People
lie all the time.
They lie about things
that bring them fear
and threaten to take
away what is
comfortable.
But blood doesn’t need to lie.
DNA doesn’t care if it
hurts or makes you question
your identity.
DNA makes you who
you are.
People make you question who
you are.
Sana-Friend ♥
Me: Hey.
Hypothetical question.
Sana: I love hypothetical questions!
Yes!
Wait. No!
Does this involve Emma and her being totally gay for me?
Me: No.
Sana: Is it a writer thing or a Cordelia thing?
Me: A writer thing, for sure.
What if you knew someone was lying about a potentially HUGE secret?
Like, life-changing huge.
And the only way to find an answer was to reach out to a stranger?
Would you do it?
Sana: Is this about your GeneQuest results?
Me: No! I told you. It’s a completely hypothetical writer thing.
Sana: Then hypothetically
I think you should totally email your father of 99.9% accuracy and ask him what’s up.
First draft of message to Jack Bisset:
Dear Jack,
I think I might be your daughter. Or at least that’s what GeneQuest says (and is apparently very accurate). This might be a little awkward, but I have a lot of questions. My parents are wonderful, but I worry they are keeping a big secret from me (i.e., you).
So what’s the deal? Am I adopted? Or are you a sperm donor?
Second draft of message to Jack Bisset:
Dear Mr. Bisset,
I know this might come as a shock to you, but I think you are my father.
Trust me, it was a surprise to me too, finding your name listed as my biological father on GeneQuest, especially considering my parents, the ones who raised me the last eighteen years, have never let on that I might be adopted.
Which feels weird to say in an email.
I guess I’m going to delete this and try again sometime.
How is this so hard?
Sometimes
you don’t know the question
until you’re in the middle of
asking.
Sometimes
you cover the scab
you want to pick at
because you know
it might never stop
bleeding.
Sometimes
like a sled dog
carrying a team’s worth
of weight
on his own,
it is too much to hold.
Sometimes
you need to unload the sled,
pick the scab,
and ask the question.
Sana and I share earbuds,
listening to her favorite songs
instead of the way our boots
crunch snow that will melt
by tomorrow.
“If we walk,
if we listen,
we might feel
better.”
She always says “we”
as if our feelings are the same.
Connected like sister snowflakes
stuck to my gloves.
Most of the time I believe her,
but today her words feel all wrong.
I tell her, “Maybe I don’t want to do this
anymore. This project, it’s too much.
If Bea can switch her major,
I can switch my project.”
“You can’t go back.”
She isn’t wrong.
I think of my chest opening again,
bright red blood splattered across
stark white blankets of snow.
Soon it will be gone.
It’s called breakup,
when the snow disappears
and the dog crap thaws
and mud and gravel
are revealed.
This is breakup for me too.
From the memory of things being the way
they were before I knew.
Clear
and close
and now gone.
GeneQuest
Genetic Family Conversations
To: Jack Bisset (last online 4 months ago)
From: Cordelia Koenig (online)
Dear Jack,
Hi. I’m reaching out because GeneQuest lists you as my father. So, I guess it’s nice to meet you (sort of).
Sincerely,
Cordelia
I can’t stop
looking at his face.
Waiting, as if at any moment
his Facebook profile will change
and reveal
a part of him
I couldn’t see before.
I refresh my email
over.
And over.
And over.
Every time my phone
rings
or dings
or beeps
or buzzes.
I imagine he’s
there
on the other end
with a reply.
I can’t stop wishing the future looked
more like my past.
Hidden.
Away from sight.
Vague.
If only I could take my heart
from my chest and pot it
like a plant.
Feed it full of all the things it needs
and put it back in its home
once the hard part is over.
If I were a plant,
I wouldn’t be Jack’s.
He may have provided the seed,
but he didn’t dig the earth
or water soil or wait through
a cold spring for my petals to
form and grow.
But I’m wilting now,
and I can’t help but wonder if Jack is the
rain or the sun.
The pesticide or the fertilizer.
GeneQuest says we share
fifty percent
of what makes us
us.
Fifty percent of me
is a stranger.
And the other fifty percent
is a liar.
GeneQuest
Genetic Family Conversations
To: Cordelia Koenig (online)
From: Jack Bisset (last online one hour ago)
Wow.
I never thought I’d hear from you.
I guess you’re probably wondering what happened with me and your mom? How is she, by the way? Did she ever make it as a big-time real estate agent?
Confirmation.
My.
Mom.
Had.
An.
Affair.
Which.
Means.
One.
Thing.
My dad, with his jokes
and his Shakespeare
and his classes,
is not my father.
But my mom knows Jack.
My biological father.
Enough.
The realization and the pain
it will cause my dad
and my sisters
hurts
more
than
before.
Kodiak Jones
Kodiak: Hey.
I’m running late.
Me: For what?
Kodiak: Weren’t we supposed to meet up and workshop our pieces?
Me: Crap.
I forgot.
Kodiak: That’s cool. Do you want to reschedule?
Me: No.
Come over.
I could use the distraction.
Kodiak: Oh?
Me: That lie I thought my parents were telling?
Turns out I was right.
To: Cordelia Koenig ([email protected])
From: Vidya Nadeer ([email protected]