick out everything that met the standards of the magazine and get rid of everything that didn’t. She was now scanning the buffet in the dining room, rolling up the sleeves of her plaid shirt. It was getting warm outside. I opened the window to the garden to let in a little fresh air. Peisley had chosen a Mexican skull painted in a Día de Muertos motif and moved it into the living room.
“Oh, that’s perfect. Greg, hold it like you’re talking to it.”
He winked
