Free All the Good Parts by Loretta Nyhan Page A

through me without leaving a mark. Donal’s words were the ones that stuck, the ones that etched themselves onto the marrow of my bones— I don’t think it’s wrong for you to pursue this love. I almost think it’s necessary . . .
    I was looking for permission to proceed, and now I’d gotten it twice, from my brother-in-law and Jerry Pietrowski.
    Could I grant it to myself?
    I studied the list again. Garrett. Jerry. Paul. Darryl. Four men who had no clue I existed six months ago, and might not remember me in a year. It didn’t matter. They were a start. They could—and probably would—say no if I asked, but in even considering them I’d be telling the universe, out loud, that I was ready to make some changes.
    Pursue this love . . .
    I would.

CHAPTER 7
    Nursing 320 (Online): Community Health
    Private Message—Leona A to Darryl K
     
    Leona A: Did you finish the quiz?
    Darryl K: Are you kidding? It isn’t due until tonight at midnight. Why? Don’t tell me you’re done.
    Leona A: Turned it in last night, sucka!
    Darryl K: Brownnose. Don’t you know that you should never appear too eager, in any situation? People will question your confidence.
    Leona A: Or they’ll think I’m supremely organized, ambitious, and hardworking. (I am none of these things. But I am very good at giving the appearance of such online.)
    Darryl K: I like the rush of getting it in just under the wire. 11:59 p.m. it is.
    Leona A: Thrill seeker.
    Darryl K: You don’t know the half of it, sweets.

    I thought about Darryl while driving to the Goodwill, an errand I was squeezing in before my appointment with Suspicious Estelle.
    I’d never been one for online dating. The whole idea seemed too fraught with uncertainty, and here I was, wondering if this stranger I met on the Internet might be amenable to giving me his sperm.
    Yeah.
    But Darryl didn’t seem like a stranger (said every Lifetime movie heroine before falling into the arms of a charming psychopath). Yes, it was stupid, but our connection felt real, our blossoming friendship unforced. I liked the possibility of his words waiting for me when I logged on to the computer. Darryl was funny and smart and, apparently, a thrill seeker—all attractive traits.
    My mind skipped back a few terms, to Bio 101 and those little genetic squares meant to determine eye color—all those big B s and little b s. Carly had inherited our dad’s deep brown eyes, the big, badass dominant B s. My mom’s baby blues were the scrappy little b s. Mine were hazel, like I couldn’t make up my mind and settled for something in the middle. What about Darryl? Piercing blues? Steady, no-nonsense browns? I hadn’t a clue.
    I wondered—did the chart work for predicting all traits?
    Carly said that I should find someone to neutralize my less attractive qualities. Darryl believed in embracing risk. Could his adventurous spirit ( A ) cancel out my mild agoraphobia ( a )? He was also (S)mart and (F)unny and a little (b)rash. I smiled to myself, amazed at what a person could learn from a few online chats. Darryl shot to the top of my short list, pulling ahead in a race he didn’t known he’d entered. Something told me he’d be fine with it.
    Darryl was the guy who’d look at the whole thing as a lark. Darryl was the guy who’d have no problem giving his specimen to a courier. Darryl was the guy who might want a photo every year, or maybe one semi-awkward meeting at an interstate rest stop halfway between our homes.
    Darryl was the guy.
    Or not. I still hadn’t seen him, nor did I know where he lived, how old he was, or if he carried major genetic baggage. Did it matter if he actually took me seriously? If he didn’t think I was a complete nutcase?
    Maybe he should. Paranoia set in. What if he reported me to Professor Larmon for harassment? What if I got kicked out of the class, or worse, expelled from the program? What if neither of those things happened, but Darryl turned out to be a rapist or a