“Blood is blood, though. He’s still family.” I shake my head. “No, blood isn’t family. Blood is just a liquid, like water or honey. It’s not special.” “You really think that?” He sounds genuinely surprised. “You don’t? Your uncle is trying to sell out the orchard that’s been in your family for generations,” I remind him. “I never said family was necessarily good,” he says. “Just that it exists.” “Not because of randomly shared DNA, though. It’s more than that. It has to be.”
