by Julie Clark
And now Sophie is left with a man irritated by her presence. I think of Miles and what would happen if he were to lose me.
Scott interrupts my thoughts. “I think we need to drop out.”
Bruno shakes his head. This definitely can’t happen.
“I can only imagine how hard things are for you right now, Scott,” I say, trying to make my voice soothing and supportive. “Maybe I could come over and talk in person? See if there’s anything I can do to help you and Sophie?”
“We’re not really up for company right now.”
I stare at Bruno, worried. We need Scott in the study, but more important, I want to make sure his daughter is okay. Knowing Sophie’s only caretaker is a man who—based on our results and his current state of mind—has no natural affinity for parenting leaves a knot in my chest.
Bruno speaks before I can. “I understand why you’d feel that way, and if that’s the decision you ultimately make, we’ll respect it. But why don’t we give it some time and revisit in a few weeks? Nothing needs to happen now.”
“I appreciate that,” Scott says. “I’m just really overwhelmed.” I can hear him gulp, and I know what he’s probably thinking: This will never get better. “The study was important to Mara,” he whispers.
I try to get my bearings. “Well then, let’s put a pin in it and see where we are in a few weeks,” I finally say.
“Okay,” Scott replies. Then in a harsher tone, “Jesus, Soph. A little space, please.”
I’m eager to get off the phone, not just because I don’t want to give Scott any more time to withdraw from the study, but also to run from my own ghosts. I lower my voice, trying to keep it from cracking. “We’re so sorry about Mara, Scott. She’ll be missed.”
We say our goodbyes, and I disconnect the call, Bruno and I staring at each other across our desks.
“Holy shit,” he says. “That poor kid.”
People will call this a tragedy, say poor kid, and then get on with their lives—order a cup of coffee, go to work, eat dinner, and fall asleep at night. But Sophie’s loss resonates with me on a deeper level. This is why I need our study to succeed. For kids like me. For kids like Sophie. Because her life has just taken a sharp left turn into my biggest fear as a child: something happening to my mother, leaving Rose and me alone in the world with a man who was only consistent in putting himself first.
CELLS
* * *
My interest in science was sparked with a lie: Every seven years, the cells in our body are replaced with completely new cells. Biologically, no part of your old self exists.
My high school biology teacher delivered this information, not knowing the hope his words would ignite in me. I latched on to the idea that after enough time, there would be no part of me that had firsthand knowledge of my father or the pain he caused. That all the way down to my cells, he would eventually become a stranger.
Even though that turned out to be a myth—some arbitrary math to make shiny the otherwise rudimentary concept of cell regeneration and death—there is some truth to it. All cells have a life cycle.
Our bodies are made up of approximately seventy-five trillion living cells, each one toiling away at a specific job for the entirety of its life. They self-replicate through mitosis, splitting in half to create an exact copy. Every minute, we create one hundred million new red blood cells, which will live for four months before dying. White blood cells last longer—about a year. Skin cells only live two to three weeks. So if you’ve broken up with your boyfriend, in a few months, there will be no part of you he’s touched. That much is true.
But there are some cells that last a lifetime. Brain cells in the cerebral cortex start recording from conception and don’t stop until death. This is where your memory lives. Your thoughts. Your awareness. These cells carry with them every moment of your life—even the ones you’d rather leave behind.
* * *
Chapter Three
When I pull up to Rose’s that night, I park a few cars away from Liam’s and sit for a second, letting the events of the day wash over me. I wish I could go home and climb into bed. Instead, I’ve got to suck it up for family dinner night.
We let ourselves in, and Miles disappears upstairs to find his cousins while I pass through the narrow central hall and into the family room and kitchen that comprises the entire back half of their house.
Liam sits, arm slung across the back of the couch, a beer nestled between his knees. “Hey there.” He stands to give me a kiss, and I let my lips linger on his for a few extra seconds, wishing I could stay there indefinitely.
Rose hands me a full glass of wine. “I called you earlier,” she says. “Did you get my message?”
“Once she’s at work, she’s in another dimension,” Liam says.
“What’s wrong with that?” I take a big sip, hoping to calm my jagged nerves. To Rose I say, “I’m sure you’ve already heard the camping trip is off.” I give Liam an apologetic smile.
Rose’s eyes travel between Liam and me. “It’s not too late. Maybe you can still talk him into it,” she says.
I stare into my wineglass. I know that’s not going to happen.
From somewhere above us, Hannah, my eleven-year-old niece, yells, “Mom!” in a tone that indicates Rose has about three seconds before things upstairs get ugly.
“Tweens.” Rose grabs the glass out of my hand and takes a deep drink.
“Hey,” I say, taking it back.
“I need it more than you do.” She pushes through the swinging door that connects the kitchen to the formal dining room, leaving me and Liam alone.
“How was your day?” he asks, leaning against the counter.
I think of Mara and Sophie. What I need is a dark room and Liam’s arms around me, erasing all my worries. What I have are fifteen minutes to get a salad made before four kids clatter down the stairs, demanding to be fed.
“Busy,” I say. I grab the carrots Rose left on the counter and wash them, letting the cold water run over my hands.
Liam points to the carrots and knife. “Better practice before A Night of Asian Fusion,” he says in his game-show-host voice. We religiously watch Iron Chef together—in person if we can manage it, or over the phone when we can’t—and the Asian fusion cooking class I signed us up for next spring seemed like the perfect outlet for our obsession.
I laugh. “You might want to do some practice yourself. I almost broke a tooth on the salad you made the other day.”
As I slice the carrots, he comes up behind me and peers over my shoulder. “I really think you should julienne them.”
I give him a skeptical look. “Do you even know what that means?”
“I’ve been studying. Of course I know what it means.”
I offer him the knife. “Go for it.”
He holds his hands up and says, “I choose not to chop. At least not today.”
I laugh and resume my work. “That’s what I thought.” The sound of Miles and Josh arguing floats downstairs.
Liam glances at the ceiling and says, “How was his day? Any issues with that kid Ethan?”
I dump the carrots into a bowl. “He seemed fine when I picked him up.”
“Did you ask?”
“With Miles, sometimes it’s better to let things rest for a little while. But I’ll check in with him tonight. I had a lot going on today.”
“Like what?”
I grab a cucumber, glad to have something to do with my hands. “One of our test subjects is thinking of pulling out.”
I glance at Liam, who takes a sip of beer. “Is that going to be a problem?”
I think of Sophie. All day, memories of my father have been popping up unexpectedly, leaving me unsteady. I know my father can’t hurt me anymore, but it’s unsettling to be drawn so easily back to my own childhood.
I hear Henry’s car pull into the driveway, so I keep it simple. “His wife died unexpectedly. To be honest, I’m more worried about his daughter than the study.”<
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I scoop the cucumber chunks into the bowl and face Liam, drying my hands on a towel. He sets his beer on the counter and wraps his arms around me. My cheek presses against his chest, and I listen to his steady heartbeat, savoring the warm space he’s created before slipping out of his arms and turning back to my salad.
In the dining room, Rose badgers Hannah to set the table. I finish the salad and wipe the counter just as Henry comes through the kitchen, depositing several large bags on the counter. “Ribs are here,” he announces.
Liam grabs a stack of plates from the counter and follows Henry into the dining room. I rinse off the knife and set it aside to dry as I stare out the window into the dark yard, my shadowy reflection looking back at me.
“Are you okay?” Rose asks. I didn’t hear her come into the kitchen.
“Of course.” I hand her the salad bowl and smile, willing it to be true.
—
Dinner is noisy, with the kids talking over one another and the adults trying to be heard above it all. At one point, Rose’s youngest, Josh, says, “Aunt Paige, is it true that when you were little, you locked Mom in the bathroom by taking the doorknob off and turning it around so it could be locked from the outside?”
I laugh and give Rose an incredulous look. “Did your mom also tell you that she’d been in the bathroom for two hours?”
“Forty-five minutes,” Rose says.
“Two hours,” I repeat, and Miles grins. He loves to hear stories about me and Rose growing up. “Don’t get any ideas,” I say to him before turning back to Josh. “I thought since she loved looking in the mirror so much, she should spend the night in there.”
Liam laughs and reaches for more corn. “How’d you get out?”
“Mom came home around eleven and unlocked the door,” Rose says. “Paige was asleep. Not a care in the world.”
I shrug. “I would have let her out if there was a fire.”
“Thanks a lot.” Rose laughs.
The kids finish and tear into the backyard to play night tag, and Rose and I rinse the dishes while Henry and Liam begin putting the leftovers away.
“We’ve got this,” Rose tells them. “Go outside and referee.”
“I need to go,” Liam says. “We’ve got a deadline, and I’m headed back to work for the night.”
“I’ll walk you out,” I say.
He claps Henry on the shoulder and says, “Thanks for dinner.”
“See you next week,” Rose says.
“If I don’t see you sooner,” he tells her.
I dry my hands on a towel and follow him to his car. The cool night air caresses my arms, and the smell of wood smoke and damp leaves hint at the coming fall.
Liam rubs my bare arms before hugging me. “Sorry about your test subject,” he says. “Do you want me to call you later?”
My skin tingles under his touch. “No. I’m probably going to fall asleep the minute my head hits the pillow.”
“All right. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He gives me a kiss and says, “And answer your phone.”
I watch him drive away before returning inside, where Rose is busy putting leftovers in containers.
“How is Miles liking the new school?” she asks.
We’d been wait-listed for the school Rose’s kids attend—a science and math magnet for gifted students. When we got the letter offering him a spot for third grade, I’d let myself believe a fresh start with kids more similar to him might draw him out. But so far, it’s been more of the same. Plus Ethan. I sigh and slide the potatoes pan into a sink filled with soapy water. “I thought he’d find more friends here.”
Rose glances at me. “Give it time.”
I nod. “He loves the work. This is the first time I think he’s ever been challenged. His teacher seems a bit rigid though.”
Rose laughs. “Yep. Ms. Denny is a taskmaster, but Mikey loved her by the end of the year.” She turns to face me. “I promised Mom I’d talk to you about something.”
Dread pools inside of me. “What?”
“Dad’s back.”
As if I conjured him out of thin air. I pinch my eyes closed, battered by this day.
That my father has returned is nothing new. He’s come and gone more times than I can count. I’d done my best to make peace with who he is years ago—a man intent on pleasing only himself. But for Rose, it’s different. I don’t think she’s ever accepted his inability to love us, choosing instead to hope—despite all evidence—that each time he came back, he’d be different. Better.
“How long has it been this time?”
“She knew you’d react this way, which is why she wanted me to tell you.”
“React what way? Skeptical?” I submerge my hands in the hot water and scrub hard.
Rose waits a few seconds before saying, “They want us to come for lunch.”
“No, thanks.”
I attack the burnt potato edges in the corner of the pan, wishing I could scrape our father from our lives as easily. “It’s been ten years since we’ve seen him. I honestly thought we might be done with the charade.”
“Paige,” she warns.
“No. I don’t play this game anymore. Dad is free to come and go, and you and Mom are free to have a relationship with him if you want. I don’t have to.”
“He’s almost seventy-five.”
“I can do the math as well as you can.”
Rose grabs my arm, forcing me to drop the pan and look at her. Her voice is sharp, the words brittle. “He’s getting older, and while you’re so busy punishing him for not being the father you wanted, you’re missing the opportunity to know him now. Yeah, he wasn’t around back then. Get over it.”
I yank my arm away and resume my scrubbing. “I am over it.”
“I’m just afraid you’re going to regret it if you don’t allow yourself to have some kind of relationship with him.”
“I think Dad should be the one worried about regrets.” I turn the faucet on, hoping to end the conversation.
“It’s lunch,” she says over the sound of the running water.
I slam it off again and turn on her. “It’s more than he deserves.” Rose believes in unlimited second chances. I believe in natural consequences.
“Dad’s made a lot of mistakes. He’s hurt all of us. But he’s the only father you’ve got. Miles’s only grandfather. You need to stop locking him out of your life for fear of what might happen.”
I set the clean pan on the counter, trying to subdue my anger.
“He’s moved back in with Mom.” Rose’s voice is quiet.
“He always moves in with her.” Dad would pull up, unload a suitcase from his trunk, and fill his dresser drawers, as if he were returning from a business trip. “That’s not news.”
“This time he brought everything with him,” she says. “Furniture. Books. More than a single suitcase.”
I dry the pan with a dish towel and put it away, uneasy.
“Mom says he has something important to talk to us about.” Her voice softens. “It’s one lunch, and then you can retreat. If you don’t say you’ll come, Mom will badger you until you give in. Think about it.”
Rose is right. Our mother never accepts no for an answer, and she’ll launch an elaborate campaign of phone calls, emails, and drop-ins to change my mind. It’s not worth it.
“I’m not bringing Miles,” I tell her.
“Fine. We’ll have Henry watch the kids.”
I sigh. “Okay. But this is it. I don’t care how long he stays this time. I’ll do the lunch and then I’m out.”
“Fair enough,” she says. “Thank you.”
We work in silence for a few minutes.
“So what else is bothering you?” Rose asks, wiping down the counter.
“Dad coming back isn’t enough?”
She shakes her head and starts the dishwasher. “No. This is something else.”
“What are you, a mind reader?”
“You’re my big sister. I’ve spen
t my whole life studying you. I know when you’re worried about something.”
I sigh and lean against the counter, spinning the stem of my nearly empty wineglass between my fingers. In a low voice, so Miles won’t overhear, I tell her about his meltdown in the tent and how he wants to know his donor.
“Shit,” Rose says. “Did you have any idea?”
“We’ve talked about how he was conceived, lots of times. But he’s never said anything like this before.” I gesture around us. “This is all he’s ever needed. What’s changed?”
Rose tosses the towel onto the counter and faces me. “Kids change. How many times have I caught myself parenting the kid who existed yesterday, only to realize they’ve woken up as someone entirely new today?”
“I suppose,” I say. “Though that doesn’t help me know what to do now.”
“Did you tell Liam?” she asks. “It might make him feel better, knowing it didn’t have anything to do with him.”
“Between you and Bruno, it’s like an episode of Dr. Phil.” I catch her look and say, “You’re right. I’ll tell him.”
I finish my wine, the dregs burning my throat as I swallow them, and steal a glance at the photograph on the fridge: Henry and a six-year-old Mikey, sitting on the edge of a lake fishing. The set of their shoulders, the slight tilt of their heads to the left, even the way they’re holding their fishing poles is identical. Miles will never have a moment like that with a father. Not with Liam. Not with anyone.
Rose should understand this, but I think it’s buried beneath layers of good fortune. She met Henry, fell in love, then married him. She wanted a family, tried for children, then had three in neat succession. Perfectly planned and executed. It’s always been that way for her, perfect beginnings, middles, and ends, always what she wants, always when she wants it. I gave up resenting her a long time ago, but it still sneaks up on me when she assumes everyone has it as easy as she does.
She’s forgotten how isolating it is to grow up without a father, like missing a limb—a faint memory that something should be there. Despite everything I swore I’d give my child, it turns out none of it mattered. Miles is no different than I was at that age, watching the kids with dads and wondering what it’s like to ride on top of a father’s shoulders.
