“Carmen and Kenny fit perfectly into the socioeconomic parameters that we’ve targeted,” Jeffrey continued, a series of bullet points appearing on the screen for everyone to follow along. “They have already begun to tentatively espouse the desire for alternative methods for child rearing, and they lack almost any familial connections that would offer support once the baby is born. And, of course, they fit the time line regarding due date.” Jeffrey offered a pained smile, which seemed to be the only way he could express happiness; he was obviously convinced that he had found a compelling case for Dr. Grind to consider. Jeffrey, more than the other two fellows, was the most reluctant to accept Grind’s theories on the project, and seemed concerned that they were entering into something that could blow up in their faces and leave their reputations beyond repair. It was one of the reasons that Grind had selected him, his skepticism. It was helpful, Grind believed, to constantly be aware of the fact that he might be making a huge mistake.
“And,” Jeffrey then offered, “if we care about racial diversity, and I know that we do, then this couple helps with that complexity.” Jeffrey’s thesis at Texas Tech had focused on the disparities in childhood development among socioeconomic classes, focusing closely on race. As the only African American involved in the project thus far, Jeffrey wanted reassurance that Dr. Grind wasn’t simply going to put ten white families into a house and think that the data gathered would ultimately matter. Grind had assured him several times that racial diversity was a necessary component of the study, and, now, he agreed that Carmen and Kenny were perfect. Dr. Grind moved their folder onto the very slight yes pile and then turned to Dr. Kwon.
“Your next couple, Kalina?” Dr. Grind asked.
Kalina took the cord that had been connected to Jeffrey’s laptop and now attached it to her own. On the screen, there was a single photo of a young woman.
“It’s not a couple, actually,” Kalina said, smiling, radiating confidence. “It’s just a mom.”
“Okay,” Dr. Grind said, interested in hearing Kalina’s case. They were now in their third hour of deliberations and yet, to Dr. Grind, it felt like no time had passed at all. They were making something, he told himself. They were mapping out the years of their own lives, and the lives of perfect strangers. It was exhilarating.
“Isabel Poole, nineteen years old.”
Dr. Grind thought for a second and then remembered the name. This was the girl who had been recommended by Dr. Horton Jackson.
“She’s perfect,” Kalina said. “She’s absolutely perfect.”
Things had moved quickly for Preston after his initial meeting with Brenda Acklen. After a career spent begging for money, scraping together grants or university funding, he was shocked by how easy it was when you had access to billions of dollars, the power behind that money that induced people to do whatever you said. There were no committees, no advisory board. Mrs. Acklen had no interest in these formal proceedings. “Who knows how long I’ll be on this earth,” she told Preston. “I want to make this happen right now.”
So it was just Preston and the theories he was developing, in consultation with Mrs. Acklen, no stopgaps or oversight. Preston asked for something, postdoctoral fellows for research, a full staff of nurses and child care professionals, a complex to house the families, money to take care of these children, Mrs. Acklen wrote a check or called her lawyers or just said, simply, “Okay then.”
During one of his many visits to Brenda’s home in Knoxville to discuss the project, she asked him, “Have you decided on the name yet?” Branding was important to her, she reminded him, had been one of her husband’s greatest interests in business.
“I think so,” he replied. “The Expanded Family.”
“Oh, yes?” she said, still smiling, but the light had gone out behind it. “You like that?”
“I think it encompasses what we’re doing here, not just an extended family, but an expanded one, moving out in all directions.”
“Well, it is straightforward,” she said. “But can I offer some constructive criticism?”
When he nodded, now afraid, she continued, “It’s got to be memorable. It has to ring true but also suggest something more than what they had already suspected.”
“Who is they?” he asked her, and she replied, “Everyone in the world.”
“Well,” Dr. Grind said, now completely flummoxed, “do you have any thoughts on it?”
She smiled again, the light returned. “I do. I thought back to something we had discussed when we first met, the idea of boundlessness, of how this will continue from family to family, forever.”
“Well, technically, it’s going to end after eight—”
“No, Preston. No, it won’t. Even if that’s true, we won’t say it. This will outlast both of us, will be our true gift to the world.”
“I see,” he said, not totally seeing.
“The Infinite Family Project,” she said, her hands out in front of her like she was offering it to him.
“I see,” he said.
“I like that,” she said, as if he had been the one to suggest it, her voice ringing with certainty. “That will certainly look good on a T-shirt.”
Dr. Grind smiled and nodded. She had the money. She got to name it. It was only fair.