Noah wanted to squeeze his eyes shut again, just to get the image of the woman blowing her bangs out of her face out of his head. He hadn't - he hadn't thought about Macy's mannerisms in a long time. He hadn't forgotten, no, the way she moved and fidgeted and smiled, but he tried not to remember. That endeavor was more or less shattered with her doppelgänger in front of him, acting it all out.
He tried to figure out how old Juliet might be. Though he hadn't been able to watch Macy grow older (God, she had been so young), he knew this woman was younger. Maybe early thirties.
"No," he said for what felt like the 100th time. He cleared his throat. "She was older. She would be... 38 come this March."