My So-Called Family (5 page)

“I'm your father,” Simon said.

“You're not my real father,” I said. My voice caught and I was afraid I was going to cry. I turned toward the stairs. Simon called after me and I turned back around. “You don't know anything at all!” I told him. I felt the tears start, and I stomped upstairs. There was always something about me that was different. First I didn't have normal parents, and now the ones I had were ruining my life. I just wanted to be like everyone else.

I slammed my bedroom door shut. It's not like I had to worry about waking up Charlie. I knew Mom was sitting with him, probably telling him another bedtime story. She's really good at making them up. When I was little, I liked going to bed because it meant she would sit there with me and tell me story after story until I fell asleep. “This is the one about Princess Leah,” Mom would say, pronouncing my name just like the princess in
Star Wars
. It all seemed like a really long time ago. Now I felt too angry to go to bed. I flicked the switch to turn my computer on, and then I clicked on the button for the Internet. I knew exactly what website I wanted to go to. I typed in the address and watched it open up on the screen. Across the top in blue block printing were the words “Lyon's Reproductive Services.” I had found the website a few months before. I never told anyone about it, not even Mom. I just wanted to see where I'd come from. This time there was a link at the bottom that I'd never noticed before. It almost felt like alarms should have sounded when I saw it. But aside from my breaths and my heart pounding in my ears, the room was silent. Sometimes you know you're about to change your life with just one little movement, like the last time I turned off the light in my bedroo m at the pink house, or when I saw Mom slip a ring onto Simon's finger on their wedding day. That's how I felt when I clicked the link to “Lyon's Sibling Registry.” I moved the mouse so the cursor was over the words and I pressed my finger down.

T
hat first night, when I clicked on the words, an online registration form popped up, with spaces where you had to fill in your credit card information. I realized that you had to pay in order to use the website, and I thought of the credit card in my wallet—the “emergency only” credit card that Mom and Simon had given me the year before. It's not really my credit card—it has my name on the front, but it's connected to their credit card account, and the bills go to them. I'd used it only a few times, and always with permission. If only you could send cash through the computer. I could use the money left over from what Simon had given me, or some that I'd saved from babysitting, and then Mom and Simon would never find out. But the Lyon's Sibling Registry accepted credit cards only. My eyes moved back and forth between the screen and my backpack. My wallet was in the front pocket, the credit card inside of it. I began to reach for it, but then I heard Simon's and Mom's voices in the hall, and turned to shut down my computer in case they were about to come in and yell at me some more.

Still, I couldn't stop thinking about what I might have found if I'd just entered in the credit card information. I could have half siblings anywhere, even in New York. Even right here in Riverdale. I started searching the faces of other kids in school to see if they looked like me. The problem is, when you're searching for similarities between you and other people, all the features sort of blend together. Two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Suddenly everyone looked like me, at least enough to be a possible sibling.

I hadn't really ever thought of having siblings before. I mean except for Charlie. Over the years, since Mom first told me about my donor, I'd sometimes looked at men and considered their features to see if maybe I could find someone who might be my donor. Once, when I was about nine years old, I saw someone I was sure was my donor. Mom had just written
How to Study for the SATs
, which I think is her most boring book ever, but it sold a lot of copies. Anyway, she was giving a speech at a bookstore in Baltimore, and there was a man there, sitting two rows behind me. I spotted him accidentally, when someone coughed and I turned to see who it was. And there he was. He lowered his hand from his mouth, and I saw that he had green eyes and brown hair and olive skin, just like my donor did. But it was more than that. There was something about the spacing between his eyes, the way he smiled when he saw me looking at him, with the right side of his mouth lifted up a little bit higher than the left. Mom didn't smile like that, but I did. I stayed twisted around in my seat and stared at him instead of watching Mom.

Mom finished speaking, and I turned in my seat to watch the man walk up to get a signed copy of her book. He was all alone. It was strange that he was there without one of his kids, since it wasn't exactly a book for grown-ups, and then I knew he must have come because he knew about me and wanted to find me. I got up and walked over to the table where Mom was signing. I stood behind her, not on the line like everyone else, so that he would know for sure that it was me. But when it was his turn to get his book signed, he didn't say anything about being a donor. He just said, “My niece loves your books, and she's applying to college in the fall.” Mom asked his niece's name, and I leaned over her shoulder and watched her write: “For Jackie, with best of luck on the SATs, Meredith Hoffman-Ross.” Mom once told me that before her first book came out, she practiced her signature over and over again, imagining how it would be when she had to give autographs. It must have worked, because her handwriting was neat and even, just like a teacher's. She closed the book and handed it back to the man. He smiled and thanked her, then turned to walk away. He didn't say anything about me. I wondered if maybe he was too scared. Or maybe he thought it was just the wrong time, with so many people around, and a line of kids waiting for Mom to sign their books. Afterward we went out for burgers with some of Mom's friends who had come to the event. Simon wasn't there because he had stayed home with Charlie, who was just a baby, and Mom told everyone that I was her “date” for the evening. She asked me why I was being so quiet. “I'm thinking,” I told her.

“About what?” Mom asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“She sounds like a teenager already, Mer,” one of Mom's friends said. I was only nine, and all the grown-ups started laughing.

Even after I realized that the man at the bookstore probably wasn't my donor, I never really stopped looking for the man who was. But in all the times that I looked for him, I didn't think of him being anyone else's donor. Now it was all I could think about. It's funny how much time you have to think when you're grounded and not speaking to your family. You get home and there's nothing to do because there's no one to talk to. All those little conversations about what you did during the day or what you're going to eat for dinner never happen, and all of a sudden there is so much time on your hands. Since I wasn't talking to Mom or Simon, I had plenty of time to think about the Lyon's Sibling Registry and all the siblings I might have. Half siblings, as related to me as Charlie was. Would they look like me? More like me than Charlie does? What were their names? Where did they live? Would I like them if I met them? Would they like me?

For days my parents' credit card was practically burning a hole in my wallet. Every time I went to pull it out, I got worried about all the trouble I could get into. When Simon had handed me the card the year before, back when we lived in Maryland, he'd given me a whole lecture about being responsible and recognizing when something is an emergency. “Emergencies only,” I'd told him. “I promise.”

“And you know, Leah, an emergency isn't a sweater or a pair of pants that you really want,” Simon had said.

“I know that,” I'd said. “You act like I'm some bad kid who spends money without asking any chance I get. I never do things like that.”

Simon had laughed and shaken his head. He patted my head absently, the way he did sometimes. “You're right,” he said. “You're a great kid. I know you'll be responsible. If there's something you want, just call us. We'll figure it out.”

But it wasn't like I could just call Mom or Simon about this one. We weren't even speaking, and I doubted that Simon still thought I was a great kid. If I used the card, it would be without their permission, and I was pretty sure they would disagree that it was an emergency. Still, I wanted to use it. Maybe they wouldn't even realize it was me. It was the same account they used, after all. Mom might think the charge came from Simon, and Simon might think the charge came from Mom. It was only $14.95. They might not even look that carefully, and chances were that they wouldn't get the bill for a long time. On Wednesday night, four days after I had first found the Lyon's Sibling Registry, I finally pulled the credit card out of my wallet. Then I sat down in front of my computer and pulled up the website for Lyon's Reproductive Services. I clicked on Lyon's Sibling Registry, and clicked on the link to register.

My heart was pounding as I entered in my information. A couple times I even mistyped because I was so nervous, and I wondered if it was a sign that I was doing something that I shouldn't. Then I felt stupid for worrying about it. I really don't think there are such things as signs. I had to come up with a log-in name and password. I didn't want to use my real name as my log-in. I had been trying hard to seem normal and keep my secret, and I wasn't sure I was ready for people to know. Even though I knew that people from school were probably not going online to the Lyon's Sibling Registry, I just didn't want to take any chances. I decided to call myself NYgirl. For my password I picked “Charlie,” since he was the sibling I already knew about. I pressed enter and a screen popped up that said
REGISTRANT CONSENT FORM
on the top. The print was really small and I knew it was a lot of legal stuff. I started reading, but it was hard to understand. I tried not to think that it was another sign that I shouldn't register. I scrolled down to the bottom of the page, clicked the button that said “I consent” and pressed enter again. Finally the words “Thank you for registering” popped up. I think it's funny how you always get thanked whenever you spend money. I logged in with my new identity, and then there were choices. I could “post a message” or “read a message.” I clicked the button to read the messages. They were organized by donor number. You could click on a number and read all the messages attached to it. I began scrolling down quickly, looking for Donor 730.

The donor numbers were in order, but I noticed that the list sometimes skipped over numbers, and I hoped I hadn't just wasted fifteen bucks and risked getting in trouble over nothing. I was getting farther down the list, Donor 655, Donor 713, Donor 725, and then finally I saw it: Donor 730. I clicked again, and four messages popped up.

I read each of them. They didn't say very much—just names, ages, and phone numbers. I pulled out a piece of paper from my desk and folded it down the middle. Then I listed the names on the left side: Samantha, Andrew, Henry, and Tate. On the right side I wrote their ages and phone numbers.

I sat back and stared at my list. My handwriting had started to look a lot like Mom's, so it looked almost like one of her lists. Except I knew it was a list she would never make. Four names. Four siblings. Three brothers and a sister. Samantha was thirteen, just like me. Like twins, except we had different mothers. The boys were all younger. Andrew and Henry were twelve, and Tate was nine. I wondered what Charlie would think if he ever found out I had three other younger brothers. At least three other brothers—who knew how many kids came from Donor 730? As I stared at the paper, I imagined drawing my family tree now. It would be much bigger than Charlie's, with hundreds of branches for all of the siblings I might have. If we ever had a reunion, like Simon's family, we could fill a whole park with just our family. All of us, with our brown hair, olive skin, and green eyes.

I turned back to the screen and looked at the “post a message” link. If I clicked it, I would be the fifth kid to write something under Donor 730. I just couldn't do it. It was one thing to find out about having siblings. But it was another to actually admit I was one of them and to tell them my name. Then anyone with a credit card could find out about me.

I logged off the Lyon's Sibling Registry and shut down my computer. Then I folded up my list and put it away in my desk drawer. It didn't matter whether or not I was looking at it. I had already memorized it. I lay down on my bed, waiting for my heart to stop beating so fast. I knew it would be hard to fall asleep, and I wished I could just blink my eyes and have it be morning already. After years of wishing the night would last longer so I wouldn't have to wake up and go to school, I actually wanted it to be time for school. It was better than lying in my room all by myself. How could finding out I had more siblings actually make me feel lonelier? The house was so quiet. Charlie was probably already in bed. Mom and Simon might be downstairs sitting in the den, or maybe they had gone to sleep already. At least they had each other. Sometimes I wished it were still just Mom and me. Now Mom had Simon, and I was all alone. Maybe I just missed being young enough to not worry about everything. Back when I was Charlie's age, I felt like I could tell Mom everything. Now I had discovered one of the most important things about myself, and there was no one to tell.

I stared at the clock, wishing I could fast-forward it. Of course when you are waiting for it to be a certain time, the time leading up to it goes so much slower. I decided to close my eyes. In seventh grade we read a study in science class about sleep cycles. We had to keep a sleep journal. Some kids said they had a hard time falling asleep at night, and our teacher said it is better to close your eyes when you can't sleep than to lie awake with your eyes open. Something about closing your eyes fools your body into feeling like it's getting some rest. I closed my eyes and the colors behind my eyelids swirled around, blue and black. I tried to imagine what it would be like to meet Samantha or Andrew or Henry or Tate. Would it be like finding a long-lost loved one? Would it be horribly awkward? Would we all be disappointed? What does it mean to be related to someone, anyway? Just because we share some DNA doesn't mean we would like one another. The thing about siblings is, usually you grow up together, so you have to love each other. I didn't really have a choice about loving Charlie. Mom came home from the hospital one day when I was eight years old, and this little red-faced baby was with her. One of his first words was “We-ah,” which is what he called me until he was three. I tried to make up bedtime stories for him, just like Mom did for me, so I invented Super Charlie. Mom and Simon used to get annoyed because I was supposed to be calming Charlie down and getting him ready for bed, but Super Charlie liked to jump on the bed and pretend he was flying. “Here he comes to save the day!” I would shout.

I didn't ever have to think about what to say to Charlie. He was just there. But that would be different with my other siblings, and I had no idea what I would say.

I opened my eyes to see just how late it was. The clock across from my bed said 1:14. I know it sounds kind of lame, but I don't think I had ever been awake that late before on a school night. There is something sort of eerie about being the only person awake in the middle of the night. I began to hear the house creaking. When everything else is so quiet, a little creak can sound really loud. I pulled my pillow over my head to drown out the sounds. But even with the pillow over my head I could still hear something. It started out like a kind of moan, and I wondered if it was just the wind. Then it got louder. I felt my heart start to race all over again. I pulled the pillow off my head and I lay perfectly still and listened. It sounded more like an animal than the wind. I heard someone call out “Mommy!” and I realized it was just Charlie.