Chapter 65 Rosalie
Chapter 65
Rosalie
The car winds up the driveway, and she jumps out before Penny has a chance to cut off the engine. Tears blur her eyes, and she tries to make it through the door without breaking down. She sees them in the kitchen. Jean-Paul. Renée. Lucy. Henry. Leo. And they see her, calling out for her to join them. She wants to run upstairs and bury her head in her pillow. She wants to run another ancestry test and find her father, even though she hasn’t fully mourned the loss of this one. She was so certain Jean-Paul was her dad. Certain that they shared more than DNA. The realization that she was wrong devastates her.
She tries sneaking up the back stairwell, but Lucy and Sienna head her way, bombarding her with questions.
She brushes them off with excuses that she’s tired, but then Penny walks in, and the three of them whisper something Rosalie can’t hear. Her head throbs, and somehow she finds herself following them into the kitchen. She’s greeted by Renée, who’s pouring wine even though it’s the middle of the day. Jean-Paul doesn’t notice she’s there. And that’s the way it’s been all her life. Fighting to be noticed. Seen.
She counts. That’s the one thing she can control. Her lips quiver, and she’s sure everyone’s staring at her like she’s come undone. Because she has. And as though she’s on autopilot, the words tumble out of her mouth. They’re talking around her, but one by one they stop. They’ve finally noticed her.
“I came here for a reason,” she begins. “This was my year to choose our vacation destination, and I chose this place because ...” Her eyes dart around the room. “Because there was someone I needed to meet.”
Penny sidles up to her, but Rosalie shoos her away.
She clears her throat. The more she says, the stronger she sounds. “There was a test. I took it. And Jean-Paul was the answer. His DNA matched mine.”
Their jaws drop in shock. She sees the way they shift in their seats.
“Rosalie.” Jean-Paul stops whatever it is he’s doing.
“He welcomed me in without knowing our connection. He was the first person who saw me for me. He was patient ... and kind ... and I know what you’re thinking. Cassidy had a one-night stand, and I guess I didn’t think it through. I didn’t think about the innocent people involved.” She catches Renée’s eyes in hers.
Jean-Paul takes a few steps her way.
“Stop!” Her hand comes up. “You don’t have to do this. You’re not my father. Cassidy told me she went through some registry. Biogenics. She picked my father out from a bunch of donors ...” Her voice cracks, and she’s crying when she says the rest. “She had a picture of him. She named him Addison Fitch because she knew I loved the book. Atticus Finch. Whatever. It wasn’t Jean-Paul.” She catches his eyes. “He wasn’t you.
“I’m sorry I dragged you into this, Jean-Paul.” She pauses to look at Renée. “And I’m sorry for”—she doesn’t know how to put it—“any hurt this caused.” She wipes her cheek with her palm. “The registry says there’s a one percent chance for error. I guess we were that one percent.
“But more than anything, I’m sad you’re not my family, because you were the kind I dreamed of having.”
Nobody moves. She’s not an idiot. She just blew the roof off the house. But she’s not sorry. Better to see the moon and the stars than this.
“I’m sorry, Jean-Paul.”
He’s leaning against the stove; his fingers rub his beard. She doesn’t know what she expects from him, but what she never anticipated was Renée’s walking toward her. She sets her wine on the table and curls Rosalie in her arms, stroking her hair. It comes out a whisper, but she hears it as clear as the sky: “You are Jean-Paul’s daughter.”
The way Renée says it makes Rosalie cry harder. “You’re kind,” Rosalie says. “You’ve always been kind to me, but you don’t have to say those things.”
Renée says it again, this time a little more forcefully.
“Jean-Paul.” Renée waves him over.
Rosalie steps back. Her eyes shift from Renée to Jean-Paul.
Jean-Paul stops to grab something. It’s a folder. He reaches her side and opens it. He pulls out his baby picture. And another of him around thirty. A thinner, beard-free Jean-Paul, named in accompanying documents as Biogenics donor #051738.
It takes half a second for it to compute.
She stammers, “I—I emailed you—”
He must realize that they’re doing this very publicly, and he suggests they take it to another room, but she shakes her head, searching their faces, liking what she sees, feeling their support.
“I didn’t get your email because it went to an account I don’t use, and I had deleted the app. But”—he turns to Renée—“we logged in. Your email was there. Your mother chose me to be your father.”
Someone’s crying. She hears sniffling. Someone hands someone a napkin.
Rosalie’s too afraid to believe what she hears. She’s too afraid to trust the man with the eyes that so resemble hers, but she can’t quiet her heart or the way it feels something big in his presence.
“I’m your father,” he says, stepping closer. “You’re 50.2 percent of me.”
Her lip trembles. “Is this a joke?”
“I’d never joke about something like this.”
“Wait,” Lucy says. “He’s the one-night stand?”
Rosalie laughs. “Sperm donor one-night stand.”
“No way!” The group gathers around them; everyone has something important to say. They’re cheerful and smiling.
Simone hugs her the hardest. “We’re cousins!” And then she hands someone her camera for a picture.
“How did this happen?” Lucy asks.
“It’s a long, complicated story,” Rosalie says.
Penny assures her that’s part of having a family.
Somebody claps, and they’re hugging her, congratulating, crying. Rosalie can’t help but think she’s gained a lot more than a father.
Henry says it’s the most beautiful meteor shower he’s ever seen.