11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
I worry I won’t recognize Seth when he walks in.
But I do.
It helps that he’s wearing the same baseball shirt from his RootsDNA picture. He’s tall, over six feet, which means he got Sperm Donor’s height, like me. It feels weird to already have a thing in common with him that I don’t with Mom. His brown hair is longer than his picture too, like he’s overdue for a haircut, but everything else about him—his face, the set of his shoulders—is what I expected from his profile.
He pauses to scan the restaurant, and I slide from my seat and give him a small wave when his gaze falls on me.
Kendall? he mouths.
I’m nervous and my face feels kind of frozen, but I nod, and he smiles hesitantly and heads over, reaching out to hug me. “How are you?” he asks, letting go even sooner than I do. I hoped for a warm, Sandoval-level hug, but his is the tentative kind of hug I give friends on the first day of school and only on the first day of school, that brief long-time-no-see specialty of awkward huggers.
“This is my friend Mia,” I say as we settle into the booth.
“Nice. Road-tripping, huh?” He cocks his head. “How old are you guys?”
“Seventeen,” I say. “How old are you?”
“Almost twenty-one.” He studies me, and it gives me permission to stare back. His eyes are the same dark green as mine. It’s so strange to see them in anything besides my own reflection. “So. We’re related, huh?” His inspection feels clinical, like he’s mentally labeling each of my features. Eyes: same. Mouth: different.
“This is weird, right?” I immediately want to cringe. What a brilliant insight.
“Not really. It was the first time. I’m a little more used to it now,” he says with a shrug.
The first time . Three words with layers of meaning, and maybe even new threads to pull. “You’ve met other siblings? The ones on the website?”
“Yeah. Talked to them, anyway.” He does that quick pursing of his lips that means no big deal.
“Wow.” Who are they? Where are they? What are they like?
“So how’s the road trip?” he asks after a stiff pause while my questions pile up.
“Fun.” I don’t want to talk about the road trip. I want to talk about—
“It’s been okay,” Mia says. “I’ve already had a lot of away games this season, so I’m kind of tired of driving.”
“What sport?” Seth asks.
“Softball.”
He lights up, and they get into a conversation about player positions and travel gripes. I try to jump in with contributions like, “Yeah, agree, Mizuno cleats are great,” even though I’ve never worn cleats. I’m trapped in this awkward spiral until the server comes to take our order.
When he leaves, Seth and Mia dive into discussing batting gloves. She’s talking to him with the same ease she talks to her brothers. I love watching her talk to her brothers. All five of them. Watching her talk to my only brother makes my stomach hurt.
There’s a short lull as the busser stops by to top off our water, but I’m the only one who’s had any time to drink.
“So tell me about you,” I say when Seth pauses for a breath. It’s not exactly smooth, but it stops the baseball talk.
“Uh, sure. What do you want to know?”
“The basics, I guess? Whatever you want to tell me.”
“Okay. I’m a junior. I got an athletic scholarship. I really like baseball. Who’s your team, anyway?” he asks Mia.
This leads to a heated debate about the Rockies versus the Diamondbacks. I laugh when they laugh, but I spend the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how I ended up on the outside of a conversation that I’m supposed to be having. I finish my eggs without tasting them.
I’m frustrated with myself. I’m quieter than Mia, but I’m not shy. I can hold my own in a conversation. I’m just not great at small talk, and they both seem to be declaring a major in it. Which makes me realize that I don’t even know what Seth’s studying, so I blurt it as a question in the middle of one of Mia’s sentences.
“What are you majoring in?”
He blinks at the sudden change in subject, then says, “Human physiology. I want to go to physical therapy school and work as an athletic trainer for the pros. Maybe start with a bottom-feeding team like the Rockies and work my way up.”
Mia flicks him hard on his knuckles. Seth snatches his hand back and laughs.
The busboy stops by to ask if he can get any of our dishes out of the way. I slide out of the booth. “Looks like everyone’s done eating, so maybe we should let Mia off the hook now, and she can go hang out with her brother in the car.”
I don’t meet her eyes, and there’s a short silence before she gives Seth an easy smile. “It was nice to meet you,” she says. “I’ll add you on Instagram.”
He watches her walk away. When the door closes behind her, he turns his attention to the paper from his straw, folding it into precise triangles.
I’m frustrated. I hoped me and Seth together would be how Mia is with Gabe. Instead, Mia is with Seth how she is with Gabe, and I’m . . . nothing. An observer.
I want to save this, but I don’t know how. I clear my throat. “I guess we should get to know each other?”
“Good plan. What do you want to know?”
It feels like there should be more of a buildup before I dive in with personal questions. In peer counseling, we’re supposed to start by finding common ground, so I look for the biggest thing we have in common.
“I guess my first question is when did you find out your father was a sperm donor?”
“I have two moms, no father.”
“Right. Same. I mean, I have one mom. No father.” I’m embarrassed I didn’t phrase the question better. “How long have you known?”
“I asked about him when I was twelve, I think? My moms wanted an anonymous donor so no one else could claim me.”
“Did you feel weird about it?”
Head shake.
“I only found out my mom used a sperm donor when I got the DNA test back. She’d always told me my dad was a one-night stand.”
His eyebrows go up. “Whoa. That’s . . .”
It’s my turn to shrug. “Yeah.”
“Bummer.”
These one-word responses aren’t giving me much to work with. “So, do you know anything about him? The donor?”
His expression goes blank. “Are you hoping to find him?”
“I guess so? I don’t really know what I thought I’d find when I took that test. Definitely not a brother.”
“Yeah. Weird.”
This is like watching a promposal when you know the guy is going to get rejected hard. You want to look away but can’t. And it’s worse because I’m not watching that level of awkwardness, I’m causing it. I rack my brain to find anything we can connect on.
“Why did you do the DNA test?” I ask.
“I always wanted siblings.”
Really? I curl my fingers around the edge of the bench, out of sight so Seth can’t see my growing frustration. Beyond showing up for breakfast, Seth doesn’t act like a guy who wants siblings. I do a slow count to five to gather my thoughts before I try again.
“What does having siblings mean to you? Connecting dots out of curiosity? Having a relationship?” Say a relationship . That’s what I want. The beginning of something new.
“Connecting dots,” he says. “Not to be gross, but a dude can make a lot of sperm. I wondered how high the number might be for siblings. But the donor’s not in the registry, so I can’t even guess.”
“The registry?”
“Yeah. There’s a registry where sperm donors can enroll if they want to be found by their biological offspring. But he hasn’t registered, so right now I have to depend on other siblings to take the RootsDNA test to find you guys, one at a time.”
“I had no idea about the registry.” I feel like an idiot. “I haven’t had the time to do research.”
“You know mostly what I know right now.”
I zero in on the word “mostly.” “But I don’t know everything you know?”
His face grows blank again, like he’s losing interest in the conversation. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”
“What does that mean?” He’s holding something back, and I’m almost positive it has something to do with the donor. It’s the smallest thread, but I’m determined to pull it. Hard.
“Just . . . I don’t know. Spend enough time on that site, email enough people, eventually you’ll start picking up stuff.” His tone is cool, possibly with a trace of annoyance.
It catches me off guard. I’m watching a door swing closed on my hope of connecting with my brother, and when it clicks shut, I’ll be alone. Again. I need to keep a foot in that door.
“I’m sorry.” I pick up his discarded straw wrapper, now tightly folded into a triangle.
“For what?”
I glance through the restaurant window, trying to collect myself. The Jeep is still parked in the same spot. Mia and Gabe lean side-by-side against the driver’s side door, his arm thrown casually around her shoulder, his face serious as he bends toward her, like he’s listening intently.
“Sorry for what?” Seth repeats.
“I don’t know. Not being more sisterly?” It’s more vulnerable than I mean to be, but frustration cracks me open enough for the truth to leak out. “Do you have a relationship with the other two siblings?”
“Yeah.”
He says it like it’s normal and ordinary. But it feels impossible from where I sit right now, and that hurts.
He studies me, his gaze falling to my fingers wrapped tight around my water glass. “How about this,” he says. “Why don’t you ask me something about me, not the donor? Maybe I’ll have better answers.”
“Okay.” I think carefully, afraid to pick the wrong question. “Are you double-jointed?”
The question seems to startle him but then he smiles. “No.”
“Are you allergic to cats?”
“Nope.”
I’m blanking, so I reach for my phone. “I have some stuff in here I was wondering.”
“Go ahead, run through the list.”
It’s a foot in the door. “That sounds efficient.” I open my notes app and rattle off the list of traits I’ve wondered about.
He doesn’t have a problem learning languages. No astigmatism like mine that makes me wear glasses when I drive at night. He doesn’t deal with insomnia or sneeze in threes or any of the other quirks I have that are different from Mom’s. He doesn’t have many of the big things, either, like being a good writer, or being an introvert. By the time I run through the list, he has more of the traits in common with Mom than I do. The only three things that he and I share are lactose intolerance, a tendency to speed, and we both think cilantro tastes like dish soap.
“Does that help you figure anything out?” He leans back and watches me.
“I don’t know. I can’t figure out if it’s surprising that we don’t have much in common.”
“Those were mostly genetic questions you asked,” he points out.
“I guess so.”
“Is that all stuff that isn’t like your mom?”
I nod.
“So you want to see if I match any of the stuff that’s not like her because it will make it more likely that it’s from the donor?”
“Basically.”
“So you’re still asking about the donor.”
“Oh.” I slump. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking about it like that.”
“I should go.” He reaches for his wallet and digs out cash. “Class in an hour.” He lays a twenty on the table and slides his leg out of the booth to leave.
“I’m sorry, Seth.” I touch his wrist and pull away, and he looks down to where my fingers brushed. “I don’t know how to do this. We’re siblings but not family, and I don’t know what the rules are.”
He pauses but doesn’t scoot back in.
“I wish I could have a do-over.” My voice is barely audible over the bright clink and clatter of other people’s forks and plates. “I have so many things I want to know. Can I try again?” It scares me how much I want him to say yes.
He shakes his head. “I don’t want to be late to class.”
I lean forward. “I messed up. I can’t believe how bad this went. I didn’t even come here to find out about the donor.”
“You didn’t?”
I shake my head. I’m not sure why questions about the donor bother him so much, but it’s true: that isn’t why I wanted to meet Seth.
He drums his fingers against the table a few times. “What would you ask in a do-over?”
“I’d ask what you want me to know about you.”
He offers me a real smile now, full and easy with a touch of teasing in it. I’ve seen Gabe look at Mia that way a half dozen times since they picked me up yesterday. “Good question.”
“Will you answer it?”
“I really do have class, but maybe I can call you on Saturday.”
I straighten, hope rippling through me. “Is that a real maybe or is this a trying-to-get-out-of-here-without-friction maybe?”
His smile widens. “Kendall, I’ll call you on Saturday.”
“One more thing?”
“Shoot.”
I hesitate. I don’t think he’ll answer me, but I have to ask. “The other siblings. Would you be willing to give me their contact info?”
He sucks his teeth, like he’s thinking. “Have you reached out to them through the DNA site?”
“I sent a request the same time I emailed you, but I haven’t heard anything.”
“It took a while before either of them got back to me. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“I’m in a time crunch. It would be so great if I could get in touch with them now.”
“What’s the rush?” A challenge glints in his eyes, and I feel my first flash of kinship with him. He’s got the same intuition I do for when someone isn’t telling the whole story, and now he’s calling me on it.
“There’s a deadline,” I say. “I’m not supposed to be on this road trip. My mom thinks we’re at Mia’s grandma’s house. I don’t have a lot of time to meet the other two before I have to be back home.”
“Our sister is cool. I’ll message her on Instagram and tell her to check Roots.”
Warmth spreads through my chest when he says “our sister,” followed by a prickle of possibility because he’s given me a clue and doesn’t realize it.
“Thanks. It would mean a lot.”
“No problem. Anything else?”
“Yes, actually. What surprised you the most about meeting me today?”
He gives me a small smile. “That we’re so alike.”
I wait for the punchline, but that’s it. He’s serious. “I understand you less than I understand most people. What did I miss?”
He smiles down at me. “We’re more alike than you think.”
“But what does that mean? Will you explain that?”
“Sure. On Saturday.”
He stands and turns toward the door. “Be safe. You know how to get in touch with me if you need something.”
What are we supposed to do now? Shake hands? Hug? “Thanks for coming to meet me.”
He gives me a nod and walks away. When he disappears through the restaurant door, I sit down in the booth again, staring after him for several minutes without really seeing anything. I pay our bill and head to the Jeep. The conversation will become a permanent track in my mind as I replay how I took the wrong turn at every fork in that conversation.
But I’ll wonder if his smile at the end means maybe, at the last fork, I finally took the right one.