The weekend flew by too fast, and leaving for work Monday morning was more of a bummer than I’d expected.
We sat in the kitchen while Julia cooked breakfast—an amazing French toast bake with bananas and walnuts, with a side of the most incredible turkey sausage on the planet—and lingered over coffee while I waited for my hired car.
It was difficult to keep up appearances in front of Julia, when all Neil, El-Mudad, and I wanted to do was be handsy. For the past two days, we’d been nothing but stupid in love with each other. It was incredible. It wasn’t all between the two of us and El-Mudad, either; something between Neil and I had rebooted, and now, all three of us were somehow caught up in new relationship euphoria, despite having known each other for years.
“So, what will the two of you be up to while I’m gone today?” I asked, leaning against the island. I resolved not to sulk at being excluded if it sounded really fun.
“Neil is taking me to his driving club,” El-Mudad said, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m going to test out the Chiron.”
“Oh, that.” I wrinkled my nose and took a sip of my coffee. The Chiron was a recent purchase Neil had made that I hadn’t cared for. “It looks like an ugly car emerging from the husk of a much better-looking car.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Neil insisted. This was the latest in a series of disagreements on this theme.
“No matter its appearance, I look forward to driving it,” El-Mudad said, nudging Neil with his elbow.
“Okay, well, as long as I know I’m not missing out.” I sipped my coffee then jumped when my phone chimed. “The car is here. I’ll be back around seven.”
“Julia, can you excuse us for a moment?” Neil asked.
“Of course, Mr. Elwood.” She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and left.
“Now, we can say goodbye properly.” Neil got up and came to my side, and El-Mudad similarly stood from his spot at the breakfast table. Neil took the coffee cup from my hand, passed it to El-Mudad, then held my face in both of his hands and kissed me, long and slow.
I smiled against his mouth. “You’re not making it very easy to for me to leave.”
“I’m sorry, you’re right. That’s not fair of me.” He dropped a kiss on my forehead then moved aside. El-Mudad slid the coffee onto the island behind me.
“Unfair or not, I won’t miss a chance to kiss you.” His lips brushed against mine, but we weren’t capable of taking things slowly. I opened my mouth under his and threw my arms around his neck. He grabbed my hips and pulled me against him, tight. I lingered for as long as I could dare without everything going way too far then gave his shoulders a gentle push.
He let the kiss end but leaned his forehead against mine. “Have a good day at work.”
I gave him a quick peck on the lips and sidestepped his embrace. “Seriously, you guys. I’m just going to work. I’m not leaving forever.”
Not that it wasn’t an extremely nice send-off. I could definitely get used to starting the day like this.
****
“Who’s the most relaxed employee here this morning?” Deja asked as she knocked on my door.
I couldn’t deny that. My weekend of perfect sex had turned me into Julie Andrews in The Sound of freakin’ Music. I’d breezed into the office and immediately ordered Mel to get a caterer on the phone for lattes and breakfast sandwiches to be delivered for the entire office the next morning. We went over my schedule, and I didn’t roll my eyes once. Amy couldn’t get those skirts from Forever 21 in time for the teen trend shoot on Thursday? Sure, we could reschedule that! Fatima was out with the flu, and now, we were running tragically behind on our “Best, Worst, and Most Ridiculous Fall Trends” story? No big deal, the issue didn’t have to be finalized for two whole weeks. What was a little panicked rushing around when the entire world was so damn good?
“I could really get used to this.” Deja plopped onto the sofa against the wall and kicked her legs up, propping her black Michael Kors stiletto-heeled ankle boots on the arm. “Just don’t let people start taking advantage of your good nature.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I have a Steve Harvey-esque ‘do not look Sophie in the eyes’ memo already drafted,” I promised her with a snerk.
“You know you have to give me the details, right?” Deja prompted. Clearly, I had not been forthcoming enough.
I glanced up at the door. There was no logical reason to be nervous; people knocked before entering, and conversations held at a reasonable volume wouldn’t be overheard by accident.
But I wasn’t sure I could keep my voice at a reasonable volume.
“It was…” I made a noise of mingled frustration at my lack of words and elation at what I would have described if I could have found them. “We’re making some major decisions here really soon.”
Deja’s brow creased. “For the better, I hope?”
“For the definite better.” I held back a moment. There wasn’t much I felt I couldn’t tell Deja; she was married to my best friend, the most sexually and romantically liberated woman in all of Manhattan. Knowing all of Holli’s exploits, Deja probably wouldn’t be shocked by one of mine. Still, it felt strange to admit to something that most people would consider unconventional in the extreme.
Oh, what the hell. “We’re actually thinking of moving past ‘casual sex partners’ and like…really dating.”
“He would be your boyfriend?” Deja asked. “Or your boyfriend and Neil’s boyfriend?”
“That second one.” My cheeks went hot.
“Sophie Scaife, you are blushing.” Deja shook her head in wonder. “And over a dude.”
“You have no idea. Deja, he is…” But how could I describe him when, until now, I’d so rarely spoken of him, even to my best friends? The relationship had been hush-hush for several reasons, not the least of which had been our public lives. “He’s just perfect.”
“Can I know about him, now?” she asked gently. “I get that you’ve got that whole secrecy thing going on.”
“It wasn’t really a secrecy thing,” I said, a little uncomfortable. It did seem like it was unfair that I hadn’t told them very much at all about El-Mudad besides, “He’s a hot billionaire.” Especially when, according to Holli, my evaluation of Neil as a hot billionaire was tragically off the mark. She thought he looked too “average”.
“But I do have to keep it a little secret,” I said, just to cover my bases. I didn’t think she or Holli would ever betray me on purpose, but it was easy to let things slip if people didn’t know the boundaries. “Okay, first of all, his name isn’t really Emir, it’s El-Mudad. Emir was just the name he was using at that French sex club.”
“Oh, of course,” Deja said, waving a hand and pretending that was a concept she ran into all the time. “Don’t we all have a name we use exclusively at French sex clubs?”
I laughed. “He’s from Bahrain, his family is super rich, and he lives mostly in France, now, because he shares custody of his kids with his ex-wife.”
“He has kids?” That piqued Deja’s interest. “How many?”
“Two girls, both in their teens.” Or maybe one was a preteen. Where was the cut-off on that?
“How old is he? Like, Neil’s age, or…”
“He’s thirty-six. No, thirty-seven.”
“So, more like my age. Okay.” She made a “not bad” face.
“He’s super hot, and…” I stopped myself. “Wait, I can finally show you a picture.”
I grabbed my phone and pulled up the camera, blushing hard as a scrolled for one I could show her. I picked a quick snap I’d taken poolside on Sunday afternoon. In the photo, El-Mudad reclined, shirtless, on one of the lounge chairs. His hair was slicked back from the water, droplets of which clung to every delicious ridge of his abs and his tight square pecs.
If this whole dating thing became a permanent relationship, I would have this photo made into a plaque that said, “Good job, Sophie!” with two engraved thumbs up.
Deja got up and headed to my desk, leaning over to look. She gave a long drawn out whistle. “Damn…and that’s coming from me. And I am gay gay. Text that to me. Holli will freak out if I got to see him and she didn’t.”
“No problem.” I still held the phone, because Deja’s gaze was transfixed.
“He could be a fence jumper,” she announced finally. “I might jump the fence for him.”
“How high is the fence?” I asked. In the past, she’d described it as The Wall from Game of Thrones, but with razor wire at the top.
“For him?” She considered. “One of those cedar privacy fences. With the family trampoline next to it.”
I turn the phone toward me, again. A totally involuntary, dreamy sigh escaped me. “And it’s not just the way he looks. He’s, like, the sweetest guy ever. He came to stay with me when Neil was in the hospital—”
“I remember that,” she cut in. I think it made her a little nervous when I started to talk about Neil’s time there. For months after my return from Neil’s sabbatical in Iceland, any mention of the incident had brought tears to my eyes.
“No, it’s okay, I’m not going to start sobbing or something,” I reassured her. “And El-Mudad really has a lot to do with that.”
She nodded in understanding.
“So, I don’t want to be super nosy, or sound, like…weird,” Deja began hesitantly. “But is he…”
“He’s bisexual, like Neil and I,” I said, trying to guess her question.
“No, I was going to ask if he’s Muslim.” She looked uncomfortable with the word.
“W-would it matter if he was?” What an odd question. It took me completely aback, especially coming from Deja, who was super liberal.
“No!” she said quickly. “No, not at all. God, Sophie, you know me. I’m a black lesbian—I’m not a big fan of prejudice. I just wondered because, you know, he’s out there having threeways and fucking dudes, and I’m pretty sure that’s a no-no for most religions.”
“If he’s religious, it’s never come up.” I thought back over our acquaintance with him. I’d seen him drink. I saw him eat pork osso buco once. And… “Do Muslim guys get circumcised? Because he’s not.”
She held up a hand. “I didn’t need to know about his dick. I already know too much about your husband’s.”
“I never told you any of that,” I reminded her. It was Holli’s weird admiration-slash-obsession on the topic that made it come up. In her deviant little mind, I’d scored some kind of phallic jackpot, and it was her opinion that I didn’t take vocal enough credit for that. “But seriously…why did you ask?”
“Because I’m worried,” she said frankly. “I’m worried about anybody who might be coming here. You know what things are like here, now.”
We had a rule that we would never utter a certain name in the office, but I knew exactly what she was getting at. It had already been unsafe for anyone from the Middle East to live here. That had ramped up considerably in the past sixteen years, but since the election…
“I worry about Mel,” Deja went on. “And Hannah in the advertising department. Some guy tried to rip her scarf off her head on the subway last week.”
“Oh, my god.” I covered my mouth in horror.
“I’m just saying…if you guys want to be safe…” She grimaced. “But there’s really no safe place, is there?”
My heart hurt at that realization. I’d never thought of it, because I’d never had to. Unlike Deja, I’d never had to worry about my safety beyond the everyday rituals every woman performed. It was enough for me to not walk too close to doorways or stay in subway cars alone with men. So, I hadn’t thought about what could happen to El-Mudad in America. His money couldn’t protect him from everything.
“He has a bodyguard,” I offered with an ineffectual shrug.
“Good,” she said grimly. Then, “Sorry, I really brought this whole thing down, didn’t I?”
“It’s not something you can turn off in your brain. I get it,” I said, though we both knew I could never truly understand.
She forced a smile. “Tell me something else about your amazing weekend. How many times did you guys do it?”
I engaged her with the post-game wrap up I’d usually do with her and Holli, but my heart wasn’t in it. My thoughtlessness distracted me; what would life be like if El-Mudad moved here? What would it be like if he couldn’t?
In all the sex and happiness of the weekend, I’d been picturing a relationship that might not be beneficial to everyone. Or downright impossible. I’d envisioned a traditional arrangement, wherein I came home from work at night to two loving partners, and we lived in some kind of domestic harmony.
Traditional might not have been the right word for it.
I stood by the idea, though. What a wonderful life it would be for all of us to live together, to wake up in the morning and go to bed every night, to share our hopes and fears and even the inane thoughts that floated through our heads.
I wanted what I had with Neil, but with El-Mudad included. And I’d selfishly decided that it would all happen on my terms. That he would move into our palace by the sea—but what about his daughters? That he would spend his days at home with Neil—but what about his own business, his own life? That he would want the exact same things I wanted—but what if he didn’t?
And how could I claim to love him if I’d never stopped long enough in my selfish vision of bliss to consider that the life I’d fantasized about could put El-Mudad and his children in danger?
Deja had a massively valid point. There was already so much going on in our country that made it an unwelcoming, arguably unstable place for people from Middle Eastern countries. What would happen if, one day, he simply couldn’t get back to us? Was it something that vast wealth could get around?
And we had our lives here, and Olivia. Emma and Michael had planned to raise her in America. They hadn’t anticipated the current state of affairs here, though, so maybe they wouldn’t mind if we ran away from the prologue of The Handmaid’s Tale that was currently taking shape all around us. But that left Valerie and Laurence, who were staying close by to share custody of Olivia. Plus, Valerie ran the magazine and oversaw the New York offices of Elwood & Stern; she couldn’t uproot herself and probably didn’t want to.
El-Mudad couldn’t be separated from his children, either. They lived in France. He lived in France, most of the time. There was no way he would be able to turn his back on them, and I wouldn’t want to be with a father who could do that, in the first place.
It had felt so good to rush headlong into this, but now that I had some time away from him and Neil, the insidious practical stuff was creeping in.
I didn’t like it, and it sure didn’t make me enthusiastic in the retelling of my weekend exploits. I was grateful when Deja’s phone chirped its alarm.
“It can’t be eleven already,” she groaned.
“No,” I whined. Though the change of subject was welcome, what it would change to was not. “I do not want to go over financials. You can’t make me.”
Deja raised a laser-precise brow. “You’re right. I can’t. But you do own half this company, so maybe you could pretend to be interested in quarterlies?”
“Ugh, fine.” I pushed my chair back from my desk.
“You’re coming out for drinks with us tonight,” Deja said as we walked toward the conference room. “You have to tell Holli all of this stuff. I will not be able to handle the interrogation, especially when you know I don’t have answers to half her questions.”
“I can’t tonight.” Not only did I want to spend as much time as possible with El-Mudad while he was visiting, I didn’t want to plunge back into the logistics that I was trying so desperately hard to ignore. “But next week. After he goes home. That way, I’ll have plenty more to tell you both.”
“Fair enough.” She pushed the door open.
Inside the conference room, the white screen had been pulled down, and the digital projector overhead illuminated dust motes in the air. It was too bad there weren’t any windows I could escape through. We weren’t that high up, and shattered legs seemed a small price to pay to avoid the hell of trying to stay awake while someone threw numbers I didn’t understand at me.
“Sophie?” Mel hurried up behind me, her face ashen. “Someone’s here for you.”
Oh, god, something’s happened to Olivia!
It disturbed me how quickly my mind immediately shot to that horrible possibility every time our assistant came to me with that look. And it was never anything serious. Usually just a meeting I forgot or a call from someone important.
“Who? I didn’t see anyone on my schedule this morning.” But it would be amazing if someone from, say, Balenciaga or Calvin Klein had shown up, and it became imperative that I missed the quarterly projections. It was a lot easier to pretend to look at those reports than it was to sit through them.
“She says she’s your sister.”
Every drop of blood in my veins turned to ice. Spikey, razor-sharp crystals of ice that punctured all my vitals. Metaphorically, anyway. Nothing was bleeding internally, except all of my ragged emotions.
“Who?” Deja’s head snapped up from the contents of the folder she’d been scanning.
“My sister.” I knew she was up to date on the weirdness involved there. Hence the deep concern etched on her face. I hurried to add, “It’s okay. It’s a surprise, but…”
“I’ve got this,” Deja said firmly. “You weren’t going to pay attention, anyway.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“Anything you need to know, I’ll brief you later,” she promised. “Just…take care of yourself.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and turned to Mel. “Can you show her into my office, please?”
“No problem.”
I watched her go then snuck to the nearest bathroom. I needed time to calm down, and Mel needed time to carry out my instruction, so it would all work out. Plus, making someone wait was a power move.
Why I felt I needed a power move up my sleeve, I had no idea.
Bracing my hands on the lip of the trough sink, I took some deep breaths. Okay. Your sister is here. No, not your sister. Susan. Susan is here, and she just happens to be related to you. She’s nobody to you. You don’t owe her anything.
Was that harsh of me? It sounded harsh.
Fuck that. I deserved to be harsh, didn’t I? I was being ambushed at work by a woman who’d known I’d existed, but never bothered to contact me to tell me that our father was dead. She was forcing me to confront the fact that she’d had his love and support, while I’d gotten a graduation card and one hazy memory of going to a circus, which I wasn’t entirely sure hadn’t been a dream.
She hadn’t even called me.
I had every right to turn her away, I realized. Just because she’d come all this way, that didn’t mean I had to speak to her. If I wanted to, I could have security remove her. Deny I even knew her. She’s my stalker, I could say. Or, she’s a deeply troubled woman who’s convinced she’s my sister. She’s looking for money. She’s trying to blackmail me.
Yet, deep inside my stupidly optimistic heart, a clawing need to forge some kind of bond with her gripped me. How could you even think of doing something like that to your family? How could you throw away what you always wanted?
I wanted to leave the bathroom. I really did. I just couldn’t move.
Instead, I studied my face in the mirror and tried to remember those pictures I’d seen on Facebook. I could still see the similarities between Susan and me, the ghost of Joey Tangen molded into our flesh. Genetics would never let me forget.
Another thought occurred to me, one that filled me with terror so sharp that it could have punctured my lungs. What if she’d seen that accidental “like” when I’d been scrolling through her pictures? What if she’d come all the way here to accuse me of being creepy, obsessed, unwelcome in her life? What if she’d been so furious that she’d traveled to Brooklyn from Nearly-Canada, Michigan to demand an explanation for that violation of her privacy?
There’s no law against using Facebook! I fumed then felt stupid for having a mental argument over something that hadn’t happened and wasn’t likely to. When would it ever occur to someone to go that far instead of just emailing or picking up a phone?
I couldn’t keep her waiting forever. I had to make a decision. Would I face her, or not?
I cupped my hands under the faucet and slurped a drink from them then checked my makeup. Urban Decay setting spray saved my ass, yet again. No matter what happened, I would not lose my composure. I wouldn’t yell. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t have a panic attack.
I would be Sophie motherfucking Scaife.
Squaring my shoulders, I pushed through the door and strode down the hallway with my head raised high. With every step, my confidence built. I’d been through worse than an awkward confrontation. I’d been coldly chastised by Gabriella goddamn Winters, the Wicked Witch of the Upper Westside. This was not going to beat me.
I opened my office door said quickly, “Sorry for making you wait—”
And the words died in my throat. Sitting at one of the chairs in front of my desk, her back ramrod straight, was Susan. She was actually there, not as an abstract concept or a hypothetical. Flesh and blood, my flesh and blood. And she looked just as upset and terrified as I had staring at myself in that mirror.
She pushed her chair back and stood, awkwardly thrusting her hand at me like she was on a job interview. Maybe she was. I had no idea what she wanted from me.
“I’m sorry to come without calling. I didn’t know…” She grimaced and closed her eyes. “I didn’t know how to call. Or how to get in touch with you. You’re kind of…”
“Hard to track down,” I admitted guiltily. “You could have gotten my number from the reunion committee, I bet.”
“I didn’t really know who the reunion committee was.”
Silence lapsed between us.
“So, um.” I sat in my chair. Having the desk as a physical boundary between us made me feel a little calmer. “What brings you to New York?”
“Trade show,” she said quickly. “Travis’s dad is trying to expand throughout the Midwest, so he’s trying to make some contacts and see what other companies are…” She made a gesture with her hands, looking more helpless by the minute.
If she’d come here to be confrontational toward me, she wasn’t doing a very good job of it. That was a relief. But since I didn’t know why she was there to see me, specifically, I couldn’t think of a response. We ended up just staring at each other. Probably just for a couple of seconds, but it felt like a micro-eternity.
Finally, she sighed and looked down at her hands, her brow furrowed. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
“I…” What was I supposed to do? Reassure her?
“Travis doesn’t know I’m here. I haven’t told him anything about you.”
A tide of anger rushed through me, shocking in its intensity. It took every ounce of strength I had to control it. “Well, I guess I’m easy to forget. And cover up. And ignore.”
She looked up, utterly stricken. “I am so, so sorry.”
“About what?” Suddenly, my anger and hurt didn’t seem all that ridiculous or unwarranted. It was like I’d only just realized I was allowed to have feelings on the subject. That I didn’t have to earn the right to feel cheated or slighted. She didn’t have to give me permission. “About the fact that my father died and nobody bothered to tell me? Or even include me in his obituary?”
“I didn’t know how to contact—”
“You found me, now. You found me when you wanted to.” My jaw tensed until it ached. “Did you know about me?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “But not until Dad was dying.”
Dad. She got to call him dad. He was her dad.
It was such a simple word but such an important privilege.
“Years.” My fist clenched against my thigh.
“The obituary was… That was a bad choice. I see that, now.” Her large dark eyes fixed on mine earnestly. “But you weren’t a part of our lives. And we just didn’t think about you.”
That stung, but it was oddly comforting at the same time. I hadn’t been purposely omitted or ignored. I’d just been forgotten. In a time of great stress, they’d been concerned about their family, and no matter the blood that made us relation, I wasn’t a part of that family.
And that wasn’t Susan’s fault.
The rigidity in my muscles eased some. “I know it’s easy to lose track of stuff when you’re in the middle of a loss like that.”
She nodded gratefully at that small concession. “Don’t be angry with me, but I read your book. On the flight out here. I know that you lost someone.”
I didn’t want to talk about that with her. Just like she had the privilege of calling Joey Tangen “Dad”, I had the privilege of keeping Emma private and close.
I changed the subject. “I hope you’re not here because you think you have to answer for him or something. You don’t. You weren’t even born when he decided to split.”
That was another thing I tried to keep in mind. I wasn’t exactly old and wise, and she was even younger than me. In my late twenties, I was only, just now, realizing the effects of time.
“No, I don’t feel like I have to do penance for him or anything. I’ve actually been struggling, since I found out about you. I’ve wanted answers, you know?”
Did I know? I scoffed. “Um, yeah. I’m familiar with that. Except the answers I wanted were more along the lines of ‘what’s wrong with me that my own father would abandon me’?”
Calm down, Sophie. This isn’t the pain Olympics.
“This is hard for you.” She didn’t say she understood or try to compare our experiences, which I appreciated. “If you don’t want to have any contact with us…honestly, it might be better.”
My heart folded in on itself. I hadn’t known what to expect when I stepped into the room. Being welcomed into the family, reunited with people I hadn’t known I’d lost? That hadn’t exactly been at the forefront of my mind. At least, not in a way I could articulate until she said those words, and I saw the option snatched away.
My words scraped from my dry throat. “Well. Thanks for coming all this way to tell me that.”
“No, that’s not what I—” A tear fell from her eye, and she grabbed for her purse. The tissue she pulled out was crumpled; had she been crying on her way here?
I was taking out my anger at Joey Tangen on a daughter that he’d cherished, but victimized, too. I’d never known him. She probably felt like she hadn’t, either.
“Susan…” My stubborn heart wouldn’t apologize. “Neither of us knows how to be, right now. I’m mad, but not at you. Not really.”
“Yeah.” She nodded vigorously as she wiped her eyes. “I’m mad at him.”
Maybe that anger would be the force that united us?
“For so many reasons,” she added. “And especially for the position he’s put me in, right now. Because I think… I mean, I’m pretty sure you’re about to hate me.”
“Why?” Foreboding rose in me like a curl of smoke warning me of a fire to come.
“Because I’m here to ask you for something.”
Money. It was my first thought, not because I saw her as poor or less than me, but because I didn’t have anything else to offer. I summoned my inner Neil to phrase what I said next. “Perhaps you should simply come out and say it.”
It sounded better than just, “How much?”
“I have—we have—another sister.” She took a deep breath, and her chest shook. “She’s sick.”
Well, that was better than, “My husband sent me here looking for an investor.”
“Okay…do you need help with medical bills or…” God, that sounded so crass. Let me give you money, so you can go away.
“N-no. Well, yes. But that’s not…” She paused, took another long breath. “She needs a kidney.”
Well, let me just pull one out of my desk drawer.
No.
Wait.
“I-I’m sorry, are you—”
“It’s a genetic disorder, Alport syndrome. It’s on Mom’s side. So, I can’t donate, she can’t donate. Dad didn’t have any brothers or sisters, so…” Her face crumpled, and she couldn’t hide that she was crying. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”
“No, no, wait!” I practically shouted as she moved to stand. “Don’t leave. I just need a minute.”
A kidney? That was a pretty big fucking ask—especially in our situation. Would she had even come here or contacted me, again, at all if not for a body part?
“She’s been waiting,” Susan went on quietly. “But there are so many people who need them. And the long-term…”
My head swam with questions. “How old is she?”
“Sixteen.”
I thought back to sixteen. Living in the U.P., dreaming of one day getting out of Michigan altogether, working for prestigious publications, living a glamorous life.
Did this girl—
God, I didn’t even remember her name.
“What’s her name? I don’t remember from the…” I waved my hand so I wouldn’t have to say “obituary”, again. I didn’t want to bring it up, anymore. Suddenly, it didn’t feel as bad as it did before.
“Molly.”
Did Molly dream about her life in the future? Or was she just waiting to see if it was worth the bother?
I couldn’t stand to think of a kid in that situation. But was it so unbearable that I would just break off a piece of my body for a stranger?
Susan said, “My mom is beside herself. First losing Dad, then this. It would kill her to lose Molly, too. I know it would me, if she were my kid. I don’t know how people—”
A vision of Emma swam through my mind, and the haunted despair I caught in Neil’s eyes, still. It would always be there, a wound that would never heal.
Susan’s voice stuttered to a halt, whatever word she’d been about to say frozen in her throat. She blinked quickly and looked away. “My god. I should not be saying this stuff. Not to you.”
“It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. But it wasn’t her fault that she’d struck a nerve. Yes, she’d read my book. That didn’t necessarily mean that it felt real to her. I hadn’t even become real to her until lately.
Unless it did. Unless that’s why she’d started talking about her mom and losing a child. Maybe she hadn’t read the book on the plane at all. Maybe she’d read it then formulated this plan to come get my kidney.
“This is a lot, I know,” she said. “And I wouldn’t ask, but my little sister’s life is on the line.” Her eyes searched mine, pleading for something she should never have asked for.
What would I have done to spare Neil his pain? What lengths would I have gone to, to keep Emma alive?
Why had it taken something so dire to make Susan acknowledge my existence?
I didn’t look away. Not even to blink. “Would you have contacted me if it wasn’t?”
Her features, an eerie imitation of my own, froze in shock. I doubted she’d expected to be held accountable in her father’s place. A similar scene had almost certainly played out in her mind while she’d made up her decision to come here. It might have even have held her back at the door. But I had no doubt that she’d never thought, upon hearing her tale of woe, that I would remain unmoved enough to think about myself.
Being self-centered obviously ran in the family. But I was much better at it.
Finally, she admitted, “Never in a thousand years.”
I made a split decision. The only one I could in the moment. “I need time to think. How long are you staying in New York?”
“Until Sunday. That’s when the conference is over.”
A week-long construction business conference? Where the fuck do I sign up for that bore fest?
It made me feel a little better to be mean in my head.
“Give your number to Mel on the way out,” I instructed. “Maybe I’ll call you before you leave. If not…”
“Then, it’s a no.” Her jaw clenched visibly.
I shook my head. “No. It just means that I needed more than a week to figure out if I want to donate an organ to a stranger.”
Susan stood and hesitated in front of my desk for a moment, as though she expected me to say something else or stand and shake her hand. I just stared her down. Her spine straightened, and she smoothed her blouse. “Thank you for your time.”
Maybe that had been intentionally cruel, calling them strangers. I wasn’t sure. Of, like, anything at all. And the worst part was, if someone asked me if I wanted to donate an organ to a stranger, I probably would have said yes by now. This was for my own sister, and I was on the fence?
She left, closing the door behind her, and I sat in silence broken only by the buzzing of my pulse in my ears. What was I supposed to do, now? Think it over? Do more Facebook spying? How much information would it take to convince me to save a life for people who’d never cared about mine?
How much could I reasonably blame on them, and not on Joey Tangen? As far as I knew, he might have forbidden them from contacting me. Or maybe they’d wanted to but didn’t know how. Maybe they’d just given up.
I’d known they were out there, in a vague sort of way. Somehow, I’d learned that he’d made a family and that I wasn’t a part of it. That was the way it always was, and I’d accepted that. I’d never tried to find them because I knew I wasn’t welcome. If they had come to me and asked me to a be a part of their lives, that would have been different; I couldn’t have forced my way in, even if I’d been brave enough to try.
Now, the sisters who’d never truly existed in my mind before were too real to ignore, and they weren’t extending an offer of family or love or acceptance. They only needed me for spare parts.
Susan had been right; it was a lot to ask, and manipulative, even if she’d never intended it to be. Help us, or someone will die. Someone you should care about, because you’re bound by blood.
But how could I care about any of them, when they’d never cared about me?