After dinner, I chatted with Madeline online. The serious stuff would be easier to talk through on the phone after my thirty minutes of screen time, so for now, we just brainstormed ideas for my fun present.
You could ask for lessons with some pro tennis player or something, she suggested.
Yeah maybe, I said. Or a trip somewhere. That could be fun.
Can I come?
Yes! Where should we go?
“Australia,” Jaime said from behind me.
“Hey!” I tried to cover the screen with my arm, then realized I was being stupid and just clicked to minimize the window. “I thought you were in bed.”
“Snack,” Jaime said. He held up a rice cake and took a bite. He held it out to me, but I shook my head. Jaime nodded toward the screen. “Were you talking about your bat mitzvah present?”
“Maybe.”
“You should ask for your own computer. Then we wouldn’t have to fight over this one.”
I’d thought of that too, though coming from Jaime, the for-me-for-you element was obvious. But I didn’t say so. Maybe I was thinking that Jaime might have some good insight, or maybe this day had made me addicted to drama. Whatever the reason, I found myself saying, “I might ask to search for my birth parents.”
“Huh?” Jaime’s face contorted like his rice cake had gone stale. “Why?”
If I was looking for another shock, his reaction did not disappoint. “Just to find out who they are,” I said. “Where I’m from. Don’t you ever think about your biological family?”
“My biological family?”
“You know, your birth parents. In Guatemala.”
Jaime’s dark eyebrows rose up. “No, do you?”
“Um, yeah.” I’d always imagined that the day Jaime and I finally talked about this, it’d turn into a heart-to-heart scene worthy of an Academy Award. As different as Jaime and I are, it never, ever occurred to me that we didn’t feel the same way about this. Was it because he was a boy? Or because he was only nine, and like Mom said, I was growing up? Was it because he knew his ethnicity already? Or was there something in his DNA that made him less inquisitive, more willing to go with the flow?
“Are you serious, Jaime?” I asked. “You have no desire to know who you really are?”
Jaime shrugged. “I’m Jaime Mandel.”
“Well, yeah. But you never even think about your genes? Your DNA?”
“What’s DNA?” he asked through bites of his snack.
I was becoming exasperated. “DNA. You know, like, your genetic makeup.”
He looked at me blankly. To be fair, I probably didn’t know much about DNA when I was in fourth grade. But this whole conversation was not going the way it should, and I had the sudden, urgent need to make him understand something. I pulled up the browser and googled “DNA.” A familiar picture of a twisted double helix appeared. I read aloud: “A molecule that encodes the genetic instructions used in the development and functioning of all known living organisms and many viruses.”
Jaime looked more blank than ever.
“Okay, that’s not helpful. But DNA is in your body. It’s passed down to you from your parents—your birth parents. It’s, like, the reason you look the way you do, and part of why you have the personality you have.” I frantically scanned the search results, trying to find something that would explain it in simple terms. And that’s when I saw the ad on the top.
DNA test kit. Discover your ethnic heritage with DNA testing. Simple and easy with accurate results.
“Oh my God,” I muttered.
“What?” Jaime said.
I ignored him and clicked the link. There was a big picture of a woman and a breakdown of where in the world her genes came from: 53 percent Iberian Peninsula. 10 percent North Africa. 10 percent Italy/Greece. 27 percent other.
I scrolled down. A picture of a man, with a quote in large type: “People often look at me and wonder what I am.”
“This is it,” I said. “This is exactly it!”
“What is it?” Jaime asked, leaning in to look at the screen.
I scrolled back up to the top. It was a “simple saliva test that you can do at home.” Ninety-nine dollars, and I could find out what I wanted to know, without having to decide anything about searching for my birth mother just yet.
I printed it out.
“This,” I said, “is exactly what I need.”