Page 10 of The Sweet Spot

“What? Wren! This is what you wanted!” she scolds, reaching across the table to poke my hand. “Why haven’t you read his message?”

“It’s too weird, Saira! What if it’s a mistake and I get my hopes up…or what if it is him and he’s a total weirdo?” I moan, closing my eyes. “Mom is going to have a conniption fit.”

“Chill, babe,” she says, stroking my hand. “One step at a time. Let’s look at the message together.”

Taking a deep breath, I dig around my bag until I find my phone. I pull up the app, sign in, and navigate over to the communication corner, where a little red balloon announces that I have two unread messages. My heart starts pounding, and despite the fresh breeze, I feel shaky and hot.

Saira pulls her chair to my side of the table and presses the first message. It’s from Kith&Kin itself, informing me that my sample’s been processed and that the results are in if I want to examine my connections.

The next message is “Hello, daughter!” from Arlo Janvier.

Saira peers at me, finger poised and ready to click. “Ready?”

“Do it,” I rasp.

Hi Wren,

I hope this letter finds you well, and I hope it’s okay that I messaged you.

I started using this site at my friend’s urging. He recently connected with a whole slew of Swedish cousins and aunts and uncles. He didn’t even know he was Swedish.

Anyway, imagine my surprise when my results turned up a daughter… although I suppose I should have known there was a chance you existed.

I’d love to hear from you, and maybe meet you one day, but I understand if that makes you uncomfortable. I can only assume that since you are also using this site you were looking, too.

Yours,

Arlo

(Dad?)

P.S. I’m not Swedish. I’m French. (French American.)

* * *

“He seems normal,” Saira muses as we stroll the shore, our bare feet covered in a wash of cold, foamy seawater. “Sweet, even.”

I finger the sharp little wings on my wren necklace, thinking about Arlo’s tentative words. “He does. Thanks for reading with me.”

She cuts me a half-smile, leaning affectionately into me. “You gonna answer him?”

“I think so. I just need to chew on it for a while.”

She nods. “You should. Think about it, I mean.”

Shading my eyes against the sun, I squint down the beach to where a crowd is beginning to form. “Hey, do you want to hang around until the movie?” I ask, feeling nostalgic. It’s Friday, and the boardwalk always shows free movies on the beach when the sun goes down. “They’re showingThe Lost Boysagain.”

The Lost Boyswas filmed at the Santa Cruz boardwalk back in the 80’s, so it’s a crowd favorite that airs every summer here. I’ve lost track of how many times my friends and I have seen it right down on this very beach.

“We haven’t done that in forever! I’m so down.” Saira does a little leap, kicking up sprays of sand. “But only if we can watch the sunset first.”

“Deal.” Leaving the water behind, we head for an empty spot farther up. I procure a blanket from my bag, smirking when Saira does the same. We’re beach girls, born and bred.

Saira lies beside me, sighing contentedly. “Remember when you had your eleventh birthday party out here?”

“When my mom made those wretched vegan cupcakes and forgot the sugar?” I cringe, remembering.

“Yes!” Saira cackles, slapping her thigh. “And then Missy Callahan’s dad started making balloon animals until some lady shouted at us and said that balloons were bad for the environment and we should be ashamed of ourselves!”

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