Chapter 11

Though definitely more open-minded and less dismissive than Tate, our loved ones weren’t a hundred percent convinced. Goose and I saw the resemblances as uncanny. Upon comparing snaps from Tate’s IG page to the grainy, faded, old photograph Carrie’s aunt had found down south of Daniel, many we knew were skeptical. Looking at Goose’s sketches of Jefferson side by side with a capture from the TV news, Shelby, Rip, Carrie, and even my mother expressed a collective, “We don’t see it.”

Maybe we were wrong. Goose wasn’t giving up, though. He wanted Jefferson and Daniel arm in arm, cheek to cheek, body to body, even if it had to be as Micha and Tate.

“Do you think I can get arrested for copying and pasting Tate’s picture on Match.com without his permission?”

“I say don’t risk it. I’d hate for you to have to show up for our wedding in an orange thing…you know…jumpsuit…” I was still struggling with word retrieval at times. It annoyed me, and everyone I spoke to, I assumed.