From the back seat, Sparky said, “She spit in a cup.” Because she didn’t seem like that kind of woman, I said with some skepticism, “You spit in a cup? Whose cup?” “My cup. It had a little screw top. It came with the kit after I signed up on the internet.” She was right. I had spit in one, too. “I spit in one, too,” I said, feeling connected to her by that ritual, hoping she would feel closer to me, feel a bond, even if it had to do with spit. “You spat in one,” she said. “My cup was from Getting to Know Me dot com.” “Mine, too!” Getting to Know Me was a competitor of Ancestry.com and of
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