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I pulled my phone out and called home. Seconds later, I heard it ringing inside and, through the windows, saw Dad head back to the office to answer it.
“Dana?”
“Hi, Dad. I think I left my History homework on my desk upstairs. I can come by before lunch is over if it’s there, but could you check for me?” As soon as he moved to the stairs, I slid out of the bushes and waved at the mail carrier while directing Dad to search every random spot I could think of in my room. “It might have fallen behind my desk—can you pull it out and check?”
He put the phone down but I heard his grunt of effort as the mail was placed into my waiting hands.
“I’m not seeing it anywhere. Are you sure you left it? Dana?”
I was only half listening as I sorted through random bills and magazines. “Did you look under the bed?”
He said something about my messy room, but I didn’t hear it, because the second letter from the bottom was from DNA Detective.
The envelope shook in my hand along with my voice. “It’s here.”
“Look more carefully next time. And you’re cleaning your room the second you get home today, do you understand me?”
I hurried to put the rest of the mail in the mailbox. “I will. Thanks for checking. Love you, Dad.”
“You too.”
For once I didn’t care that he didn’t say it back. Mom always said he had a hard time verbally expressing love since he’d had so little growing up without a family, but just because he rarely said the word didn’t mean he didn’t feel it. I did know he loved me, and once he opened his birthday present, I’d get to feel it full force.
As soon as I was around the corner, I tore into the envelope. I skipped the geographic-ancestry and health reports as fast as I could shuffle the pages, until I had it: the possible-relative list. At first the onslaught of information was overwhelming. On the left were default symbols indicating the gender of each potential relative; next to that was the percentage of DNA Dad shared with each person, followed by the predicted relationship. Most were listed as third to fifth cousins, but I barely saw them.
The top result had a 47 percent DNA match, with the predicted relationship listed as “father or son.”
Chapter 3 (#u6a963fff-0fd4-5720-87cf-eb6ead14ac17)
Fourth period had already started when I got back to school, but instead of spending my study hour in the library like usual, I headed straight for Nick’s class. I’d had Mr. Drobitsky for Woodworking the year before and knew he’d be more likely to put me to work than kick me back to my own class, plus, it’d be loud enough that no one would hear me and Nick talking.
Sawdust floated thick in the air when I entered the shop. A few people looked up from their whirring lathes or table saws, but no one stopped me, and Mr. D was in the staining room. After making sure Nick wasn’t working with anything that could potentially cut off his finger if I startled him, I hurried up to him.
“Dana?” He stopped sanding. “What happened?”
I didn’t ask how he knew something had happened. I could feel that shell-shocked expression still carved into my face. “I found way better than fourth cousins.”
“The results came?” Nick lifted his safety gasses to his head and glanced around the room. “Wait, will you get in trouble for being in here?”
I couldn’t care less if I got detention for a month, but Nick wasn’t going to be able to think about anything else until we moved somewhere. I grabbed his hand and towed him into the walk-in project cages in the back. “Nick, I think I found my grandfather.” I laughed and grabbed him in a hug he wasn’t expecting, which only made me laugh more. I pulled back. “Look. Just look at it.”
Nick took the results from me and I moved back enough to run my hands through my hair, all but twirling in triumph. Whoever he was, he wouldn’t be like my Abue, who’d died two years before, but he could be a Grandpa or a Pop Pop or... Screw it. I did twirl. Dad was going to meet his dad!
“Wow. It’s great, Dana. Really.” Nick’s voice stopped my spinning. He wasn’t exactly frowning at the papers, but he wasn’t grinning like I was either. “It’s just...”
“Awesome is the word you’re looking for.” I pointed at the results. “Forty-seven percent! Can you believe it? You told me I’d be lucky to find someone who shared a fraction of his DNA.”
“It’s amazing that you found this guy—”
“My grandfather.” My voice broke imagining the reunion to come. Had I ever been this happy in my life?
“Probably, yes.”
I laughed out loud. “This is because it says ‘father or son’? That’s why you’re acting like you’ve got a two-by-four up your—” I bit both lips, holding back another smile and the spot-on observation I was making. “It’s okay, you can say it. The test can’t tell father from son, because both relationships share the same amount of DNA. I’ve been reading everything I could find about DNA testing since we started this thing. I know what it means.”
Nick spoke softly. “Then you know you can’t assume he’s your grandfather.”
“He is. Trust me, if you spent an hour with my parents, you’d know there’s not a chance that my dad has some secret kid floating around out there. This is my grandfather.” I eased the papers from Nick’s grip. “The only question is whether or not he’s a serial killer or something.” I went for a worst-case-scenario example, but the truth was, he could be anything. Probably not a murderer, but something else terrible. He could be a Dodgers fan. I pushed off the wall and started pacing the small area.
A loud voice called out in the shop. “Clean up! Five minutes to bell!” One by one, machines turned off and their noise was replaced by talk and laughter, the sound of running water and finally footsteps.
Nick edged toward the cage opening. “I need to clean up.”
I waved him on. “Yeah, go.”
He stood there looking anxious, which I normally found cute. “It’s just that someone needs to lock these cages...”
I tried not to sigh audibly as I dodged a few people carrying pieces into the cage. Nick was just being Nick. Would it have been nice for him to focus on the monumental news I’d just shared instead of worrying about shutting a door? Yes, but to his credit he was much more at ease once everything was put away.
“Sorry,” he said. “But I guess you probably saw it...” He reached into his cubby and produced a small wooden bat with my name carved into the side. “It’s a keychain. You know, for keys.”
“Nick.” I could hardly imagine his large hands making something so delicate. “I love it. But you have to tell me how many you broke before you finished this one.” The grip was grooved and barely half as thick as my pinky.
He shrugged and made one of those guy noises that meant it didn’t matter. “So what are you going to do about your dad’s results?”
“First, I’m going to do this.” I rose up on my tiptoes and brushed a kiss on Nick’s cheek. He really was a sweet guy. I still wasn’t sure if sweet was enough for me, but I wanted it to be. “And then I’m going to see what I can learn about my grandfather.”
I walked through floating sawdust and lingering noise, exited into the silent hallway, before pulling out my phone. I logged in to DNA Detective’s website, scrolled to the relatives and clicked on the top match. Sadly, I wasn’t taken to an expansive profile page complete with photos of an older-looking version of Dad. I knew from Nick’s and Dad’s reports that all users were encouraged to add their results to a database, but they were under no compulsion to divulge any personal details. The website showed the same default avatar from the mailed report. The option to send a message was available, though. And best of all, there was a first name.
“Brandon.” I said it out loud and couldn’t stop myself from envisioning a man with Dad’s reddish-blond hair—heavily grayed—and hazel eyes. Then I jumped when my phone buzzed. Selena was texting me.
Selena: The results came, didn’t they? Is it bad?
I’d been texting her every day after getting the mail, always at roughly the same time. I was an hour late today.
Me: They came.
Then my thumbs hovered over the keyboard. I didn’t know anything about Brandon besides his first name. He was probably a normal, noncriminal retiree living in Florida or something, but until I knew for sure that he belonged in Selena’s good-stuff category, I was keeping her in the dark.
Me: You were right. It’s a bust. There are like two tenth cousins and no option to contact them even if we wanted to.
Selena: So, what, you just weren’t going to tell me? I told you this was a bad idea. And expensive! I’m on week three of ramen because of you.
Me: Sorry.
Selena: Sorry like you’ll pay me back?
Me: Sorry like I’ll wash your car this weekend.
Selena: Because that’s the same. I gotta go, my lunch is getting soggy. Because it’s ramen :P
I was going to be hearing that for the foreseeable future. At least I could show her this conversation when she later tried to claim she’d been on board the whole time.
I pushed my bangs off my forehead, then went back to the website. Because of Selena’s initial “What if we don’t like what we find?” concerns, I’d set Dad’s profile to private when I registered his test kit, so Brandon wouldn’t get any kind of notification for matching with Dad. He wouldn’t see the “father or son” relationship prediction even if I contacted him, which meant I was going to have to come right out and say it and pray he didn’t freak out. No point in delaying that.
Hi Brandon.
I just got my dad’s test results back, and I think I’m your granddaughter. We don’t know anything about his family apart from the fact that he was born in Arizona. I don’t know what else to say at this point except that I hope you write back.
-Dana
There. Done. Easy. I was the first person in our family to talk to one of Dad’s relatives. That was monumental. And when he wrote me back and confirmed what I hoped to be true—that he was a normal guy who maybe made some mistakes in his younger life—it would be the best gift ever. Selena wouldn’t even care that I’d had to lie to her.
Chapter 4 (#u6a963fff-0fd4-5720-87cf-eb6ead14ac17)
I made it through the rest of my classes, obsessively checking my phone between periods. I was anxious, but I’d already waited six weeks; I could survive another day. Except good news was so hard to keep. At home, I kept breaking into a grin for no reason. I did it often enough that after dinner, Mom finally commented.
“Okay, what is going on in that head of yours?”
Without prompting, I’d gathered up the plates and was heading to the kitchen. And I couldn’t stop smiling as I did it. “I’m just happy, is all.” Mom came to join me at the sink. I rinsed and she loaded the dishwasher, waiting for a full explanation. I glanced behind us, making sure Dad was out of earshot. He was, but I whispered anyway. “I got Dad the gift to end all gifts for his birthday. Selena could end up on a Wheaties box and I’d still win.”
Mom closed the dishwasher with a hip bump and added her hands to the sink to rinse them. “Tell me, tell me!”
“No way, joy thief. You’ll tell Dad so fast.” Mom was horrible with secrets, especially good ones, and if Dad was concerned, forget it. Selena and I used to clock her, and her fastest spill time was under a minute. She couldn’t hold in good news no matter how hard she tried.
“I promise I won’t say anything.”
Sure she wouldn’t. “Hey, Dad,” I called. “What’s Mom getting you for your birthday?”
“Diamondback tickets,” was his immediate answer.
Mom put a hand on her hip, opened her mouth, then shut it with a smile. “Fine, don’t tell me. But, in my defense, he’s really handsome.”
“What...” I said, laughing, “...does that have to do with anything?”
Dad joined us then, and Mom turned a blissful smile in his direction. “I like your face,” she told him.
“Yeah?” His arms went around her waist and he gave her a quick kiss and whispered something I was really glad I couldn’t hear into her ear.
“Mmm-hmm.” She snaked her arms around his neck. “Thanks for making dinner.”
“Thanks for cleaning up.”
“Kiss me again.”
He did. Then she did. Then I hightailed it out of there before things got even more uncomfortable. I was halfway up the stairs when Dad called me back.
“Hey, hey, hey!”
I turned in time to catch the ball he threw.
“Grab your glove. We’ve got work to do.”
* * *
The ball hit my glove with a thud. The leather was soft from the lanolin Dad had been rubbing into it each night since I got it, but it didn’t feel like part of my hand yet. I threw the ball back.
“Good,” Dad said. “How’s it feeling?”
“Getting there.” I caught the ball, threw it back.
“Tell me about the guy.”
My throw went a little wide, but Dad caught it. “He’s not the guy. He’s Nick and we’re still just friends.”
“He hasn’t missed a game.” No, he hadn’t. Home or away, Nick had been to all twelve so far. He’d kind of become my good-luck charm. We hadn’t lost since the first game. I was surprised Dad had noticed. “You like him?” He still held the ball, waiting for my answer before he threw it again.
“I guess.” Sure, I liked Nick. He was nice, sweet. Thoughtful. All good things, easy things. The ball soared back to me.
“Your mom wants him to come for dinner.”
“I know.” Mom hadn’t stopped bugging me about it. Dad caught the ball, returned it.
“And?”
“And I’m not sure.” If I officially invited Nick to dinner with my parents, that would be a pretty big step, a boyfriend-type step. There wasn’t anyone else I was interested in, and I already knew Nick would be a good boyfriend—he wouldn’t hurt me or break my heart. But I had this idea somewhere in the back of my head that he should be able to, that I should feel enough for him that a broken heart was a possibility. I didn’t think my heart would ever be at risk with Nick, and I kind of wanted it to be.
“You met Mom when you were both nineteen, right?” Dad nodded, turning the ball before throwing it again. I caught it. “And she was your first real girlfriend.” Another nod, another throw. “Didn’t you ever like anyone before that?”
“Sure,” he said, “but no one caught me like she did.”
The ball hit my glove, I threw it back. “What do you mean?”
“Some people you meet and it’s nice, it’s good, but you can walk away. You’re okay without them.” He gazed toward the house. “I’ve always been that way, good on my own—it never bothered me until your mom. I knew from our first date that I would never be okay without her.”
I was slow to throw the ball back. Dad rarely talked about his life before Mom. I knew pieces, random things he or she let slip over the years. He’d never been adopted, and at least one of the foster families he’d lived with wasn’t allowed to have any more kids after Dad was removed. As for the others, he wasn’t in contact with any of them, which was telling enough. Mom was his first real family, his only family, until Selena and I came around. I wanted him to have so much more. I started to check my phone to see if Brandon had replied, but Dad barked a warning at me.
“No. No phones. Come on, Dana, do you want this or not?”
I couldn’t tell him what I was checking my phone for, so I had to take the reproof. “I do,” I said. I liked softball; most of the time I even loved it. I knew I’d never give it up like Selena had, but what I really wanted was Dad nodding at me again, smiling. I wanted him to be proud of me.
“Then start acting like it.”
My hand came up reflexively as he released the ball. It sank right into the pocket of my glove. “There,” he said. “You ready?”
Our easy game of catch was over. In hindsight, I was surprised it had lasted this long. I sucked in a breath and nodded, knowing he was going to start relentlessly hitting screamers and grounders at me. Dad grabbed the bucket of balls and a bat while I set up the net we used to mark first base, then moved back to the far end of our dirt yard—not the most aesthetic on our block, but that was by design. We didn’t host barbecues or have a swing set in one corner; we ran drills. Endless drills.
The bucket of balls Dad set beside him was close to overflowing. “We’re going through it three times.”
