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Although the townspeople might have talked amongst themselves about his “story”, no one dared mentioned the incident to Lucas. It just wasn’t done.
She began to move her weight from one foot to the other, just beginning to realize he was less than enthusiastic about her good news.
“Well, yes.”
“What would make you assume that my DNA would tell me anything I would care to know about myself?”
She lowered the tote on the chair and nervously began to twist her fingers as she explained, “Not that I’m making any assumptions, but if you and I were to continue on our current path, it would only make sense to better understand any genetic complications we might need to deal with, you know, for in the future.”
“Genetic complications?” He dropped the folder on the desk and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I mean, if we were to ever have children, well, shouldn’t we be aware of such things?”
So, basically, she was making sure she wasn’t getting herself involved with a man with genetically subpar DNA.
Someone who wouldn’t inadvertently saddle her with offspring that was… less than perfect.
Wasn’t that something? Never had he been so summarily insulted.
Something from that long ago conversation, the one when he was multitasking, wormed its way through his memory banks.
“Wasn’t there an ancestry element to this testing?”
Her eyes brightened under the false assumption that this line of questioning was a good thing.
“That’s right. Others who have done the same testing with the company, and individuals they’re affiliated with, can find close and distant relatives they otherwise would’ve known nothing about.”
Something, in addition to anger permeated his entire body. But he didn’t dare give it a name.
What she had done was unthinkable.
She had taken a piece of his hair, maybe even swabbed his cheek while he slept, and sent it to a company to determine if he were a genetically viable spousal candidate. And where, presumably, unknown biological relatives could locate him.
Then what? Would she vet his kin to determine if they passed muster? See if there was a chance they could potentially detract from his, or her, political aspirations?
What a presumptuous invasion of privacy.
And totally fucked up.
He cracked his neck on each side and in a calm, even voice, he asked, “Do you have the company’s customer service number?”
Perfectly groomed eyebrows came together before looking down at the sheet of paper that held all his secrets.
“I do.”
He held out his hand without saying a word and she handed over the paper. He dialed the number at the bottom of the page and pushed speakerphone.
He got through to a representative and gave them the transaction number on the form.
“I have your account in front of me. What can I do you for?”
The service rep sounded like a surfer dude taking a break from the waves and squeezing in a little work to help pay for more Sex Wax for his gnarly surfboard.
“I’d like for you to terminate my account.”
“No way. You want to, like, close your account? Seriously?” Surfer dude was clearly taken aback.
“I couldn’t be more serious. Here’s what I want. I want my personal information to disappear from your company’s servers and eliminated from your data storage systems.”
