He Gets That from Me

by Jacqueline Friedland

I wait for him to make up his mind, the creased paper still in my outstretched hand. He reaches out to reclaim the paper but then pulls back quickly, as if he’s been burned. I know better than to rush him as he struggles, so I just stand opposite him and wait. His eyes shift back and forth as he puzzles out one piece or another of this dilemma, and then he takes a deep breath and looks around the apartment, his eyes roving over a half-eaten buttered bagel that’s been sitting on the coffee table since lunch and a pile of charging cords stacked in a corner on the floor, waiting to be untangled.

  Finally, he looks back at me with his eyes wide. “That’s why I came all the way out here.” He rubs a hand over his chin. “I think . . . I think I want to know. But I feel like I can’t look. Can you just do it for me, tell me what you see?”

  As usual, the helplessness in his voice, the fear, pulls at my heart, just like it has ever since we were kids. I wish I could be a dick and tell him to grow some balls, but that’s just not how we roll. I’m the one who watches over him.

  I walk over to the small computer desk and flatten out the folded sheet he handed me.

  “There are two different logins here,” I say, looking back to Teddy for guidance.

  He lowers himself onto the couch again and starts chewing on his thumbnail. “I know. Pa couldn’t remember whose was whose, so he just gave me both. Just try both of them.”

  I type in the first username, rigsdale123, and follow it up with the long list of numbers that constitute the password. The screen updates and it’s my name that appears at the top, not Teddy’s. I reach for the paper to look at the other username, but an insistent icon flashing in the corner of the screen catches my eye. I move the mouse over to the icon, and a pop-up message tells me I have a new 25 percent genealogy match with the birth year 2010.

  “Well?” Teddy asks from his spot on the sofa behind me. He’s literally covering his eyes with his hands, like a toddler watching a scary movie.

  “No, nothing. I signed into mine by mistake. Hang on.” I click back to the login page while my mind tries to process what I just learned. A 25 percent match. I’m pretty sure a cousin is only a 12.5 percent match. A parent or sibling would be a 50 percent match. So 25 percent has to mean a half-sibling. But Wyatt would have already been five years old by 2010, and he’s a full biological sibling for me anyway.

  “Here we go,” I say as the page for Teddy’s results loads on the screen. He’s got three new matches, but when I click around, I see that they are all distant cousins of Chip’s, names I vaguely recognize hearing throughout my childhood. No matches for a half-sibling or a mom.

  “Sorry, man, looks like there’s nothing.” I glance behind me to Teddy, who finally begins lowering his hands from his face. Small red circles show on his cheeks where he must have pushing in with the heels of his hands.

  “Nothing?” He blinks a few times and then stands to come stare at the screen alongside me. “But basically everyone’s in this database.” He takes the mouse and starts navigating up and down the screen, but there’s nothing else to see.

  “Maybe she just donated the one time,” I conjecture. “Maybe you were her only offspring.”

  He doesn’t answer as he steps away from the computer desk.

  “Maybe she got hit by a car right after she left the clinic and couldn’t donate any other eggs.” I keep listing possibilities. “Or maybe she became one of those survivalists and moved completely off the grid. She could be living in the woods of West Virginia, stockpiling canned goods as we speak.”

  He looks so crestfallen that I try to backpedal.

  “She probably just did the one donation to earn money during school or something. Some gorgeous young girl from Princeton or Yale who wanted any babies that came from her eggs to be able to have happy lives on their own, without her interfering. What do you need her for now, anyway?”

  All these years, Teddy has always been the one making these type of comments, insisting that I don’t need a relationship with my birth family, that our little family of four should be enough.

  He flops back onto the end of the sofa and pulls a face.

  I swivel all the way around in my chair so we’re facing each other head on. “You could try that Sibling Donor Registry,” I offer. We’ve talked about this website in the past, but Teddy has always shot the idea down.

  “Nah.” He shakes his head. “This is probably for the best. Brynn got it in my head that we should know more about my history, but this is better. Who needs another can of worms like the last time?” He says it lightly, like that was just a blip in our past, and I can’t help but feel the littlest bit surprised at how cavalier he is. He seems to have forgotten everything I went through back then, the emotions I rode out in order to protect our family. But that’s Teddy for you, always rewriting history to see just what he wants to see.

  “Want to go get burgers?” he asks, and I guess we’ve finished with this investigation. “Belated birthday dinner?”

  “Midterms,” I say, motioning toward the stack of textbooks on the floor beside my desk.

  “Right.” He nods, having to be reminded, yet again, that his schedule at BU isn’t exactly in sync with the Tufts calendar.

  He looks downcast, so I say, “Okay, burgers. We’ll make it quick.”

  Who am I to deny Teddy anything at all?

  I grab my coat and follow him down the stairs.

  When I finally get back to my apartment two hours later, I shake the snow off my parka, toss it on the couch, and beeline for my computer.

  I let the cursor hover over the link on my Relativity page for a few seconds. Do I really want to know whatever revelation is waiting on the other side of this URL? After all the years I’ve denied myself a relationship with my birth family, all the information I might have had access to if they were a part of my life—yeah, I guess I do want to know.

  As I click the link, I find an entirely unfamiliar family tree, a page filled primarily with people bearing the last name Westlake. I search the screen until I see that the name Clyde Westlake is highlighted with a little icon above his name showing that he’s my 25 percent match. I follow the lines of the tree and see that his mother, Brianna Westlake, lives in Phoenix and was born in 1980. I don’t seem to have any other matches along the tree, and I’ve never heard of Brianna Westlake. Clyde doesn’t have any siblings listed either. Someone has, however, uploaded a picture of Clyde.

  I click on the photo and my mouth drops open. A younger version of Nick Wingate’s face is staring back at me. I feel a rush of adrenaline as I process this new information. It seems that my biological father had a kid in 2010, during a time when he was supposedly happily married to Maggie.

  Back when I was in middle school, I told my dads that I didn’t want a relationship with the Wingates, that it would be easier for me that way—but what I meant was that it would be easier for Teddy, and for them. Since then, I’ve done my share of research from afar. I’ve tried to live vicariously through the pages of their social media accounts, imagining reunions that I knew wouldn’t come to pass. I’ve never once seen anything about Nick having another son other than Wyatt. And yet it would appear that my bio dad had his dalliances, and I have yet another brother out there in the world. This one, I guess, is only a half-brother, unlike Wyatt, the brother I gave up long ago in favor of Teddy.

  Teddy wouldn’t have been able to handle it, me having a relationship with my birth parents, possibly going to spend extended time with them. I don’t regret faking the panic attack that day in the lawyer’s conference room. I knew as soon as Maggie started talking about Arizona during that meeting that they were trying to get custody of me, and I couldn’t let that happen to Teddy. Even though he and I don’t share DNA, I guess sharing a womb was enough. We’re that close and always have been. That day in the lawyer’s office was just one more time that I had to play the role of the anxious twin in order to protect my fragile brother. Luckily, all those other times I stepped up for Teddy had Pa telling me ove
r and again about the panic attacks he had as a teenager. The nights when I asked Pa to stay in the room because of the thunder, or when I claimed one or another movie was too scary for me, or when I peppered him and Dad with the questions Teddy was too afraid to ask, all those moments led Pa to tell me all about what panic attacks look like. I knew just what to do to make it seem real. And it was a good thing, too, because Teddy would have been devastated if I had moved away.

  I look back at the screen, digesting the fact that my bio dad was probably unfaithful and wondering what I should do about it. I could reach out to Maggie or to Wyatt and tell them what I’ve found. But from the tidbits I pick up online, it seems like they’re living as a happy family out in Arizona. They don’t need me crawling out of the woodwork to mess everything up again.

  All those years ago, I made a choice. I opted to relinquish my biological family in order to protect Teddy, the brother I love beyond measure, and our fathers, the men who’ve given us everything. I was willing to sacrifice for the person who still feels like a part of my own soul and for the family that we’ve always been so proud of.

  Now it’s time for me to protect my other brother and the life he’s lived.

  When I move the mouse over to the X in the corner of the screen and close out of Relativity, I feel only relief. I shut down the computer and let the screen go dark.

  Acknowledgments

  I love being a writer. As much as I enjoy dreaming up plots and transferring them to the page, nothing I do happens in a vacuum. There are endless behind-the-scenes moments and herculean efforts by people other than myself that go into creating and distributing a finished book, and I owe many people a deep debt of gratitude.

  First, I would like to thank all the inspiring women at SparkPress and She Writes Press for believing in my work and helping me bring it to its fullest potential. Brooke Warner, Crystal Patriarch, Lauren Wise, Samantha Strom, Shannon Green, and Krissa Lagos. I am blessed to work with you all. I’m also in constant awe of my publicity team at BookSparks: Crystal Patriarche, Taylor Brightwell, and Hanna Lindsley. Your creativity and commitment inure to the benefit of all around you. I owe a special thanks to Nicola Kraus, as well, for bringing her unparalleled editing skills to bear on this work.

  There were several people who were kind enough to consider the complex issues in this book and weigh in on varying topics. In particular, I would like to thank Dr. Jamie Cohen Knopman and Dr. Janice Marks for taking the time to talk through several medical questions. A special shout-out to Melissa Brisman at Reproductive Possibilities for offering her insights and expertise on issues I might never have considered without her guidance. To Lisa Wippler at Growing Generations, thank you for your incredible generosity. The time you spent talking to me and educating me about surrogacy and family building was crucial to the success of this book, and I cannot thank you enough. To Dr. Kim Bergman at Growing Generations for being supportive of the ideas for this book, and especially for connecting me with Lisa Wippler. To Dan Ziskin, attorney extraordinaire, for helping me with the intricacies of surrogacy and adoption law in the magnificent state of Arizona. Each of the experts listed above brought invaluable information and wisdom to my attention. Any errors within the text are mine alone.

  Many of my friends and beta readers have also stepped up, yet again, to support my work. First and foremost, I would like to thank the beautiful and talented Amy Blumenfeld for talking with me at length at the beginning of this project to help make sure I was looking at the plot from many critical angles. Your ongoing support, insights, and cheer mean the world to me. Thank you to Rick Bettan for an especially careful beta read. Thank you to David Yanks for providing me a thorough tour of your offices in Manhattan and informing more parts of the story than you might guess. Thank you to Aliya Sahai for consistently cheering me on, for always knowing how to be such an incredibly supportive friend, and for introducing me to Dr. Bergman.

  Thank you to the friends who continue to read my drafts and support me through thick and thin: Marci Cohen, Ali Isaacs, Nancy Mayerfield, Ari Mayerfield, Daria Mikhailov, Jenna Myers, Robyn Pecarsky, Michele Sloane, and Amy Tunick. Thank you to Bree Schonbrun Dumain for introducing me to ranunculus flowers. Thank you also to the friends who always go above and beyond to spread the word about my books: Jenny Brown, Jocelyn Burton, Alissa Butterfass, Lissy Carr, Reena Glick, Michal Plancey, Julie Schanzer, Stacey Wechsler, and Mimi Sager Yoskowitz.

  One of the best parts of being a writer has been getting to know many fabulous members of the writing community. It’s a delight to have found inspiration and kindred spirits in so many of these friends, especially Lisa Barr, Jenna Blum, Laura Dave, Fiona Davis, Camille Di Maio, Elyssa Friedland, Reyna Marder Gentin, Nicola Harrison, Susan Kleinman, Lynda Cohen Loigman, Annabel Monaghan, Amy Poepell, Marylin Simon Rothstein, Ines Rodriguez, Susie Schnall, Meredith Schorr, Courtney Sheinmel, Jonathan Tropper, Rochelle Weinstein, and Kitty Zeldis.

  These acknowledgments would not be complete without an extra-special thanks to all the book bloggers, podcasters, and bookstagrammers who do so much to promote the work of authors. I’ve been lucky to work with and get to know Barbara Bos, Robin Kall Homonoff, Lauren Blank Margolin, Brad King, Sue Peterson, Ashley Spivey, and Renee Weiss Weingarten. I am especially grateful for the friendships I have developed with Zibby Owens, Jamie Rosenblit, Suzy Weinstein Leopold, and Andrea Peskind Katz.

  Finally, I offer the deepest thanks to my wonderful family: Sheila, Bob, Allison, Ben, Samantha, and Mike, for their unceasing support. My father, who offers endless grammatical advice and knows which airports have revolving doors. Seymour, who brings me so much joy and keeps me laughing through everything. Kelly, who listens closely and offers the very best advice, and Harry, who takes care of us all. Dorothy, who brings calm and consistency to everyone around her and allows me to get my work done. To my mother—it is my great honor to be able to make you proud, and I love you so much. Abe, Asher, Shep, and Nava, who run plots with me around the dinner table and run circles around me everywhere else. You guys are my whole world. And Jason, whose heart is actually bigger than his biceps—you are my loudest champion, my greatest love, and I am so lucky you’re mine.

  About the Author

  Author photo © Rebecca Weiss

  Jacqueline Friedland is the author of the award-winning novels Trouble the Water and That’s Not a Thing. She holds a BA from the University of Pennsylvania and a JD from NYU Law School. She practiced as an attorney in New York for a hot second before transitioning to writing full time. She lives in New York with her husband, four children, and two very bossy dogs.

  SELECTED TITLES FROM SPARKPRESS

  SparkPress is an independent boutique publisher delivering high-quality, entertaining, and engaging content that enhances readers’ lives, with a special focus on female-driven work. www.gosparkpress.com

  Attachments: A Novel, Jeff Arch, $16.95, 978-1-68463-081-3. What happens when the mistakes we make in the past don’t stay in the past? When no amount of running from the things we’ve done can keep them from catching up to us? When everything depends on what we do next?

  Goodbye, Lark Lovejoy: A Novel, Kris Clink, $16.95, 978-1-68463-073-8. A spontaneous offer on her house prompts grief-stricken Lark to retreat to her hometown, smack in the middle of the Texas Hill Country Wine Trail—but it will take more than a change of address to heal her broken family.

  That’s Not a Thing: A Novel, Jacqueline Friedland. $16.95, 978-1-68463-030-1. When a recently engaged Manhattanite learns that her first great love has been diagnosed with ALS, she is faced with the impossible decision of whether a few final months with her ex might be worth risking her entire future. A fast-paced emotional journey that explores whether it’s possible to be equally in love with two men at once.

  Trouble the Water: A Novel, Jacqueline Friedland. $16.95, 978-1-943006-54-0. When a young woman travels from a British factory town to South Carolina in the 1840s, she becomes involved with a vigilante abolitionist and
the Underground Railroad while trying to navigate the complexities of Charleston high society and falling in love.

  About SparkPress

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