One Cake, Two Candles

Earlier this week, I traded emails with a friend who is also both an identical twin and an adoptee. We were swapping stories—the kind only twins can truly understand—about that unique, tangled mix of closeness and protectiveness we feel for our sisters. We both admitted that when someone says something unkind about our twin sisters, it hits a nerve in a way nothing else can. There’s an unspoken rule between twins: you can tease your sister, but no one else can. 

We also agreed on something deeper—the thought of celebrating a birthday without our other half nearby is almost unbearable, disorienting, as if the whole world has tipped off its axle. 

That exchange with my friend has stayed with me all week. And the birthday I share with my twin is less than a week away. So is the sweet, familiar pressure of finding just the right gift—something that might surprise or make her laugh. Choosing a birthday present has never been only about the gift itself; it’s about saying, I know you better than anyone else ever could. Because you are part of me.

This year, our birthday falls near Super Bowl Sunday. True to form, we’ll set the football festivities aside until later and spend the afternoon together in our favorite tradition—taking our 93-year-old mother to brunch.  There will be omelets, coffee refills, and laughter as the waiter tries to guess if the two of us are twins or just sisters that look eerily alike. Gift bags will sit on the table, waiting patiently until dessert. Just picturing the moment makes me smile, because these birthday rituals are stitched into our lives like a beloved quilt—soft, sturdy, and distinctive.

Even as I picture the impending brunch, memories flood in—birthday breakfasts from the past, twin giggles shared across the table, the sound of Mom’s voice urging us to “make a wish” before the candles melted too far down.

In my book, Twice the Family: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Sisterhood, I described one such celebration:

“Back to the table with you, birthday girls!” Mom said.

Jenny and I shared wicked grins with one another. We knew what came next. Within minutes, Mom emerged through the dining room’s big swinging door. She set a large cake with white icing from Kirschbaum’s Bakery in front of us. The cake top read: HAPPY 8TH BIRTHDAY JENNY & JULIE. Because our birthday fell just three days before Valentine’s Day, little pink hearts decorated the edge. 

“Make a wish and blow out the candles. On the count of three. One, two . . .” Mom said.

I leaned over the luscious cake and peeked at Jenny to see if she was ready. Her big white front teeth gleamed back at me. 

I poked Jenny’s thigh. She nudged me back with such vigor that her ponytail swished from side to side. Mom had utilized the same white grosgrain ribbon she used on my braids to tie a neat floppy bow at Jen’s crown. She had also purchased the same pullover for us to wear for our birthday dinner. Jenny got the purple one, and I took the pink one. Mom knew we hated dressing alike. Switching up the color of our matching outfits was something we were slowly getting tired of, too. We tolerated it because we knew it made Mom happy.

It’s that scene—the glow of the candles, the sense of perfect balance when we blew them out together—that I return to every year as our birthday approaches. Those moments are like anchors: no matter how much time passes, they ground me in who we are and where we came from.

Recently, while wandering through a local boutique, I spotted two soft, cozy tops folded on a display table. They stopped me in my tracks. One was a heather blue that looked like calm ocean water at dusk; the other, a sienna hue warm as late-day sunlight. Instantly, I knew they were “us.” Similar but distinct. Paired but individual. I bought both in our size and, back at home, folded them neatly into my suitcase for the trip to Chicago.

In my mind’s eye, I can already see the scene: Jenny opening her gift and realizing, between laughs, that I’m already wearing mine. Mom’s delighted expression as the symmetry dawns on her. It’s a familiar kind of magic—the comfortable predictability of tradition meeting the enduring joy of sisterhood.

And maybe that’s what my friend and I were really touching on in our email exchange—not just the ache of birthdays apart, but the deep comfort of knowing that, even when distance or years intervene, the connection remains unshakable. Twinship isn’t just about sharing a birthday; it’s about sharing a rhythm of life. 

So when Jenny and I sit down for brunch with Mom this Sunday, laughing over coffee cups and exchanging gifts like we always have, I’ll feel that thread pulling taut again, just as it did when we were eight years old, leaning over a cake edged in pink hearts—two halves of the same wish, still blowing out the candles together.

And that’s a gift in and of itself.

Author’s Note:
If stories about sisterhood and shared birthdays resonate with you, I invite you to read more about my journey in Twice the Family: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Sisterhood. You can also find my reflections on twinhood and identity—including my essay “A Twin Thing: On Twin Loss, Twin Love, and the Bonds that Shape Us”—on my website: www.juliemcgueauthor.com.

In Other News

Twice the Family: A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Sisterhood is honored to be named as one of  The 2025 Hearten Semi-Finalists for Inspiring and Uplifting Non-Fiction | Chanticleer. Finalists will be announced later this spring.

Follow Me Here

February 4th, my audiobook for Twice the Family, A Memoir of Love, Loss, and Sisterhood released on Audible (ACX). It is also available on Spotify, Story Tel, Audiobooksnow, hoopla, CHIRP, and KOBO. 

Feb. 26 and March 18, from 1:30-2:30, I will teach a webinar for the Author Learning Center, titled “Essays That Echo: Crafting Personal Essays That Resonate.” Join me online for either date by registering here.

On March 3 from 5-7 PM, I will conduct a memoir writing workshop for the Westchester Public Library system at the Thomas Branch Library (200 W. Indiana Ave, Chesterton, IN). Join us for Memoir Magic. 

March 13-15, I’ve been invited again to attend the prestigious Tucson Festival of Books as a presenting author in the Adoptee Authors Booth alongside this impressive group of adoption writers:  EM Blake, Ken DeStefano, Ann Fessler, Dr. Abby Hasberry, Diana Kayla Hochberg, Ariel Rathbun, Emma Stevens (Linda Pevac), Jesse Scott, Diane Wheaton, and Jean Kelly Widner. 

March 20, Join me at the J McLaughlin store on Longboat Key for “Sip ‘N Shop” from 2-5. Julie will be signing books, and a portion of the store’s profits will be donated to the Longboat Key Library.

Follow Julie by visiting her website, subscribe to her bimonthly newsletters, and listen to previous podcast recordings where she discusses topics like adoption, identity, family relationships, sisterhood and belonging.

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