Adam and Amelia don't visit the grave together.
For one, their schedules don't exactly line up with one another because neither of them keeps regular schedules, the bustling worlds of fashion and people keeping them both on their feet at all hours of day and night.
For two, they don't want to come together. They may have shared a womb, but both of them come to the moss-covered graves and say things that they'd never repeat to anyone else; not even to each other.
They don't come at the same time, either; whenever the urge takes one of them, they go. The other doesn't know until they visit later to find fresh flowers on the gravestone, and they don't say anything about it to each other, either.
Today is different, though. Today is the death anniversary, and so today, both twins are obligated to visit. Their parents died in February, three days after they were born. All four grandparents swear that they can still hear the two crying orphans to this day. The still don't come at the same time, though. They've been doing this for years; Amelia comes in the morning, Adam comes in the evening. The next time when they meet up for coffee, they won't talk about it. What is there to talk about?
They're not close, not really. They were much closer when they were younger when they were joined at the hip and anyone who tried to separate them was met with flailing fists and sharp tongues to match. Adam misses those days when the world had far fewer cares and worries. He wouldn't like to go back to those days, though—no, he wouldn't like to be the only kid in class who didn't have parents to give handmade cards to on Mother's and Father's Day. He and Amelia were never together; people thought that it would be better if they didn't get too attached to one another. Give them a chance to make friends that they hadn't known since birth.
Adam's not entirely sure if it worked.
Ah, well. If there's one thing he knows from the work he does, it's that the past can't be changed. All that's left to do is to try and change the future. Unfortunately, Adam isn't so sure that he'll be able to. A relationship requires both persons involved to make some sort of effort, and goodness only knows that Amelia isn't putting in any. He misses her, he really does, misses the days of chasing each other around the courtyard, trying to pull the colourful tails they'd tucked into their trousers, a meagre attempt at entertainment that had somehow seemed to work.
Adam stands before the grave, clutching a posy of rosemary in his hands. He reaches a trembling hand down and steadies himself, as for a fragile, brief moment, it's as if his parents are the ones holding him up. Then, when he shifts his hands a little and the stone doesn't move with him, he's thrust back into reality, and he's almost knocked sideways with the grief that he doesn't really have the right to feel. How do you miss someone you never met? Adam doesn't know, but he misses his parents anyway.
He bends down, fanning out the rosemary, forming a circle around a clump of freshly laid violets; Amelia's offering, he assumes. When that's done, Adam straightens up and takes a look at his handiwork, making sure that he's satisfied with it. Only the best for his parents, after all. When he was young, his grandparents brought him and Amelia, and they were always so particular regarding the state of their children's grave that the twins seem to have picked up the habit. At least they're the same in that.
Adam shuts his eyes and begins to pray, the words burned into his brain by now. His grandparents managed not to lose their faith, despite having their youngest children taken from them, and Adam had followed in much the same strain. He clings to his faith like a lifeline, even on those days when the world just doesn't want to work in his favour.
When he's done, he stands up, back ramrod straight, every part the perfect son he's always been raised to be. Mama and Papa may be gone, but that's no excuse for tardiness.
And then he talks. Just talks. He doesn't know how long, or really about what's planning to say, but he talks. It's a way of losing himself amongst the blustering wind and the periodic sounds of people shuffling around him, whispering words to the graves around.
"Hey, Mama, Papa. It's me. I hope you can hear me. I hope you're both well, wherever you are." He sighs, breathing deeply. "I'm sure Amelia told you some funny stories this morning; a lot has happened to her in the past year. She got that job at the company—I'm happy for her. Nothing but the best for my sister."
He stares at the graves, almost expecting them to talk back. He can't help but laugh when they don't. "Me? I'm still where I was the last time I came to talk to you. I'm not complaining, though—I love my job, I really do. I didn't think I'd ever find my true calling in life, but here we are."
That's about the gist of it. Adam's never been one for elaborate speeches or frills; Amelia was always better suited to those kinds of things. He'll support his sister in every show or exhibition she's ever in, but he'll never desire to replace her in the spotlight, oh no. Better to be in the shadows and safe than exposed by the limelight.
After he's finished talking, Adam stands in silence, grounding himself. Internally letting out all the things that he can't say to anyone else, lest they think that he's going insane. Adam's not really okay, but not many people know that. Only his grandparents, Amelia, and the few friends he's managed to keep over the years.
He's deep in thought when he's interrupted, someone to his side coughing twice. His mind moves faster than his head does, so he's let out a "Yes?" before he's even turned to look at whoever it is.
When his head eventually catches up, he finds a small, vaguely young girl, staring at him, as if she's pretending he's not there. "Oh, sorry," he continues, figuring that he's standing in her way—which, come to think about it, doesn't make a great deal of sense; there's a great deal of empty space around them that she could easily move through.
No, the only reasonable explanation the girl has stopped him like this is because—
"Excuse me. Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Could I ask you some questions?" she asks, her tone instantly telling him that she's a bit older than he first thought.
Even though everything he's come to learn up to this point is telling him that this is a terrible idea, Adam just smiles his best 'friendly and welcoming' smile and replies, "Yes. But who are you?"
The woman looks back at his parents' grave. "Someone who wants to find the truth about them."
Well, this is going to be interesting.