The Ones We Choose

by Julie Clark

  I check my phone. “Oh gosh, I didn’t realize it was so late,” I say, grabbing my cup. Isabella looks up at me from the table, confused by my sudden departure. “I’m sorry. I have to get across town for a meeting. Good luck with Trevor. I’m sure it was a misunderstanding.”

  “Thanks,” she says. “See you at karate.”

  I wave and push my way out the door and onto the sidewalk. I can’t believe this is my life now.

  —

  I’ve gotten it into my head that before I can go any further with Liam, I need to make things right with Jackie. I don’t want to tell him everything that happened until I can also tell him that Jackie’s forgiven me. I call Beverly, hoping she can help.

  “She asked that I not tell you where they went,” Beverly says, though I can tell she disagrees. “I’m sorry, Paige, but I have to protect my relationship with them. I hope you understand.”

  “I do,” I tell her. “It’s just that Miles misses Nick so much. If they could at least be in touch—emails, phone calls.” But I know I’m pleading my case to the wrong person.

  “I wish I could help,” she says.

  “I do too.” I stay on the line a few more seconds, wondering if she’ll give me a hint, a little clue as to where to look. But she hangs up softly, as if she doesn’t even trust herself to say goodbye.

  Jackie must have gone home. She’d have to put Nick in school somewhere, and home is the most logical place for her to take refuge and regroup. I dredge up what she said about her mother, from that long-ago night over dinner. She’s reinvented herself. She’s the head children’s librarian at the Rockaway public library. Long Island.

  A quick Google search reveals the Rockaway public library’s main branch website, and I find a name listed under Head Children’s Librarian.

  Marilyn Miller.

  I pick up the phone and dial, checking the time to make sure it’s not too late. But it’s three o’clock on the East Coast, and Jackie’s mother should be at work.

  After navigating through the automated phone system, I get connected to the children’s department. “May I please speak to Marilyn Miller?”

  “This is Marilyn,” the voice says. It’s warm, like Jackie’s.

  “You don’t know me, but I’m a friend of your daughter Jackie’s, and I’m trying to reach her.”

  “What is your name, please?” Her voice is now guarded, the warmth gone. Of course, she knows about me.

  “My name is Paige Robson, and I’m sure Jackie’s told you all about me. I’m sorry to intrude on you at work, but I’d like to send Jackie a letter. Can you tell me your address so I can send it to her?”

  Marilyn doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and I wonder whether we’ve been disconnected. Finally she says, “You can mail it to me here at the library. I’ll give it to her, but I can’t promise she’ll read it.” She gives me the library’s address, and I quickly take it down.

  “Thank you.” It’s not much, but I’ll take it.

  “Good luck, Paige. My daughter seems resolute in keeping you out of her life.”

  “I understand. Thanks again.” I hang up and stare at the wall, fighting the urge to give up.

  I address the envelope, checking and double-checking the address she gave me with the one on the website. When I’m done, I reread the letter, hoping it will work.

  Dear Jackie,

  I don’t think I did a very good job of explaining myself to you. I understand why you’re angry, and you have every right. I kept an enormous secret from you. But I thought I was doing what was best for Miles, just as you’re doing for Nick now.

  Before you knew us, Miles was a different kid—withdrawn and lonely. I worried about him constantly, and I had no idea how to help him. I wondered if knowing his father would make him more comfortable in the world, but there was no way for me to find him. I hoped someday our donor would contact us through the agency, but there was no guarantee. And then you and Aaron and Nick landed in our lives, and my child woke up.

  I’m so very grateful to have known Aaron. He was a good man, so funny and smart and kind. In the short time Miles knew him, he blossomed. Aaron had the gift of intuiting what Miles needed, and he gave it to him. I can only imagine the tremendous loss you and Nick feel every day, and my heart breaks for both of you.

  When Miles is older, I’m going to tell him the truth. He deserves to know he has a brother he already loves. You can make your own decisions, and until I hear from you, Miles will know to respect that boundary. But the boys share a history, a connection to one special person. I can understand your desire to maintain that connection for Nick alone, but genetics isn’t something you can hoard. Each of the boys is his own unique version of Aaron, and they deserve to know their father through each other.

  We both share the worry that one or both of the boys will carry the Huntington’s gene. Your fear is my fear, and someday it will be the boys’ decision to address it. Think about how much easier that will be for them to navigate with each other’s support. Please don’t make them go through it alone. At the end of the day, it’s not about me, or you, or even Aaron. It’s about Aaron’s legacy that lives on through them. I hope someday you’ll realize how lucky they are to have found each other.

  The secrets I kept may seem unforgivable, but I was never trying to deceive you, only to protect you. I know I violated your trust and will understand if you want to cut me out of your life. But please don’t punish the boys for something out of their control.

  Despite everything, I have no regrets. I had the chance to know you, and that has been a gift.

  Love,

  Paige

  I seal the envelope and decide to walk it to the mailbox in the student union. If I put it in our outgoing mail bin, there’s no guarantee I won’t lose my nerve and pull it out again.

  The cold air bites through my thin sweater, and I hug my arms across my chest as I cut across the quad, past small clumps of students. “Hey, Dr. Robson,” someone calls.

  I think again of what Jackie gave me and of that day in the quad when she helped me see a better version of myself. When I reach the mailbox, I hesitate for a moment. But I shove the letter in and close the lid with a loud clang that vibrates up my arm. It’s done. And I’m surprised by how powerless I still feel.

  ANCESTRY

  * * *

  It used to be, if we wanted to know our ancestry, we had to rely upon the fuzzy memories of our grandparents, supported or disproven with family records and a bit of luck. Today, the study of ancestry has collided with science, allowing us to learn secrets our forbearers assumed would die with them—ethnicity, religion, paternity. Traces of the past are hidden in our genes, the remnants of our ancestors, alive and well inside of us.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Since calling him the morning after my dad died, I’ve been thinking about Liam on an endless loop. I break things down to their smallest parts, my mind working out the details the same way I do at the lab. Analyzing, cataloging, trying out different ideas until I hit on one I think might work. Liam complained that I always kept him on one side of the line, shielding him from the messy parts of my life. I thought I was protecting Liam from the chaos and Miles from having to adjust to an uncomfortable transition. But I was only protecting myself. And in the end, I still lost everything.

  “I need to fix this,” I tell Rose.

  Rose looks at me from across her kitchen island, where she’s decorating green cookies for Hannah’s Saint Patrick’s Day party at school next week. “Fix what?” She wipes her frosting-covered hands on a towel.

  “Things with Liam.”

  Rose suppresses a smile. “It’s about time,” she says. “Do you want me to help?”

  I give her an amused look. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “I was thinking I could stand outside his office with a sandwich board and bell. Please forgive Paige!” She pretends to consult her calendar. “I could probably give you a couple of hours n
ext Tuesday.”

  I laugh and steal a cookie. “No, thanks. Although I don’t know how anyone could resist a middle-aged woman in a sandwich board.”

  “And a bell,” she reminds me, snatching the cookie back.

  —

  I call him late at night, after Miles has gone to bed, my nerves jangling and pulling my thoughts in too many directions.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hi.” I take a deep breath and deliver the line I’ve rehearsed. “Sorry for calling out of the blue, but the Asian fusion cooking class is this Saturday.” The words tumble out, too fast.

  When the email reminder showed up in my in-box, I knew this was how I would approach Liam. Directly, with an invitation to spend time together. Just a few months ago, we’d both been looking forward to this class, and I’m hoping he’ll still want to go.

  “I know it’s last minute,” I continue. “But I checked the website, and the class is nonrefundable and nontransferable. I’m fine skipping it,” I add, “if that’s what you want to do. But I thought I’d ask.”

  “No. Um, wait. Thanks.”

  Something inside me shifts, filling me with relief when the refusal I expected doesn’t materialize.

  “Okay, sure. Let’s do it.” Liam’s voice is cautiously happy. “I’m looking forward to A Night of Asian Fusion.” He laughs, and I let the sound fill me. “Should I pick you up around six?” he asks.

  My insides flutter. I’m going to see Liam. “That sounds good,” I say. “See you then.”

  I hang up and stare out the window, wondering what he’ll think when I tell him all that’s happened, and remind myself that the mess was what he wanted all along.

  —

  When I open the door on Saturday and see Liam leaning on my doorframe, I go soft. I haven’t seen him since before Christmas, and I’m reminded of how tall he is and how deeply the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Hey,” he says, and I have to fight the urge to fall into his arms.

  “Hi.” When he passes me, I can see the back of his hair, still damp from his shower and curling up at the ends. I want to run my fingers through it.

  “River Monsters,” Liam says, walking straight to the couch where Miles is sprawled, watching TV. “Cool. Have you seen the episode about the monster that’s been eating villagers in India for the past fifty years?”

  Miles peeks over the top of the couch and asks, “Is that the one where it started out attacking the local dogs?”

  My eyes dart between them, finally observing what I’ve only heard from Rose. A subtle ease threads between them, the high tension from last fall almost gone now.

  “Yeah.” Liam sits on the arm of the couch facing the TV. The narrator is talking about twelve rows of razor-sharp teeth, strong enough to rip out the bottom of a boat.

  I edge forward. “I thought this show was about fishing.”

  Liam and Miles exchange a look, and then Liam says, “Fishing for monsters, maybe. The creatures on this show are insane.”

  “Like sharks?” I grimace, making Liam and Miles laugh at me.

  Gemini wanders into the living room, a can of Diet Coke in her hand, her straw-colored hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. “Hey, Liam,” she says. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  Liam gives me a quick glance. “How are things at the gallery?” he asks her.

  “Pretty good. We’re featuring a show on abstract puzzles right now. You should check it out.”

  “That reminds me.” Liam turns to Miles, reaches into his coat pocket, and tosses a colorful cube to him. “I brought this for you.”

  “What is it?” Miles sits up, turning it over in his hands.

  “It’s a Rubik’s Cube. Here, let me show you.”

  Liam slides down onto the couch next to Miles and begins twisting and turning it, scrambling the colors into a hodgepodge. “You have to manipulate the squares so that all six sides are the same color again.” His large hands move the pieces around, and I step closer to get a better look. Miles watches, riveted. I can see his mind waking up, cataloging every move Liam’s hands make. His own hands twitch, and I can tell he wants to give it a try.

  Liam holds out the cube, yellow side complete. “Getting one side is easy. The trick is getting all the sides without messing anything up. It’s harder than it looks. When I was a kid, I was pretty fast. My personal record was three hours.”

  Gemini stands behind me and mutters, “Challenge extended.”

  I look at her, and she smirks, settling into a chair to read.

  “Thanks.” Miles turns the cube over in his hands, studying it from every angle.

  “We’d better go,” Liam says. “Asian Fusion awaits.”

  I lean over and kiss Miles. “We’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “Have fun,” Gemini says from behind her book.

  Miles doesn’t look up. He’s completely absorbed in the Rubik’s Cube.

  —

  We park a few blocks away, and Liam feeds a couple of coins into the parking meter.

  “I’m glad we decided to do this,” he says. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, and gusts of wind from cars racing down the street blow my hair around my face. I wonder what he means. Glad we’re spending time together or glad we’re going to the class? Things with Liam were never confusing, but now I’m unbalanced, trying to figure out what he’s saying.

  “I’m glad too,” I say, hoping he’ll say more, but he doesn’t.

  We walk without touching, which is unnerving. Liam always made a point of holding my hand or wrapping his arm around me. Without that, I feel I might float away, like a balloon into the sky, and he would just watch me, eyes turned upward, hands still shoved into his pockets, letting me go.

  Inside Culinary Masters is a giant industrial kitchen for demonstrations, and scattered around it are eight separate islands, each with a sink, cooktop, and assorted knives and chopping boards. Liam and I choose a space near the back and watch the other stations fill up with laughing groups out for a night of fun and food.

  When it looks like everyone’s arrived, a tiny man with jet-black hair and a white chef’s coat enters and says, “Welcome to Asian Fusion. My name is Neil.” His booming voice ricochets around the space. He shouts the words in the same way we’ve been shouting them, and I glance at Liam, who is trying to suppress a laugh.

  “Well, we’ve been pronouncing it right,” he whispers.

  I press my lips together, trying to keep a straight face.

  Neil points toward the ingredients and a list of instructions written on a large board in the front and continues to shout. “Asian fusion is a blend of Chinese, Thai, Indonesian, and Indian influences. Tonight we’ll be making lettuce wraps.”

  “Does he have to shout?” I whisper.

  “Shh,” Liam says, his face serious. “I can’t hear.”

  I almost dissolve in a fit of laughter.

  Neil reviews the directions, but I keep eyeing Liam, who is turned toward Neil and pretending to listen intently, all the while stealing sideways glances at me and wiggling his eyebrows. No matter what happens later tonight, at least I’ll have one final memory of us laughing together and having fun.

  “Begin!” Neil shouts, making us both jump.

  “What do I do?” I ask.

  “Shred the carrots. I’ll chop the garlic and ginger,” Liam says, pulling a huge knife out of the block.

  Neil wanders by and says, “Smaller pieces,” directly into Liam’s ear, startling him. He looks up at me and grins.

  “You should be thinking about browning your beef!” Neil yells.

  Liam grabs a skillet and heats up the peanut oil. He drops in the garlic and ginger, and a sweet fragrance surrounds us. I take a deep and steadying breath. Liam adds the beef to the sizzling pan. “Hand me that hoisin sauce?” he asks. “Wait.” He squints up at the board. “I need five tablespoons of hoisin and one tablespoon of soy.”

  I measure each into a glass bowl and hand it to him
. Our fingers touch, and I feel a warm fizz, making me want to inch closer to him.

  But Liam seems unfazed. “Get started on the water chestnuts.” He glances around at the other workstations. “I know this isn’t a race, but I think we’re winning.”

  I choose a knife and begin to chop. The salty scent of the beef is overwhelming, and my mouth waters.

  Liam washes the lettuce and pats it dry with paper towels, and I crush the peanuts with the side of my knife. We don’t talk much, just work in companionable silence. I find myself forgetting the last several months, like we skipped over everything—the camping store, Aaron and Jackie, our breakup—and landed here instead.

  Soon we’re assembling the wraps, piling a small mountain of the beef mixture on top of the lettuce leaves and topping it with shredded carrots, peanuts, and green onion. Liam clears a space on the counter, and we face each other and bite into our wraps.

  “Oh my god,” Liam moans.

  Flavors explode in my mouth—salty and sweet with a hint of garlic and ginger. “Try to enjoy the fruits of your labor!” Neil shouts from behind us, causing me to nearly choke and Liam to almost spit his wrap out.

  When Neil moves to the other side of the room, I ask, “How’s work?”

  “Pretty good,” he says. “We’re designing a new game that has a completely different consumer interface module.”

  “Which means?” I ask, taking another bite.

  He smiles. “Basically, it’s how the customer plays the game.”

  “Why can’t you just say that?” I ask, laughing.

  “We can, if we want to charge fifty percent less.”

  He holds up the last lettuce wrap and looks at me expectantly, and I nod, grabbing it. I was too nervous to eat today, and I’m starving.

  “How are Jackie and Nick doing?”