CLEMENTINE | zoldyck family

02 - familiar face

LEARNING THAT she wasn't biologically related to her parents was no surprise to Alana, but the confirmation still rattled her. For a while, she tried to ignore it. She went to school as usual. Ballet on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Shingen-ryu with Mr. Wing on Mondays and Fridays. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat.

Until the memories started streaming in at an alarming rate, and Alana could no longer ignore it.

A child with eyes like amethysts who always held her hand. A woman with her hair piled high. Someone who was as tall as a tree. A boy with white hair and blue eyes- he used to pull her hair.

Alana had another family.

"Am I adopted?" She asked.

Her dad put his newspaper down so quickly that steam wafted away from his coffee mug. Her mother was scrambling eggs in the kitchen but the scraping sounds abruptly stopped. The ensuing silence felt like a hand around the throat.

Alana stood quietly in the doorway and waited for a response.

"Well," her dad cleared his throat. "What a question, sweetheart."

Predictable.

Her mom appeared from the kitchen, turning a spatula in her hands. "What makes you say that, hon?"

Also predictable.

"I saw my bloodwork results the other day," said Alana. "My blood type is A. You are both Type O."

The silence lapsed again.

Early morning sunlight slanted in through the window, casting a pinkish, crosshatched pattern across the dining room table. The air was saturated with the smell of oily eggs. The steam from her dad's coffee mug wavered like a ghost. Alana wondered what sort of lie her parents were cooking up. She hoped it was better than the eggs.

"You're right, hon," her mom said, still twirling the spatula. "This is a bit of a... sensitive topic... but you're not actually, ah..."

"You aren't adopted, sweetheart," her dad finished. "Though I get why you'd think so."

They didn't offer further information. If Alana didn't already know the truth, she would've thought they were acting suspiciously.

"Explain, please," said Alana.

"Well, you see, your mom and I had trouble conceiving after Zushi, so we used an egg donor for you. That's why your blood type is different," her dad nodded firmly.

Her mom had gone from fidgeting with the spatula to fidgeting with her tennis bracelet. Her dad, thinking that was the end of the conversation, shook his newspaper open again with a dramatic flourish.

"You can't afford an egg donor. I've seen the pricing," said Alana.

The newspaper fell to the table. Her mom flinched.

"Now, Alana," Dad used his 'warning' tone, which did nothing to intimidate her, "I know this is hard to accept, but it was hard for us, too. I'm not putting up with any more of this from you. Apologize to me and your mother."

Finally, Alana's mom left her perch in the kitchen doorway. "I'll talk to her," she said quietly, shepherding Alana into the hallway.

"Adoption isn't a big deal," Alana said. "Why are you lying about it?"

"Because you weren't adopted, you were-" her mom inhaled sharply, shut her eyes, and twisted the spatula again. Exhaled. Opened her eyes. "It's like your dad said, hon. Once everyone calms down, I'll tell you more about how we got the funds."