Chapter 13 - ELII met Eli three months after my birthday.
April decided the timing with a therapist who had worked with Eli around diabetes adjustment.
The therapist advised:
No dramatic surprise.
No:
I’m your grandfather and I love you already.
Relationship before title.
We met at a public science museum.
Eli was eleven.
Brown hair.
Skinny.
Blue hoodie.
Continuous glucose monitor on the back of one arm.
He looked like Brian around the mouth.
I hated that I noticed immediately.
He knew who I was.
“Walter.”
“Eli.”
Then silence.
I had prepared a hundred intelligent lines.
Instead:
“I heard you like trains.”
He stared.
“That was when I was six.”
Excellent.
We started well.
“What do you like now?”
“Robotics.”
“I’m a retired structural engineer.”
“That’s not robotics.”
“I am aware.”
He almost smiled.
April stayed nearby.
We walked through an exhibit.
No hugging.
No tears.
After forty minutes, Eli asked:
“Did you really not know?”
I stopped.
“Not for certain.”
“My mom says your wife knew.”
“She learned more than I did.”
“Why didn’t Brian tell you?”
“That is a question for Brian.”
“Do you hate him?”
I thought.
“Right now I’m very angry.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Children are exhausting.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because someone can lie to you and still be your son.”
He looked at me.
Then:
“Does that mean he can lie and still be my dad?”
I almost answered too quickly.
“No.”
Then corrected:
“He is biologically your father. What relationship you call him is yours.”
Eli nodded.
“That makes more sense.”
May you like
Eleven years old.
More emotional precision than half the birthday table.
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