Momo and Jojo came over today. After taking them to visit Mom at the hospice, I brought them back home with me. At 16, the twins no longer looked like miniature versions of me—especially Momo. He had grown taller and broader than me, his frame resembling Aunt Marla’s presence. Huge and rough around the edges, his curly hair fell messily over his forehead, almost hiding his intense eyes. He was already heavily built, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if he was a gym freak already.
Jojo, on the other hand, was smaller and softer, the complete opposite of her twin. She had always had a thing for braids, and that hadn’t changed. Today, she was rocking French braids that framed her face and made her brown eyes stand out even more. She was a couple of inches shorter than Momo, her features gentler, more refined.