My So-Called Family (7 page)

“Well, maybe you will be this year,” Callie said. “It's totally solid, no breaks at all. But your mount of Jupiter is sort of weak.”

“What does that mean?” Avery asked.

“It means you don't have confidence,” Callie said.

“I have confidence,” Avery insisted.

“Well, maybe there's something in particular that you're not confident about,” Callie said. “But you have other lines that are really strong, even stronger than your love line, like this one. I can't remember for sure what it's called. I think it's the family line. Anyway, that one is really strong on your hand. I think it means you have a big family and everyone is really loyal.”

I turned my hand over in my lap and looked down. Callie and Avery were both bent over Avery's hand, and Charlie was watching them intently, so they probably didn't notice me. The lines on my hand all seemed broken and faint. My family line was probably nonexistent. I balled my hands into fists and pressed them into my lap. Callie was finishing up with Avery. I heard Charlie beside me. “My turn, my turn,” he said.

“All right, Charlie,” Callie said. He sat up on his knees and placed his hand on the table, palm up. Callie told him his lines were all strong. “This must be the best palm in the world,” she told him.

“What about my Jupiter line?” Charlie asked. He sounded worried, I guess because of what Callie had said about Avery.

“Oh, your mount of Jupiter is just fine. I can tell you have a lot of confidence,” Callie told him. I knew she was just saying it because he was young and she wanted to be nice, but Charlie totally believed her. Avery rolled her eyes, but Charlie didn't see her.

“Did you hear that, Leah?” he said excitedly. I nodded. “Now it's your turn,” Charlie said.

“That's okay,” I said.

“Come on,” Callie said.

“Yeah,” Avery said. “Even I did it.”

“Even I did it,” Charlie echoed. They were all looking at me, waiting for me to give in. My hands were still curled into fists, and all of a sudden they seemed to be sweating hard. I could feel the moisture between my fingers. I didn't want Callie examining my family line, but I couldn't say that out loud. And I couldn't think of another excuse not to have my palm read. “Come on, Leah,” Charlie said. He reached under the table and tugged at my wrist.

“Fine,” I said. I uncurled my palm and wiped it on my jeans and let Charlie pull my hand onto the table. But then I heard Bon Jovi begin to sing. “Charlie,” I said, “your song.” He forgot all about my palm.

“It's finally playing!” he said. He stood up on his knees and put his hands together like a gun.

“Don't point the gun at Avery,” I told him. I knew I sounded like my mom.

Charlie made a fist and brought it to his mouth like a microphone. “You give love a bad name,” he sang. He turned to me. “I want to go see the big jukebox,” he said. I turned toward the front of the restaurant. It was much more crowded than it had been when we first arrived.

“You can't go alone,” I told him.

“Will you take me?” he asked. “Please, please, please?”

“Uh-huh,” I said, nodding. I would have done anything to avoid having my palm read, and I started to get up.

“Oh, look,” Callie said. “That guy Ian from my math class is over at the jukebox.” Avery and I looked over to where Callie was pointing. I recognized the skinny kid with dark hair that Callie sometimes stares at when we're in the cafeteria.

“His brother works here,” Avery said.

“How do you know?” Callie asked.

“Chase knows him,” Avery said. “They're both seniors.”

“Oh,” Callie said. “Well, I should go ask Ian what the math homework is this weekend. I didn't write it down.”

“Of course you didn't,” Avery said.

Callie ignored her. “I'll take Charlie,” she said. She stood up and took Charlie's hand. I watched them walk over to the jukebox. Callie lifted Charlie so he could see better.

“Can you believe Callie?” Avery said, and I snapped my head back to face her. “She's nuts, using Charlie just to be able to stand next to Ian Michaelson. And I bet there's no such thing as a Jupiter mount or a family line.”

I shrugged. “Sorry about my brother,” I told her.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“If you thought he was being annoying,” I said.

“You shouldn't worry so much about what other people think,” Avery said. She always said that. It was easy for her to say, since she was the kind of person people tried to be like, but it would be impossible for me to act like I didn't care what other people thought of me. I shrugged again. “What's with you today?” Avery asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You seem upset about something,” she said. “Is it about being grounded?”

“No,” I said.

“You can tell me, you know,” Avery said.

“No,” I said. Avery looked at me funny. “I mean, it's all right. I'm okay,” I said.

Charlie came running back to the table a few minutes later. “It's so cool,” he said about the jukebox. “I wish I could have one.”

Callie came up behind him. “Did you find out about your math homework?” Avery asked her.

“Yeah,” Callie said. “You know, Ian said his brother said they're looking for people to work here after school. Maybe I should apply.”

“Oh, please,” Avery said. “You just want to work here so you could see Ian more.”

“No,” Callie said. “I just think it would be good to make money.”

“If you worked here, would you give us ice cream whenever we wanted?” Charlie asked.

“Of course,” Callie said.

“Cool,” Charlie said.

“Well, we should probably get going,” I said. “My mom doesn't like it if I keep Charlie out too late. Come on, Char.”

“You sure?” Avery said. I nodded. Avery held out her hand to Charlie. “Aren't you going to shake my hand good-bye?”

“No,” Charlie said. “You're not a teacher.” He climbed up onto the booth and hugged Avery good-bye.

“Call me tonight if you want to talk,” Avery said.

“I will,” I told her, even though I wasn't actually allowed to use the phone, and even if I were, I wouldn't call her anyway. I didn't think she would understand anything about it. Her family wasn't anything like mine. It was solid and strong. She knew exactly who her father was. She didn't get grounded for no good reason, and she didn't have half siblings scattered around the country. There were some things I couldn't tell anyone else. Except maybe a sibling. Like Samantha. I had her phone number in my desk at home. Technically I wasn't allowed to use the phone since I was grounded, but I could tell Mom it was for school. I could say I was doing a project with a girl named Samantha and ask for special permission to use the phone. I knew she wouldn't say no if she thought it was for school. Suddenly I was in a hurry. “Come on, Charlie,” I said.

It took a while to walk home because Charlie is so slow. Mom met us at the door and told us that she had ordered in again. “Will you be eating with us this time?” she asked me. I hadn't sat at the table with Mom and Simon all week since I was so mad at them.

“I don't know,” I said. “I have this project for English. The teacher broke us up into pairs and I'm supposed to work on it with this girl Samantha. I thought I might get started on it. Can I use the phone if it's for school?”

“Yes,” Mom said.

“Thanks,” I said. I started to go upstairs.

“Leah,” Mom called, and I turned back to look at her. “I think you've learned your lesson, don't you?” I nodded. “That's what I thought,” Mom said. “I think you've been grounded long enough. Thanks for helping with Charlie.”

“No problem,” I said, and I headed the rest of the way up the stairs.

I
knew calling Samantha was a long distance phone call because I had to dial a different area code. I was pretty sure that meant the call was more expensive, and I decided not to think about what Mom and Simon would do when they got the phone bill. I just picked up the phone.

I tried calling Samantha twice on Friday night and again on Saturday, but I didn't get to speak to her until Sunday. By then I had memorized her phone number, and I was used to he way the answering machine at her house sounded when it picked up on the other end. It was a woman's voice: “You have reached the Holland residence. Please leave a message for Anna or Samantha at the tone.” My hands had been pretty sweaty the first few times I called, but by Sunday I was starting to expect that no one would be home. I was lying on my bed counting the rings. The answering machine always picked up after four rings. But this time, halfway through the second ring, a woman said “Hello?” I clutched the phone with both hands and sat up. “Hello?” the woman said again.

“Um, is Samantha there?” I asked. I knew my voice sounded strange, not at all like my regular voice, but since the woman had never heard my regular voice before, she couldn't tell that it was coming out differently.

“Just a sec,” the woman said. I recognized her voice from the answering machine. She was probably Anna. Anna, who had gone to Lyon's Reproductive Services and picked out Donor 730, just like my mom had. I wondered what she looked like. Sometimes you can get an idea of what someone looks like by the way they sound, but I couldn't picture Anna at all in my head. I heard muffled voices through the phone, and then footsteps. My hands had started sweating again. I could feel the phone getting slippery.

“Hello?” a voice said. It was a younger voice this time, like around my age.

“Is this Samantha?” I asked.

“Yeah. Who's this?”

“My name is Leah,” I said. “I got your number off the Lyon's Sibling Registry.”

“Oh my God!” Samantha said. Her voice let out a kind of squeal. Then we both started laughing. It was the nervous kind of laughter—the sound that you make when you don't know what else to do. After a few seconds Samantha said, “I can't believe you're a girl. I mean, so far I've only heard from boys.”

“Oh,” I said. I knew I sounded dumb, but I wasn't sure what to say.

“I mean, you're calling about Donor 730, right?” Samantha asked. I started to answer but Samantha kept talking. “Oh, God, I hope you are. If you're not I'll be so embarrassed!”

“No, no,” I told Samantha. “I'm calling about Donor 730. He's my donor too.”

“Thank God!” Samantha said. She said “God” a lot. It wasn't exactly a word that came up a whole lot in my house. Mom says she's not sure if she even believes in God. Simon does, but he doesn't make a big deal about it. Samantha wasn't really using the word “God” in any religious way. I giggled again, nervously. I wasn't sure what to say. “How old are you?” Samantha asked.

“Thirteen,” I told her.

“So am I,” she said.

“I know,” I said.

“Right. This is crazy, isn't it?” Samantha said.

“It sure is,” I said. “I only found out about the Lyon's Sibling Registry a week ago.”

“Oh,” she said. “I've been on it about nine months. I've talked to the other kids from Donor 730—Andrew, Henry, and Tate. That's why I was so happy you were a girl.”

“I saw their names,” I said. “I called you first because you were the only girl.”

“Crazy,” she said again. “A sister. I always wanted a sister. When I found out about the registry, the thing I was most excited about was finding a sister, but for the last nine months I've only known about three brothers.” When she said that word, “brothers,” I thought of Charlie downstairs, watching his
Lion King
DVD on the big television in the den. I thought of the way he mouths the words as he watches the movie; he's seen it so many times that he knows it by heart. “Don't get me wrong,” Samantha continued. “The boys are cool. You'll really like them.”

“I have another brother,” I told Samantha. “You know, besides you guys on the Lyon's Sibling Registry. His name is Charlie. He's five.”

“Another brother,” Samantha said. The way she said it made me realize she considered Charlie another newfound sibling of her own. “So your mom bought more vials?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You know,” she said. “More vials of Donor 730. Some people buy more vials so if they have another baby later on, the kids will be related.”

“Did your mom buy more vials?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Samantha said. “She's got extra vials in the freezer. It's sort of gross. But I guess it's a good thing. There's a woman my mother heard of whose daughter had leukemia or something. The daughter needed a bone marrow transplant and it's best to get a transplant from a relative because your blood is the same that way. The woman had more vials from the donor, so she had another baby to help her daughter. But if you already have a brother, your mom wouldn't need to have another baby.”

“Charlie's my stepfather's son,” I told her. “I guess technically he's only my half brother. But I always call him my brother.”

“What's he like?” she asked.

“Who? My stepfather?” I said.

“No, Charlie,” Samantha said.

“I guess he's like other five-year-olds,” I told her. “He's okay most of the time. He likes
The Lion King
and Bon Jovi.”

“Are you guys really close?” Samantha asked.

“Yeah,” I said. Then I corrected myself automatically, “I mean,
yes
. We're close. He's only five, so there's a lot I can't say to him. But I love him a lot. I can't imagine not having him.”

“That's good,” Samantha said. “I always thought it would be hard if my mom married someone and had a baby—you know, because it would be their kid
together
.”

“I guess it's hard sometimes,” I admitted, remembering Simon's family reunion where they all loved Charlie best.

“I figured,” Samantha said. “That's too bad.” Her voice was softer and I thought maybe she felt sorry for me. I thought about telling her most of the time it wasn't so bad. Simon adopted me, and he treated me just like a daughter. He even punished me just like I was his real kid. Most of the time I loved him like he was my dad. I remembered his face when I told him he wasn't my dad. It was all so complicated and I felt strange talking to Samantha about private things. She might be my half sister, at least biologically, but she was also a stranger.

“What's your mom like?” I asked Samantha to change the subject.

“She's cool,” Samantha said. She told me her mother is sort of older. She had Samantha when she was forty years old. They live in Pennsylvania, in a town called Haverford. There's a college in Haverford—actually called Haverford—where her mom works. Her mom's a guidance counselor and helps kids when they're depressed. Samantha told me that most college students get depressed right before they graduate, when they're scared about being in the real world and not being with their friends every day anymore. It reminded me of how Avery said Chase got upset about being away from Lizzie. “So my mom helps them figure out what they should be doing, and how to channel their energy into positive things, and all that,” Samantha said. It sounded sort of similar to my mom's job, except my mom doesn't have office hours and meet with students one-on-one. She just writes books to try to help kids.

“Does your mom want you to go to Haverford?” I asked.

“She knows I won't, so she doesn't try to talk me into it, thank God,” Samantha said. “I can't wait to go to college. I know it's not happening for a few years, but I think it'll be really cool to go. My mom always says it's the best years of your life. I think she just says that because I complain about school now, and she wants me to look forward to college. I think I'd like to go somewhere like California. It'd be great to be so close to the beach, don't you think?”

“I don't know if I want to go that far away,” I said. “I mean, Charlie will only be ten when I go to college.”

“It must be nice to have a sibling like that,” Samantha said. “Not off some registry, but one you've grown up with. Even if it is a half sibling.”

“It is,” I said. I heard Samantha sigh sort of wistfully on the other end of the phone, and I realized that I had stopped feeling as though I were talking to a stranger. Maybe it was because Samantha was so talkative. She was probably one of those people who wasn't shy around anyone, like Avery. Still, I was starting to feel more comfortable. “It doesn't mean you can't be close with siblings you meet through the registry,” I told her.

“I know,” she said. “Hey, do you ever worry that one day you'll meet some guy and fall in love, and then it will turn out that his father was also Donor 730?”

“I never thought of that before,” I said.

“It just occurred to me,” Samantha said. “But that would really be awful. I mean, it's totally possible.”

“I guess it's possible,” I said.

“I think it would make a good movie. You know, like one of those made-for-television movies on the Lifetime channel. My mom and I watch them sometimes. Maybe I should write a script.”

“It would be perfect if you wrote a script and then went to college in California. They make all the movies out there,” I said.

“Totally,” Samantha said, sounding like a Valley girl. “Hollywood, here I come!”

We talked for a few more minutes. Samantha gave me her e-mail address and asked me to send her a picture. She asked for my e-mail address so she could do the same. Then I heard the phone click, and Simon's voice. “Hello? Hello?”

“Simon,” I said. “I'm on the phone.”

“Oh, Leah, honey,” he said. “I'm sorry, but I just got an e-mail and I need to call someone for work. My cell phone doesn't get great service in the house.”

“I'll get off in two minutes,” I told him.

“Thanks,” he said. The phone clicked again as he hung up.

“That was my stepfather,” I said. “I guess I better go.”

“Wait a sec,” Samantha said. “Can I have your phone number first?”

“Of course,” I said. I gave her my cell phone number. I didn't want to give her the house phone number in case Mom or Simon answered. Samantha said she would call me. I knew she meant it, and I was glad. I stood up from my bed and headed downstairs. I could hear Mom shuffling around in the kitchen and I thought about the donor vials in Samantha's freezer. I walked in. Mom looked surprised to see me, as if she'd forgotten all about me until I walked into the kitchen.

“Leah!” she said. “Are you having dinner with us?”

“It depends on what you're making,” I said. That was a joke from when I was little. I used to never feel hungry until I found out that Mom was making something I liked to eat.

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” Mom said. “Charlie's request.”

“I guess I'll eat with you, then,” I said.

“Good,” Mom said. “You can help with the salad.” She handed me a head of lettuce to wash. “So who were you talking to?” she asked.

“When?” I asked.

“Just now,” Mom said. “Simon said you were on the phone.”

“Just someone from school,” I said.

“About your project?” she asked.

“Yes.” I started tearing pieces of lettuce to put into a bowl. “Mom?” I said. She looked up from the cutting board, where she was dicing tomatoes. “Do you have extra vials from Lyon's?” I asked.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Do you have extra, you know, from when you went there to have me?” I said.

“Why are you asking me?”

“I don't know,” I said. “I'm just curious.”

“I did at the time,” Mom said. “I don't anymore. I married Simon, and we had Charlie.”

“So you threw them away?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Mom said simply.

“I can't believe you,” I said.

“What do you mean?” Mom asked.

“Well, what if I needed a heart or a lung transplant, and the only hope was having a whole, real sibling to be the donor, and you threw that chance away?”

“I don't think they perform heart or lung transplants from living donors,” Mom said.

“Well, bone marrow, then,” I said. “What if I had leukemia and I needed a bone marrow transplant?”

“I don't like this conversation,” Mom said. “It's too morbid.”

“No, really,” I said. “What if I needed a transplant?”

“Plenty of people are only children, Leah,” Mom said impatiently. “It's not that unusual. You could get a transplant from a stranger who just happens to match your blood type. Or maybe I would match. Maybe Charlie would match.”