Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
“I don’t know. I figured we would stand outside in the cold for this,” I quip. “Really heighten the intensity of the moment.”
He snickers and reaches for the door handle.
We find a quiet booth in the back and shrug out of our coats, sliding in across from each other.
“Green tea, please,” I tell the waitress when she arrives to take our drink orders and deliver some menus.
“I’ll have a coffee,” Harrison says. “Thanks.”
Once she’s gone, he clasps his hands together on the tabletop. Neither of us speak. We’re back to eyeing each other, as if we’re both trying to discern the resemblance. Or at least that’s what I’m doing.
He doesn’t look like the male version of me, but I do note similarities. We have the same mouth. The way it turns slightly upward at the corners, like we’re sporting a perpetual smirk. His hair is the exact shade of black as mine. His eyebrows are the same shape, though mine are thinner.
Tears prick my eyelids.
I finally have someone who looks like me.
My throat closes, clogged with emotion. I don’t want to cry in front of him. He might be my brother, but he’s also a stranger. I don’t cry in front of strangers.
The silence drags on. It’s heavy, weighted down by all the things we don’t quite know how to say yet.
Finally, Harrison makes the first move.
“I’m sorry I freaked you out last week. I hopped a flight to Boston not long after you messaged me on the site,” he admits. “I wanted to scope you out before I approached you, and then once I decided you seemed like a normal person, I was trying to figure out how to approach you, but every time I saw you, I chickened out.” He looks sheepish. “I swear I’m not some creep. I really wanted to meet you, but I…ah…I don’t trust a lot of people. I didn’t know if you were running some sort of scam, and I just had to be sure.”
“So you’ve been lurking?” I ask, still processing.
He scratches the back of his neck, grimacing. “Yeah. Not my best plan. I’m sorry.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I was at a motel in Boston, but now I’m at the one here in Hastings.” He runs a hand through his hair. It looks soft. I wonder if it’s as silky as mine. “This is a great little town. I take it you didn’t grow up here, though? You’re only here for college?”
I nod. “I grew up in Hamden. Connecticut,” I clarify at his blank look. “And you were raised in Nevada?”
“Not quite. That’s just where I’ve been living the past few years. I moved all over the place when I was growing up.”
“Did your parents have to move for work? Military?”
“Work. My adoptive father was between jobs a lot. We moved wherever he could find work.”
His adoptive father. The qualifier stands out to me because I’ve never once used it to describe either of my parents. And the flat intonation behind the words is hard to miss.
“What about your mom?” I ask.
“My adoptive mom died two years after they brought me back from Seoul. Car accident.”
His voice lacks emotion, and I wonder if that’s because he doesn’t give a shit or because he’d known her such a short time before she died that he never had time to properly bond.
“She was the one who wanted kids,” Harrison continues, his expression shuttered. “She pushed Brian—my adoptive father—into going through the adoption process after they struggled for years with infertility. To be honest, I don’t think he wanted kids at all, biological or otherwise. He did it for her.”
And then she died and left him with a kid is the unspoken implication.
“How about you?” he counters before I can respond. “How was it? Growing up, I mean.”
I note the tension in his jaw, the way his gaze fixes on his fingers. “I had a great childhood, actually. My parents—they’re wonderful. I never wanted for anything.”
He nods, but something in his expression makes my stomach twist. “That’s good. I’m glad you had that.”
I sense the undercurrent of bitterness in his voice. “Do you remember anything about Seoul? The orphanage? Obviously, I was way too young, but you would’ve been four?”
“I remember a lot of it.” He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “After you were adopted, I stayed in the orphanage for another year. Older kids don’t get picked as much. Most people want babies, especially with international adoptions. And our orphanage only worked with American adoption agencies.”
I swallow, guilt gnawing at me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I don’t even remember—”
“It’s not your fault,” he cuts in. “You were just a baby. You didn’t get to choose.”
“But you got left behind.” The weight of those words settles heavily on my heart. “I don’t get it. Why did they separate us? Isn’t it customary to adopt siblings out together?”