Secluded Cabin Sleeps Six(37)

“It’s just that, you know, how my dad is from Italy—like his whole lineage is pure Italian.”

“Right...”

“According to this test, I’m not Italian. Like, not at all. Zero percent.”

“Oh,” she said, relieved. “It could be a mistake, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what I thought at first. But this is not the first time I’ve taken one of these. I took one a couple of years ago when a buddy of my mine was investing big in this technology. It was a different company, the science was still evolving, so when the results were not what I expected I didn’t really think anything of it.”

“Did you talk to your parents?”

He laughed. “I tried after the first time. But—you know Mom—it didn’t really go that well. They acted like I was trying to hurt them or something. I just dropped it. She said something weird—” He did his best Sophia impression, complete with fluttering eyelids and a hand at his throat. “‘Family is not about biology, Michael, it’s about actions.’”

“Okay,” said Liza.

“That was a while ago,” he said. “I kind of forgot about it. Or buried it, or whatever. And then the Origins test at Christmas opened up the issue for me again.”

She put a hand on the worried furrows in his brow. His head felt warm to the touch.

“What about Hannah’s results?”

“I haven’t asked,” he rolled on his back and looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t even know if she did it. I guess I don’t really want to know. I thought maybe we’d have time to talk this weekend.”

That was classic Mako—ignore, deflect, bury until you couldn’t.

“Do you think that’s true?” he asked. “That family is about actions, not just about biology.”

She considered it. “I think it’s true in a way. I mean, if you think about it, all family is about choice. You choose who you love; you choose to have children from that love. You choose to be a good parent, take care of your children. You could be biologically related but not really a family. You can be family—like spouses—but not be biologically related.”

He nodded, seemed about to say something else, when Cricket’s laughter rang up from downstairs.

“I should get back to the table.”

He shifted away, but she reached for him, pulling him back.

“Mako.”

The darkness had left him. He was just Mako again, bright and looking for a good time. “It’s probably nothing. I shouldn’t have brought this up now. We’ll talk it all through later.”

“Are you sure?”

“Totally,” he said, kissing her head. “You just try to feel better.”

“Okay,” she said. She was just relieved it wasn’t something like he had the genetic coding for some disease or disorder. Lots of people were wrong about their heritage, weren’t they? And how reliable even were these tests?

Then he was gone; she heard him thundering down the stairs. And she was alone in the dark, with the pain in her head that was getting worse instead of better.

Now she heard him laughing downstairs.

He’d get drunk and forget all about her. That was his way. He could only focus on what was in front of him; it drew all of him. All of his attention, all of his energy. It was like he slipped into a trance when he was coding, when he was partying, when he was doing whatever it was he was doing. And the world around him disappeared completely. When you were in the high beam of his vision, there was nothing else. When you were not, you didn’t even exist. Or so it seemed. She envied him that focus.

It’s not focus, her lesser self whispered. It’s selfishness. He doesn’t think or care about anything that’s not feeding his ego in that moment.

Footsteps on the stairs, slow and measured, the wood creaking.

Occasionally, he surprised her, remembering a date she was sure he’d forgotten. An act of consideration or kindness she didn’t expect. Coming home early with takeout for a movie night, or sweeping her away on a romantic weekend.

Yes. That small voice again. Occasionally, he steps out of himself and remembers he has a wife. A wife who had her second miscarriage three months ago. A wife who is having a migraine for the first time in a decade.

A wife who has made a horrible mistake she deeply regrets. Sort of.

The pain. It pulsated behind her eyes. When she closed them she saw a field of too-bright stars, one that swirled like a galaxy.

Those footsteps were moving down the hall toward the door.

It was probably Hannah, coming to check on her. She wished they were closer. But Hannah seemed to hold her at arm’s length—always kind, always polite, just never crossing that line to real friendship. Or maybe it was Liza. Maybe Liza held Hannah away because—well, because maybe she didn’t know how to be close to women. That was the truth, wasn’t it? Her mother was gone; she didn’t have any sisters. The few women she’d thought were true friends had turned out not to be.

It was quiet again. She heard Mako laughing again downstairs, voice booming through the floorboards. Whatever had been bothering him earlier forgotten, or locked away. She thought she heard Hannah, too. But maybe that was Cricket. Maybe there hadn’t been anyone on the stairs, after all.