Chapter Seven
Juniper
“June? Juniper, wake up, will you?”
A firm hand grips my shoulder and rocks me out of whatever restful wonderland I fell into last night.
“Stop,” I grumble like a whiny five-year-old, swatting around blindly. “So tired.”
“June, we need to go soon.”
Aidan’s resonant, husky voice eliminates all remaining hope of drifting off to sleep again. My vision blurs into focus to find him standing by the side of the bed, and he holds my gaze for a nanosecond before his eyes dart to the ground. Those green irises make for quite a wake-up call. I groan and roll onto my back like a lazy dog looking for a belly rub.
“Here.” A soft blanket lands on top of me, and Aidan coughs. The buttery knit throw melts in my arms, and on instinct, I cuddle it closer. If he needs me to get out of bed, he chose the wrong plan of action. I hug the worn-in wool, which feels like cotton candy against my skin.
My senses become more grounded as I wonder where my pajamas are . I grip the flimsy blanket around me as my body flushes with embarrassment. Sometime between staying up until 3:00 a.m. because of the time difference and getting ready for bed, I passed out in nothing but my bra and underwear.
“Why didn’t you knock?” I snap, wrapping the fabric around me and under my arms like a bath towel.
“I did. Quite a bit. Worried you were dead for a minute.”
I wish I could die right now. I’m no prude, but he’s caught me in that unattractive morning state—hair unbrushed, pillowcase creases on my cheeks, and nearly nude. At least I have my nice lacy black bra and panties on.
That doesn’t matter, though. I clutch the blanket closer to me and fumble to make myself decent.
Aidan readjusts the hem of his shirt. “You coming to Cara’s mam’s this afternoon? You slept all morning, so it’s about time to head over.”
“Already?” The clock on the nightstand shows it’s almost noon. “Uh, yeah.”
“We’ll grab Cara on the way. Think you can be ready in fifteen?”
“I’ll try,” I utter and race down the hallway with the throw still draped around me.
Aidan has a knack for finding me in uncomfortable states—hopeless tourist who lost her passport, suspicious young woman caught lying about her name, and lazy lady sprawled out half naked on a dainty floral comforter that his grandmother probably knitted for him.
After the world’s shortest shower, I rifle through my bag. I only have a few outfits to rotate through, but I alternate between each bottom and top, holding them against my body in the full-length mirror. I land on a sweater, a corduroy dress that ends mid-thigh, and a pair of tights that are so warm they’ve made the snowstorms in the city feel like a tropical breeze. This seems like an appropriate meet-the-parents-of-your-surprise-half-sister kind of outfit. Looking in the mirror, I dot a lip stain over my cheeks and lips, and I smooth out some feathery pieces of hair.
As ready as I’ll ever be.
Aidan drives a car that must be from the ’80s, based on how the maroon paint has long faded and lost its glossy sheen. When I pull on the handle, I do a double take at the dry leather of the steering wheel.
“We drive on the correct side of the road over here.” Aidan opens the opposite door and smirks as I switch to the passenger side. Rather than trade with me, though, he waits there and closes the door once I’m settled in. His chivalry chips away most of the remaining anger I have about my unfortunate wake-up.
I settle into the light musky scent of the car—or maybe that’s Aidan? We’re nestled so close together that I can’t tell. He twirls a knob on the center console. Once he’s satisfied with the melancholy Morrissey song on the radio, he places his camera in the minuscule backseat.
“How’d the interview go?”
“Don’t remind me,” he says, backing out of the driveway.
“That bad?”
He grunts in response, which stops me from prodding further. I can’t imagine a school disliking him and his work that much, but I understand if he doesn’t want to talk about it. I’m content to drive around and listen to the radio instead.
I type notes on my phone in the shared document that Ethan set up. Abrupt awakening by Aidan, Cara’s BFF and my temporary roommate. En route to meet Cara’s mom and stepdad, and while I shouldn’t be nervous (after all, they’re not my parents), I can’t help but worry—
“Sorry,” he says.
“For what?”
“Being short with you,” Aidan says. “Shite morning.”
“I get it. Happens sometimes.”
“You…you ready to meet Cara’s parents?”
“I think so.” My voice quivers, unmistakably, and I sit up straighter to fake self-assurance. “Cara doesn’t seem to remember much of our dad, but she said her mom will. That’s kind of weird for me.”
“Evelyn’s lovely, you’ll like her. She’s really…motherly, I guess is the word. She can expect what people need in the moment, same as Cara.”
“I hope she likes me.” Is that why butterflies are swarming in my stomach? “She sounds cool, is all.”
“She is. And she’ll like you, both her and Roger will. They’re good folks.” He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “I understand why you’d be anxious, meeting the parents and all.”
“Yeah. Never got used to the process.”
A familiar apartment complex sneaks into view, and Aidan parks by the curb and clicks his hazards on. “ The process ?”
“Meeting new families in foster care. They were all nice enough, but that didn’t make the experience less bizarre.”
“Ah, I thought you meant meeting the parents. Like when you’re seeing someone.”
“Oh no, no,” I shake my head in distaste. “Although I’m sure that’s nerve-wracking in its own way. Wouldn’t actually know.”
“Really?”
“I mean, I date.” My face heats up like an oven. “I’m just not a serious-relationship kind of gal, you know?”
“Right.”
“No one questions men when they choose not to couple up long term,” I ramble on. “I prefer to occupy my time with what matters to me—work, my best friend, life in the city. I just…” My attention drifts to the driver’s seat where Aidan is listening, not a hint of judgment in his eyes. “I’d rather not attach myself to another human being, that’s all. It usually ends in disappointment.”
“That’s true.” Aidan’s tone leads me to believe he knows this firsthand. “But you’d have nothing to worry about meeting any parents, because you’re…you seem great. You met my da, and he thought you were sound. So anyone would be lucky to take you home to meet their folks.”
“That’s…yeah. Thanks.”
Aidan has probably comforted Cara the same way hundreds of times before, but I still smile to myself in the passenger seat. In less than twenty seconds, he gave me the pep talk I didn’t know I needed. The added confidence is a mental boost.
Cara steps outside and waves so hard her arm might fly right off. She squeezes into the backseat, which is a miracle considering the space is more of a glorified storage area for Aidan’s camera gear. Even though she’s hugging her shins and her knees block her vision, she bursts with energy.
“Mam has been texting me all morning. She and Roger are buzzing .”
“I’m excited too,” I say, then resume chewing on my bottom lip.
Cara leans forward, resting an elbow on the back of each seat, and stares Aidan down. He takes in a deep breath before asking, “What?”
“How you feeling?”
“Grand.”
“Be honest.”
“I’d love to not talk about it.”
Cara nods once. “Understood.”
“I’m ready to crash your brunch if that’s fine with you.”
“You know my mam and Rodg wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Only one minute outside of town, we cruise down perilously skinny roads, passing fields of sheep and quaint family homes. I can’t remember the last time I escaped the city for more than a long weekend, and the scenery fills me with the longing to rent a car and drive around the countryside all day. Without a driver’s license or a private chauffeur, that won’t happen, but a girl can dream.
We arrive at Cara’s parents’ home within minutes, and I swallow the anxious jitters crawling up my throat. Cara’s mother and stepdad await us on the front porch, with a large weary-looking dog lying dutifully at their side. They wave as we pull in and then walk up to greet us at the car—the epitome of loving parents.
“You must be Juniper.” Cara’s mom extends her arms out wide, the sleeves of her dress flowing behind her like feathers on a peacock. Her voice has a milky quality to it, and she wears an enormous quartz crystal necklace that digs into my cheek while we embrace. “I’m Evelyn, but call me Evvie. I’m delighted to meet you, love.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say in a daze.
When Cara sent some photographs during our initial emails, I struggled to spot any resemblance between the two of us. She has a heftier bone structure, a long oval face with a rounded chin and nose, and flaming red curls, while I’m more compact, with straight dark hair and sharper features. Seeing her mother, though, I understand why we share almost no physical similarities—Cara is a carbon copy of Evelyn, twenty-something years younger.
Her stepfather, a wiry man who stands a foot shorter than his wife, looks like he could explode from joy.
“Such a delight to have you here,” he says, suffocating me in a hug. “Ab. So. Lute. Delight.”
“Careful, love, she needs her ribs,” Evelyn says, pulling me toward her and hooking an arm in mine. She does the same to Cara on the other side, leading us down the pathway and past a well-tended garden of violets, pansies, and chrysanthemums. Evelyn pats me on the elbow. “I’ll stick the kettle on. We’ve some catching up to do.”
“Stop,” Cara groans, drawing out the word into three separate syllables. “Rodg, really.”
He’s had a palm-sized camera tied to his wrist from the moment we walked in the door. “One more.” Cara’s stepdad presses a button, and we’re all blinded by the aggressive flash. Roger waves Aidan over and holds the device up, displaying the screen on the back. He waggles his eyebrows like he’s impressed with his own work, and Aidan leans in to give him some pointers. The camera is clearly far less advanced than what Aidan uses, but he doesn’t roll his eyes or look bemused while giving his advice.
“I’m so sorry,” Cara says to me. “I’d no idea he’d go mad over meeting you.”
“I don’t mind,” I say, smiling to hide my bewilderment about the intense fanfare.
“ Mo stoirín ,” he begs his stepdaughter. “One day you’ll thank me for these. So much is happening this week. First your sister’s in town, then the wedding, then, then…”
With that, his face crinkles like tissue paper as plump tears flow freely down his cheeks. Aidan pats him on the back as Cara, unable to ignore the pitiful sight that is her stepdad weeping like a wounded child, gets up to hug him. Winnie, their senior German Shepherd, casts a concerned look but doesn’t budge from his spot in the middle of the floor.
Evelyn remains mellow and laid-back, dancing over to my seat with a cup of tea. “Don’t mind Rodg. He’s worried he’s losing his girl this week, and it’s got him all worked up.”
He wails again, the sound muffled by Cara’s hair, as a fresh onslaught of tears forms. I’ve never seen a man fall apart the way he does at the mere mention of a wedding.
“So, love,” Evelyn says, getting cozy in the dining chair next to me. I prepare for all kinds of questions—and to be judged with hypercritical eyes. “I can only imagine what a whirlwind this whole trip has been.”
“Kinda crazy.” I adjust in my seat, aware that everyone here is watching me. “In a good way. But aside from losing my passport, I’m enjoying it.”
“A real shame someone didn’t do the right thing and turn your bag in.” She shakes her head and makes a tut-tut sound with her tongue. “Although you might end up a small bit thankful to have the excuse to get a replacement in Dublin. We’ve so much to do for the wedding, and Cara’s probably ready to put you to serious work.”
“Mam,” Cara says in a low warning voice.
“Aidan and I have a list already.” I don’t think I’ve said his name out loud before, and the novelty of it sends a shiver up my spine. “More his list than mine, but I’m helping.”
“Well, Roger and I are thrilled you came. Really. And to get the time off…I honestly didn’t think you would with such short notice. What was it you read, Rodg? That most Americans only have two weeks of vacation, but—”
“But…” He dabs his eyes with a hanky and rejoins us at the table. “Over half don’t take a holiday. Can you believe that?”
“Technically, I’ve got work while I’m here,” I admit, ashamed to be the living proof of that hard-working, never-vacationing statistic. “But that meant my employer would approve the time away.”
“That’s right, you’ve that story Cara told me about.” Evelyn claps her hands as if my assignment is the world’s finest piece of literature. “Can’t wait to read it. You’ll let us know when the article prints? We’ll want a copy.”
“She writes for a digital magazine. It’ll be online,” Cara says with a hint of annoyance, like she and her mom have had this conversation ten times already. “If you want a copy, we’ll have to print it ourselves.”
“Well, we’ll do just that. And we’ll need you to sign it.”
As we sit around the table, sipping on tea and munching on cookies, I can’t help but compare this to all of my foster families. I remember first visits full of stop-and-go discussions and long pauses, punctuated with even longer lists of rules. They were tame and orderly, if a little uncomfortable.
Here, I’m included. With Roger’s jovial chuckles and unexpected outbursts of happy tears, Evelyn’s kind eyes and habit of waltzing rather than walking around, and Cara’s eye rolls and giggles, this feels so…normal. Not like I’m an outsider, but I’m in on the joke too. There’s polite arguing over the right number of sugar cubes to put into tea, and discussion on when Roger definitively knew he loved Evelyn (“At first sight, I say,” to which Evelyn swats his arm and turns a bright shade of crimson). All of them—including Aidan, who leans against the counter across from me—chat over each other, recalling birthday parties and graduations. I make intermittent notes on my phone, but mostly I sit and witness everything unfolding.
I guess this is what a family can be.
“We’ve some old photos in here somewhere.” Evelyn floats off to a bookshelf and pulls some notebooks from the shelves.
“She doesn’t need to see those,” Cara says, her agitation palpable.
“Oh, I think I do,” I say, giving Cara a teasing look. “Baby pictures are a must.”
“Journalistic research,” Aidan adds, a smile playing on his lips.
“Exactly.”
She glares at us both, but mirth causes the corner of her mouth to twitch. “I’m not sure which side you two are on.”
“They’re adorable photos,” her mom says, “and I bet you could use some for your newspaper assignment.”
My phone vibrates—it’s the same unknown number that called yesterday. I silence it while Evelyn sashays her way back to the table with three hefty notebooks.
“Now, when Cara was a child, she had a terrible habit of lifting her dress up and showing her knickers for everyone to see, so—”
“Oh my god .”
As I look at Cara, Aidan catches my eye. “It’s true,” he mouths, which causes me to burst into laughter.
“Let me try to find at least a few decent ones where she’s actually looking at the camera and not flashing it.”
“If I’d known you’d pull out the albums, I would have made other plans for us this morning.” Cara sinks into the chair. “I’m so sorry for this,” she grumbles.
Evelyn reaches out to pat her arm, which Cara deftly evades. That dynamic that Cara had mentioned—where she loves her mom, but her mom also drives her crazy—fills me with a kind of yearning. A recognition of what I never had.
Evelyn shares cute photos of Cara dressed as a witch for a costume party sometime when she was four or five, pictures from her sixteenth birthday, which are less cute and more angsty, and many, many images of Cara in her childhood with her dress flipped up over her head. Evelyn didn’t lie, that happened a lot.
Another book has memories from before Cara was born. “Oh, look at these.” Evelyn points to the people in the photographs, some in black and white, introducing me to them and giving me the chance to take photos on my phone so I have them for future reference. “These are my aunts and uncles, all of whom’ll attend the wedding. Oh, and this is Cara’s godfather, Conor. And here are my own mammy and da.”
“Will they be at the ceremony as well?” I ask. Evelyn’s shoulders tighten, and everyone looks over me or around me. Less than an hour in, and I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth. I assumed Cara’s grandparents were still alive, and now I’ve brought up painful memories.
“Sorry.” I panic, worried I can’t climb out of this hole. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t realize—”
“Nothing to be sorry ’bout.” Evelyn rubs my back and sweeps that mistake under the rug as quickly as she turns a new page in the photo album. Her sheer graciousness undoes some of the tightness in my body.
Cara’s mom lets out a delighted Oh! when she sees what’s next: pregnancy photos. In one, she stands in a kitchen with the glowiest of grins, cradling her baby bump. In another, Evelyn holds up a onesie to the camera.
“I loved being pregnant.” She strokes each photograph like they’re precious jewelry, and I’m hit with that yearning again.
“I’ve only a few photographs of your father,” she goes on. “By this time, we both knew our relationship wouldn’t work.”
A buzz from my phone interrupts us once more, and the only way to end the spam calls once and for all is to answer and demand they take me off the list. Agitated, I excuse myself, step around a sleeping Winnie, and go out to the back porch, hugging one arm to my chest for warmth.
“Hello?”
“Is this Ms. Martin?”
“It is. I don’t know where you got my number, but—”
“I’m a representative at Double Helix Labs. My name is Andy.”
“Oh, um. Hi.” I turn and face the yard.
“How are you doing today?”
“I’m good.” Aside from this call, I’m doing great. Talking to Cara and her parents went better than I could have imagined.
“I’m, uh, calling to discuss your DNA test with us.” In the background, I hear papers shuffling. “Specifically, an error may have taken place with your results.”
A chill forces my body to shudder. “What do you mean?”
“We’re not 100 percent certain whether an issue occurred. There’s a chance your sample was compromised at our facility.” His voice switches into something more formal. “We at Double Helix recognize the immense amount of trust placed in us by our customers, but mistakes can sometimes happen.” The bland surety of his delivery sounds like he’s reciting a scripted explanation. “We want to make this right, so I’d like to send you a replacement test kit at no charge to you.”
The world around me screeches to a halt. So this means Cara and I might not be half sisters at all? “My results are wrong? That means I…” I traveled here for no reason. I got a taste of what I’d been missing out on my whole life, only to have that ripped away.
No. This has to be a mistake.
“Your results may still be valid,” he says, and I nod, as if my agreeing with him makes any difference. “The retest will tell us for certain.”
“What happened to the first one?”
“Uh.” More paper shuffling. He clears his throat and puts on his Official Customer Care voice. “One of our technicians discovered a potential problem after your report went out, so we’ve been reaching out to clients—I wanted to resolve the issue with you personally.”
“But what happened?”
“There’s a possibility of an…a potential algorithmic error.”
“What does that mean?”
“I, uh…the lab only shared the basic details.” He takes his tone into something more personal, like he’s taking off a mask and can speak more candidly. “It usually means a software problem at the time we analyzed your results. The simple retest will clear everything up.”
I rest a hand on the wooden handrail to steady myself. “Well, I’m…I’m out of the country right now, I can’t do anything.”
“That’s no problem. Double Helix is the most widely used DNA testing service, with labs in over thirty-two countries and shipping to over ninety.”
In the same staged tone, Andy explains my options. Something about mailing one to me at home. Lab locations in Ireland, if I’d prefer. Expedited results as a courtesy.
“There’s, of course, the chance that everything did process accurately. And I want to emphasize that this second test is just a precaution. We won’t know for sure until you submit a new sample.”
“Really?” I squeak.
“Yes. Our goal at Double Helix Labs is for this additional test to ensure 100 percent accuracy.”
I want to believe him. I do. How comforting to think I’ll give them another vial of spit, and we’ll confirm what we thought all along: that Cara is my long-lost half sister. Then, I can continue the trip like this call never happened, I can write the article I intended to write from the beginning, and I can have the sister I never knew existed.
Except I can’t fight the thought that maybe my gut feeling was right—that this was just a fairy tale. Did I really think I was so special that I had some father from another country and an entire group of relatives to meet here?
“Do I have to retest? I mean, if it’s just a precaution, and you’re pretty sure that everything’s fine, then maybe I don’t need to.”
“This is the standard protocol. In these highly unlikely scenarios, we work one-on-one with the client whose kit was compromised. From there, if a mistake indeed occurred, we’ll reach out to anyone who matched with your account as a courtesy.”
“Right.” I suck in a breath. “Okay. I need to figure out what the best option is for me since I’m not home. Could I get back to you later?”
Andy obliges. He says he’ll email, and I can let him know when and how I’d like to retest, giving me more time to sort out my options.
Until then, I’m a living, breathing question mark.
“You keeping well out here?”
I twirl around to find Aidan stepping onto the patio with my jacket in hand. He must have seen me trembling. With a swiftly muttered goodbye to Andy, I hang up and exhale a massive puff of warm air.
“Mhmm. Thanks,” I reply through chattering teeth, draping the coat over my shoulders. My whole body shakes, but I can’t blame that on the temperature. My reason for coming to Ireland might have just imploded.
“You’re a hit, by the way. A natural O’Shea.” Aidan tucks his hands into his pockets and nods toward the window with a crooked grin. “I told you—nothing to worry about.”
If only you knew. I attempt a smile at his generosity, although my face contorts into something more like a wince. “Thanks.”
“You fit right in.”
Another collective laugh roars from inside the house, and we peer in the direction of a joyous Cara, Roger, and Evelyn.
My heart plummets, wondering if they’re destined to be the family I almost had, so close yet so far. Maybe my results are fine. But I can’t ignore the nagging worry that this is all too good to be true.