Even if she did secretly like being known in their playgroup as MacGyver Mom.
He was returning his suit to the closet now, lips pursed, thinking before he answered, and she wondered if he was regretting having purchased the tests, just as she was regretting never voicing an objection. No one in their family took a particular interest in genealogy. If she’d come up with something better last December, they would not be in this awkward position now.
“Still have your parents’ log-ins?” he asked.
She cringed. She’d hoped he would dismiss it out of hand, the way she itched to. Which was when she realized that somewhere between her initial scoff of impossibility and this moment of naked truth, she’d become legitimately scared to look.
The house wasn’t cold—Ohio Septembers remained fully rooted in summer at the start—but she shivered, and he tossed her the microfiber robe from the hook on the closet door. “I guess, if they haven’t changed their passwords … I don’t even know if mine still works.”
“One way to find out.”
“It just feels a little—”
“Wine. I’ll pour us wine.”
By the time they’d arranged themselves side by side, cabernet by cabernet, at the built-in desk that divided the kitchen from the family room, Caroline just wanted to get it over with. To laugh at how easily a misdirected email had thrown her off and feel a welcome stab of guilt over doubting her parents for even a second. She peppered Walt with questions about his day as she located her browser’s bookmark for the provider’s website and keyed in a handful of her go-to passwords before hitting on the right one. He was midway through a not-distracting-enough story about his boss’s allergic reaction to their banquet lunch when she caught sight of the red star indicating a New Match! from the “Relative Finder.” Walt fell silent mid-word.
She met his eyes for a nervous instant before clicking on the alert, checking box after Are you sure? box, agreeing that yes, she did want to see the result, though in truth she did not, and then holding her breath while an icon spun on the screen, working away. Then it was gone, and in its place appeared a name with an italicized tag highlighting the connection.
Sela Bell. Half sibling.
“Click here,” Walt said before she could process what she was seeing. He pointed at a prompt to see what other relatives you have in common. Robotically, she obeyed.
No matches at this time.
She exhaled, leaning back in her chair. “Well, neither Mom nor Dad is here, and they’re both in the database. Obviously it really is a mistake.” She gave a nervous laugh. “Thank God!”
“Hmm.” Walt didn’t laugh. He was reading the fine print beneath the subhead What Does This Mean? “You’d better verify that your parents opted in. Looks like you can decline having your info be searchable.”
“I seriously doubt either of them messed with the defaults. I did the whole thing.”
“Only for due diligence, before you get back to this woman.”
Caroline logged out, then in as her mom: Hannah Shively. The password she’d set for the rest of the family still worked: MerryXmas. The in-box lay dormant. She scrolled to her settings and found the opt-in box checked. “See? I don’t think they’ve touched this.” She glanced at him, realizing how that might sound. “Not that they didn’t appreciate the gift, I’m sure.”
Walt still didn’t crack a smile. “Now your dad.”
He was too kind to point out that it had been pointless to check Mom’s account in the first place—or that she was stalling. She logged out, then in as Fred Shively, and felt her heart lift when she saw his notifications blank as well. “See? We’ve already confirmed my parents are my parents, and they don’t match her, so—” She stopped scrolling.
His database opt-in box was unchecked.
An oversight on her part? Or something he’d logged in himself and removed? If he had something to hide, surely he’d have changed the password from the one Caroline had chosen. She checked the box, clicked OK, and watched the spinning icon reappear. The room had fallen the conspicuous kind of silent, the breath in her own lungs and Walt’s again stilled.
New Match!
She couldn’t click fast enough. Yes, yes, I’m sure, show me. More spinning. Then:
Sela Bell. Daughter.
Caroline’s hand hovered over the mouse for a terrible moment, then dropped to her lap. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t an error,” she said, not looking at Walt. He knew her too well, and she was afraid of what he’d see if she allowed him to meet her eyes—and of what he’d reflect back. “It only means they’re being consistent about it.”
“Right. Let’s check the FAQs. I’m sure there’s a procedure to follow if you believe they’ve made a mistake.” She slid the laptop across the counter to him—summoning all her willpower not to actually say the words You got us into this, you get us out of it—and he pulled it closer, lowering his head to the screen in concentration. She gulped her wine, her mind racing. This simply could not be true. It would mean Dad had somehow fathered another woman’s child while he was a newlywed. Her parents had had her so fast.
She risked another glance at Walt. He frowned at the help menu. “I’m not sure this is covered.… We might have to contact customer service.”
“Say it’s correct.” The words fell out. “What’s that even mean? Dad maybe cheated on Mom? It would’ve been over thirty years ago.” Much as she hated the idea, was that worth broaching now? Whether a hurtful truth was better off known was an age-old, unresolvable debate, one she had no desire to be in the middle of. Certainly not between her parents.
Walt pushed back his chair and turned to her, warming her clammy hands between his. “First of all, there’s a chance of a real explanation here. Maybe he donated sperm to a friend in need—or for beer money in college.”
“But there’s no way to ask without risking drudging up something worse.”
“True. But I’m not sure that’s up to us. There’s another person at the other end of this now, and—” His head shot up. “We better go back and uncheck that box. What if he’s already displayed in her account as a new match? She’s only found you so far.”
“Oh, God.” Caroline’s mouth went dry.
He dropped her hands and navigated once more to the account settings. “Done. Let’s see if her name disappears now.…”
“I doubt he’d ever even log—”
“Shit.”
“What?”
“This is set to notify him of updates to his account. I think—I think when you opted him in, it might have sent him the result.”
She blinked at him in horror. “But my account had a new match, and I didn’t get an email! Not until Sela’s.” She felt disloyal even saying the name aloud, as if doing so might conjure this stranger whom she wanted to remain exactly that. “I don’t remember messing with my settings any differently from his.”
Walt was a step ahead, logging out as Fred and scooting aside so she could sign in again.
A few clicks and he had it. “Looks like you unsubscribed from everything. That wasn’t the default—I still get their emails sometimes. Nothing important, but…”