Seven Days of Us(7)

He’d scoured photos of his half sisters for some physical likeness, too, but this was even less evident. Phoebe’s Instagram and Twitter were tantalizingly private, but Jesse could see from the pictures with Andrew that she was cute. She had a kind of imperious, English rose face with sulky pre-Raphaelite lips, unusual green eyes, and a fine aquiline nose. Nothing like Jesse. The only photo he could find of Olivia was her Facebook profile, which showed a female Andrew. They had the same long face, deep-set eyes, and fair skin—but on a woman, and without Andrew’s skeptical gaze, it added up to something different. Homely, Jesse’s mom would have said. Beyond this, Olivia seemed to exist in a social media vacuum. He didn’t even know what she did for a job.

Emma must be too old to show up much online—unlike her media husband. The only photo Jesse could find of her was the one on Sloane’s Snooper, from 1981. It showed a pretty, grinning brunette with big hair and shoulder pads—a lot like a young Rachel Weisz. He could see the likeness between her and Phoebe, although Emma looked curvaceous, where Phoebe was actress skinny. But the photo was so old that he had no mental image of Emma today.

Other trivia: Phoebe worked in TV (Jesse clung to this fact as some semi-common ground) and always ordered fish when she accompanied Andrew on his reviews. She sounded fun, and witty, in a dry, British way. Emma adored dessert, and Elvis, and wanted a dog but had to make do with a cat because Andrew didn’t like dogs. This fact bothered Jesse. Who didn’t like dogs?

Today, the Birches lived in Camden (home of Amy Winehouse!), but holidayed at the gloriously British-sounding Weyfield Hall. It was Weyfield that had started the whole plan to head to Norfolk in December—specifically a Christmas photo shoot of the house on CountryLiving.co.uk. When Jesse had seen the roaring fires, family portraits, and dark paneling, he’d realized how badly he wanted to be part of it. He’d started to feel quite romantic about the fact that his roots were part Arabian Nights, part Downton Abbey (never mind that Weyfield was on Emma’s side). He became convinced it was his rare cocktail blood, and not just the fact that he was gay, that had made high school such a bitch. And so he’d told everyone that he was heading to the UK over Christmas to research “a confidential project.” Only Dana knew the full story. Still, it wasn’t technically a lie. The journey to meet his British birth father, in a country manor house, could make an incredible documentary. It would be the first film of his own, but he had a good feeling about it. He’d already shot some preliminary footage, just of himself in his apartment, talking about his life in L.A., his childhood in Iowa, and his expectations of meeting Andrew in Norfolk, England.

? ? ?

“I was thinking, don’t you find it kind of strange how Andrew’s a food critic, but he’s super skinny?” said Dana, as the waiter brought their drinks. “It’s like he doesn’t actually enjoy food. He literally never says, ‘That was yummy.’ It’ll just be, like”—she put on a snooty British accent—“‘The jus was well wrought.’ He actually described a sorbet as ‘deft’ last week. What does that even mean?”

Jesse sipped his beet Bloody Mary. He didn’t usually drink, but hitting send on the e-mail had frayed his nerves.

“I like his prose,” he said. It was crazy, he thought, how defensive he felt of Andrew already. Dana was right, though. His friends, cell phones poised over every green juice, were more into food than Andrew was.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be bitchy,” said Dana. “I’m just pissed that he didn’t reply yet. Anyway, now we know where your metabolism comes from.”

“Guess so,” said Jesse.

“He looks like he could be even skinnier than you.”

“Uh-uh. We’re identical—six foot four, 170 pounds.”

“Stalker.”

“Hey—it’s all we have in common. Physically.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. You should be thankful you wound up like your model birth mom.” Dana was always teasing Jesse about his freakishly pretty face.

“Phoebe looks nothing like him either,” said Jesse.

“I noticed he mentions her a whole lot more than Olivia,” said Dana, after a pause. “Do you think she’s his favorite?”

“I think she’s just more, like, the type of person you can write about,” he said. “She always says funny stuff about the food they order.”

“Right,” said Dana, draining her drink and avoiding his eye. He wished he didn’t get the feeling Dana was wary of Jesse’s birth father and family. Calgary had suggested that since Dana wasn’t adopted herself, she might be reluctant to share her big brother. It made sense—he and Dana were so close that she followed him to L.A. after college. But her attitude still bugged him. Especially because he’d thought the exact same thing about Phoebe and Olivia himself. Only Phoebe seemed to accompany Andrew to his reviews and star in his anecdotes.

“I can’t believe you won’t be home for Christmas,” said Dana. She always got sentimental with vermouth.

“We only just had Thanksgiving.”

“When are you going to tell Mom and Dad this ‘confidential project’ is a big lie?”

“Once I’ve heard from him. He’s probably just working out what to say. He’s not going to write straight back.”