All Over the Map

16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

The trick to getting a motel room when no one in your group can prove they’re old enough to rent it is to do it online. Mia booked us a room in Redding. While the desk clerk’s eyebrow goes up when he sees my ID, he hands over the key to our room without comment.

Tuesday morning, I wake up early, before 7:00, even though we hadn’t pulled into the motel until almost midnight.

I am meeting Leila today.

I am meeting Leila today and I don’t want to be let down. That means managing my expectations. I expected to meet Seth and suddenly feel like I had a brother. Instead, I got an awkward meeting with a stranger even though it ended on an okay note.

I don’t expect Leila to love me at first sight. I don’t expect to see her and feel like I found a missing piece. If I even made a new friend out of this, that would be something.

But how do I make it go well with Leila? How will I introduce myself? I stare at the motel ceiling, listening to Gabe and Mia breathing, trying and trashing options. I settle on, Hi. I’m Kendall, your genetic half-sister. Nice to meet you.

I grab a change of clothes and head into the bathroom to handle business and shower. When I open the door fifteen minutes later, hair dripping, pores breathing, fresh clothes on my body, I almost bump into Gabe.

“Dibs on the shower,” he says to Mia.

I move out of the way as he disappears, the door clicking shut behind him. Will it weird him out to be in my shower steam, smelling my shampoo and soap, touching my water droplets?

Mia yawns and stretches, struggling to sit up straight against the headboard. “Your mom texted while you were showering.”

I check it. It’s just a “Good morning, honey.” Except it’s not. It’s her way of seeing how long I take to respond so she can test whether I’m getting up when she thinks I should.

I type, “Good morning. Why didn’t you tell me you used a sperm donor?” But I delete the question before I send it. I called her last night from a rest area, chatting for a few minutes, describing with total honesty the kinds of things we saw in Sequoia National Park minus the actual sequoias since there are none in Ward. But tall trees and fresh air and squirrels are all the kinds of things she would expect me to see at Mia’s grandma’s cabin, and I can tell her a half-truth instead of a whole lie.

Not that she deserves the truth at this point. Finding Seth and Leila has only made me angrier at her. Seth has been on RootsDNA for three years. I could have found him then if I’d known I should be looking.

And now Leila.

I spend the next hour scrolling through her Instagram feed while Gabe and Mia get ready until Mia calls, “Kendall?”

I glance up, startled that Mia and Gabe are both packed and ready. I grab my toiletries from the bathroom and shove my dirty clothes into the bottom of my suitcase. “Sorry,” I mumble as I wrestle with the latch when it doesn’t catch.

“No big,” says Mia.

“Hey,” Gabe says, resting his hand over mine to still them. “There’s no rush.”

He’s right. I know that. We’d be two hours ahead of time if we got on the road now. But that doesn’t stop every one of my cells from straining toward Bend. Stop it. Manage your expectations.

It doesn’t work. I pound on the latch impatiently. It still doesn’t catch.

“Whoa, hey.” This time Gabe gives my shoulders a light squeeze, gently steering me away from the bag. “Let me try?”

I smell something familiar and grab his hand to sniff it. “Why do you smell like my lotion?”

He pulls his hand away. “I don’t. You’re smelling your own hand.”

It’s definitely his hand, but I don’t say anything as he closes the suitcase. If he takes it out to the Jeep for me, I’ll know something’s up, like that he’s madly in love with me, but he doesn’t. He slings his own duffel over his shoulder and heads out the door, leaving Mia and me to schlep our own bags like we always do.

We stop at a 7-Eleven for microwaved breakfast burritos and donuts (no metaphors from Mia since there’s only glazed to choose from). Then we get on the road, Gabe riding shotgun, Mia curled in the back seat, Dolly Parton in her lap, watching the scenery. She’s got some mellow rock playing through Gabe’s stereo. It’s soothing, more instruments than lyrics.

“Who is this?” Gabe asks when the first song is still going several minutes later.

“Grateful Dead,” she says. “That’s who came up when I looked for road trip playlists for northern California.”

“This is one of those bands that everyone’s heard of but no one listens to,” I say. But I like it. It’s soothing some of the anxiety trying to build through my stomach and shoulders.

I take in the scenery, trying to reorient. It’s like a completely different state than the one we had tacos in yesterday for lunch, but I guess east and west Colorado are that way too.

Within fifteen minutes the highway crosses Lake Shasta. It’s huge, and the tree-covered mountains edging every bit of shore don’t make it look any smaller.

“Dang,” Gabe says. “I want to paint my dorm room that blue.”

“That water is green,” Mia says. “But yeah, I kind of want to sink down into it and pull it over me like a blanket.”

Gabe twists to talk to her. “Mia. That’s blue.”

“Kendall?” Mia says. “Tell him.”

I glance at the water again when the road straightens out. “I honestly can’t tell if that’s a blue trying to be green or a green trying to be blue.” But it’s a deep, rich color, one that suits Gabe. “That’s . . . both.”

Mia boos and Gabe turns around to watch the lake again. Gabe and I sound like that, I realize. Like him and Mia bickering. Maybe it’s not that he sees me as a kid as much as he sees me as another sister.

This should feel okay. It doesn’t. It feels like getting the honorable mention at the sixth-grade science fair. I don’t want it to matter. I don’t know how to make it not matter.

I don’t want to feel this way about Gabe, but it all pushes in on me. The way he smells even under the scent of my lotion on his skin. He smells like Tide and sun even when he hasn’t been out in it. The way I can feel his glances without looking at him. The growing urge to analyze and categorize every one of those glances.

I should be okay with him treating me like a sister. But somehow, the guy I don’t want treating me like a sister does, and Seth, the guy who should treat me like a sister, doesn’t.

I force half my attention to the road and use the rest of it to think of better questions for Leila. It helps take my mind off of Gabe, but after lunch at a café on an empty strip of Highway 97, not even Gabe can hold my attention. I’m paying our thirty-dollar tab—twice as much as I want to spend on lunch—when a text comes in from Leila.

Boss is letting me go early. Going home to help my mom. Can’t wait to meet you!

Hard same!

We’re only two hours from Bend, and I feel that magnetic pull on my cells again, drawing me to her.

This is not managing expectations. This is my expectations getting an adrenaline shot of hope and spiraling way out of control.

The speedometer climbs. Gabe’s eyes flicker toward it, but he doesn’t say anything, and I keep running through questions for Leila. I imagine myself, friendly and warm, impressing her with how together I am.

We don’t stop once on the two-hour drive, but as we reach the outskirts of Bend, excitement curdles into anxiety in my stomach.

Fifteen minutes later, we exit the highway and I read the street names closely. As I turn onto Colorado Avenue, Leila’s closest cross street, I tell myself that the name is a good sign. One more turn takes us into her neighborhood. It’s middle class, more like mine than Mia’s, and then we’re on her road. We pass tidy ranch-style houses mixed with modest split-level homes, but I don’t have to look for Leila’s house number because I spot her standing in her driveway, waving.

She’s petite, her dark hair cut in a choppy bob, and she almost bounces as I slow and signal to turn in.

I cut the engine and she hurries around to my side, now bouncing for real on the balls of her feet as I climb out. As soon as I shut the door, she throws her arms around my neck, kisses me on each cheek, and says something that sounds like “Ab-jee.” She doesn’t let go so I hug her back and say, “Sorry?”

She squeezes me again and steps back. “Abji. It means sister in Farsi. I don’t speak it, but I learned it so I could say it to you. Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you’re here. I finally get a sister out of all of this!” She hugs me again, and Mia and Gabe open their doors too, like they’ve decided it’s safe to come out.

Everything about Leila shimmers with a bright, happy energy, and I feel like I’ve swallowed sunshine. I don’t know what to say, but she doesn’t seem to need words from me as she returns my smile that feels huge and goofy, but I don’t care.

“Pic first,” Leila says, shifting so one arm is still around my neck. We both grin at the camera, then at each other. She drops her arm from my neck to grab my hand instead. “Come on, my family is dying to meet you. You too,” she calls over her shoulder to Gabe and Mia as she pulls me toward the house. “We’ll do all the intros at the same time.”

This feels like the first time Carlos brought baby Lucy over to meet the whole Sandoval family after she was born. Tiny, red Lucy peered up at all the cooing faces as she was passed from uncle to uncle, blinked, and stayed quiet, like she knew they already loved her, and she was fine with the chaos.

I feel fine with the chaos of Leila.

Her house has sort of a woodsy seventies vibe to it, like it got stuck between deciding whether it was a cabin or tract house, but the green shutters brighten the beige paint, and a cheerful wreath of yellow jasmine decorates the wooden front door.

It opens and a woman’s head pokes out, dark hair shining in the late afternoon sunlight.

“She’s here,” Leila calls.

“Welcome!” Her mother emerges completely. “So glad you’re here. Come in, come in.” She steps out of the way but hugs each of us and kisses us on both cheeks as we enter. She’s the same height as Leila, at least four inches shorter than me, but besides that and their hair color, they don’t look very similar. Her mother’s skin is more bronze, and her face is heart-shaped where Leila’s is a longer oval. She has a full face of flawless makeup where Leila has only done her eyes. Her mother’s hair is also longer, falling below her shoulders with expert caramel highlights Mom would kill for.

When we step inside, Gabe says quietly to me, “You and Leila have the same smile.”

A Persian boy around twelve is sitting on the stairs, and he gives a shy wave.

“That’s my brother, Arya. Come meet my dad and grandma.”

Leila pulls me into the living room, Gabe and Mia following like a dutiful train. A tall white man rises from an easy chair and holds out his hand for a shake. He’s balding with a close-cropped fringe of brown hair. He wears glasses, but they don’t hide his gentle eyes. While he shares the same air of shyness as Arya, he gives us a kind smile. “I’m Tom. Nice to meet you.”

Leila introduces all of us, and I barely get her mom’s name—Fereshteh—before Fereshteh shoos us toward the sofas. “Sit, sit. Leila will bring you some tea and then you all can visit.”

An older woman walks into the room. She’s petite, like Fereshteh and Leila, with shorter hair in a fashionable bob, also perfectly made up, gold earrings and necklace glinting against her light brown skin.

“This is my grandmother, Shirin,” Leila says. Shirin envelops each of us in a rose-scented hug with a kiss on each cheek before urging us to sit.

“Be right back,” Leila says as we’re settling in, and she is, re-emerging with a tray. She sets it on the coffee table, then pours steaming tea into tall, clear glass teacups. “Chaii,” she says, as she fills my cup. “Persian tea.”

“Take a sugar cube,” Shirin says with a loud whisper and a wink. “Then you suck on it and hold the tea in your mouth and let it dissolve.”

“Not everyone has your sweet tooth, Memas,” Leila says, a laugh in her voice. “Drink it however you guys want to.”

“Now you sit,” Fereshteh orders her, “and let this beautiful Kendall tell us all about herself.”

My cheeks grow warm, and Leila snorts as she pulls a chair over to my end of the sofa and takes a seat. “No pressure, Kendall. Just spill your guts.”

I settle into sipping and answering Leila’s questions about Adobe and our school and a half-dozen other things she wants to know. The first few times Mia answers a question, she checks in with me with a look, like, “Is this okay?” but I give her a small nod each time and soon she just answers Leila.

I’m not sure why it doesn’t bother me the way it did when Mia clicked with Seth. Maybe because there didn’t seem like quite enough of Seth to go around, and there seems to be more of Leila than can possibly fit in her slight frame.

This goes on for a while, and I want to ask Leila questions, but it feels somehow disrespectful to ask in front of her parents, like I’d be asking her to drag up the parts of herself that are least like them solely for my curiosity. So I just answer her, and each time she mentions a way we’re alike, I hold on to it and string it like a bead to admire later.

After half an hour, Fereshteh claps her hands. “More talking after we eat. My mother and I made so much food. Dining room. Come. Leila, you serve, then sit.”

“I can help,” I say, jumping up.

“You are guests,” Shirin says. “You will sit and enjoy. Come.”

She leads us to a table so full there’s barely room for the place settings, and Gabe gives a happy sigh.

“This looks amazing,” he says.

“It is,” promises Leila. “Mom and Memas are amazing cooks, and they made our favorites for you to try.”

Fereshteh comes from the kitchen bearing an herb and cheese platter. “Sabzi khordan,” she announces, nodding at the platter before setting it on the last open spot on the table.

I don’t see how we’re going to eat it all even if we sit at the table for three days straight, but Mia and Gabe’s faces say they’re motivated to try.

“Eat your soup first,” Fereshteh says, nodding at the bowls already in front of us. It’s a noodle soup full of beans and greens with a dollop of something that looks like yogurt topped with crunchy fried onions. “Ash e reshteh,” she explains. “We just had this last week for Nowruz, Persian New Year.”

“But we also serve it when someone sets off on a long journey, so we make it for you.” Shirin is the only one who speaks with an accent. It’s distinct and melodic, but her English is perfect.

My first mouthful of soup makes me want to die a little of happiness. A minty taste combines with the sour yogurt topping and the rich herbiness of the broth. Mia gives a little groan, like she’s having the same experience.

“Lavash,” Fereshteh announces, sending around a flatbread. “You pick up sabzi khordan and tuck it inside and eat like that.” Leila points at the herb and cheese platter to remind us. “And now fesenjoon and koobideh.” These are a thick brown stew served over pretty, orange-colored rice and ground meat kebabs, respectively. I can’t bear to leave a drop of the soup in my bowl, but when Gabe takes a bite of the fesenjoon, his eyes roll back in his head, and I try it immediately.

I’ve never tasted anything like it. It’s sweet and sour and rich and . . . sublime. Gabe’s eyes must have rolled back because he saw God when he tasted it.

“This is so good I want to die,” I say. “What’s in this?”

Shirin beams at me. “Ground walnuts, pomegranate paste, stewed onions, and chicken. Popular wedding dish. Other celebrations too.”

“This is what I want to eat every day,” Arya says, then his cheeks flush. He’s adorably shy.

Leila hasn’t mentioned that he’s also my brother, which must mean he isn’t. I wonder if Tom is his dad, or if they used a different sperm donor with him. I file it away with my other questions.

“I want to eat this every day too,” Mia tells Arya. “Do you serve this at weddings because people always want to marry it? Because I want to marry fesenjoon.”

This makes Shirin and Fereshteh laugh, and we settle in to sample everything. Even Mia the picky eater makes happy noises with each new dish passed.

After that, the only conversation is me, Gabe, or Mia declaring our love for a new dish as Shirin or Fereshteh explain it.

Eventually, I can only push the leftover rice around my plate, wishing I had room for another bite but confident I will burst if I try to take it. Even Gabe has slowed down.

“So good,” he says, pushing back a little from the table.

Shirin tsks. “Surely a young man like you has room for more.”

“Ah, Memas, it’s so good, but I think we need a break,” Leila says. “Want to go for a drive?” she asks, smiling at me. “We can talk. I can show you my town.”

“You can take my Jeep, no problem,” Gabe is quick to say.

“I do, but . . .”

Leila’s face falls, but she schools it quickly and says, “Right, of course. You don’t know me. Safety in numbers, right?”

“It’s not that.” I feel guilty leaving Mia and Gabe with strangers. “I’d be cool with hanging out here though.”

She brightens again. “Yes! We can go sit in the backyard. Mom, you have to leave us out there until we’re done. No bringing out food. Except I’ll take the tahdig.” She swipes a plate of crispy-looking browned rice.

“You didn’t even try the bastani and rollet I have for dessert. Promise you’ll come in and eat more when you finish?” Fereshteh says, her eyes narrowed.

“Promise,” we both chime and grin at each other. I hear a slight sniffle from Tom before he clears his throat.

“Either of you like baseball?” he asks the Sandovals. “We can watch the game while Leila and Kendall catch up.”

Catch up . It’s a funny way to describe filling each other in on our entire lives.

“I like baseball,” Gabe says.

“I might like baseball,” Mia says, her tone suspicious. “Depends on the team.”

“The Giants, of course,” Tom says.

“As long as you don’t care if I cheer against them?” Mia grins at him.

“Go right ahead,” he says, smiling back. “But it’s a shame you have to cheer against other teams when the Rockies give you so little to cheer for .”

Gabe laughs. “This should be fun.” They follow Tom into the family room.

“Let me help my mom put some of this away, and then I’ll be ready,” Leila says, but Fereshteh shakes her head. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll clear the table tonight. Go. Visit.” She points us out toward the deck.

And I step into the mellow light of late afternoon to talk to Leila and find more pieces of me.