by Cat Patrick
“I thought mint chip might make things easier,” Mom says, smiling weakly. I think of all she’s done, and I can’t smile back.
But I do accept the ice cream.
“First, I want to say how sorry I am for what happened this weekend,” Mom says, brushing her hair out of her eyes.
“What did happen?” Ella asks. “I’m still… I don’t really know why that woman did what she did.”
Mom sighs. “Maggie Kendall’s team tried to do what ours did: They tried to clone humans,” Mom says. “They were unsuccessful, or so I thought.”
“What does that mean?” Betsey asks.
“I’ll get to that in a minute,” Mom says. “Anyway, they played dirty, luring lab assistants to their space and trying to get them to share secrets. They tried to recruit me, and I’ll always regret taking the interview. For a while now, I’ve believed that Maggie was the one who turned in Dr. Jovovich. She’s a big part of the reason I’ve been looking over my shoulder all these years.”
I reach back and yank a throw pillow out from under me and toss it aside. I want to ask why Maggie just suddenly turned up now, but I don’t want to speak to Mom. Honestly, I’m not sure I trust a word she’s saying anyway.
Like she heard my thoughts, Ella asks, “How did Maggie find us?”
Mom looks away quickly, then back at Ella. Then her eyes fall on mine. “Lizzie, this isn’t your fault,” she says in a way that makes me think she’s saying it is my fault. “But she found us through Twinner… when you uploaded the photo of yourself and got a match.” She looks at Betsey when she says the next part. “I said earlier that I thought that Maggie hadn’t been successful cloning humans; I was wrong. Her team had been monitoring Petra.”
“Oh my god, she is the Original?” Betsey says excitedly.
“No, no,” Mom says, raising her palms. “Maggie said that when Dr. Jovovich and I claimed to have failed with the cloning, the clients went to her team next. They apparently succeeded one time, but the DNA wasn’t right. Apparently, she has something similar to progeria, but not nearly as severe.”
“What’s that?” Betsey asks, concerned.
“It’s when you age too quickly,” Ella says.
“Good,” Mom says to El, like we’re in class instead of talking about the fourth human clone. “That’s right. It’s rapid aging, and usually children with that issue have a life expectancy of only twenty years, tops. But in this case, it’s a mutation of that disease that’s much slower progressing. But still…” Her words trail off.
“Petra’s going to die?” Betsey asks. Mom doesn’t answer at first. Then, “I’m sorry, but yes, in her thirties or forties,” she says. “I know you’ve emailed with her. I know—”
“What don’t you know?” I mutter under my breath. It just flies out of my mouth; I didn’t mean to speak.
“Not a lot,” Mom says. She sounds more worn-out than proud. I look down at my forgotten bowl of ice cream; it’s a green-and-brown soupy mess.
“How did Petra end up in Oregon?” Bet asks.
“Apparently, the clients didn’t want to risk having another baby die on them, so they put her up for adoption.”
“That’s…” Betsey says, her words trailing off.
“Yes.” Mom shifts in her chair.
“So where’s Maggie?” Ella asks. “What’s to stop her from coming back here and trying again?”
“Blackmail,” Mom says flatly. “I have a little recorder in my car that I turned on when I came home that day. You might remember Maggie from TV back when Dr. Jovovich went to jail. She was quoted on the news saying human cloning is unethical and those who were secretly doing it deserved to be punished. Little did they know, she was one of those people.”
Mom takes a breath; I realize I’m holding mine.
“Anyway, she’s kept up that front, and I recorded her saying that she cloned Petra.” She pauses. “That morning you took off, I went to her and played her the recording. I told her never to come near us again or she’d go to jail like Dr. Jovovich.”
Mom waits a moment, maybe hoping one of us will ask about her fate—about Maggie turning Mom in right back. When we don’t, she fills in the blanks.
“If she tries to turn me in, she’ll fail. I have triplets—each with her own Social Security card and identity.”
Suddenly, the license in my purse feels less shiny, because it seems like it was Mom’s idea, not mine.
“You didn’t know we were going to ask Mason for help when you talked to Maggie,” Betsey says. She looks confused.
“I didn’t,” Mom says. “At that moment, I wasn’t thinking of myself. I was thinking of you.”
I can’t help it: I roll my eyes. She sees me but doesn’t say anything. At this point, I’m not sure what she could say.
“Wait a minute,” Ella says, working something out. “If you had a recorder, why didn’t you just end it right after she told you she cloned Petra? Why did you go along with her? Why did you allow us to go along with her?”
Mom blushes. “It wasn’t the best choice I’ve ever made.”
I furrow my eyebrows at her. “What do you mean?” Choice?
“I assessed the situation and didn’t feel like any of us were in life-threatening danger, so…” Mom stops talking just as it hits me. Suddenly, I know why she let us panic, let two of us think we were being kidnapped and the other one go on a wild-goose chase across the country in winter weather.
“She wanted to see Maggie’s lab,” I say disgustedly. “She wanted to see her research.”
The way my mom purses her lips together tells me two things. First, I’m right. And second, no matter what she says, science comes first.
“I’m done talking,” I say, standing up and leaving the living room. Over my shoulder, without looking back, I say it again. “I’m done.”
No one else comes upstairs for a long time. I call Sean and tell him about everything; we talk for a few minutes, but then he has to go because his mom is instituting Quality Family Time after he missed her favorite holiday.
“I could get out of it,” he says, “if you want to come over. Or I’ll come there? I mean, now that she knows about us…”
“She always knew about us,” I say, which makes me feel a little sick. Then, “I don’t feel like I can leave right now. They’re still talking down there; I want the update from Bet and Ella later.”
“But you don’t want to go down and hear it yourself?”
“I can’t,” I say. “I don’t want to be near her.”
“I get it,” Sean says. “Are you sure you don’t want me to ditch my mom? We can talk on the phone all afternoon.”
“Thanks, but go spend some time with Harper,” I say. “You’re lucky to have her for a mom. And I’m fine.” I sigh, looking around. “I think I’m going to rearrange my room.”
Later, when the bed’s on the opposite wall and I’ve taped my photos into a funky swirl pattern over the headboard, there’s a soft knock at the door. Ella peeks in; Betsey pushes her way through.
“That’s really cool,” Bet says, pointing at the pictures before flopping down next to me.
“Mom left,” Ella says, joining us. I don’t ask where she went.
“So?” I ask, staring at the ceiling. “What else did she say?”
“She did a lot of apologizing,” Ella says. I shake my head. Of course she did.
“She told us all about her research… basically the same stuff she said in Colorado, but with some extremely nerdy moments between her and this one over here,” Betsey says, hooking a thumb at Ella.
“But the biggest thing we talked about was how it’s going to work now,” Ella says, rolling onto her side to face me.
“Tell me,” I say nervously. “Can’t wait to hear what scheme Mom’s come up with this time.”
“It’s not a scheme, actually,” Ella says. “She’s letting us pick where we go to school.”
“What?” I ask, surprised.
Ella nods. “S
he said we’re going to go back to living as triplets.”
It’s what I knew was coming—it’s what this blue stripe in my hair helped ensure—but it feels like a lackluster victory. It feels like doing philanthropy for school credit—like someone forced you to do it.
We forced her.
“Only one of us can go back to Woodbury, and we all know who that’s going to be,” Betsey says, smiling at me. I think of school with Sean and can’t help but smile back. “Mom said El and I can choose different schools and she’ll have Mason do his best to get us in midyear.”
“That’s great,” I say, unable to make the tone in my voice anything but just… there.
“What’s wrong?” Bet asks, tipping her head to the side. “These are good things.”
“Don’t you guys see that Mom’s just trying to bribe us into being okay with everything?” I ask, annoyed that they’re being so naïve.
“Of course we get it,” Ella says, looking at me seriously. “If nothing else, this whole experience has let us see Mom’s true colors. But hey, if her guilt about screwing up our lives thus far gets me a seat in a classroom at a private school far away from David Chancellor, I’m all for it.”
“I look at it like my ticket to a totally new experience,” Betsey says earnestly. “I want old brick buildings and even older professors and… fall. I want to move to New England.”
Ella sucks in her breath as my head snaps in Betsey’s direction.
Bet smiles; she looks so lovely with her bright red hair. “Will you guys kill me if I ask to go to boarding school?”
Late that night, I wander into the kitchen in search of water; Mom’s sitting at the table when I turn on the lights. I gasp loudly.
“You scared me!” I say.
She laughs a little. “Sorry,” she says, “I couldn’t sleep. I was just thinking.” I don’t ask about what.
I move to the cabinet and get a glass, fill it, and chug my water. I put the glass in the dishwasher and turn to leave.
“Lizzie, come sit down a second,” she says.
I don’t want to, but I do it anyway.
“I’m sorry that I lied to you,” she says. It disarms me.
“It’s not okay,” I say quietly. “I don’t forgive you.” Then, “Mom, I know that you’re trying to make things right. I appreciate that you let Mason give us our identities, and that we can pick our schools. But…”
“You need time,” she says. “I know.”
“I’m not sure time will fix it,” I admit. “I really just…” I look her right in the eyes. “I don’t trust you anymore.”
She flinches, just a little, but enough.
“You have every right not to,” she says sadly. “But I’m going to keep trying to make it up to you. And in the meantime, can we have a truce?” Her voice catches and she coughs. “Can we be more open with each other?”
“I guess,” I say.
“All right,” Mom says. “It’s a start.” She stands up from the table and takes a step toward the door, but not before smoothing down my hair. I want to pull away, but I don’t; as much as I hate so many things she’s done, I don’t hate the affection.
“The hair,” she says. “I like it.”
I turn in my chair and look at her; she has tears in her eyes but she sniffs them away. “The blue suits you.”
After she’s gone, when I walk through the entryway and catch a glimpse of myself, I take comfort in knowing that she was right about something, at least. And as she said, it’s a start.
thirty-one
My part is no longer first half.
Student government, chemistry, trigonometry, psychology, Spanish, dance, and creative writing are all mine to love or loathe, to pass or fail.
“Ready for this?” Sean asks the morning of my first day back. We’re in the student lot; we drove together in Sean’s car. It’s crisp and bright outside, and I’m wearing an outfit that I picked out by myself. My hair is sleek, and despite my nervousness, I’m smiling.
“I think so,” I say, grabbing Sean’s hand. As we make our way toward the school, we get a lot of attention from other kids. Maybe it’s because we’re still a new couple; maybe it’s because of my makeover. Most likely, it’s a bit of both. Little do they know that what’s changed is so much more than my hair.
When our reflections show up on the outside of the glass near the doors, Sean says quietly, “You know you look ridiculously hot, right?” My stomach flips; I squeeze his hand.
“I adore you,” I say, “and not just for the compliments.”
Dave looks surprised by my appearance in student government, but he otherwise leaves me alone, which is just fine by me. Chemistry and trigonometry are less nightmarish than I expected; between trig and psych, I run into Alison in the hallway.
“Elizabeth, your hair is awesome!” she says, smiling brightly.
“Thanks!” I say back. “Did you have a good Thanksgiving?”
“Ugh, the usual,” she says, shrugging. “Turkey, family drama, forced board games. How about you?”
“It was pretty uneventful,” I say. “Hey, let’s get coffee again sometime soon.”
“Anytime!” Alison says, her face brightening.
“How about today?” I ask. She looks surprised.
“What about cheer?” she asks. “Don’t you have practice?”
“I’m quitting,” I say, trying to look disappointed. “I pulled a muscle in my calf that won’t heal if I keep cheering. Plus my mom’s making me get a tutor. Apparently I suck at science.”
“Not as much as I do!” she says, laughing. “Well, I’m sorry about your leg—and the tutor—but I’m glad you’ll have more time to hang out. Meet you after school by your locker?”
“It’s a plan.” I turn to go, then look back. “Hey, Alison?”
She looks at me expectantly. “Yeah?”
“My friends call me Lizzie,” I say. “I hope you will, too.”
When I get home from school, Ella and Mom are in the living room together. I catch a snippet of the conversation: Ella’s talking about her new school.
“… just so much more challenging, in a good way,” she says.
“You’ve always been my overachiever,” Mom says, smiling warmly.
“I take that as a compliment,” Ella says, smiling back.
Then they notice me standing there.
“Lizzie!” Mom says, sitting up straighter in her chair. “Come join us. Tell us how your first day back went.”
The scene is so normal—just a mom and a daughter bonding. I could try to bond, too. But something keeps me frozen in the doorway, something that smells a lot like distrust. It’s self-centered, but in a way I feel like Mom wronged me most. Maybe it’s that I found her out; maybe it’s because she wouldn’t let me date Sean. Maybe it’s because she’s still never apologized for just leaving me in San Diego when Maggie came knocking.
“It was fine,” I say, hiding my emotions. The day was a lot more than fine, but I’m not ready. Mom and I may have a truce, but that doesn’t mean I have to overshare. “I’m getting a soda and going up to do my homework. Sean’s coming over later.”
I stare at Mom, waiting for her to protest. Waiting for her to say that Sean’s not good for my image, not good for me. Waiting for her to Mom me.
Instead, she says, “He seems like a nice boy.” And then, “There’s soda in the garage; bring in a bunch, will you?”
“Happy New You,” Sean says, beaming, when I open the front door. I check out his un-gelled hair, thermal shirt, black hoodie, faded jeans, and sneakers and think that he’s my brand of perfect. He’s holding out a wrapped present; I take it and smile curiously.
“You’re so sweet,” I say. “What is it?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
“Get in here,” I say, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him across the threshold. “Want to go out back?”
“Sure,” he says, reaching out and touching my hair. “Anywhere is f
ine.”
Sean follows me through the kitchen and into the living room, where I grab a blanket off the back of the couch. We go out the double doors to the back patio. Without me asking him to, Sean pushes one of the lounge chairs right next to the other; we sit and I drape the blanket over both of us.
“Okay,” he says when we’re settled. “Open it.”
I rip the paper before the words are fully out of his mouth. Sean laughs while I eagerly pry open the box. I suck in my breath when I see the silver bracelet with a heart locket.
“There’s a picture in there,” he says, pointing to the charm.
Thankful that the porch sensor lights are still on, I pop it open and feel a rush of emotion when I see the tiny framed photo of me and Sean at his mom’s studio that day so long ago. He’s standing behind me with his arm around the top of my shoulder and across my chest like he’s protecting me. Our faces are pressed together. Sean’s looking at the camera and his mouth is near my ear; my face is dipped down and to the right like I’m listening to him tell me a secret.
“I wonder what you were saying to me in this picture.”
“I know what I was thinking,” he says.
“What’s that?”
“That I love you.”
A breeze picks up and I shiver, but not because of the weather. I look into Sean’s eyes and feel like I’m going to burst. I owe him so much, for his friendship and support, for his love and honesty. For seeing the real me before the rest of the world had the chance to.
“I love you, too,” I say, and then I kiss him, just as the motion-sensor lights click off.
thirty-two
One month later, the day after Christmas, Mom lets Ella and me take Betsey to the airport alone. I know Mom wants to come, but I also know that she’s done controlling us for now. I can only hope that it’s because she’s trying to give back some of the freedom she stole away.
Instead of hugging goodbye at the curb, Ella parks and we walk Betsey inside. We’ve never left one another before, and Ella and I prolong it by getting into the security line with Bet and snaking around as far as we can go.
