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Sunday, September 18, at 12:17 a.m.
Did you have a good birthday?
Yes, it was good. Thank you for the roses.
Callie said you changed your major.
Yeah. I’m gonna try marketing.
That’s perfect for you.
Sunday, October 23, at 6:54 p.m.
Thinking about you.
Thanks. It seems like she relapsed just yesterday. Can’t believe how much has changed in a year.
Let me know if you need me.
What have you been typing for the last ten minutes?
Nothing.
Okay.
Thursday, November 3, at 4:01 p.m.
Can we get together and talk?
It’sbeenanhoursince I texted Maverick and he still hasn’t responded. I’m lying on my bed in my apartment, door closed and locked in case Callie tries to burst in, with my stomach twisted up in knots. I was hoping to hear back from Maverick before the phone call I’m waiting on. I even thought he could come over and sit beside me while I did this.
Maybe he’s busy. I’d like to think that he is, rather than that he’s ignoring me. Either way, I’m doing this on my own.
My phone begins to vibrate in my hand, and a quick glance at the screen tells me that it’s the call I’ve been expecting. I hurry across the room, sliding into my desk chair as I slide to answer. “Hello?”
“Azalea?”
She mispronounces my name—Ah-zeel-ya—but I ignore it. “Hi. This is she.”
“It’s Morgan. From the ancestry site.”
Nearly a year after sending off my DNA test kit, I finally received an email that I had a match. The test can only tell us so much, but Morgan and I are either second or third cousins. I messaged her immediately, and, much to my relief, got a quick response. She’s a high school student and took the test for curiosity’s sake; I apologized and told her that I had very little information to offer, but wondered if she could help me.
We exchanged a few more messages before I asked to speak on the phone. I was afraid to get into the specifics of what I needed over e-mail. For all I knew, my mother was reading everything over her shoulder. Fortunately, Morgan agreed. I’ve spent the last two days doused in the anticipation of this call, trying to keep my expectations in check. What if Morgan turned out to be a distant relative of my dad’s? Or she was helping my mom hide from us? I didn’t tell anybody about the match and only today, with the phone call looming, did I decide to try and loop Maverick in.
On the flip side ofdon’t get your hopes upis its counterpoint:today could be the day I get my answers.My fingers tighten around the phone at the thought.
“Thanks again for agreeing to talk,” I tell Morgan.
“Oh yeah, no problem. My mom is here, too, if that’s okay? She’d know more about the extended family than I would.”
I wince at the inclusion of an older person who might see through me more readily, but there’s nothing I can do about it. I grab a pad of paper and a pen. “Of course.”
“Hi, I’m Lisa,” comes a second voice, louder than necessary. I pull the phone away from my ear.
“Mom, you don’t have to yell. It’s on speakerphone.”
“Oh, sorry.”
