Abigail Johnson - The First To Know

“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

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.