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She looked at him, mouth agape. “It means that they’re very close relatives, like aunts, uncles, orhalf siblings. Most of these people are very young.”
He stared at the thumbnails over his aunt’s shoulder. Some of them looked a little like the face he saw in the mirror. Some not at all. Half siblings.
“The sperm donor,” they both said in unison.
The people he was looking at likely all had the same donor father.
“I met Ted in Pennsylvania,” he told Cat now.
“He’s a dick,” said Cat, taking a sip from her drink. “Like, honestly, I think he tried to hit on me. I was like dude, seriously? You’re my half brother.”
“Wow,” said Henry. “Yeah, we had a beer. We weren’t on the same wavelength.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Because you’re not a perv.”
“I talked to Clarice in Atlanta on the phone.”
Cat rolled her eyes. “I guess it’s true what they say. You can’t choose your family.”
Clarice had been reluctant to talk at first and finally agreed to a call. Apparently she’d just recently learned that she’d been conceived by sperm donor and her curiosity about her true origins was tentative at best. But she’d done the DNA kit, and ticked the box that allowed others to connect with her.
“I wish my mother had never told me,” Clarice had confided. “I wish I’d died not knowing.”
You can’t choose your family. But that wasn’t true was it? Family was nothing but a series of choices—who to love, how to conceive, to keep your child or give him up, to lie or tell the truth. If he’d learned anything from his romp into genealogy it was that.
He’d hung up with the recalcitrant Clarice feeling more alone than ever. Apparently, she was the most disappointed that she no longer qualified for her membership in the Daughters of the American Revolution.
“You watch all those videos of tearful meetings between half siblings and you think it’s going to be like that. But really it’s just like online dating. Some people are cool. But a lot are just assholes. You’re looking for a connection but it’s not there.”
“I’m sorry,” said Henry.
The bartender brought his tea and bourbon, and he wrapped his hands around the ceramic mug, hoping to leech off some of its heat.
“Are you an asshole, Henry?”
He took the bourbon in one shot. The heat slicked down his throat and offered its pleasant tingle. “Maybe.”
Cat laughed at that, and then so did he. Then they werereallylaughing and he felt something true, deep. A connection with the person sitting across from him. It wasn’t just DNA; it was chemistry. Like Gemma always said, you have it or you don’t. Alice never felt like she belonged in her family of origin, always referred to herself as the black sheep. Switched at birth, she liked to think. But no. According to Henry’s results, he was related to Gemma. So it followed that Alice had been born into her genetically true family. She’d just rejected them completely. She chose.
“I’ve been at this awhile,” said Cat. “I’ve found out some things. Strange things. Are you interested?”
Was he? He’d promised Piper that he’d let it go. That he’d come back to the present tense with her. That he’d put the miscarriage behind them, try for another baby and move into the life he’d planned with her, the one they’d planned together. A simple life, with jobs they loved, children who grew up knowing who they were. He had Gemma now, a bit of family he could offer, at least some knowledge of his heritage. There was a house Piper loved near her parents in Florida; she wanted to make an offer. If he was willing to move there with her, they’d start again. A fresh slate, a life that started now, not way back when on other continents with strangers who only offered a tiny bit of genetic material to the mix.
She waved for the bartender, and when he came to the table, they each ordered another drink.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m interested.”
“I know who he is. Maybe.”
His throat went dry, stomach tight.
“He. You mean—our father.”
Henry and Gemma had not been able to break into that particular box.
The half siblings who wanted to be found had taken the Origins test and visited the Donor Sibling Registry; they were looking for connections. There was a Facebook page, DNA Detectives, where Henry had lurked in the shadows as some of his half siblings shared notes, all searching for their shared donor father through the other common relatives listed on their reports.
But their father remained a shadowy figure for all of them. A donor who had contributed to a sperm bank, one who at the time had been guaranteed anonymity. And though those laws had changed and were changing all the time, no one had been able to find out anything about him.
