Seattle.”
Verna nods. “She did mention it. Seems like a fool’s errand if he doesn’t want to be found.”
I expect Meredith to either burst into tears or get mad or both, but all she says is, “Well, then, I guess I’m a fool.” She smiles at Verna without showing her teeth.
“How are you going about this search?” Verna asks. “I assume he’s not registered on DSR , or you’d already have found each other. And how can you be sure he’s here?”
“No, he’s not on DSR ,” Meredith says, “but I have a gut feeling that he never left Seattle. I don’t know why. And I have to start somewhere.” She pulls out her phone, taps it a couple of times and holds it out to Lucy. “I set up a Facebook page to find him. And a Twitter account. I’m going to post a video on YouTube too. Anything I can think of to connect with him.”
Lucy peers at the screen. “You gotta see this, Harry,” she says. “You’re not going to believe it.” She hands me the phone, and my curiosity gets the better of me. Half of the cover image under the familiar blue line is a picture of a little girl sitting in a swing. Her dark hair is in pigtails, and she is staring solemnly at the camera. Meredith, I assume. The other half of the picture is a faded headshot of a young man with dark wavy hair, heavy eyebrows and dark eyes. He is smiling very slightly. As far as I can tell, his teeth are a normal size. The name of the page is Have You Seen My Dad? The profile picture is a recent photo of an unsmiling Meredith.
I stare at the man in the photo. My donor. Not my dad, I remind myself. He looks nice. Intelligent. Not super good-looking but not ugly either. Sort of average-looking. He looks like me. Or should I say, I look like him. I am the only daughter here who does. I feel a momentary jolt of recognition and a strange sense of… excitement. Something I hadn’t expected to feel.
Below the cover photo are posts, lots of posts.
Posts from people who say they’ve sighted him in Paris or Singapore or Toronto.
Posts from other donor children, some encouraging, some telling Meredith to leave it alone.
My face pops out at me from a post, and I gasp. The picture was taken from a distance, but it’s clearly Lucy and me at Starbucks, the first time we met Meredith. She must have taken it before she came over to the table. That’s so creepy. Or maybe Alex took it, which is even creepier. Underneath the photo it says, Meeting my sisters for the first time. Hope they like me!
“You put us on your page?” I glare at Meredith, who has stopped twirling. “Without asking our permission?”
Meredith shrugs. “I wanted him to know that it’s not just about me.”
“But it is just about you,” I say. “Lucy and I don’t want to meet him.” I remember that split second of excitement and wonder if I am lying. Maybe I do want to meet him, but I’m not about to admit it.
“I know you don’t want to meet him. But you really shouldn’t speak for other people.” Meredith bares her tiny teeth in what I suppose is a smile. “Right, Lucy?”
Lucy stares at the floor and mumbles something that sounds like “I don’t know anymore.”
I nudge Lucy with my elbow, and she looks up at me. “Don’t be mad,” she says. “Meredith and I have been talking about it a lot. Maybe it is a good idea to meet him. I’m not sure.” Her gaze darts between Meredith and me, and I can see how much she wants this to be okay, for the three of us to be like the sisters from Little Women or Pride and Prejudice or something. Loving, kind, devoted to each other. Not bitchy and manipulative and competitive. Right now, I feel more like one of the nasty sisters from King Lear . Which probably makes Lucy poor Cordelia.
“I’m not mad,” I say, although I am. “Just confused. I thought we agreed it wasn’t a good idea right now.”
“Meredith says we need closure.”
“Closure? Why?”
“Because of, like, the pain of growing up without a
Verna nods. “She did mention it. Seems like a fool’s errand if he doesn’t want to be found.”
I expect Meredith to either burst into tears or get mad or both, but all she says is, “Well, then, I guess I’m a fool.” She smiles at Verna without showing her teeth.
“How are you going about this search?” Verna asks. “I assume he’s not registered on DSR , or you’d already have found each other. And how can you be sure he’s here?”
“No, he’s not on DSR ,” Meredith says, “but I have a gut feeling that he never left Seattle. I don’t know why. And I have to start somewhere.” She pulls out her phone, taps it a couple of times and holds it out to Lucy. “I set up a Facebook page to find him. And a Twitter account. I’m going to post a video on YouTube too. Anything I can think of to connect with him.”
Lucy peers at the screen. “You gotta see this, Harry,” she says. “You’re not going to believe it.” She hands me the phone, and my curiosity gets the better of me. Half of the cover image under the familiar blue line is a picture of a little girl sitting in a swing. Her dark hair is in pigtails, and she is staring solemnly at the camera. Meredith, I assume. The other half of the picture is a faded headshot of a young man with dark wavy hair, heavy eyebrows and dark eyes. He is smiling very slightly. As far as I can tell, his teeth are a normal size. The name of the page is Have You Seen My Dad? The profile picture is a recent photo of an unsmiling Meredith.
I stare at the man in the photo. My donor. Not my dad, I remind myself. He looks nice. Intelligent. Not super good-looking but not ugly either. Sort of average-looking. He looks like me. Or should I say, I look like him. I am the only daughter here who does. I feel a momentary jolt of recognition and a strange sense of… excitement. Something I hadn’t expected to feel.
Below the cover photo are posts, lots of posts.
Posts from people who say they’ve sighted him in Paris or Singapore or Toronto.
Posts from other donor children, some encouraging, some telling Meredith to leave it alone.
My face pops out at me from a post, and I gasp. The picture was taken from a distance, but it’s clearly Lucy and me at Starbucks, the first time we met Meredith. She must have taken it before she came over to the table. That’s so creepy. Or maybe Alex took it, which is even creepier. Underneath the photo it says, Meeting my sisters for the first time. Hope they like me!
“You put us on your page?” I glare at Meredith, who has stopped twirling. “Without asking our permission?”
Meredith shrugs. “I wanted him to know that it’s not just about me.”
“But it is just about you,” I say. “Lucy and I don’t want to meet him.” I remember that split second of excitement and wonder if I am lying. Maybe I do want to meet him, but I’m not about to admit it.
“I know you don’t want to meet him. But you really shouldn’t speak for other people.” Meredith bares her tiny teeth in what I suppose is a smile. “Right, Lucy?”
Lucy stares at the floor and mumbles something that sounds like “I don’t know anymore.”
I nudge Lucy with my elbow, and she looks up at me. “Don’t be mad,” she says. “Meredith and I have been talking about it a lot. Maybe it is a good idea to meet him. I’m not sure.” Her gaze darts between Meredith and me, and I can see how much she wants this to be okay, for the three of us to be like the sisters from Little Women or Pride and Prejudice or something. Loving, kind, devoted to each other. Not bitchy and manipulative and competitive. Right now, I feel more like one of the nasty sisters from King Lear . Which probably makes Lucy poor Cordelia.
“I’m not mad,” I say, although I am. “Just confused. I thought we agreed it wasn’t a good idea right now.”
“Meredith says we need closure.”
“Closure? Why?”
“Because of, like, the pain of growing up without a
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