by Julie Clark
“Yeah—”
“Hey, Mom, do you know the chemical formula for calcium chloride?”
Before I can answer, Aaron says, “CaCl2.”
Miles looks up, his eyes full of questions flashing between me and this stranger.
Aaron gives him an easy smile and says, “I’m Nick’s dad.”
I brace myself for Miles’s usual greeting of a silent nod or, worse, a silent stare. But Miles looks around and asks, “Is Nick here too?”
“No, he’s home with his mom.” Aaron points to an enormous package of toilet paper on the conveyor belt. “Emergency situation,” he whispers, widening his eyes dramatically. He looks ahead and grimaces at an old woman counting out coupons. “I hope I’m not too late.”
Miles stifles a giggle.
Aaron points to the book in Miles’s hands. “I know that book. There’s a great experiment on page 127 where you can make calcium carbonate.”
I look at him sideways. “You know the page?”
“Jackie takes a three-hour yoga class on Saturdays. That’s a lot of time to fill.”
Miles flips through the book. “Chalk,” he says, a smile opening his face. “Chemical formula?”
Aaron rattles it off.
“Reactants?” Miles quizzes him.
“Calcium chloride, baking soda, water.”
And they’re off, talking about chemistry as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. As if my child has struck up conversations with strangers a million times.
As Aaron takes his receipt from the cashier and hoists the toilet paper under his arm, he says, “Obviously, I’m needed at home.” He winks at Miles, who grins back at him. “Will I see you guys at the school picnic this week?”
Before I can answer, Miles says, “Sure!”
Aaron smiles and says, “Great. See you then.”
I offer a small wave and turn to Miles, whose eyes follow Aaron out the door.
As the cashier tallies up our groceries, I say, “The picnic? You want to go?”
“Definitely,” he says. “Hey, can I get this book?”
“Sure.” I put it on the conveyor belt with everything else. “Aunt Rose has been asking whether we’d go to the picnic, but I didn’t think you’d be into it,” I say, trying to figure out what’s gotten into my child. “You’ve never wanted to go to anything like that before. Why now?”
He looks toward the door Aaron just exited. “Nick’s going to be there. And his dad. So can we go?”
“Of course.”
Miles does a shorter version of his victory dance, which makes me laugh.
After our groceries have been paid for and bagged, I push the full cart into the parking lot, Miles trailing after me. When we’re settled in the car, Miles says, “Nick’s dad is pretty cool.”
It’s taken him over a year to answer Liam’s questions with more than one-word answers, yet he just had an open and animated conversation with a man he’s never met before, and agreed to go to the picnic, which never would have happened at his old school. I feel as if someone has blindfolded me and spun me around twenty times, the world I thought I knew suddenly topsy-turvy.
Miles’s voice jolts me. “Mom? Are we going or what?”
—
The following day, I’m delivering a lecture about genes to an auditorium filled with freshmen who haven’t figured out how to skip class yet. As I step from behind the podium, my eyes travel across the faces of my students, a diverse group, most of whom are here only to fulfill a science requirement. I don’t know all their names yet, but I will.
“You inherit traits from your parents, through your chromosomes, which contain about thirty thousand protein-coding genes. Some traits are simple, only involving one or two genes. Others are more complex, depending on multiple genes and even the environment. For example, being left-handed is the result of several genes, but if your teacher hits you with a ruler often enough,” I say, smacking my hand onto the podium in front of me, “you can be forced into right-handedness.”
A quiet murmur of laughter trickles through the room. I pause, letting them catch up on their notes. In the front row sits Rebecca. She has a strong handle on the material, and I want to encourage her to stick with science. She writes furiously, only looking up when she’s ready for me to continue.
“Genes control how your body functions.” I walk to the center of the dais and bring up a graphic of a chromosome and gene on the screen behind me. “Methylation is a process that controls when a gene is—or is not—expressed. It is why you ended up with your mother’s brown eyes instead of your father’s blue ones. You inherited both genes, but only one is expressed. But as with anything, errors can occur. We’re learning that faulty DNA methylation can be triggered by outside factors, such as famine.
“The most well-known example of this is the Netherlands famine of 1944–45, which affected nearly four and a half million million people. Because this was a developed country, scientists were able to study the aftereffects on the human genome and found that survivors had a change in their DNA that resulted in smaller offspring—not just that first generation, but the one after it as well.”
Rebecca’s hand shoots up. “Can methylation turn off genes that might cause disease?”
“For acquired mutations, yes. But if it’s a hereditary mutation, such as the BRCA gene, it’s unlikely, which is why we encourage people who have family members with genetic mutations to undergo genetic testing themselves.”
“What if you don’t know that information?” Rebecca asks. Her eyes challenge me. “What if you’re adopted? Then what? Hope for a methylation? You’re screwed.”
A few students snicker. I close my laptop, since we’re nearing the end of class and sit on the edge of the dais, facing her.
“Actually, Rebecca, this is the perfect time to be alive for those people.”
I look up into the lecture hall. A few students are quietly gathering their things, hoping to make a quick exit. I direct my voice toward the back to halt them. “How many of you have heard of 23andMe?”
Several hands go up.
I look at Rebecca. “You’re eighteen, right?”
She nods.
“You can run a DNA test that will give you a medical background more comprehensive than anything your parents might be able to tell you.” In a softer voice I say, “You don’t need to know your biological parents to know your genetic history anymore.”
I think of Miles and wonder if a medical background is really what Rebecca’s after.
I hear louder rustling and check the clock on the wall.
“See you next week. Be ready for a quiz on chapter seven.”
I stand and begin to pack up my things. When I turn around, Rebecca’s waiting for me.
As we walk up the stairs to the back of the hall together, I say, “You know, there have been a few stories about people who’ve used companies like 23andMe and found biological relatives.”
Rebecca looks at me, hope in her eyes. “Really?”
“Keep your expectations realistic,” I warn. “That’s not what they’re set up to do. But there are a lot of ways for you to get the information you want.”
I think about what databases and genetic tests might be available when Miles turns eighteen and if any of them will give him the information he craves.
23ANDME
* * *
23andMe is a genomics and biotechnology company that provides saliva-based direct-to-consumer genetic testing. Clients can access detailed genetic reports that outline their risk for genetic diseases, identify their ancestry from out of thirty-one populations worldwide, and learn how their genes might be affected through lifestyle choices. The name is derived from the twenty-three pairs of chromosomes found in a normal human cell.
* * *
Chapter Seven
Music blares from speakers tucked into the corner of the playground as kids weave in and out of the crowd, hopscotching over blankets and playing an indecipherable game of
tag that only makes sense to them. Dressed in layers, I stand on the edge of the field holding our blanket and chairs, a knot of apprehension in my stomach. While Miles is excited to be spending the evening with his new best friend, I’m worried about who I’ll hang out with, since Rose is busy making change and folding paper around funnel cakes in the dessert booth. I’m hoping to sit with Jackie, but what if she’s in the middle of an existing friend group? Will I be able to sidle up and join them? Making friends as an adult takes a lot more extroversion than I’ve got.
Liam wanted to come, but I held him off.
“Why not?” he asked. “I’d like to check out Miles’s new school, maybe get some ideas for new things to talk about. Or more things he can ignore.”
“Very funny,” I say.
“Seriously, I want to go.”
I was tempted to say yes. It would be nice to have him here, but I imagined the impression that would make on the other parents, saying I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Liam. It was one thing to send him on a dads-only camping trip. But I didn’t want to seem like one of those moms who had to drag her boyfriend to every school event just to prove she could get a man. And Liam’s presence would make Miles feel even more different from his peers. But of course, I couldn’t say any of that to him.
“I know. And I love you for that. But I think it’s better if it’s just me this time, okay?”
I tried not to register the look of resignation that crossed his face.
Miles dashes forward, and a boy who must be Nick rushes toward him. They immediately begin talking at the same time. Before, Miles would have come to this grudgingly and sat on the blanket with a book. But tonight he’s glowing with happiness as he laughs at something Nick says. They lean into each other as they catch up on the few hours it’s been since school.
Jackie approaches from behind them, waving. I smile, my anxiety easing, and walk toward her.
“I’m so glad you made it!”
“I’m surprised to be here. This isn’t really Miles’s thing, so I was shocked when he said he wanted to come.”
She smiles over her shoulder and spreads her blanket on the grass. I follow suit.
Before I can worry about what we should talk about, she says, “Let me fill you in on some of the key players here.” She points toward the food trucks. “The woman in the purple sweatshirt and jogging tights is Myra Guthry. She’s run seventeen marathons. She was seven months pregnant for the first one.”
“Yikes,” I say.
“Exactly. And see the guy working the game booth?” I follow her finger. A handsome man with an intentionally rumpled look gives change and a wink to a giggling mom. “His name is Rex Butler.”
When I glance at her, she says, “You heard me right.”
“Oh my god,” I murmur, stifling a laugh. “How do you keep a straight face?”
“You should see him in an orange vest doing gate duty. You won’t be laughing then.” Jackie gives me a meaningful look and then cracks into a smile.
I lean back, letting the last of the setting sun warm my shoulders. “This is nice,” I say.
Jackie’s gaze catches on something behind me.
Rose plops down next to me. “Remind me next year to plan a trip to Aruba during the back-to-school picnic.”
“Jackie, this is my sister, Rose. She’s got a fourth grader and a fifth grader. And a seventh grader at home.”
Rose smiles. “Nice to meet you. Which one belongs to you?”
“Nick,” Jackie says, pointing at the two boys across the yard near the handball courts. “He and Miles have bonded over chemistry and robotics.”
Rose’s smile widens. “Miles is his mother’s son.”
We duck as a Frisbee flies toward us, and a girl wearing yellow ribbons in her hair dashes by, throwing an apology over her shoulder.
Jackie turns to Rose and asks, “What about you? Do you work?”
Rose feigns horror. “Who has the time? I spend my days planning the bake sale for the back-to-school picnic. Tomorrow I’ll go over my notes, make some color-coded charts and graphs to figure out our top-grossing desserts, and start planning for next year.”
I snort. “She’ll throw her receipts in a shoe box that’ll sit on the kitchen counter until Valentine’s Day.”
Rose turns on me. “This, coming from a woman who prepares for her tax accountant by handing him a banker’s box filled with receipts and a bottle of tequila.”
Jackie laughs, and I shrug. “I think it’s rude to show up empty-handed.”
“How about you?” Rose asks Jackie.
Jackie looks toward the food trucks, their long lines winding out of the parking lot. “I stay home,” she says in an offhand way that betrays more emotion than she intends. “I take care of Nick. Plan meals. Vacations. You know.”
I’m surprised. I assumed she worked, based on her question in Ms. Denny’s classroom. “Staying home is hard,” I say. “My eight weeks of maternity leave nearly killed me.”
“For God’s sake, you spent every day of those eight weeks parked on my couch,” Rose says.
Jackie offers a sad smile. “I used to work in marketing, before I got married. I was pretty good too.” She pulls her sunglasses down, covering her eyes again, and lowers her voice. “Aaron will kill me, but I’ve actually been looking for a job. I have an interview coming up next week with a Santa Monica firm. He’d rather I stay home, like his mother did. But I’m not Beverly, and I sure as hell am not like that fucking Nan.”
Rose makes a disgusted sound.
“You know Nan?” I ask her.
“Everyone knows Nan,” Rose says. She turns to Jackie. “The worst thing that can happen is that they’ll say no.”
Jackie shrugs, apparently done with the topic. “I’m not going to worry about it until there’s an offer on the table. But, God, what I wouldn’t give to get dressed every morning in something other than yoga pants.”
I look across the playground at Miles and Nick, hunched over something next to one of the classrooms. I check my watch and see it’s six o’clock. The lines at the food trucks are finally shorter, so I stand up and say, “I’m going to get us some food while the lines are good. You want anything?”
Jackie checks her phone. “Aaron’s supposed to be here soon, so I’ll wait for him.”
Rose says, “I ate too many desserts, and both Josh and Hannah have money. They’re on their own.”
I cross the blacktop, skirting around a kickball game, over to where Miles and Nick are looking into a rain gutter. Their backs are arched, feet tucked under them, motionless.
“Hey, Miles?” I say.
The boys turn to face me. “We found a grasshopper.” Nick’s smile splits his face open in the same way Jackie’s does, his eyes dancing with excitement. “We think it’s a female,” he says.
“Cool. I’m going to get dinner. Are you hungry yet?” I ask.
The boys shake their heads and turn back to their specimen.
“Do you think we should find a container for her?” Miles asks. “Maybe one of us could take her home.”
“Ten minutes and then come back to the blanket for dinner,” I say, trying to catch Miles’s eyes so I know he’s heard me. “Miles?”
“Okay, Mom. Ten minutes.” I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him so happy, so at ease with someone who wasn’t related to him. I smile and head toward the food trucks, my chest expanding, as if one hundred butterflies have just taken flight.
—
I return to our blanket with burgers and fries and plop down, ravenous.
Jackie and Rose are talking about husbands. Jackie turns to me. “What’s Miles’s dad like? Is he involved?”
Rose looks at me, her eyebrows raised, waiting for me to respond.
“Shit,” Jackie says, clearly embarrassed by whatever look has crossed my face. “I’ve pushed too far. I have a tendency to do that. I’m sorry.”
I put my hand on her arm and shake my head. “It’s okay.
I conceived Miles via sperm donor. So no, his dad isn’t involved at all.”
Rose steals a french fry from my plate, and I swat her hand away.
“Really?” Jackie says. “I’ve always wondered how that works.”
I give her a brief explanation, searching donor profiles, making a selection, and going through the procedure.
Rose laughs. “We used to joke that it felt a lot like online dating, except better because in the end you get a baby instead of a bad date.”
Just then, Jackie’s phone buzzes. She reads the text and sighs. “Looks like Aaron isn’t going to make it after all. He’s got to work late again.”
“What does he do?” Rose asks.
“He’s an environmental engineer. Eco-friendly building.” She looks at her phone again. “They’re bidding on a project soon, and it’s a big one.”
“That’s too bad,” I say. “Miles was excited to see him again.”
Rose looks at me, surprised. “Really?” To Jackie she says, “Miles doesn’t exactly get excited about new people.”
“Well, it’ll have to be another time.” Jackie stands. “If Nick comes looking for me, tell him I’ve gone to get food.”
“She seems nice,” Rose says when Jackie is out of earshot. She bumps her shoulder into mine and steals another french fry. “It’s nice to see you and Miles out socializing.”
I hand her the rest of my fries, since I know she’s going to eat them anyway. “You make us sound like a pair of shut-ins.”
Rose raises an eyebrow and pops another fry in her mouth. “Not at all. It’s just that you’ve never been very good at the give-and-take. She tells you about her job interview. You tell her about how your kid doesn’t like people. You know. Sharing. It’s what most of us do with friends and family.”
“Thanks for the citizenship lesson.”
Just then, Jackie returns with three slices of pizza. “In case you change your mind, Rose,” she says, holding one of them up.
Rose grimaces. “I don’t want to eat again for a week,” she says and stands. “I’d better get back to the dessert booth. I left Marty Pendoza in charge, and she’s a soft touch for kids who didn’t bring any money. Last year she gave away thirty dollars’ worth of mini cupcakes. Jackie, it was nice to meet you.”
