Chapter Ten
Juniper
“Something bothering you?”
Aidan’s loaded question forces me to make conversation.
“Just tired.”
That’s a lie. I followed Lissie’s advice to have fun in Dublin last night, and now it’s time for me to listen to her other words of wisdom: to retake my DNA test. Not only do I have to figure out how to do that without Cara, her family, or Aidan noticing—I don’t want to say anything until I have the results for sure—but my thoughts keep spiraling.
My half sister, my dream assignment that could further my career—there’s a chance that none of this is real.
So no, I’m not in the mood for small talk, but Aidan doesn’t seem bothered. As he drives us back, I perch my feet on the seat, hug my knees, and let my mind wander to better things.
Like this morning, when I padded out of Max’s room and into the bathroom. I caught Aidan stretching, his muscular arms reaching for the ceiling. My attention worked its way south to where his shirt crept up, revealing a smattering of hair the color of sun-kissed caramel directly above his waistband. The sweatpants Max lent him couldn’t hide his generous morning wood, and of course I stared long enough for Aidan to turn and wave hello to me. Hopefully, I wasn’t drooling.
With my emergency passport safely tucked away, we arrive back in Ballygrá. Cara’s already at work, so I email Ethan saying we should reconnect about my article. I want to move forward, but I’m faced with all this uncertainty. I hate to admit it, but having him so hands-on with this piece might be helpful in the end.
Cara’s mom sends a sweet text inviting me on a hike. A chance to talk one-on-one. The retest is a precaution , I remind myself, and if that’s the case, then why not spend some time with Evelyn?
She lends me some hiking boots that are one size too big and offers me a metal trekking pole identical to the one in her other hand. Winnie is accompanying us, so Evelyn promises the walk won’t be too strenuous for the dog’s sake, but she likes to be prepared. We set out on a path that begins in her backyard, weaving underneath low branches. The leaf-covered trail opens up after a minute to a wide, shallow river.
“Do much hiking in New York?”
“Does walking when the subway’s delayed count?”
She laughs, and the sound ignites a comfortable warmth in my chest.
“We’re blessed with an incredible landscape around here and friendly neighbors. A perfect combination,” Evelyn says with dimples that match her daughter’s. “When Cara was younger, we spent a lot of time in the fresh air walking together. It’s nice to get out with you too. Cara’s so focused on work, she doesn’t have much time.”
“Owning a restaurant must keep her busy.”
“That girl throws her heart and soul into what she does. How she’s been since childhood.” Evelyn stops for a breather and taps the end of her hiking pole against the ground. “She was born with an entrepreneurial spirit, you could say. Trace that back to roadside lemonade stands, moving on up to bake sales in school, and then getting through college with her own made-to-order cake business. After that, she had a mix of restaurant jobs and culinary endeavors—some of which have done well, and some not so much. And now, it’s the cafe. She’s resourceful, that one. We miss her, though.”
“Miss her?” That seems strange to say, considering they live ten minutes from each other.
“Roger and I…well, we don’t like to push. But with the wedding and the restaurant, we’ve seen her less than when she was getting her degree.”
The walkway opens up to a muddy trail and a verdant hill that kisses the sky. As we ascend, the slickness underfoot makes me grateful for the gear she gave me.
“We catch ’er here and there,” Evelyn goes on, a tinge of sadness in her voice. “On opening day, we stopped by the cafe while she was running around behind the scenes, so all we got was a quick hug. And we’ve helped with the wedding too. She’s busy, and I’m probably making a fuss about it. The restaurant requires more of her energy than I can imagine. We miss the quality time, though.” Her smile seems forced, like she’s willing herself into a happier mental state.
“You’re a good mom,” I say to lift her mood. The pat on the back that she gives me is like a gold star.
“Yesterday was nice, having you and her and Danny over.” She sighs as we near the top of the hill. “First time in a while she’d suggested doing something as a family like that, without us pulling teeth to get her to do it. Just us.” Evelyn squeezes my arm and stops in her tracks, turning my body to face her. “Thank you.”
“Evelyn, you don’t—”
“Call me Evvie.”
“Evvie.” I indulge her, and she practically glows. “You don’t need to thank me. I haven’t done anything.”
“Oh, you have. Here, let’s sit.”
She gestures to a wooden bench decorated by a few fallen rust-colored leaves. We’ve got a front-row seat to the Irish countryside. Buildings dot the hills of green, and herds of sheep graze so far off in the distance that they look like miniature white puffballs. The only sound is Winnie’s light panting and a cool gust of wind.
Evelyn reaches into a jacket pocket, shakes her head, and then checks the other one. “Here,” she says, pulling out a wallet-sized photograph. “This is the best photo I have of your da, taken right before he went off on assignment. He was charming, so generous, but so tough. I see some of him in you.”
“Really?” I lean over to inspect it. The man in the picture has a salt-and-pepper beard, and his ears pop out on the sides of his head. The curve of his mouth gives him a reserved expression, like he has a secret, and his eyes are a light brown.
Just like mine.
I examine the image more closely to make sure I’m not imagining the similarity.
“Our eyes…”
“Mhmm, the same shape and everything.”
My face stretches into a smile. Maybe the DNA test will turn out fine after all.
“He was a catch.”
“How’d you two meet?”
She chuckles, and the hint of a blush travels up her cheeks. “Leaving the baker’s one day, I flung the door open and clocked him right in the face. Felt awful ’bout it and insisted on taking him to the doctor to make sure his nose hadn’t broke. Spent a couple months inseparable before work called him away.” She admires the photo again.
“He knew you were pregnant?”
“He did, and I was so angry at him for leaving. A man with such a big heart, but not enough to give any to me or his own daughter. Or, well, daughters ,” she corrects herself. “He lived to help others, and he died for others too. I should’ve known what to expect of him from the moment we met, especially with how he had no intention to stay in Ireland long term. He supported us every month with a little money when he could, so I’m glad that Cara and I had that. He was many things, but a decent father wasn’t one of them. Did your mam keep in touch with him?”
“No.” I trace my finger along the edge of the photograph. “She was secretive about his identity.” When I would ask, hoping to glean any information she could offer, my questions usually put her in a bad mood. I learned not to bring him up.
That curiosity pushes me to pull out my phone and write down some of what Evvie says. “What was he like?”
“Stubborn. Smoked too much. Flighty, as you might guess. At his best, though, thoughtful in such a purposeful way, with little gifts and flowers and such. He wasn’t the most talkative person in the room, but he sure knew how to make you feel like the center of his attention. Funny, too. After witnessing so many disasters around the world, he still had a sense of humor. And determined. He did nothing halfway. He went in completely with whatever he took on. Cara inherited that from him.”
“How—” I swallow the ball of nerves climbing up my throat. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did he die?”
“I don’t mind,” she says, looking down at the photo. “He’d gone with his organization to Indonesia after a terrible earthquake. He entered a building to check for survivors, and…” She sighs, her eyes lost in memories I’m not privy to. “His coworkers said it happened quick. The entire structure fell in on itself.” She looks at me with a bittersweet expression on her face. “I wish you’d had the chance to know him.”
“Sounds like he traveled a lot.”
“All the time. And he flew just about everywhere, so no wonder he made it to America and met your mam.”
I give a hesitant nod. Since the phone call with Double Helix, I’ve been doubting myself, but Evelyn—Evvie—refills my hope. My mother’s reluctance to share anything about the identity of my father makes more sense after talking with Cara’s mom. She may have felt ashamed or foolish, getting pregnant by a man who left with little hesitation. Maybe she was angry too, just like Cara’s mom. She could have been protecting me in her own way, while also protecting herself. Appreciation flickers in my chest as I consider my mom’s silence as less of a barrier and more of a shield.
Evvie gives me a few loving pats on the thigh. “You should keep the photo.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t.”
“I want you to. I’ve a copy. Besides, you’ll need it for your article.”
“Yeah.” I scratch the back of my neck, uneasy that Evvie has trusted me with one of the few photos there are of this man. “I might.”
“There’ll be loads of people out there who’ll benefit from hearing your story. It needs to be told.”
I soften when she side-hugs me again. Evvie’s a nurturer, treating me like I’m a part of the family. I can only hope she’s right.
We stand up and readjust our scarves before we begin the descent.
“Let’s head back then, shall we?” She loops her arm through mine, and we fall in step with each other, Winnie ambling beside us. “I’ve all the ingredients for scones that are begging to go into the oven.”
“You’re here! I’d hug you, but, well…” Cara motions to her apron, which features a smattering of colorful sauces and stains.
“No worries. I brought a bottle for tonight. Aidan said you like red.”
“She doesn’t discriminate with her wine,” Yasmine bellows from the kitchen.
“She’s right, I adore all wine.” Cara ushers me into her home, which has become more cluttered with boxes of wedding supplies. “Get cozy. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Can I help?”
Cara examines the kitchen, but as the owner of a cafe, she has everything under control. “Could you pour that bottle?”
“Glasses are top left.” Yasmine points to the cabinet with her chin while she mixes a bowl of leafy greens.
Cara stirs one pot, lowers the temperature on a pan, and then glides skillfully to the oven to remove a dish. She makes cooking look as effortless as breathing, and I fetch three wine glasses while she works wonders at the stove.
“How was your afternoon with Mam?” Cara thanks me for the merlot, and we cheers. “She didn’t pry too much, did she? She can be aggravating.”
“Your mom’s sweet,” I say. Our few hours together ticked by in an instant because I had such an enjoyable time with her. Hanging out with Evvie combined all the fun of time with Lissie, all the warmth of Cara, and all the wisdom and care of a mother hen. “She told me a lot about your”—I catch myself—“our dad.”
The resemblance in the photo Evvie gave me has buoyed my mood.
“She let you get a word in? Woman knows how to talk .”
“I didn’t mind.” Cara’s mom was chatty, but I liked that. That took the pressure off me to reveal everything about myself, or to display my past in front of her. With Evvie, the message was clear: Take your time, but I’m here for you .
“So what’s Dan’s excuse?” Yasmine asks.
“The guy who was on the calendar got food poisoning, so he’s filling in.” I shudder, recalling the voicemail that poor employee left for Aidan, which I played on speaker as he drove. “Aidan begged me for leftovers. If I don’t have any for him, he might kick me out.”
“He’s serious about Cara’s cooking.” Yasmine plants a chaste kiss on her fiancée’s cheek.
We ferry plates and bowls and food to the table. When was the last time that I sat down for a home-cooked dinner like this? Years. My grandma was a TV dinner connoisseur, and the mealtimes in foster care were better, but I didn’t have family meals quite like this. The closest I’ve come is pasta nights at home with Lis—Al Dente and Dish, as we like to call it—though what we make isn’t quite as gourmet.
With a swig of wine, I silence the nagging voice of practicality. The one that reminds me that this might not be a family meal after all. Nope, not now. Remember the photo. How our eyes look the same.
They’ve prepared a mouthwatering feast—a forest green salad with decadent hunks of goat cheese and maroon beets, drizzled with murky balsamic, topped with a perfectly charred piece of chicken, and roasted vegetables on the side.
“This looks incredible.”
“This was all Cara, trust me.” Yasmine throws her arms up to the sky, unwilling to take credit for the meal. “I preheat the oven and throw some leaves together, but she’s the master.”
“Aw, thanks babe.” Cara leans in for another kiss.
If the two of them lived in New York, I’d want to be friends with Cara and Yasmine. They watch each other talk with pride and love etched on their faces. Since I have a three-date-max rule—if I even reach that many with someone—I don’t relate to this kind of adoration.
“Everything in Dublin worked out then, yeah?” Cara asks. “No troubles?”
“Nope,” I reply. “We even went out for some drinks.”
Yasmine’s eyes go wide. “What?”
“Some place his friend recommended. It was cool.”
What a sensible description of the evening. We got beer, I tried my hardest not to flirt with him, and he saved my life. It was cool.
“Ever since his ex moved there, he’s not been back.” Yasmine leans into her chair. “He dwelled on that woman for longer than she deserved.”
“You’re not giving him enough credit.” Cara comes to his defense. “He got over her a long time ago.”
I perk up, absorbing as much intel on this ex-girlfriend of Aidan’s as I can without looking desperate to find out more.
“True,” Yasmine says, “but he dated her months more than he should have.” She shifts her focus to me. “We hated Mary.”
“No,” Cara says, pointing her wine glass at Yasmine. “I liked her until she cheated on him.”
“You hated her,” Yasmine insists.
“I didn’t hate her, I just didn’t like her very much.”
“Coming from someone as friendly as you, that’s an insult,” I say.
Yasmine nods her head. “Exactly.”
“Aidan’s a brother to me, and he belongs with someone who sees how incredible he is. Yaz knows it, and you must know it by now too.”
I readjust in my seat and try not to think too hard about him wrapping his arms around me last night when I stepped into the street.
“She didn’t want to deal with the hard stuff with him,” Cara goes on. “She wasn’t an actual partner. The second life got hard, she turned to someone else. So good riddance to her.”
While we each eat a slice of lemon meringue pie, Yasmine and Cara show me their wedding attire from their respective phones. I sneak a peek at mine to see if Ethan emailed me, but he hasn’t replied. I have a text from someone else, though.
AIDAN: I’m here the rest of the night, stop by after dinner if you’d like
AIDAN: With the leftovers
A fire creeps up my neck, and I tuck my device away.
“I’m going classic.” Yasmine flips through the images of her slender body outfitted in an elegant midnight-blue suit. The long line of the pants leads up to her shoulders in a V-shape. Yasmine appears to always wear suits of some variation, but this takes her whole look up a notch—it’s simultaneously sharp and smooth.
“Okay, this is mine,” Cara exclaims, positioning the phone so Yasmine won’t see.
I gasp, pulling the smartphone closer to my face. “Cara, it’s stunning.”
“The veil will be shorter, and this bit at the back will come in here.” She brushes her finger over the photos to demonstrate where the crisp white dress would change. In the last picture, her mother stands on one side, and both of them are beaming. On the other side is a scowling elderly woman who reminds me of someone I’ve seen before.
“Who’s that?”
“Oh, that’s Granny,” Cara replies, tossing the phone back on the couch. Her grandma had been in the photos that Cara’s mom showed me yesterday.
“She was ill that day and—”
“Her gran doesn’t approve of our marriage,” Yasmine interrupts. They share a look—the kind that couples do—like they can communicate with ESP.
“It’s hard for her, that’s all, and she is trying.” Cara pats Yasmine on the hand to appease her. “She handled a daughter having a child out of wedlock. But she didn’t foresee having a lesbian for a granddaughter in her future.”
“When your mom showed me those photo albums yesterday, I thought she’d passed away because of how quiet everyone got.”
“Oh, Christ. No, she’s alive and well. Causing plenty of drama for the wedding.”
“We have to act different around her gran.”
“Why, though?”
“Some people will never accept us.” Yasmine crosses an ankle over her knee. “Most folks in Ballygrá have known Cara for ages, so we don’t run into too much trouble, thankfully.”
“But she’s your grandmother ,” I say. Flares of unexpected anger swell from a familiar kind of pain. “My grandma was…well, she wasn’t all that great. But she didn’t deny my entire existence.”
Cara’s eyes pool with sympathetic tears.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Didn’t mean to make that about me.”
“No, it’s okay. I like feeling like I’m not alone in this,” she replies. “It hurts, though, when the people who should love you unconditionally don’t accept who you are.”
“Do you think she’ll come around?”
“When hell freezes over,” Yasmine snorts.
“She’s working on it. The Easter card she sent, she addressed to us both. As for the wedding, we have a seat for her, but we don’t know if she’ll sit in it.” Cara raises her brows toward Yasmine, who acknowledges defeat with a sigh and a shrug. “Point is, Gran’s making an effort. She’s still choosing me, and that means something. Not like—” Cara purses her lips and looks at me. “So I had some close girlfriends that I fell out with a few years back. They’d introduced me to my ex, so when things with her ended…” Cara reaches down to busy herself with the hem of the tablecloth. “I didn’t think the breakup would turn so ugly. But we’d been working together on this catering business, so going separate ways became messy. In the end, my three girlfriends chose to cut me out of their lives. They chose staying friends with her.”
“What?”
“They didn’t even sit down with me to talk about my side of things. They just decided.” Cara sighs and does a full-body shake. “Sorry for all the sad talk tonight. But you’re my sister, and if I can’t share these things with you, then who can I share them with?”
My sister.
I swallow the knot that’s formed in my throat. After such vulnerability from her, coming out with a confession now would shred the joy she’s clinging to into bits.
“I realize we’ve known about each other for less than two weeks, but you are a sister to me, June. You will be forever.” Cara looks to Yasmine, who prompts her with a swift nod, before straightening in her chair. “And since you’re my sister, I have to ask—and I know this is last minute, but —will you be my maid of honor?”
I almost choke on my wine. “What?”
“Yaz and I talked, and it would mean the world to us. To me.”
“That’s an enormous responsibility.” Backtrack, backtrack . “I’d have to help with the bachelorette, I have nothing to wear, I’m not sure—”
“We’ve got hundreds of guests, but all you’ve got to do is put on a nice dress and walk down the aisle before we do.”
“Super relaxed,” Yasmine chimes in, pushing for a hard sell.
“But—Cara, I’m honored you want to include me this way, but I can’t.”
With so much uncertainty surrounding our biological connection, I shouldn’t. We’re in a good groove, the two of us, and I hate to overload her with a bunch of unverified doubts. She and I have a week and a half left to get to know each other, and news like this could put miles of distance between us. But I don’t know how to change the subject—taking her from the highest high of asking me to join her wedding party to confronting her with what’s going on.
With what’s maybe going on.
“It’s an enormous ask,” she continues, “and I’ve only seen people do this sort of thing in movies, but I’ve missed having close friends—girlfriends. I lost my closest ones in an instant. And having a sister is like having the ultimate best girlfriend, all the time. So why ignore that on one of the most important days of my life?”
Cara clasps her hands together in her lap, and tears have already started forming in her eyes. She looks so hopeful, and I can’t excuse myself from this without shattering that hope into a billion tiny pieces.
I think of the eyes in that photo. How they look the same as mine.
“You standing up there would make me the happiest and most supported and loved bride,” Cara says, beaming. “So will you?”