My twins are not conjoined. But they are usually together. Once long ago the slightly older girl was invited on a play date. Reluctantly she went but when she got home they held one another and wept. 

Never again. 

This summer they will attend an overnight camp where they will be assigned roommates. In different rooms. They have already started steeling themselves for this. They shared a twin bed until sixth grade and now in a queen they still snuggle. Some mornings when I come to wake them their twined limbs remind me of the babies who shared a womb. 

This morning Hope had an early dentist appointment and I dropped Aurelle off at a school. As she climbed out of the car alone she sighed. 

"I'd forgotten how lonely this was."

Hope too was disoriented, and when we arrived at the dentist's parking lot she slipped her hand into mine. She is fourteen. 

In the waiting room she told me how they always talk in bed long after I think they are asleep. They try to stop but there is always more to say. 

Last week they mused about whether they would marry best friends or brothers. I wonder about next fall when they may be asked to their first dance. Who will be invited first? How will that feel?

My heart goes out to those whose partner is suddenly gone. Whether by death or divorce, an empty hand and vacant seat are drafty even in summer. The conversation stays stuck in your throat and piles up like the junk mail on the kitchen counter. One lump after another, unspoken, unopened. There is no one quite so inclined to follow the minutiae of your day, the traffic, the phone call with your mother. So your lips stay shut. 

Loneliness sets in like a fog. 

I wonder what an intruder like me could offer in the way of comfort.