Variation: A Novel

Bright2Lit: The genes in this family are phenomenal. RousseauSisters4 are you born in pointe shoes, or what?

Biological what?

I stared at Juniper, then leaned in a little, certain I’d misheard her. “I don’t understand.”

“I’ve watched all your tapes,” she blurted, her words tripping over each other. “We move the same. We look alike. We have the same color hair and eyes, and the same birthmark!” Juniper spun, turning her back to me and lifting her hair to reveal a stork bite at the nape of her neck.

Just like mine.

Strangling my towel, I looked up at Hudson, who was busy staring at his niece like she’d grown another head. Guess this was news to him too.

“Juniper—” I started.

“Don’t deny it!” she begged, her lower lip quivering before she bit into it again. “You’re my mother. I know you are. It’s why I love ballet so much. It’s in my—our genes.” Her eyes watered.

Oh God, she was going to cry. How the hell was I supposed to let her down easily? “It’s just that I—”

“We have the same smile, and the same hands,” she interrupted, wiggling her hands my direction. “And I know you’re probably surprised to see me, and I shouldn’t have ambushed you, but you’re my last chance.”

“But I’ve never—” I tried again.

“Look, I can prove it!” She shook off her backpack, dropping it to the lawn. “I took a DNA test, and all you have to do is take the same one—”

“You what?” Hudson moved to my side and glared down at his niece.

“I took a DNA test, naturally.” Her forehead crinkled like we were the illogical ones here, impervious to the look her uncle unleashed on her.

“Does your mom know?” he demanded. “And how?”

“I ordered it online, and—” she started.

“Let me guess, scrolled a few years past your actual birthday?” he interjected, folding his arms across his chest. “This isn’t Seconds, Juniper.”

“If companies didn’t want kids to break the rules, they’d make them a lot harder to get past,” she countered, folding her arms in his mirror image. “I just stuck a cotton swab in my mouth and shipped it back.” She slid her phone out of her back pocket and opened an app, then showed it to Hudson. “See? And of course Mom doesn’t know. She’d lose it. She says I have to wait until I’m eighteen to find my birth family, which is totally unfair.”

“I never should have gotten you this phone,” Hudson muttered, taking the device and looking through the app.

“Like I wouldn’t have figured out another way? It’s not like the school library doesn’t have computers, and Uncle Gavin gave me a prepaid Visa card for Christmas.” She threw a glance my way every few words.

“Smart girl,” I admitted despite our current circumstances.

“I’m your girl.” Juniper stared up at me with complete and total certainty. “It makes sense. You gave me to your friend’s sister. Occam’s razor and all that.”

“Occam’s razor. They teach fourteenth-century philosophy in elementary school out here?” I asked Hudson.

He opened his mouth, but Juniper ran him right over.

“I’m in the gifted and talented program.” She enunciated every word, clearly insulted. “And it’s a really good school district, which is why Mom didn’t move inland with Grandma and Grandpa.”

“Noted.” I swiped my hand across my forehead to keep salt water from dripping from my hair into my eyes.

“Look, one of my friends was adopted too. We talk about it all the time, and obviously I know how to use the internet. Point is, I’m not mad at you for placing me for adoption—though I do have some questions that are statistically proven to help minimize the time I’ll need to spend in therapy.” She nodded. “And really, I love my mom; she’s pretty great other than not wanting me to dance, but if you tell her that I should, then she’ll listen to you.” The hope was back in her eyes.

My shoulders sagged, and I did the one thing I swore I’d never do again, and looked to Hudson for help.

His brow furrowed in the second our gazes locked, and then he sank to his knees in the grass and braced his hands on Juniper’s upper arms. “June-Bug, you know I’d never lie to you, right?”

“Right.” She glanced between us.

“Allie—Alessandra—isn’t your biological mother.” He delivered the blow gently, and a part of me that could have thrown him off the cliff a few minutes ago softened. “It would be impossible.”

“You don’t know that.” Her voice broke.

“I do.” He nodded. “Your birthday is May fourteenth, just a few days ago, and I saw her a couple of months before you were born. She was here for spring break, and she wasn’t pregnant.”

“Maybe you didn’t notice,” she argued, then looked up to me like I would correct him.

“I’ve never had a baby.” I shook my head slowly. “I’m so sorry, but I’m not who you’re looking for.”

“I don’t believe you.” Her brow knit, and red crept up her cheeks. “We have the same birthmark!”

“Stork bites are common—”

“And they can be genetic! I looked it up online!” She twisted out of Hudson’s hands and grabbed her backpack, yanking on the zipper. A few seconds later, she retrieved a softball-size white box wrapped in plastic. “Just take the test, and then I’ll believe you.” She held out the box to me. “It’s the fastest on the market. I checked.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“You can’t ask her to do that.” Hudson stood and swiped a hand through his hair.

Some nervous tells never changed. If he had his hat on, he’d be shaping the brim.

“She can’t say yes if I don’t ask. Isn’t that what you said?” She glared up at him.

Gravel crunched in the driveway, and we all turned in time to see Anne pull her blue Mercedes sedan into the carriage house.

I was so busted.

“So will you do it?” Juniper asked, undeterred by my sister’s arrival.

“How long have you been planning this?” Hudson asked her.

“Four months,” she replied, staring at me. “Will you do it?”

“I’m not your mother,” I said softly.

“Prove it.” She shook the box and I took it because it seemed like the only polite thing to do. Victory flared in her eyes, and I blinked, struck again by the weirdest sense of déjà vu. I had to have met this girl somewhere else.

“Absolutely not.” Hudson grabbed the box before I had a firm grip on it. “We’re done. Go get in the truck.”

“Uncle Hud—”

“Now, Juniper.” I knew that tone well. It left zero room for any argument, and from the immediate sag in her posture, she knew it.

She sent an imploring look my way, then snatched her backpack with both hands, ignored the zipper entirely, and strode the opposite direction from Anne, heading back toward the northeast side of the house.

“I am so sorry.” Hudson watched Juniper retreat around the corner of the porch.

“Please tell me you didn’t know . . .” I turned my head slowly to look up at him.

“I had no fucking clue.” Stunned was an expression I wasn’t used to seeing on him.

I reached for the box, and to my surprise, he gave it to me. “She actually ordered DNA tests.”

“I never even knew she was looking for her mother.” He wrung out the bottom of his T-shirt, and I averted my gaze at the first hint of skin.

“I can get you a towel.” I did a double take when I caught him staring at me in disbelief. “What? I can simultaneously ignore that you destroyed me as a teenager while having manners. It’s called adulthood.”

We locked eyes, and I fought to summon the anger back, to feel something that would give me a chance at escaping this encounter unscathed, but all I found was the exhaustion that had been my companion since January.

“I have one in my car. A towel, that is.” He ripped his gaze from mine and motioned to the box. “Do me a favor and throw that away for me? God knows who she’d sic it on next.”

“I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

Anne cleared her throat from the back porch, and we both pivoted to face her across the pool. She drummed her fingertips on the railing, took one look at Hudson, and shook her head. “Did we turn our clocks back ten years or something?”

“Nice to see you, too, Anne.” Hudson offered a mock salute.

“And what are you doing—” Her eyes flared and she pointed a finger at me. “You went swimming alone at the beach again, didn’t you?”

“Maybe?” I gave her a cringing smile. “But I was safe the whole time. And Hudson here is now a rescue diver, so there was nothing to worry about.”

She glanced between us like we were teenagers again and she had to cover so Mom didn’t find us sneaking out. “Which is why he’s all wet, I’m guessing. Fully clothed, at that.”

“That one’s on me,” Hudson admitted.

“Great.” She nodded sarcastically. “I’ll . . . leave you to whatever it is you’re doing.” Her heels clicked on the porch as she headed inside. “Hudson, do me a favor and at least say goodbye to her this time before you go, would you? It would be a shame for me to go to jail for acting on a decade’s worth of intrusive thoughts when it comes to your demise.” The screen door slammed behind her.

“And that’s my cue.” Gripping the box, I walked through the grass and around the pool, letting every question I’d silently gathered over the years die on my tongue.

“Allie,” he called out. “Alessandra.”

I paused but didn’t look back. That was the only way I’d survived the last ten years, keeping my eyes forward.

“I’m truly, genuinely sorry. For everything.”

My eyes slid shut, and I waited for the words to hit, to soothe the festering wound that refused to heal, but they fell into me like a coin tossed down a wishing well, too small to effect any change—shiny, but pointless. “Get her home safely.”

I headed inside without another word, slipping up the carpeted back steps and down the long hallway past Eva’s room and the shrine that had been Lina’s, to mine, which sat across from Anne’s.

Then I showered off the salt and shock and tried like hell to scrub any thought of Hudson off me. My skin was more than wrinkled by the time I finished and dressed in simple leggings and a lightweight sweater, ignoring all the trendy items Anne had packed for me. It wasn’t like I had to impress anyone here.

The sound of a knife meeting the cutting board repeatedly greeted me as I walked into the professional-grade kitchen.

Anne had ditched the matching jacket to her navy blue sheath dress and was chopping the hell out of a bag of carrots. Something at her meeting had gone very wrong.

Barefoot, I padded across the hardwood floor to the refrigerator, then pulled out two bottles of Smartwater and slid into the middle of eight high-backed barstools that sat along the white marble island. I twisted open a bottle, then waited for her to pause her vegetable massacre before sliding it across the expanse.

She caught it with her left hand and put down the knife with her right. “Thanks.”

“How was your meeting?” I asked, cracking open my own bottle.

“Finn wants the brownstone and said I could have everything else.” She glanced away a second too late to hide the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “So my attorney thinks it went swimmingly well. I’ll leave the marriage financially better off than I came into it, which is a win for some people, I guess.”

Sorrow settled around us, thick and bitter. “I’m so sorry, Anne.”

She threw back the water like it was tequila. Maybe it should have been. Then she picked up the knife. “When you can’t give your husband the only thing he’s ever asked for in an eight-year marriage, he divorces you. Nothing to be sorry about.”

“There’s more to life than having kids.” I took a drink.

“Not to Finn.” She assaulted the next carrot. “They mean the world to him.”

“You deserve someone who thinks you’re the world.” I picked at the label, wishing it was one of Finn’s eyes.

She paused. “He said I failed him.” The knife fell from her hand onto the cutting board, and she braced her palms flat on the gray marble. “How screwed up is that? I’m the one who went through the miscarriages, the IVF, the hormones, the—” Her head drooped. “But he’s the one who feels let down. Like I’m not heartbroken too?”

I slipped out of my chair, rounded the island, and hugged her from behind. “You’re not a failure. You’re a freaking lawyer.”

“Who quit practicing after a year because Finn thought it would help relieve stress and make getting pregnant easier.” She scoffed.

“You’re beautiful, and kind, and smart, and a thousand other wonderful things. You’re definitely the best of us.” I dipped my chin to rest on her shoulder.

She hooked her hand over my arm and squeezed, then let her head rest against the side of mine for a moment. “I’m certainly the only one capable of decent cooking, so why don’t you sit down and let me finish making you some chicken soup? You might need it after risking hypothermia.” She gave my face a pat with her left hand, and I retreated back to my side of the island.

“It was only for a few minutes. The pool doesn’t have the same resistance that waves give.” I finished the bottle of water and reached for the bag of celery.

“Nope.” Anne grabbed it and pulled it into her murderous clutches. “I’ve seen the havoc you wreak in a kitchen. Besides, you’re supposed to be letting me take care of you, remember? That’s why we’re here.”

“We’re here because of Mom’s draconian occupation requirements.” I drew a knee to my chest and watched Anne lay into the celery.

“True.”

Naturally we’d procrastinated the deadline Mom had imposed, laying down the law that once every three years, the house had to be used the entirety of a summer by at least one of us, and occupied by all three of us for one of those weeks. Guess it was her little way of ensuring we’d still spend time together, but I kind of wondered if it was a little revenge dig at Dad, setting us up for failure so we’d lose the house he’d loved.

Until now, Anne had been busy with her job and husband, only popping into the beach house for the annual Haven Cove Classic in August, while Eva and I had been too busy at the Company to make it work. Maybe if I’d come in the last couple of years, I would have seen Hudson sooner. How long had he been back?

Doesn’t matter. Let it go.

“Has Eva told you when she’s coming?” I asked.

“I think she’s planning on staying the full week of the Classic, but I hope she comes for the Fourth of July,” Anne answered, transferring the vegetables to the pot. “She’d better show up, because I love this house and I’m not losing it.”

“You know, you could always just live here year round if you wanted. Neither of us would care, if it made you happy.”

“And leave you two in New York unsupervised? I’ll pass. Want to tell me what Hudson Ellis was doing here?” The gentle tone and concerned gaze reminded me of Dad.

“His niece wanted to meet me.” The rest of it was too ridiculous to bother her with after the day she’d had. “Guess she follows Eva on Seconds.”

“It’s half your account too.” She grabbed a fully cooked chicken from the refrigerator and kicked the door shut. “And did he happen to explain if the earth swallowed him whole while you were in the hospital? Or maybe aliens abducted him?”

“No.” I rested my chin on my knee. “But he did apologize.”

“Well, that makes up for everything.” The chicken hit the cutting board with a thud. “Did you tell him to get fucked?”

A corner of my mouth rose. She never swore. “I told him we’d be best off ignoring each other while I’m here. It’s been years. I’m over it.”

“Hmm.” She started in on the chicken with deft strokes of the knife.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I watched every slice, mesmerized by her efficiency.

“It means I can’t remember a time where you and Hudson were in the same town and capable of ignoring each other.” She tilted her head. “You guys were glued at the hip more than Gavin and Lina, and they actually dated.”

“When Mom wasn’t looking.” Being in this house brought it all back with startling clarity, as though this place was a honing stone for the memories. If I wasn’t careful, they’d sharpen themselves into knives. I stretched my arms as the typical midday lethargy stole over me.

“When Mom wasn’t looking,” she agreed. “Man, she and Gavin snuck around for months that summer before she got bored and dumped him.” Her head cocked to the side. “Was that the summer before she joined San Francisco? Or MBC?”

“A little of both, but mostly MBC,” I answered, since neither of us was going to say the summer before she died. My jaw practically unhinged as I fought the yawn and lost. “Swimming must have tired me out.”

“Hmm.” She set the knife down. “You call Kenna back? She’s tried you at least three times this week.”

“I’ll call her later,” I lied. Did I feel guilty about dodging her calls? Yes. Was I going to remedy that by speaking to her? No.

“She’s your closest friend, Allie,” Anne lectured, but it was the note of worry in her tone that kept me from sniping back.

“And the Company’s orthopedic specialist,” I reminded her, grabbing the empty water bottle and starting toward the recycling bin inside the pantry. “And we both know I’m not making the progress she’ll want, and she’ll have to report that to Vasily. He’ll scrap my ballet with Isaac for the fall, and I can’t risk it. I’m not slacking. I’m doing it all. The Pilates, the strength training, the resistance bands—but I’m not strong enough to get on demi-pointe.”

“Did it occur to you that maybe she just wants to talk to her friend?” Anne countered as I leaned against the doorframe to her left, taking some weight off my ankle. “No one thinks you’re slacking. I don’t think you comprehend how to slack. Everyone at the Company knows you’re working yourself to the bone to get back in the studio. It’s the only thing you’re doing. I thought being out here might help you relax or maybe at least smile—”

“You stop and see Mom on your way back?”

“Don’t change the subject.” She stared at me.

I stared back.

If there had been a contest in our house for who could hold an awkward silence the longest, I would have a crown and we both knew it.

“Yes, I stopped in at the school and saw Mom.” Her sigh was a white flag.

“Not sure I’d call it a school.” It was more like an institution.

“Do you want to take a walk once I have this put together?”

“Smooth segue, but I think I’ll take a nap.” Fatigue won. Seems like it always does. “Sleep equals healing and all that.”

“How about we go out for a movie after dinner? They’re running a Brat Pack marathon, and nothing perks you up like John Hughes.” She offered a soft smile.

Just the idea of putting on real clothes, of putting forth enough energy to play the role of Alessandra Rousseau in public, had me stifling another yawn. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Anne agreed, her smile slipping. “Get some rest. I’ll make sure you don’t sleep through dinner.”

“Thanks.” I walked out of the kitchen and up the front stairs, glancing at the gallery of candid photos along the wall and pausing at the last one. Dad had captured the four of us sitting side by side at the end of the pier, our backs to him in a rare moment where even Eva was still.

She lounged farthest to the right, her hands braced behind her, her fifteen-year-old head thrown back to embrace the sun. Lina and Anne held the center, nineteen and eighteen respectively, their faces turned toward each other in laughter, no doubt over some private joke, while seventeen-year-old me sat with Lina’s arm wrapped around my shoulders, my head resting on hers as I stared off into the water.

God, I missed that feeling, that comforting peace and certainty of the future. We’d been as steady as the pylons of the pier as long as we were together, weathering the storm that was our mother, leaning on each other to balance the load when the waves of her expectations threatened to pull any one of us under.

The brief sensation of peace faded quickly as I remembered that Lina had died only a couple weeks after Dad framed the shot. Life was so fucking unfair. She should’ve been here, or on a stage in New York dancing Giselle, or wherever she wanted to be.

She should’ve been alive.

She would have known how to make Anne feel better, and whether to push or rest my ankle. She would have known how to guide Eva and deal with Mom. She would have shown us all how it was done—this business of being an adult.

I walked into my room and crashed onto the bed, then crawled beneath the familiar, comforting weight of the rose-blush quilt. At some point maybe my body would catch up on all the rest I’d denied it over the years. Until then, I’d give it the sleep it seemed hell bent on taking with or without my consent.

Rolling toward my white wicker nightstand to deposit my phone, I checked to make sure Lina’s amethyst ring was tucked away safely in my drawer and spotted the DNA test Juniper had demanded I take. A pang of sympathy rang through me. She just wanted to know where she fit in the world.

For the briefest of seconds, I felt bad for Hudson. The little girl had seemed wrecked.

“I’m truly, genuinely sorry. For everything.”

At least he’d apologized. There was a time I would have forgiven him, no questions asked, would have known that whatever kept him from my side was out of his control. I’d trusted him more than my own sisters. And just like I’d never understand why Lina had been taken so young, why I’d survived the crash and she hadn’t, I had to make peace with never understanding why Hudson had walked out of my life without a goodbye.

You were both kids. Let it go.

I picked up the box and read the back. Seemed easy enough. All I had to do was download the app, swab my cheek, and send it back. Considering I’d never had a child, it wasn’t like I was scared of the results. Hell, I’d been a virgin until almost twenty, long after Juniper was born.

Maybe I wouldn’t get the answers I needed from life, but I could help her by proving I wasn’t the answer to her question.

Six days later, the app sent me a notification.

My jaw dropped.