Chapter Four Charlotte
CHAPTER FOUR
CHARLOTTE
Dirty, rotten traitor
M Y brOTHER CALLS THE NEXT AFTERNOON .
My real brother.
Wait, but wouldn’t my new brother be the “real” one because of our biological connection?
Then what does that make Oliver?
Oliver is not a fake brother to me!
You’re spiraling, Charlotte!
Oh my God. I really am. I’ve been obsessing about this DNA bombshell since last night. The first thing I did when I woke up this morning was open the site to ensure the entry was still there and I didn’t hallucinate it. Sure enough, there it was. One biological brother found—and his location is the United States. Is he an international student from Korea? Was he adopted too and grew up here? Did he move to America on his own?
My mind has been spinning all day, plagued with questions. But only one question really matters.
Should I reach out to him?
I was about to run it by the Method, my laptop open and fingers poised over the keyboard, when my phone started vibrating.
I close the laptop and lean back in my chair. It’s big and comfy. Swivels too, which my dad considers a major hazard. We argued about it in the furniture store, which led to an intense debate about whether a swivel chair is more or less likely to lead to someone’s death. Then Mom found a bunch of statistics about it, because that’s the kind of family we are.
“Hey,” I greet Oliver. “What’s up?”
“You tell me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were acting weird yesterday. I figured I’d wait for you to get back to school, away from the watching eyes of Mom and Dad, so you can tell me why you were being weird.”
“I wasn’t being weird,” I protest.
“Yes, you were, and you’re still a terrible liar. What’s going on?”
Oh, nothing much. Just discovered I’ve got a biological brother out there somewhere roaming the same planet as me.
I swallow the words. I’m close with both my siblings, but probably not as close as we could be. I know either one of them would be there for me in a heartbeat if I called them to bail me out of jail or if I broke up with a boyfriend. But the deeper stuff? The insecurities and doubts that sometimes still nag at me in the night, like a dog working over an old bone? I don’t know if Oliver or Ava would be the first people I’d turn to for support.
It doesn’t help that they’re both older than me. By the time I was twelve, Oliver was already off at college, Ava gone when I was fourteen. They didn’t have to witness those years full of horrific things like puberty and crippling teenage angst, and I think because they missed all that, they’ve always treated me like a little adult. Strong and capable and entirely self-assured.
“Everything is fine,” I tell him. “I’m just stressed out with school. And then I was going over my grad school applications the other day and realized I’d been using the entry requirements from three years ago. A few of the programs require personal essays now.”
“A few as in more than two? I thought you were set on MIT with Cornell as the backup.”
Dad went to MIT. Mom was at Cornell. So of course, that’s where my family has been pushing me to apply. And yes, while it would be more convenient to stay on the East Coast, it would also be really nice to…go somewhere else. Maybe enjoy a different climate for a couple years. New England winters are the worst.
“I’m applying to a few others too,” I confess.
“Where? Yale? Brown?”
I love how he only lists places within spitting distance of our house. “Yeah, and some randoms.”
Random places like…you know…the University of Sydney. University of Melbourne. Oxford. An incredible program I found in Copenhagen.
Those are all a long shot, though. My GPA is exceptional, but biomed engineering is a highly competitive field. Those programs receive a ton of applicants.
“All right, well, if you need me to proof your essays, let me know. I’m happy to help.”
“Oh. For sure, I will. Thank you.”
“Of course. Love you, kid.”
“Love you.”
Guilt churns in my stomach as I open my laptop to resume my disloyal task.
I’m a traitor.
A dirty, rotten traitor.
Here I am telling my brother I love him, all the while trying to decide if I should reach out to another brother I didn’t know existed. It feels like a betrayal to my family.
I focus on the document in front of me, the familiar template and its headings soothing me like a cup of hot cocoa. I don’t care if it makes me obsessive. The Method works for me. It makes me feel better, more secure in my decisions.
Taking a breath, I go through the calming process, breaking down all the elements of the decision.
ACTION: Reach out to biological brother.
Next up is the pros and cons section. I start keying in points under each column.
PROS:
Learning about my heritage
Possibly making a new friend
CONS:
Betraying family
What if they’re mad?
What if they never speak to me again?
What if he’s an asshole?
I write as many pros and cons as I can think of, then lean back and rub my hands together. This is where the process goes from a regular old pros and cons list to the Method. It’s Charlie’s time to shine.
Since this entails dissecting the negative consequences, I copy and paste my list of cons into a new section and expand on each one.
The goal: determine the worst possible outcome of executing this action.
To make the best use of the Method, I tend to exclude things like “murder” and “tortured in serial killer’s basement dungeon” from the worst-case list, because the stats for those outcomes are always too low to merit real consideration.
The purpose of the Method is to establish the worst outcome with the highest probability of occurring, then determine whether I can live with that consequence.
OUTCOME #1: My family will never speak to me again.
Yes, this sounds like a soul-crushing outcome. But how likely is it?
Time for the in-depth assessment. Sometimes, the answer relies on common sense. Other times, it’s anecdotal. Most times, there’s a level of research involved. And if there’s one thing that gets me hotter than an organized calendar, it’s research.
Realistically, I can’t see my family never talking to me again. Dad still speaks to his brother even though Uncle Erik stole my father’s credit card number and used it to rack up a year’s worth of charges after Erik’s wife divorced him and took all his money. If Dad can forgive that, he can forgive anything.
But of course, we never say never, so I hedge my bets and assign this outcome a 1 percent likelihood.
To the question Can I live with this , I write NO .
Moving on. What is the next worst thing that could happen?
OUTCOME #2: Our relationship will be forever changed.
I chew on the inside of my cheek. Definitely a strong likelihood here. And this is something I can more or less verify. I spend the next hour online, poring over stories from adopted kids who sought out their biological parents and how their adoptive families reacted. It seems, for the most part, their families were supportive. Forever changed, yes. Bad? Maybe not.
I give the likelihood 90 percent, but since the stats tell me it probably won’t be a negative change, I can live with it. Anytime I answer YES to that question, it gets removed from the possible outcome list.
On and on I go, assessing each outcome.
He might meet me and reject me. Medium probability. Can I live with that? YES .
He might ignore me altogether. High probability. Can I live with that? YES .
I’ll meet him and won’t like him. Medium probability. Can I live with that? YES .
When I’m done running the numbers, the Method determines that the worst possible outcome, which would be utterly devastating and unfathomable to me, is a 1 percent chance of my family never speaking to me again.
In other words, reaching out to the guy that the internet says is my brother won’t be the end of the world.
My phone is all the way on the other side of the bedroom, so I load the BioRoots website on my laptop and create a new message. When you sign up, you have the option to make your name public, which I opted to do. The whole point of this was to find my biological relatives. If they exist, I want them to be able to contact me.
But those relatives have the option to remain anonymous, which is what this biological match chose. His username is HLS315.
I take a few minutes to consider what to write before deciding this isn’t rocket science. Keep it short and simple. My fingers fly over the keyboard as I craft my message.
Hi there,
I’m sure you received the same notification I did. And if you didn’t…well, looks like I’m your biological sister. Surprise!
I know this is awkward. And sort of nerve-racking. And I’m not putting any pressure on you whatsoever. I just wanted to let you know that I’m here and totally willing to chat, whether it’s on the phone or just texting or if at some point you want to meet in person. I’m based outside Boston and attend Briar University. Not sure what state you’re in (your location just says USA), but if you ever want to meet or talk, please reach out.
Sincerely,
Charlotte