Fifty-Five
As we stood shoulder to shoulder at my kitchen counter, Nate and I stared at the unopened envelope like a bomb squad studying
a nuclear device with a countdown clock hurtling toward detonation zero.
I could imagine a future where Nate and I happily debated whether or not the twins really needed braces or a geometry tutor.
But I could also imagine bitterness might spring up between us if he decided he loved the twins but not me. It was all so
terrifying.
Nate spoke first. “I understand you’re the parent. I just spent ten minutes looking at a Playboy in a doctor’s office bathroom when I was eighteen. So no matter what the contents of this envelope say, if I’m ever going
to be any kind of father I will have to earn it with real-life action. I know all that should go without saying, but still
I want to say it. You have done a most excellent job growing, birthing, and raising your girls.”
“Thank you,” I managed, thinking he sounded a little like Bill and Ted in Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Which didn’t make it any less sweet.
“You open it,” he said, his voice husky. He slid the envelope so that it sat squarely before me. I wanted him to be the girls’
bio dad. I did not want him to be the girls’ bio dad. An ocean roared in my head as I opened the envelope and unfolded the
piece of paper inside.
LabCorp
Tilly Turner
501 W. Franklin
Boise Idaho, 83702
Paternity Test Certificate
We were requested to perform a paternity test. The following individuals were examined:
Sample NR
Role
Name
HID 123946_001
Alleged Father
Nathan Duran
HID123946_002
Child
Alice Turner
Results:
In all analyzed PCR systems, Nathan Duran does not show the genetic markers which have to be present for the biological father
of the child Alice Turner. The biostatistical analysis of the PCR systems was performed according to the method of Essen-Moller.
The probability of Nathan Duran being the biological father of Alice Turner is < 0.0000001%.
Conclusion
Based on our analysis, it is practically proven that Nathan Duran is
NOT
the biological father of the child Alice Turner.
I couldn’t bear to look at Nate. But when I finally turned to him, his face was mournful as a silent film star who’s found
out her true love has died on the Western Front.
A sudden fit of church giggles seized me.
Nate stared at me, baffled and hurt. Extravagant tears rolled down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” I finally managed. “I’m laughing because . . . because I must have watched The Parent Trap too many times. I started thinking ridiculous coincidences could really happen and then I cooked up this . . . this whole
idea.” And then I wasn’t just laughing. I was sobbing too. “I really wanted it.”
“I guess we both did,” he said, wrapping his arms around me.
I understood now. I’d wanted it so very badly I’d fabricated this whole crazy scenario. And not only because it would’ve given
meaning to every terrible thing I’d been through, but because it would’ve given my girls something I’d never let myself hope
they’d have. A bigger family.
Nate was rubbing small soothing circles on my back. I kept crying there, in that safe refuge. I may have even wiped my snotty nose on his T-shirt. “Be excellent to each other,” I mumbled into his chest, for some stupid reason I didn’t understand, except that it was always sound advice.
“Are you quoting Bill & Ted’s?” he said.
I shrugged. “Just because you said ‘most excellent.’”
“Fair, I did say that,” he said. “So maybe I’ll never be the kids’ biological father. So what? You’re right. We can still
all be most excellent to each other. Have I ever told you about my stepdad?”
I shook my head into his chest.
“He raised me and Lucia from the time I was eight and she was ten. He’s the best bonus dad. Not to be presumptuous. But it’s
possible.” He pushed me away but only far enough so he could look down into my eyes. “Each one of us gets to decide who and
what our family is, that’s all I’m saying.”
I could raise my kids on my own. I knew I could. I’d been doing a pretty damn good job of it for over seven years. But this
whole fantasy I’d concocted was forcing me to confront the idea that maybe, deep down, I wanted to be open to the possibility
of a worthy partner raising them with me. I pushed down my annoying worry that it might not be a great idea to start a relationship
with countless lies of omission. And for one last time, I wished I knew who actually killed Connor. But it was time to accept
there were some things that would always remain a mystery. It needed to be enough to know—definitively—that it hadn’t been
me.
“Agreed,” I said. “So we can start slow and maybe date and you can hang with me and the kids sometimes and we can see where
it goes.”
“But it doesn’t have to be that slow, right?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Like maybe we could start slow and get faster and faster and faster?” I said.
Nate laughed. And because there is no sexier sound than a man busting up at one of my jokes, I grabbed him by the hand and
pulled him toward my bedroom.