Chapter Nine
Juniper
Dear Ms. Martin,
I’d like to apologize again for any inconvenience regarding your test results. As I mentioned on the phone, we would be more than happy to extend a complimentary retest to you, either through the mail-in method or in person at one of our hundreds of labs worldwide. Please let me know how you want to proceed.
Best,
Andy Johannsen, he/him/his Manager, Customer Relations, Double Helix Labs
I’d hoped that Andy would take his sweet time sending that email, but unfortunately, he’s a diligent, albeit inexperienced, employee of his word. I can’t ignore him for long. And maybe the results will work out with no change, like he said they probably would.
But if they don’t…
I star the message and give my inbox another scan. Something from Ethan with the subject line DNA journey article status update?? makes my stomach drop. If my career-altering piece is all potentially based on a mistake, I don’t know what to tell him. Ignoring Ethan’s email for now, I walk down the street and dial up Lissie.
“Not even kidding,” she answers, “I was just about to call you.”
“Yeah?” The thin metallic sound of a streetcar hums down the block, and I strain to hear her response. “Everything okay?”
“Do you still own that pair of knee-high leather boots? They have around a four-inch heel and a zip up the side.”
“The black ones?”
“Yes! They make your butt look great.”
“Thanks.” They do make my butt look great. They also make my feet feel like I’ve been tiptoeing on a cheese grater all night, so I only ever wear them when I’m on the prowl to hook up. “I still have them. I didn’t pull them out for fall yet, so they’re in the storage tote under my bed. Got a hot date?”
While I walk, Lis tells me about an audition she has later today for one of the witches in a steampunk retelling of Macbeth. The neighborhood Max lives in seems trendy. The buildings vary—some are all silver and glass and sharp angles, others have fresh murals in bright hues that hide the age of the structures. I pass a coffee shop the size of a closet and a vegan restaurant. Groups of friends walk by, laughing and trickling into various bars and restaurants.
“Borrow away,” I say. “Another audition is good news.”
“It’s not a big one, but I’ll take whatever I can to get in front of those casting directors.”
“And show off that memorable butt.”
“That too.” She laughs, and a throb of homesickness hits me. “So what’s up there? You texted that things were getting interesting. And you’re in Dublin now? Do tell.”
I can almost see her big blinking blue eyes craving all the details. My best friend’s voice makes me wish I could curl up on our cushy couch, open a bottle of rosé, and spill. I lean my back against the chilly brick facade of a store and watch another silver and yellow train go by.
I explain the first part of the day at the O’Shea’s, which feels like it happened weeks ago. My head is a jumble, sandwiched between the bureaucracy of getting an emergency passport and the reality that I might have booked a trip to visit a half sister who isn’t really my half sister.
“How did the lab not catch this sooner?” Lis asks, and the outrage in her voice gives me reassurance.
“No clue. I can put you in touch with the guy who called if you’d like, but he’ll just rattle off some prewritten response to explain it. Something about an issue with the algorithm.” I kick my heel against the wall behind me. “I feel so stupid.”
“You’re not stupid. Their stupid lab is stupid. You didn’t do a single thing wrong.”
“I should have known.” I tip my head back a little too hard, as if doing so will knock some sense into me. “Did I actually think, with my family history, I’d have a half sibling in another country? And now I’m writing this article, and—”
“Hey, stop that. As far as you know, Cara is your half sister. Lots of Americans have Irish heritage, so let’s not doom spiral just yet. The lab said the second test is a precaution, so that means they’re pretty sure it’s fine, and they just have to double-check.”
She’s right. If the lab knew with 100 percent certainty that my test was wrong, Andy wouldn’t lie about it.
“This is stressful,” she goes on, “but you couldn’t have prevented this. What did Cara say?”
“I didn’t tell her yet.”
“You should talk to her, see what she thinks.”
“Not tonight. And I won’t be back to Ballygrá until tomorrow.”
“Oh June.” Her voice has a gravity to it, a seriousness that I’ve only heard a handful of times before. “Just call her right now and explain. Rip off the Band-Aid.”
“I…I can’t.”
“Why?”
Would she be disappointed? Would she tell me to forget the wedding until the truth comes out, or would she ask me to stay anyway?
“I’d hate to drop a bombshell like this over the phone when she has tons of other stuff on her mind. She opened her restaurant a few weeks ago, and she’s planning a wedding. Why stress her out for nothing if the results come back fine?”
When we met, Cara told me she couldn’t handle any more stress. Plus, she looked happy this afternoon, and I don’t want to break the spell on what we had. It was my first time sitting around a table with a family like the O’Sheas. No reason to take that away prematurely.
“That’s fair, I guess,” Lis says. “Not adding to her worries if you can help it. And she seems chill, so she’ll understand. So what’re you gonna do? Next steps?”
I groan. Lis isn’t letting me get out of this easy. “I guess redo my test.”
“Great. Get that done and out of the way, sooner rather than later.”
“This whole situation sucks.”
“It does, but no matter what, you are brave for going out there and opening yourself up.”
“Thanks.” I blink my eyes a few times, realizing I’ve started to tear up. With an angry swipe of my thumbs, I hide the evidence.
“I hear you sniffling, you big softie.”
“I’m not,” I say, embarrassed that I’m so worked up. “I’m pissed.”
“Okay. Remember what I told you?”
“My butt looks good in those boots.”
“No,” Lis says, unamused. “Be yourself. You’re amazing. Even if the lab results end up different, and I’m sure they won’t, you’ll be fine.”
My body shivers in the brisk cold of the evening. I slink inside the store to warm up and go to the second aisle to peruse the skincare.
“So it’s you and that cute bartender in Dublin for the night, huh?”
“He has a name, you know.”
“That’s right. Aidan.” She releases a dramatic swoon at his name, and I roll my eyes. “Is his accent sexy? I bet it’s sexy.”
“Sure.” I refuse to gush about how attractive I find the rhythm of his voice and the hard r’s on his tongue. “I’m not here to sleep with hot Irishmen, unfortunately. And definitely not ones who are best friends with a woman I may or may not be related to.”
“So he is sexy?”
“I’m hanging up now.”
She squeals with hysterical laughter.
“I have other things to deal with, like this DNA test.”
“But you said yourself you’re not gonna call Cara right now. There’s nothing you can do that will make the situation any better, so enjoy tonight.” Her energy lifts my spirits, giving me hope for the evening. “You deserve to have fun. You’re in Europe for the first time ever, so go out and get some juicy Dublin memories to share with me when you get back.”
Aidan and I walk into the bar, snaking our way through a lively crowd of people drinking and smoking outside, and I snag us a table near the back corner. Max has an early meeting for a new exhibit, so he couldn’t join—a fact that sent my heart racing. Just me and Aidan. Lis got all in my head about him being cute, which I vowed to ignore, but she was right that I’m on vacation, and I deserve some fun.
And his accent is kind of sexy.
“Here.” Aidan sets down a couple of beers. In order for me to hear him over the other patrons and the man singing a John Denver song, he has to lean close. Close enough that his breath moves my hair and warms my skin. “To lost passports.”
“May I never lose one again.” I tap my glass against his. “I’m glad we got out. I think I’m finally adjusting to the time zone.”
“Max said this was his favorite pub.”
“It’s nice, but…” I scrunch my nose up. “My heart belongs to McCarthy’s Pub.”
He slaps a hand to his chest as he gives me a bashful smile that sends my stomach fluttering. “You’re too kind.”
Foot traffic forces Aidan to scoot his chair closer to mine, bumping our knees together in the process. Lis’s question rings in my head again.
So he’s sexy?
I really can’t think of him like this. My trip has already become complicated enough without flirting with Cara’s best friend, so I resist the tempting impulse to lean my leg back into his. I can have fun, but not that kind of fun, and especially not with Aidan.
After a couple rounds, my body tingles with a carefree glow, thanks to the alcohol. I tell Aidan about New York and how, in my first few years there, I scraped by working any odd job I could get—florist, dog walker, babysitter. The more I talk, the more we both stop moving our knees out of the way when they bump into each other, but that’s only because we’re crammed in a corner. It’s a purely space-saving move.
“So am I right in assuming that Mary is a girlfriend?” Oh my god, my stupid buzzed mouth. I want to dig a hole and bury myself in it. “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”
“Ex-girlfriend. Why do you ask?”
“She keeps coming up,” I say, wholly disinterested. “At the grocery store, and then Max mentioned her.”
“We, uh, stopped dating shortly after we visited here together to look for a flat. Turns out she wasn’t exactly the most faithful partner.”
“Oh, jeez. I’m sorry. Losing trust in someone like that, it’s…” I meet his eyes, regretful to have made him relive those memories. “That’s shitty.”
“Some guy from work at one of their other offices. She insisted nothing sexual happened between them—that it was just an emotional connection, and I believe her.”
“That’s almost worse.”
“It was, I guess.” He trains his eyes on his beer, and I wish I could reach for his hand without making it weird. “We grew apart over the years, and with my brother’s passing…we weren’t the best fit anymore. So she went to Dublin, and I didn’t.” He takes a few gulps of his drink. “And you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re not seeing anyone?”
“I never said that.”
“In the supermarket. Mrs. Abernathy asked if you were.”
“Someone’s paying close attention,” I say, resisting the smirk that pulls at my mouth.
This is Aidan. This is Cara’s best friend. This is a Very Bad Idea.
“No,” I go on. “I’m not dating anyone. I’m more of a casual dater.”
“That’s right. Not into serious relationships.”
“I’m comfortable on my own, and I’ve never met someone who made me want otherwise.”
“Mm.”
“ Mm? What’s that mean?” I lean toward him, close enough to smell that delicious scent of his. It’s too subtle to be a cologne, but it might be his body wash or shampoo. It’s nice. A little spicy.
“Nothing.” He lifts one shoulder in a carefree semishrug. “Trying to figure you out.”
“And what have you figured out?”
Before he can reply, a bright orange purse flies into view and knocks his glass over. A woman wearing a thick pile of makeup gasps. She wobbles and apologizes profusely, grabbing a few napkins to dab the table. When she offers us a new round, Aidan declines, since we have an early morning and a multi-hour drive ahead of us. Although I’d love to see where a few more rounds could take us, at least he’s keeping a clear head.
The bar has filled up by the time we leave, and two and a half seconds pass before another couple dashes over to claim our table. We’ve surfaced in a sea of drunk people, and I can’t tell which direction to go.
“Here.” Aidan’s so close, I could reach up and rub the whiskers on his cheek, and that thought distracts me from his hand linking with mine. Confidently, like he owns the place, he carves a way for the both of us, holding onto me with a kind of gentle strength that makes me crave some fresh air.
No reckless decisions. I’m in a supremely buzzy state—happy from one too many beers, but also from the thrill of being somewhere new. And maybe a little from the company of someone more handsome than he has any right to be.
We step outside, and when Aidan lets go, I grab my phone and swipe through a few apps to keep my hands busy. He’s about to call us a cab when my throat tightens, and I squeak out a high-pitched hiccup.
“Oh, no,” I sigh, resting a hand on my stomach.
“Gonna be sick?” Aidan asks, guiding me to a bench. “Need some water?”
“No, I drank too much beer, and when that happens I— hic! I get the hiccups.” I hold in a breath, hoping to control the spasms. “It’s not too far, is it? A little walking could help.”
Hic!
“Of course.”
“Sorry,” I say with another hic! and hope Aidan doesn’t pick up on my mortification.
“A nighttime stroll by the river’d be grand.”
To get to Max’s place, we walk beside a winding body of water that runs right through the middle of Dublin. Aidan says it’s called River Liffey. Shimmery golden lights reflect on the rippling water, illuminating our path.
“Should I scare you to get rid of those hiccups? Make you drink a pint of sugar water?”
“Please, no. I need to walk around a bit, and then I’ll be— hic! —fine.”
We share a laugh at the fact that I can’t speak one full sentence without chirping like a squeaky toy.
“So how’s that article of yours so far?”
“Rough,” I say before I can stop myself. The alcohol has weakened my filter. “I mean, not bad. It’s fine. I have to check in with my editor and give him some updates.”
“How’d you get into writing?”
“I was working a few different jobs, one of them was as a nanny for this crazy-rich Upper East Side family. We’re talking— hic! —totally loaded. Multiple Mercedes, vacation-homes-in- Tuscany kind of extravagance. And I’d hang out with all the other nannies at the playground and stuff. We’d all talk.” A chill travels down my spine, and I tug my coat tighter around my torso. Hic!
“Here,” Aidan says as he sweeps his jacket over mine. “Don’t want you to freeze.”
“Thanks.” I’m wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and take a measured inhale. “Anyway, I saw a call for pitches from this new site. I’d had some stuff published before, nothing major, but enough to give me the confidence to send something in. It was a list, kind of like, ‘here’s the things you’d never guess about the job.’ I asked all my nanny friends if I could include their experiences, anonymously of course, and threw in my perspective as someone who did the job too. Nothing particularly deep, but compelling. People love reading about the lives of others, especially rich others. The editor liked it, and they signed me on.”
“That’s where you work now?”
“Yeah.” Another hiccup. “Eventually, I’d like to write more interesting articles, but it’s mostly whatever my skeezy editor tells me to do. Not a bad gig, though.”
“Skeezy?” Aidan surveys me with a quizzical look.
“He’s a nice guy, but he’s what you might call verbally affectionate. And he likes to call dibs on female writers when new people come on. It’s kind of weird.”
“June, that’s…” He appears genuinely concerned, and I realize I shouldn’t have said anything. “That’s not right, he does that.”
“He’s harmless. And I’m sure I’m not the only person— hic! —who has to deal with him acting that way.”
“That’s harassment. You deserve better than some jerk of a boss.”
“Sure,” I say, flicking my hair back, as if that alone could deflect his too-kind comments.
“Hey.” He nudges my arm with his elbow, and I meet his serious expression. “I mean it. No one should treat you like that, and certainly not a supervisor.”
I offer up a shy smile and a hushed “Okay, thanks,” because I don’t want to talk about work any more than I have to. Loving my job is less important than having something that lets me pay the bills.
Aidan points to the corner store I went in before, and I look to my left before stepping out into the street. I’m met by a myriad of sounds—a wailing honk of a vehicle, the shuffling of feet, and a muffled shout. Aidan’s arms, warm and secure, wrap around me as a car speeds by, the driver shooting an angry middle finger in my direction as he passes.
“Are you okay?” Aidan exhales into my hair.
“I think so.”
“Other side. We drive on the other side.”
I release my grip on his biceps, which are more taut than I would have guessed. We teeter on the edge of the curb, Aidan’s arms still holding me flush against his body. He peels back slowly but keeps his face close enough to mine that I could lean in and kiss him.
“My…my hiccups are gone, I think.”
He shakes his head and grins, a wonderful expression that could light up the night sky all on its own. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, although that’s probably the adrenaline.
“Let me at least get you back to Ballygrá in one piece.” He juts out an elbow, and I thread my arm through so we can cross the street together. “As soon as Cara found a half sister, you’d be gone. Can’t have that happen.”
I gulp. “Nope. Definitely not.”