I work on tracking down any information I can find on Adam's mother every single day for the next couple of weeks. I get a couple of potential leads, but I don't share them with Adam, and I do most of the research in the campus computer lab, or in the living room on my laptop after Adam has fallen asleep at night. More than one of the hits I think I find end up turning into dead ends, and I don't want to get Adam's hopes up every time I think I find something useful, only for them to be dashed again when it leads nowhere.

He also throws himself into research, mainly trying to contact various social workers through the foster care system in an attempt to get his hands on copies of his mother's death certificate. He spends hours every single day making phone calls and driving down to the county office, to the point where I have to start chaperoning him to his classes at the community college to make sure he doesn't just skip them entirely in order to keep working.

He's come alive for the first time in months in his eagerness, but the process is complicated and it's clear he doesn't really know how to go about doing it. Neither do I if I'm being totally honest, but I know I've managed to uncover more leads than he has. 

But Adam needs to concentrate on finishing this last semester, so I keep everything I learn to myself, telling him I haven't found anything yet whenever he asks, and then diverting the conversation to ask if he's on top of his school work, because I know pursuing this plan on his has consumed his so much that he's been blowing everything else off.

We buy two DNA kits from two different ancestry sites, just to widen the field of potential matches. The results come back two weeks after the end of term, and I get the email notification while I'm sitting on the couch with my Mac Book on my lap, studying for final. Adam is at work at the radio station and won't be home for a couple of hours.

I hover the cursor over the email, debating whether or not I should open it now, log in to the website, and take a look.

If no family matches came up, I'd have two hours to think of a way to break it gently to Adam. He's been asking me every single day for the past week whether the results are in or not, and I know he's put a lot of his eggs in this basket, even though I keep warning him not to expect much.

But, then again, it's not my genetic information to look at. If something does come up, Adam should be the first to get to see it. To see his family.

I open the email, but I don't click the link to the results.

Instead, I text Eleanor and tell her to head over around eight.

R the DNA results back? She texts back immediately.

I can't lie, but I'm not going to tell her before I tell Adam, and I can't tell Adam until he comes home, otherwise he might just straight up ditch work to come right home to check.

I don't text her back at all, which is as good as an admission I guess, but it's all I can think of at the moment.

I text Adam instead.

I love you

It's a couple of minutes before the response comes.

I love you too. What's up?

Nothing. Just wanted to remind you.

How could I forget?

I smile down at my phone, a little goofily.

Get back to work, slacker.

Adam sends a heart emoji back in reply.

Eleanor shows up at our apartment about fifteen minutes after I texted her, beating her previous record by about three minutes.

“I said come at eight, for Circe's sake!”

She pushes past me in to the apartment. “So? What were the results? Did anything come up?”

“Do you want something to drink?” I ask her as I close the door and head to the kitchenette.

She looks around the living room and kitchen. “Damn it, Adam's at work, isn't he? You're not going to tell me anything until he gets here, are you?”

I glance at the time on my phone. “Well, since you're here, why don't we go out and get something to eat? My treat.”

Eleanor and I walk to the Mexican restaurant down the street. I ignore her pestering about the DNA test the entire way there and all through dinner.

We're back at the apartment an hour later, with a meal for Adam boxed up for when he returns. I transfer it to a pyrex dish, cover it with foil, and put it in the oven, turning the heat to 200 to keep it warm in the meantime.

We spend the next twenty minutes arguing about what to watch on Netflix, until we hear a key rattle in the door. Adam is back.

I jump up off the couch to greet him with a hug. He gives me a one armed hug in return as he spits Eleanor.

“El! What's up?”

“Ask Felix, he won't actually tell me,” she pouts, crossing her arms over her chest.

He turns to me with raised eyebrows.

I take a deep breath. I don't know exactly how he'll react no matter what the outcome of this is. Adam is hard to read on a good day, and lately his moods have been more erratic than ever.

“The results of one of the DNA tests are in.”

I've still got one of my arms around Adam, and I feel him stiffen at the news.

“Really?” he asks, his voice suddenly a little hoarse. He clears his throat. “What—what were the results?”

I shake my head. “I don't know, I haven't looked yet. We've been waiting for you.”

“Let's look then—now.” Adam detaches himself from me and darts over to the couch, where my Macbook is still sitting. He throws himself down next to Eleanor and opens it up, logging in with a few quick keystrokes.

“What's the website again?” he demands.

I come around to the back of the couch and rest my elbows on it, so I can lean over Adam's shoulder with a clear view of the computer screen.

“Ancestry.com. It should have my login info already typed in.”

Eleanor is leaning into Adam to get a good look too, so much so that she's practically in his lap. He pulls up the site and logs in, and I direct him to the right tab, “DNA Matches”. I can't help but notice that his hand is shaking slightly on the touch pad. He clicks the button. I give his shoulders a gentle squeeze.

The page loads.

NO MATCHES FOUND.

I feel the tension drain from his body as he slumps down into the cushions.

“Oh, damn!” Eleanor swears.

I squeeze Adam's shoulders again, more firmly this time. “Well,” I say, secretly glad I can't see the expression on his face right now because I know it would break my heart. “We expected this. Magicians aren't supposed to submit their DNA to sites like these, so it was a long shot anyway.”

“Yeah,” Adam mutters, barely audible.

“Actually, in a way we're lucky,” I add, trying to force my tone into something more cheerful. “Imagine if you had got a match—and it was my mom.”

Eleanor snorts with laughter.

“We should be grateful we didn't turn out to be cousins,” I continue. It was a possibility, I admit, that I had worried about once or twice during the last couple of weeks.

Adam gives a laugh. It's weak, but it's a laugh. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty lucky. I hadn't even thought of that.”

I give him a hearty pat on the back. “Come on, Eleanor and I brought you food from Maya's. Come eat.”

Adam gets up and comes around the couch to head to kitchenette, and I follow after him.

“There's still the other test, right? Those results haven't come back yet—there could be a hit on that site,” he says as he grabs a plate.

I take the pyrex dish out of the oven, hiding my moment of hesitation by pretending to be busy with taking off the foil. “Uh... yeah, I suppose so, that could be possible,” I admit finally. I set the dish down, and turn to look Adam in the face. “But it's not likely. Don't get your hopes up, okay?”

“Yeah, of course, I won't.” He shrugs, pretending like he's not bothered at all, but he's never been a very good liar.

“Hey Adam—did you know you're Irish?”

“What?” Adam turns to look at Eleanor, who's still on the couch and has my computer in her lap.

“Yeah; this site breaks down your ethnic make up! It says you're 54% Ireland, Scotland and Wales; 20% Great Britain; 11% France; 8% Germanic Europe; 4% Finland and Northwestern Russia; and 3% Pacific Islander.”

“What, really?” Adam rushes out of the kitchen and practically vaults over the back of the couch, landing hard enough on the cushion to send tiny Eleanor rocketing into the air. She shows him the genetic breakdown on the website, zooming in on colored circles on a map of the world.

I grab the plate Adam abandoned on the counter and transfer his food onto it, grab a fork, and bring it over to him on the couch. I squeeze myself in on his other side, and the three of us spend the rest of the evening learning a little more about who Adam is and where he came from through the clues left behind by long-dead ancestors in his DNA.