Chapter 5 - I took Daniel home
I did not make Mike confess at the shower.
That disappointed several relatives who later wanted a dramatic version.
There was no circle of chairs.
No public DNA test.
No champagne thrown.
I took my son home.
Before leaving, I told Naya:
“Come with us.”
She stared.
“Why?”
“Because you are seven months pregnant and you look like you’re going to faint.”
Mike said:
“She’s staying.”
Naya looked at him.
That sentence may have ended their relationship before the truth did.
“She decides,” I said.
Mike snapped:
“Stay out of this.”
I laughed.
“You brought yourself into my sister. Staying out ended a long time ago.”
Bad line.
True.
Mom gasped at my language.
Good.
Naya chose to stay with Mom.
Not Mike.
That mattered.
Daniel and I left.
In the car, he was silent for six minutes.
Then:
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
“You didn’t say anything at the party.”
“I was trying to leave without fighting.”
“I got mad.”
“I know.”
“She was mean.”
“Yes.”
“I wanted to hurt her feelings.”
There.
Important.
“So you said the other-family thing partly to hurt Aunt Naya?”
He looked out the window.
“Yes.”
“Do you think that was kind?”
“No.”
“Do you think what you knew mattered?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
He looked at me.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No punishment.”
He seemed surprised.
“But we’re going to talk about the difference between telling truth because someone needs to know and using truth as a weapon.”
He nodded.
Then:
“She used Dad as a weapon.”
He meant Mike.
Sometimes Daniel still called him Dad when upset.
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“At you.”
“Yes.”
“So I did it back.”
“Yes.”
“Was that bad?”
I thought.
“It was understandable.”
“That means bad.”
I smiled despite myself.
“It means we can understand why you did something without pretending it was the best way to do it.”
He groaned.
“Adult answers are annoying.”
True.
At home, he asked:
“Is Molly my sister?”
That question stopped me.
Biologically?
Probably not.
Emotionally?
Mike had been Daniel’s stepfather for most of his remembered childhood.
If Molly was Mike’s daughter, what did that make her?
I said:
“I don’t know yet.”
“Can I meet her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does she know about me?”
That one hurt more.
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
Then went upstairs.
I sat alone in my kitchen.
May you like
And for the first time, I asked the question I had avoided for four years.
How many times had Mike left our house to be someone else’s father?
