Hollis snorted. “What is this—Animal Planet?”
“JJ’s words,” Milo said.
“You shared this plan with JJ?”
“Yes, and he thinks it’s brilliant.”
Hollis pictured JJ, standing outside Milo’s apartment saluting the cab. She pictured his giant bare feet on her computer screen. “You’re using JJ Rabinowitz as your gauge for brilliance?”
“Why not?” Milo said.
“He’s…” Hollis hesitated.
“What?”
“JJ will do anything. He doesn’t care what people think.”
“He cares what you think,” Milo said. “He cares big-time.”
Hollis felt her cheeks flush. “Shut up. That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
This, Hollis thought, was always the hardest question to answer. “I mean … come on. We’re just going to show up on our sperm donor’s porch and peer through his windows?”
“No,” Milo said. “We’re going to show up at the Recreational Sports Dome at the University of Minnesota and watch him play Ultimate Frisbee.”
Hollis blinked. “Are you serious?”
“It’s the Indoor Hat Tournament.”
“What?”
“I checked out the website. There’s a tournament that weekend and the Floppy Discs are registered. February thirteenth. Open to the public, and we are the public.”
“Okay,” Hollis said slowly. “But don’t you think we should … I don’t know … give him a heads-up?”
“Did he give us a heads-up when he donated his sperm? Did he give us the chance to say, Hey, actually, number 9677, I prefer not to be conceived in this manner? He didn’t consider our feelings. Aren’t you the one who raised that point to me?”
“I may have been,” Hollis admitted.
“Hollis,” Milo said. “We’re not going to ambush him. We’re just going to watch him play Frisbee. He won’t even know we’re there.”
Hollis shook her head. It was a ridiculous idea. Harebrained. Was she actually going to agree to this? Was she really that malleable? “Fine.”
“Fine what?”
“I will ask my mother if Noah and Abby can come. She’ll probably be thrilled.”
“You think?”
“She’s been reminiscing a lot, about these parties she and Pam used to throw. She says our house is too quiet.”
“Okay,” Milo said. “Just ask about Noah and Abby, though. Don’t mention the Will thing.”
“Why not?”
“If you tell your mom we’re going to watch him play Frisbee, she’ll tell Suzanne and Frankie, and Frankie will want to go with us. She’ll probably want to talk to him. Have a whole heart-to-heart. She could scare him away.”
“Fine,” Hollis said. “I’ll just ask about Noah and Abby.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Oh, and JJ wants to come, too.”
“What?” Hollis’s throat was suddenly dry.
“You heard me. He wants to be the event photographer.”
“The event photographer—”
“You know, that project we’re working on for school? The one you emailed me the photos for? Genetic traits. He wants to take pictures of everyone’s widow’s peaks and tongues and … I don’t know … knuckle hair. Really, I think he’s just looking for an excuse to see you.”
“Oh.” JJ coming to Minnesota. To see her.
“Think about it,” Milo said. “No pressure or anything.”
“Right.” Hollis huffed out a small snort. “No pressure.”
* * *
Her mother said yes, as Hollis had known she would. Hollis asked her the next morning at breakfast, waiting until Leigh had finished recapping Date #2 with Tania Kosiewicz because that was more pressing business. It wasn’t so much that Hollis wanted to hear details—how good the spaghetti Bolognese was, or how the two of them talked through the whole movie, or how Tania loved jazz. It was the look on her mother’s face.
Hollis tried to remember the last time she’d seen her mother truly happy. She thought back to before Pam got sick—before the stomachaches, before the pill bottles, before the sleeping all day on the couch. Hollis remembered her two moms sitting at the kitchen counter, drinking French-press coffee, eating Pam’s lemon-poppyseed scones and laughing. Pam always made her mother laugh.
Leigh didn’t exactly laugh when she told Hollis about her second date, but she did smile. Which was almost as good.
“I’m glad you had fun,” Hollis said. They were eating frozen toaster waffles. Hollis found this oddly comforting. Seeing her mother cook was just wrong.
“Me too.”
“Do you think you’ll go out again?”
Her mother smiled. “I think so. Yeah.”
“So…” Hollis cleared her throat. “I have to ask you about something.”
Leigh’s fork hovered above her plate. “What? Is it weird for you that I’m dating?”
“No. I mean, yes—it’s weird that you’re dating, but my question is unrelated. It’s about Presidents’ Day weekend.”
“What about it?”
“I know Milo and his moms are coming. But I was wondering … well, Milo and I were both wondering … could we invite Noah and Abby, too? They wouldn’t have to stay here or anything. They could get rooms at the DoubleTree or whatever, but we just thought, since it’s a holiday weekend, and since the four of us have been getting to know each other—”
“Oh, honey,” her mother said.
“What?”
Her mother’s eyes were shiny. There was Nutella on her lip. A clump of mascara in her lashes from last night. “A party.”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be a party per se—”
“Pam would love this. Do you have any idea how much Pam would love this?”
“Yes,” Hollis said.
“Can you get me their numbers? Noah’s and Abby’s parents? They’ll need to buy tickets. When is Presidents’ Day weekend again?”
“February twelfth.”
“February twelfth … February twelfth?”
“Through the fifteenth.”
Her mother’s eyes widened. “That’s ten days from now.”
“I know,” Hollis said.
“Oh my God. We need to start planning.”
MILO
Hollis had done it. If you’d told Milo six weeks ago that Hollis Darby-Barnes would be organizing a half-sibling reunion/sperm-donor stakeout on her home turf, he would have laughed in your face. But here it was: February 12. And here they were: Milo, Suzanne, Frankie, and JJ on a plane to Minnesota.
Part of Milo was glad his moms were with him. He could pretend this was just another vacation—like the one they’d taken to the Bahamas when Milo was ten. Or the ski trip to Vail for Frankie’s forty-fifth birthday. His moms made him feel grounded. And yet a part of Milo wished it could be just the four of them: him, Hollis, Noah, and Abby. Well, the five of them if you counted JJ. JJ Rabinowitz, honorary sperm sibling—or, if you were Frankie, JJ Rabinowitz, “lost soul.” That’s what she called him when Milo told his moms JJ wanted to come on the trip. “Poor kid,” Frankie said. “He’s a bit of a lost soul, isn’t he?” Then she went into social worker overdrive, talking about identity formation in adopted children and how the turbulent teen years invite complicated feelings about self. Milo had wanted to call BS. Attachment theory? Self-identification? JJ wasn’t looking for a new family by coming with them to Saint Paul. He was looking for a way to hook up with Hollis! But Milo hadn’t argued. He’d kept his mouth shut. Because honestly, he felt a little guilty. JJ, at least, was in on the plan, which was more than Milo could say for his moms.
Milo wondered what would happen tomorrow. Would he see Will Bardo standing there in the Recreational Sports Dome and feel compelled to walk up and introduce himself? And if he did, what would happen? Would Will Bardo flip out, like one of those meth heads who got busted on COPS? “I told you I
wanted to let this marinate, man!” Would he run? Would he throw his Frisbee like one of those circular swords? Milo’s head was spinning. Whoa. He needed to get a grip.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Minneapolis–Saint Paul International Airport. Local time is 4:22 p.m.”
HOLLIS
OhmyGod. OhmyGod. OhmyGod. This was Hollis’s brain in the middle of the Minneapolis–Saint Paul International Airport baggage claim, where she and her mother stood side by side, holding up a ridiculous piece of poster board that read Robinson, Clark, Resnick, Fenn in black Sharpie.
This was actually happening. She had agreed to this. She, Hollis Darby-Barnes, had made this weekend possible. What had she been thinking?
Hollis reminded herself that she was doing this out of half-sisterly love for Milo. That seeing their donor in person could lead to meeting him, to developing a relationship, to genetic testing, which—down the line—might, in some convoluted way Hollis didn’t fully understand, help Milo find a cure for his allergies. She told herself she was doing a good thing. She told herself to breathe.
“Are you nervous?”
Hollis looked at her mother. “Why would I be nervous?”
“You’re scowling.”
“So?”
“You scowl when you’re nervous.”
“I scowl when people ask me stupid questions.”
Her mother smiled. Smiled! “You’ll be fine.”
Hollis did not think she would be fine. But then planes started arriving and swells of people filled the escalator, and suddenly, she was swept up in it all. Everything happened at once. Abby—Hollis knew it was Abby because her shirt read Careful what you say, or I’ll put you in my memoir—ran over and hugged her, then whipped out a small, spiral-bound notebook and said, “Tell me what you’re feeling, right now, in this moment.”
Noah, who seemed to arrive nearly simultaneously, was a taller, wider, shorter-haired version of Milo, a fact that Hollis’s mother commented on immediately.
“You’re smaller than I thought you’d be,” Noah said, hooking an arm around Hollis’s neck. He smelled like cologne.
“You’re bigger than I thought you’d be.”
“Nice shirt,” Noah said to Abby, giving her the same elbow-neck hug, but with his other arm.
“Careful what you say,” Abby said. “I’ll put you in my memoir.”
Leigh introduced herself to Noah and Abby. Abby offered everyone Dubble Bubble. Leigh asked after Noah’s and Abby’s parents, with whom she had spoken several times on the phone, and whom she now wanted Noah and Abby to call, to let them know they’d arrived safely.
At some point a whistle pierced the air. When Hollis looked up there was Suzanne at the top of the escalator, waving. Frizzy hair, long crocheted sweater. She was flanked by Milo and Frankie—jeans, beat-up leather jacket—and they were working their way down, which of course meant teary-eyed mom hugs and exclamations about facial features. “Look at the eyebrows! Look at the jawlines!”
Suddenly, Hollis was surrounded on all sides. Noah and Milo were fist bumping and back slapping. Frankie was squeezing Hollis’s arm. Suzanne was kissing her cheek. Hollis was just trying to breathe, lifting her chin for a little oxygen, when she saw JJ working his way through the bodies.
“JJ Rabinowitz,” he said, pumping Noah’s hand up and down. “No relation to anyone.”
Hollis watched him move from Noah to Abby to Leigh, plaid arm pumping, hair flopping in his eyes. “JJ Rabinowitz, honorary sperm sibling.” “JJ Rabinowitz, event photographer.” God, he was weird. Hollis watched him introduce himself and she thought about how he didn’t have any of this, how he didn’t know who his birth parents were, or where they lived, or whether they were even alive. He didn’t know if he had brothers or sisters, or, if he did, whether he would ever meet them, and how it must feel even weirder for him to be here than for anyone else. And she heard herself saying, “Look what the cat dragged in.”
When he turned around and saw her, he grinned, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Like, what were the odds he would run into her in the Minneapolis–Saint Paul International Airport on February 12? “Hollis Darby,” he said.
“JJ Rabinowitz.”
“I’m here to take a picture of your clover tongue.”
“Oh, really.”
“And your hitchhiker’s thumbs.”
“I don’t have hitchhiker’s thumbs.”
“Prove it.”
Hollis gave him two thumbs-up and he grabbed both of them in his big warm hands and squeezed. “It’s good to see you,” he said.
“It’s good to see you, too.”
And they stood there, grinning like idiots, thumb-holding in the baggage claim until Milo came over and thumped Hollis on the back. “How do you feel?”
Hollis thought for a moment. “I feel okay.”
“Good.” He thumped her again. “We’re going to pick up the rental car.”
* * *
It was weird having all these people in her house. Perched on chairs, leaning against counters, nibbling on the snacks Hollis’s mother had put out. But it could have been weirder, Hollis reminded herself as Suzanne walked around the kitchen taking drink orders. Abby and Noah could have brought along their parents and siblings. Meeting Becca and Josh—Hollis’s half-siblings-in-law, or half siblings once removed, or whatever they were? That would be weird. When Hollis thought about it, she was impressed that Noah and Abby came alone. The only time Hollis had traveled anywhere alone was to sleep-away camp in Iowa. She was eleven. She’d hated it—a fact that her mother seemed to have forgotten because this very morning, while she was unrolling sleeping bags in the basement in anticipation of everyone’s arrival, Leigh exclaimed, “This will be just like camp!” Suzanne and Frankie would have Hollis’s room, and the five kids would get the basement all to themselves. Their own bunk! What could be better?
“I hated camp,” Hollis felt free to remind her mother. “I didn’t have any friends.”
“This will be different,” her mother said. “The friends are built in.”
The friends are built in.
Until her mother had said that, Hollis hadn’t really thought of her half siblings as friends. But she supposed they were. In the past month, she’d talked to Milo and Abby and Noah more than she’d talked to Shay and Gianna. Which begged the question … was JJ Rabinowitz, honorary sperm sibling, a friend, too? The thought of JJ sleeping in the same room filled Hollis with … what? She didn’t know. She and JJ had been talking on the phone—and FaceTiming and texting—for nearly four weeks. They had never hooked up. They had never even hugged. But that didn’t mean nothing was happening between them.
“What do you think?” Leigh called out in the middle of the hubbub. “Should we order some pizza?” She had found—in consultation with Suzanne and Frankie—a restaurant in Saint Paul that made a gluten-free, dairy-free, soy-free pizza, so Milo could have his own pie.
Yes! They all agreed. Pizza!
Pizza was ordered. Pizza was delivered. Pizza was consumed. JJ ate five slices of Hawaiian. Five!
“Where do you put it all?” Hollis asked.
“Right here,” JJ said, tapping his thigh. “My hollow leg.”
Milo, who was sitting on JJ’s other side, knocked on JJ’s head. “What about in here? Isn’t this hollow, too?”
“Hardy har har.”
“Why don’t we play a board game?” Hollis’s mother suggested.
A board game? Hollis nearly groaned. But Noah had Trivia Crack on his iPad and Abby said she was unbeatable in Trivia Crack.
“Is that so?” Noah said.
And Abby said, “Try me.”
They gathered around the coffee table. It was the Darby-Resnick-Rabinowitzes versus the Robinson-Clark-Fenns. The competition was fierce. At some point, Abby busted Noah in the kitchen, texting his brother Josh for an answer to some obscure basketball question. “Cheater!” she cried, dragging Noah by his elbow back into t
he living room. “I call for a disqualification!”
“In my defense,” Noah said. “If Josh had agreed to come here and support his brother, he would be on my team.”
“Oh no,” Abby said. “You are not going to pull on our heartstrings right now.”
* * *
Later, when the lights were out and the five of them were scattered around the basement in their separate sleeping bags, but no one was actually sleeping, the subject came up again. Noah texted Josh one of the pictures JJ had taken of the four half siblings on the couch. Josh didn’t text back.
“Maybe he’s asleep,” Abby said.
“He’s not asleep,” Noah said. “He’s conflicted.”
“Do you think he wishes he came?” Milo said.
“Part of him. Yeah.”
“Does he know what we’re doing tomorrow?” Milo said.
“He knows.”
“What does he think?” Abby said.
“He thinks we’re crazy.”
“He has a point,” Hollis said. “Who stakes out their sperm donor at an Ultimate Frisbee tournament?”
“Crazy people,” Noah said.
And Abby said, “I’m not going to be able to sleep.”
“Me neither,” Milo said.
They agreed that they were too wired to sleep. Hollis turned on the lights. She passed around the snacks again.
“This floor,” Milo said, propping himself on one elbow and taking a few baby carrots from a bowl, “is harder than it appears.”
“Surprisingly hard,” JJ agreed, chomping on a handful of potato chips.
“Should I be drinking this Mountain Dew with its fifty-five milligrams of caffeine?” Abby said. “Probably not.”
“Are there potato chip shards all over my sleeping bag?” Noah said. “Making the likelihood of a good night’s sleep even less likely? Yes there are.”
“Mine too,” JJ said. “Shards everywhere.”
“Who should we blame for this sad state of affairs?” Abby said.
“I blame Milo,” Hollis said.
“Hey.” Milo chucked a baby carrot at Hollis. “I didn’t bring the potato chips. I’m allergic to potato chips.”
Hollis chucked the carrot back. “We wouldn’t be here eating potato chips if it weren’t for you, Bilbo Baggins.”
The Other F-Word Page 17
