Authors: Allison Maruska
After another overnight drive, Levin parked the car in his mother’s driveway. Walt sat at the patio table on the porch with his laptop, occasionally looking at the sprinkler that watered the dirt patch he liked to call the front yard. His dirty, sleeveless biker shirt, denim cutoffs, and overgrown dirty blond hair greatly contrasted with his sleek computer. He glanced at the car before returning his focus to the screen.
Levin exited the car with the girls, and for the first time in his life, he dreaded speaking to his mother. While he’d hoped to disregard everything Scott had said, Scott’s knowledge of Dayla’s puzzle-solving skills made ignoring him impossible. Whether Levin liked it or not, he had to confront his mother if he wanted to know the truth.
Liz stood on the porch as her children approached her. Her long, brown hair pulled into a ponytail made her appear significantly younger than her forty-five years. She hugged each of them when they reached her. A wide smile covered most of her thin face.
“Welcome home! I missed you so much. So, tell me everything.” She had some knowledge of their San Diego activities, as Rana called her to check in nearly every night. She trusted Levin with his sisters, but the protective parent in her demanded frequent updates.
The four entered the living room. The girls sat with their mother on the faux leather sofa in front of the window while Levin reclined in the neighboring chair. Nineties pop music played from the stereo in the kitchen.
Dayla bounced on the cushion. “It was awesome. Levin had a meeting the first morning, but it was canceled. Someone gave him an article that he read on his computer. Then, we went to the zoo. The map on the sign by the African elephants was wrong. Then, we went to a burger place. I sat with Rana because Levin met with a guy named Scott. I ordered a cheeseburger and tater tots. I figured out an anagram. I love anagrams. The words were Project Renovatio, which was an anagram for Patrice Jovan Root, who wrote the article that Levin read on his computer. Weird. Then, the next day, we went back to the zoo…”
Liz glared at him when Dayla said “Project Renovatio,” challenging his hope that she didn’t know anything about it. The anxiety in his gut increased, and he shifted in his seat.
Dayla finished her play-by-play of their vacation, and Levin needed his sisters to leave before talking to his mother about the real reason for their trip.
“Dayla, why don’t you go upstairs and take a bath?” He scrunched his nose. “You need one.”
“Very funny.” She hugged her mom one more time before retreating up the stairs.
He watched her leave and faced Rana. “I need to talk to Mom. Can you go unpack?”
“It’s okay. I know Scott told you to talk to her. I called him the night you took Dayla to the pool.”
Levin sat with his mouth open for a moment. “What? Why would you–”
“He wouldn’t leave all those clues for us and then let the trail go cold. I wanted to know what you didn’t tell me, so I called him.” Her matter-of-fact yet strong tone dared him to call her out on her intrusion.
For a second he clenched his jaw and considered demanding she leave. He rarely fought with anyone in his family–or anyone not in his family, for that matter. His inexperience resulted in his current speechlessness.
She broke his silence. “I can handle it. Really. I want to stay.”
He dreaded discussing the subject with Rana there, but his mother watched him as if waiting for him to ask, apparently unconcerned with Rana’s presence.
“Fine.” He faced Liz. “So what do you know about Project Renovatio? Scott told me I should ask you. He said you could tell us about our father.”
Her shoulders dropped. “I suspected this had something to do with why you went to San Diego. Wait here.”
She left the couch and walked up the stairs. Levin and Rana stared at each other while the musical workings of Smash Mouth intruded on their serious moods. Before returning to the couch, Liz entered the kitchen and turned off the music.
She held a thin book with a blue cover, which she set on the coffee table in front of the couch and opened to the first page. It displayed a yellow flier.
“When I was twenty-three years old, I moved to San Diego to live with my boyfriend. The relationship fell apart soon after I arrived. I needed to move out of his apartment, but I didn’t have a place to go, and I only worked a part time job at a hotel. I couldn’t find a job that fit my degree. I moved in with some roommates because the rent was cheap, but they were slobs. I had to find my own place. One day, I saw this flier on an announcement board of a college campus I walked through on my way to work.” She turned the book around so Levin could read the flier.
Need extra money? An organization seeks individuals to participate in a research study. We will assess your qualifications for inclusion in the study. All subjects will receive $100 for answering this ad, whether or not they qualify. Those who qualify will be eligible for additional compensation.
“I was desperate for money, so I called the number. I went to an office building outside of town. Techs had me complete surveys, take IQ and fitness tests, and they drew some blood. After they finished screening me, a man named Dr. Steven Craig met with me privately.” She turned the page of the scrapbook. It displayed a business card for Dr. Craig: Geneticist. The man pictured on the card looked familiar. Levin’s eyes moved to a piece of paper with small print that his mother had signed.
“He said I had qualities his research team sought for their project. He called it Project Renovatio. His team wanted to collect the reproductive cells of individuals with above average intelligence, language skills, strength, endurance, or immunity, modify their genetic structure, and combine them to create offspring who would fully express their desired qualities. The children could survive in a harsh environment. I qualified because I scored well on the IQ test, and the blood test indicated I had a strong immune system. He offered me a yearly compensation of twenty thousand dollars to sign this contract saying I would participate in the Project–meaning I would carry and raise two children created from my eggs.” She turned the page. It showed several sonogram pictures, highlighting different stages of a developing fetus.
Rana glared at her mother. “How could you do that? You . . . signed your life over to a research organization.”
Liz traced one of the pictures with her finger. “I needed the money, but also because I had a chance to make a significant impact on history. Human beings could re-create their society should something catastrophic happen to destroy it. My children would be important parts of that, meaning I would also be an important part of it.”
“But did you want to have kids by yourself? It sounds to me like they took advantage of women in need.”
“I made the choice, Rana.” Her mother scowled. “No one forced me to do anything. I wanted to have kids since I was little. I’d like to think you of all people wouldn’t argue with my decision.”
Rana stared, apparently out of words.
Liz turned back to Levin and gestured to the sonogram images. “These are my first pictures of you. Your father lives in Greece. The Project chose him for his high IQ and superior strength and physical endurance.” She turned the page again, showing pictures of Levin as a baby.
“He lives in Greece? You never met him?”
She shook her head. “That was a condition of the agreement. The genetic parents were not to try contacting each other.”
“And you agreed to that?” Levin sprung to his feet, paced, and held his hand towards the album. “You were having kids with this guy!”
She followed his motion. “It’s like any woman who uses a sperm bank or blind adoption to start families. It’s not unheard of.”
“How many other kids does he have because of the Project? Do you even know?” He ran his hand through his hair.
“Levin, sit down. Please. I can’t talk to you when you’re walking back and forth like that.”
He sat and clenched his fist. His fingernails dug into his palm.
His mother turned her body, facing him. “To answer your question, I don’t know if he had other kids. I suppose he did, though. It wouldn’t be economical for them to track down new fathers for each family.”
Levin shifted in his seat as he recalled his conversation with Scott, who apparently was his half-brother. How many other half-siblings were they hiding from him? A foul taste developed in the back of his throat.
Turning the pages of the scrapbook, Liz revealed Rana’s sonogram and newborn pictures. “You and Rana have the same father. I thought I wouldn’t carry any more children for the Project. But they contacted me again five years later saying my genetics complemented those of another male donor especially well, and they offered me an additional ten thousand dollars per year to carry and raise another child. A year later, I gave birth to Dayla. Her father is a Scottish man chosen for his superior language skills and memory.”
The scrapbook ended with baby pictures of Dayla.
He kept his eyes on the page. “So we were born because someone paid you to have us.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. Can you not accept that? Every day, infertile couples hire surrogates to carry their children. In a way, that’s what I was. A surrogate. Although I carried my own children.”
He didn’t look at her or say anything. How could she spend two decades hiding the truth about her own children’s existence, as if it were an insignificant detail?
“I want you to know,” she scooted on the couch towards his chair, “that I believe I was destined to be your mother. I made sure you all had the best chance at developing fully into your genetic makeup. I enrolled you and Rana into sports so you could develop your endurance, I taught Dayla to read at a young age, you all took advanced classes at school, and we traveled to museums all over the country. I wanted to expose you to as many ideas as possible, to make sure you directly benefitted from the money I received from the Project. I hope you can appreciate that.”
“Then why tell us all that BS about the accident killing our dad? And why did you marry Walt? We did fine on our own.”
She glared. “I married Walt because I loved him.” She leaned back into the sofa cushion. “I didn’t want to tell you the truth of your existence until all three of you were old enough to accept it. The accident story kept you from asking questions.”
“Does Walt know Dayla’s not his daughter?”
“Of course he does. He knows all about the Project. We met a couple of months before Dayla was conceived. A few months after that, I suspected the Project was watching me more closely than they said. Walt said he’d stick close by, to protect all of us.”
Protect?
Levin eyed the sloppy man sitting on the porch.
Liz followed his gaze. “He’s had a hard time adjusting to normal life since his discharge. Anyway, he and I fell in love and got married. He wanted to help raise all of you.”
Levin leaned forward in his chair. “What do you mean you suspected the Project was watching too closely?”
She sat back and crossed her arms. “I just had a sense that something was off–like I’d get a call from your pediatrician’s office reminding me to schedule your appointment, and a week later, in an update letter the Project sent to the moms, they’d say something about making sure to keep up with your wellness checkups. It might have been a coincidence.”
“But what if it wasn’t?” Levin retrieved the picture from his wallet and handed it to his mother. “Who is that guy?”
She held the picture but didn’t look at it. “You grew up without knowing about the Project. I’d say that means they aren’t a threat, or Walt and I would have done something about it.” She glanced at the picture. “This is Dr. Craig. I took this picture on our last day in San Diego.” She turned the scrapbook back to the page with the business card on it. In the picture on the card, Dr. Craig appeared cleaner and more professional than in the photograph, in which he had a thin beard and wore jeans and a T-shirt. “Don’t you remember living there, Levin?”
“Not really.”
“That’s too bad. You loved it.” She flipped the pages to the baby pictures.
“Okay, Mom. I’m tired, and I’d like to go home. I’ll call you later.” He rose from his chair and walked out the front door, leaving her and his sister sitting together on the couch.
****
After a shower and a short nap, Levin invited Maggie to his apartment. She arrived carrying an order of Chinese takeout. He took the food from her, set it on the table, and kissed her. “You’re just what I needed to see tonight.”
She laughed. “Thanks. I think.” She opened the paper bag, releasing the aroma of sesame chicken and cabbage egg rolls. “How was your trip?”
“Educational.”
As they ate their meal around his small dining room table, he told her about meeting Scott, and he eased into revealing what his mother said about Project Renovatio.
“So what do you think?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It’s ridiculous, but I can’t figure out why anyone would make all this up. It all seems really unlikely.”
“Why?”
“Come on. A group of researchers alters human DNA to create their own brand of people? It’s crazy. It’s right out of a science fiction novel. And it makes me one of those genetically altered mutants.” He took a bite. “Do you think I have super powers?”