“And you love scotch and men in kilts, so I could see you being more Scottish.”

“And you love tea and cookies, Evie, so you’re probably more English. As soon as we’re married, Mack and I are going to stop using birth control so I can get knocked up with a baby Mack. We’re planning on spending a lot of time bouncing in bed on our honeymoon so with his strong sperm and my open ovaries, whoa ho! Baby could soon be on the way.”

We spat in the tubes, filled out the paperwork, boxed it up. “Fun,” I said. “Don’t be surprised if we find out that you are from outer space.”

“Or that your genes are absolutely undetectable because you are a foreign species.”

“I think we already know I’m a foreign species.”

She gave me a quick squeeze. “Maybe you’re a witch. Now, that would explain everything.”

“I do have witch DNA. I think that’s already been scientifically established.”

“I’m going to mail these off when I go to town today. I bought tubes for Mom and the aunts. It’ll be interesting to see their genetic recipes, too.”

“Maybe we’ll have a surprise,” I said. “Wouldn’t that be fun to have a surprise? To be from somewhere we knew nothing of, like Zimbabwe or Ireland or Russia?”

“Oh, I would love it. Hidden family secrets and all that.” She put the boxes in her bag, then looked at me across the table. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“No, tell me the truth.” She leaned forward, fiddling with one of her many hoop earrings.

I glanced at her tattoo of Mack. “You better not ever get divorced, because that is a huge picture of Mack on your muscle.”

“I will never divorce Mack.” Her face scrunched up as if she was going to cry. “Never. I love him so much.”

“Geez, Jules. I’m sorry. I am. It was a joke. A bad joke.”

“It’s okay,” she squeaked out. “It’s okay.” She squeaked again and teared up, and I gave her a hug and blinked my eyes fast so I didn’t cry. Okay, maybe a tear or two squeezed out. Jules is very emotional. I am, too, but I squish it inside and then all of a sudden it bursts like a firework. Jules will cry when she’s sad or afraid or lonely, although she hasn’t been lonely since Mack roared into her life on his motorcycle, but she gets the cries out. I try to restrain myself most of the time.

“I want to know, though, Evie. How are you?”