their bedroom furniture had come from. Dr. Avosh said that was good. The stronger the relationship with him was, the more quickly the cloned Mindy would adjust.
His mother didnât ask about the results or the loan sheâd made him to pay for the process. He thought perhaps she was trying to keep him from getting his hopes up too far, but as he aged, increasingly he realized he didnât understand his mother, didnât understand the parts of her that she had kept closed away from her family. It was only in his forties that they had become something like close.
Instead, they talked about the day-to-day drama of her apartment building. He grew interested despite himself, even though the stories were so small, concerning misplaced mail or who shoveled the front walk.
He said, âI got you a present. It should arrive next week. According to the tracking number itâs being prepared for shipment right now.â
âShould I ask what it is?â
He found himself smiling and the expression almost startled him. How long had it been since the gray had lifted momentarily? Too long.
He and Mindy would laugh about that together eventually. He wondered what that would be like, to be able to say, âWhile you were dead.â
Perhaps it would be better just not to bring that up. He couldnât even begin to imagine what it would be like to live on the other side of that.
Â
âYour present arrived,â his mother said. âItâs very nice.â Her voice was strained.
âYou donât like it?â he said.
âOf course I do,â she said, but he could tell she was lying.
When he went for dinner, he realized the problem.
âThey must have shipped you the wrong cat,â he said, looking down at it. It was the same size as Taco and it was a tortoiseshell, but where Taco had been black with dapplings of hazy orange hair, this one was white with awkward splotches of orange and brown.
But the service rep explained. âYou canât clone tortoiseshells and expect the same markings. Theyâre random expressions of the gene. The brochure lists certain animals where you canât get an exact copy. Tortoiseshell cats are not refundable.â
He hung up abruptly, full of rage. For Godâs sake, he couldnât get anything right lately.
But that would change when Mindy was back.
Â
He didnât see the new cat the next time he was over and he didnât ask questions.
He could understand loving one configuration but not another.
But he didnât want to think about that.
They sent a crew that went over the house, scanning in everything about it. They quizzed him about the usual state of cleanliness, and what days Mindy usually cleaned on, what she was good at and what she was bad at, and how much they actually split up the chores. Her favorite brands.
He didnât know many of the answers. How empty did the refrigerator have to get before sheâd go shopping, since she was the one who handled all that? He had no idea. They took another tack and asked him what he remembered them running out of, milk or toilet paper or butter.
âYou see, most people have a few trigger items that automatically send them to the store,â the data technician chirped at him as she continued running her bar scanner over everything under the sink. Sheâd quizzed him as to what he purchased and what Mindy had and luckily his only contribution had been a bottle of lime-scented dishwashing soap.
âHave you done many of these before?â he asked.
Her fingers kept clicking over the data pad. She had long thin nails with tiny daggers painted in silver at each tip and a tiny border of circles. âTwo so far.â
âWhat were they like?â
âThe first preferred Comet and Pine-Sol, the second went with Seventh Generation cleaning products.â
âNo. I meant . . .â He wasnât sure how to formulate it. âDid it, did
His mother didnât ask about the results or the loan sheâd made him to pay for the process. He thought perhaps she was trying to keep him from getting his hopes up too far, but as he aged, increasingly he realized he didnât understand his mother, didnât understand the parts of her that she had kept closed away from her family. It was only in his forties that they had become something like close.
Instead, they talked about the day-to-day drama of her apartment building. He grew interested despite himself, even though the stories were so small, concerning misplaced mail or who shoveled the front walk.
He said, âI got you a present. It should arrive next week. According to the tracking number itâs being prepared for shipment right now.â
âShould I ask what it is?â
He found himself smiling and the expression almost startled him. How long had it been since the gray had lifted momentarily? Too long.
He and Mindy would laugh about that together eventually. He wondered what that would be like, to be able to say, âWhile you were dead.â
Perhaps it would be better just not to bring that up. He couldnât even begin to imagine what it would be like to live on the other side of that.
Â
âYour present arrived,â his mother said. âItâs very nice.â Her voice was strained.
âYou donât like it?â he said.
âOf course I do,â she said, but he could tell she was lying.
When he went for dinner, he realized the problem.
âThey must have shipped you the wrong cat,â he said, looking down at it. It was the same size as Taco and it was a tortoiseshell, but where Taco had been black with dapplings of hazy orange hair, this one was white with awkward splotches of orange and brown.
But the service rep explained. âYou canât clone tortoiseshells and expect the same markings. Theyâre random expressions of the gene. The brochure lists certain animals where you canât get an exact copy. Tortoiseshell cats are not refundable.â
He hung up abruptly, full of rage. For Godâs sake, he couldnât get anything right lately.
But that would change when Mindy was back.
Â
He didnât see the new cat the next time he was over and he didnât ask questions.
He could understand loving one configuration but not another.
But he didnât want to think about that.
They sent a crew that went over the house, scanning in everything about it. They quizzed him about the usual state of cleanliness, and what days Mindy usually cleaned on, what she was good at and what she was bad at, and how much they actually split up the chores. Her favorite brands.
He didnât know many of the answers. How empty did the refrigerator have to get before sheâd go shopping, since she was the one who handled all that? He had no idea. They took another tack and asked him what he remembered them running out of, milk or toilet paper or butter.
âYou see, most people have a few trigger items that automatically send them to the store,â the data technician chirped at him as she continued running her bar scanner over everything under the sink. Sheâd quizzed him as to what he purchased and what Mindy had and luckily his only contribution had been a bottle of lime-scented dishwashing soap.
âHave you done many of these before?â he asked.
Her fingers kept clicking over the data pad. She had long thin nails with tiny daggers painted in silver at each tip and a tiny border of circles. âTwo so far.â
âWhat were they like?â
âThe first preferred Comet and Pine-Sol, the second went with Seventh Generation cleaning products.â
âNo. I meant . . .â He wasnât sure how to formulate it. âDid it, did
Similar Books
