The First To Know

“What if it tells us something he doesn’t want to know, something we don’t want to know?”

I frowned. “What, that he’s related to some douchey celebrity? The whole point of doing it as a surprise is that if we don’t like what we find out, then we trash it and he never knows.” I couldn’t believe I still had to convince Selena about this. She knew as well as I did how much it would mean for Dad to find his own relatives. That was part of the reason he and Mom got pregnant with me. They wanted to make sure Selena had a sibling, someone she was directly connected to. Dad didn’t have that. There was such a huge contrast between Mom’s sprawling Mexican clan back in Texas and Dad’s blank unknown. We didn’t see Mom’s family all that often, but they were still there, and I always felt like I was a part of something. Dad didn’t know what that was like. This was a chance to give him a family that consisted of more than the three of us.

“I needed your money and your criminology-class excuse, both of which you gave me. If you want out now, that’s fine. Go ahead and give Dad a tie for his birthday.”

Selena dropped her arms in obvious irritation before fishing her car keys out of her bag. “Fine. I have to get back to my dorm.” She hesitated at the door. “Just don’t tell me if he’s 86 percent more likely to get colon cancer or something. Good stuff only, okay?”

I gave her an exaggerated eye roll. “But if it’s good?”

“Then, since I paid for half of this, my name better be on the birthday card too.”

Under my breath, I said, “A little more than half,” before turning back to the computer and filling out the final field on the registration form.

Selena strode back to my side and blocked the touch pad before I could click Send. “I paid more?”

Oh yeah. “I’m a poor high school junior who has to constantly put money into your old car.”

“And I’m a poorer college sophomore who gave you that old car for way less than it was worth.”

“It was my idea, and I’m doing all the work. Plus, now you’re making me go through the potentially traumatic results all on my own.” Not that I expected them to be traumatic. When Selena still didn’t seem convinced, I glanced at her hand covering the touch pad, then up at her while simultaneously clicking Enter on the keyboard.

She dropped her hand. “Fine. Was that it? Is it done?”

“I mail the sample back in the morning and the results come in six to eight weeks.”

“Six to eight weeks. That seems fast.”

Not to me. Plus, Dad’s birthday wasn’t for another two months after that. Nick told me it could take time to hear back from any potential matches I found and contacted, and longer still if I needed information from any of them to track down closer relatives. Still, I couldn’t stop the excitement buzzing through me. Family for Dad. Family that I found—with Selena’s help, but that I made happen. That would be worth more than all the softball games she ever won him.

* * *

I turned out to be right: six to eight weeks did not go fast. As we approached the six-week mark, it became impossible to focus in Biology, my last class before lunch. Not even Nick working up the nerve to ask me out—something he’d started but abandoned the last three days in a row—could completely hold my attention.

He sucked in a deep breath. “Dana, I was wondering if... I mean...do you...” A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead and he gave up yet again. “Can I borrow a pen?”

So close, I thought, passing Nick a pen. I could have asked him out, but I really needed him to find that initial bit of courage. Otherwise I’d end up running all over him in a relationship and that wouldn’t be good for either of us.

Glancing at the clock again, I didn’t have any more time to give Nick in the hopes that he’d try again before class ended. “Hey, so if I leave early, can you cover for me with Mr. Rodriguez?” I was already packing up my stuff and eyeing our teacher, who was helping a student in the back row. “I need to be home when the mail is delivered or else my dad might get it first. Just tell him I went to the bathroom if he notices I’m gone.” And then I slipped out the door, mouthing thanks to a dumbstruck Nick as I did.

Our house was only a few miles from Superstition Springs High School on the outskirts of Apache Junction, tucked into a development of identical midsize homes that were distinguished from each other only by the cars parked out front. In our case, Mom’s red mini SUV and Dad’s silver hatchback. We had a corner lot, which meant we had twice as much backyard as our neighbors and could practice a little without having to drive to a park. That had been the number one selling point of the home, the trade-off being that it had only three smallish bedrooms, one of which we converted into Mom and Dad’s office because the large bay window afforded it the most natural light. It also gave me a perfectly unobstructed view to spy through. I slowed as I drove by, banking on the hope that they’d both be too consumed in their work to look up and recognize my car. Sure enough, Mom was fastidiously writing code on her computer, while Dad was filling his with design mock-ups for whatever website they were currently working on—I could never keep track. It was a good business, one that allowed Dad to set his own hours and still coach our high school softball team while giving Mom’s analytical mind the challenge she craved since she had to code whatever designs he came up with. A right brain and a left brain working together in near-perfect harmony.

Neither glanced up as I drove by, but they would if I pulled into the driveway, so I had to be insane and park around the block, skulk/sprint through neighbors’ yards and duck behind the bougainvillea bushes in front of our house. Then I spent the next twenty minutes crouched and pulling pink petals out of my hair while waiting to accost the mail carrier before she reached our house.

I’d never felt more excited in my life.

As soon as I heard the distinctive sound of the mail truck, I started disentangling myself from branches, emerging from my hiding spot just as Dad stepped outside. I didn’t know how he missed me diving back into the bushes, and I really didn’t know how he failed to hear my strangled breathing as I watched him share a greeting with the blue-clad mail carrier and then slowly walk back into the house with a stack of envelopes. The DNA test results were addressed to me, but I hadn’t wanted to risk Dad seeing my name along with the DNA Detective logo in the corner and asking questions—and he would ask questions—so I could only hold my breath and wait while he stood in the entryway, shuffling the first letter to the back, then the second, and on and on while I tried not to have a heart attack. But then he tossed the stack on the table and closed the door behind him. I leaned my head back against the stucco-covered wall, my heart jackhammering in my chest.

After that day, I started leaving Biology earlier and earlier, as soon as attendance was taken, so that I could be home before the mail in case it came early. But the real problem was Dad. Twice more that week he beat me to the mail, which meant two more near heart attacks for me. Not good. Plus, while Nick might have had trouble expressing his feelings for me, he was a lot less reticent when it came to his thoughts on me skipping out early.

Nick had a perfect attendance record. He’d even come back to school after having his wisdom teeth removed during lunch hour. He understood why I was leaving early, but he really, really didn’t want to be a part of covering for me. So far, Mr. Rodriguez’s move-around-the-room-as-you-will policy had kept my absence from being noticed, but Nick was growing increasingly unsettled by the prospect. It probably didn’t help that he abandoned several more attempts to ask me out. Each class, it was worse, the sweating, the nervous glances, the bouncing leg under our shared desk. I made a huge mistake one day when I pressed Nick’s knee still with my hand. He made the most insane noise, somewhere between a yelp and a gasp. Needless to say, the entire class—including Mr. Rodriguez—turned in our direction. Nick’s face was on fire, and I was too distracted by the need to beat the mail to play off Nick’s outburst convincingly. For the rest of class, Mr. Rodriguez watched us too closely for me to slip away. I was almost as agitated as Nick by the time the bell rang and I could race home. Thankfully, the results didn’t come that day either.

When the mail truck started down our street on Wednesday, Dad heard it as soon as I did. He looked out the window, pushed back his chair and stood up. Mom was softly head-banging to the heavy metal music pounding through her earbuds, oblivious to anything else. I started counting steps while watching the approaching truck. Five to the hall. Ten to the front door. He was going to beat me again.

I pulled my phone out and called home. Seconds later, I heard it ringing inside and, through the windows, saw Dad head back to the office to answer it.

“Dana?”

“Hi, Dad. I think I left my History homework on my desk upstairs. I can come by before lunch is over if it’s there, but could you check for me?” As soon as he moved to the stairs, I slid out of the bushes and waved at the mail carrier while directing Dad to search every random spot I could think of in my room. “It might have fallen behind my desk—can you pull it out and check?”

He put the phone down but I heard his grunt of effort as the mail was placed into my waiting hands.

“I’m not seeing it anywhere. Are you sure you left it? Dana?”

I was only half listening as I sorted through random bills and magazines. “Did you look under the bed?”

He said something about my messy room, but I didn’t hear it, because the second letter from the bottom was from DNA Detective.

The envelope shook in my hand along with my voice. “It’s here.”

“Look more carefully next time. And you’re cleaning your room the second you get home today, do you understand me?”

I hurried to put the rest of the mail in the mailbox. “I will. Thanks for checking. Love you, Dad.”

“You too.”

For once I didn’t care that he didn’t say it back. Mom always said he had a hard time verbally expressing love since he’d had so little growing up without a family, but just because he rarely said the word didn’t mean he didn’t feel it. I did know he loved me, and once he opened his birthday present, I’d get to feel it full force.

As soon as I was around the corner, I tore into the envelope. I skipped the geographic-ancestry and health reports as fast as I could shuffle the pages, until I had it: the possible-relative list. At first the onslaught of information was overwhelming. On the left were default symbols indicating the gender of each potential relative; next to that was the percentage of DNA Dad shared with each person, followed by the predicted relationship. Most were listed as third to fifth cousins, but I barely saw them.

The top result had a 47 percent DNA match, with the predicted relationship listed as “father or son.”

Chapter 3

Fourth period had already started when I got back to school, but instead of spending my study hour in the library like usual, I headed straight for Nick’s class. I’d had Mr. Drobitsky for Woodworking the year before and knew he’d be more likely to put me to work than kick me back to my own class, plus, it’d be loud enough that no one would hear me and Nick talking.

Sawdust floated thick in the air when I entered the shop. A few people looked up from their whirring lathes or table saws, but no one stopped me, and Mr. D was in the staining room. After making sure Nick wasn’t working with anything that could potentially cut off his finger if I startled him, I hurried up to him.

“Dana?” He stopped sanding. “What happened?”

I didn’t ask how he knew something had happened. I could feel that shell-shocked expression still carved into my face. “I found way better than fourth cousins.”

“The results came?” Nick lifted his safety gasses to his head and glanced around the room. “Wait, will you get in trouble for being in here?”

I couldn’t care less if I got detention for a month, but Nick wasn’t going to be able to think about anything else until we moved somewhere. I grabbed his hand and towed him into the walk-in project cages in the back. “Nick, I think I found my grandfather.” I laughed and grabbed him in a hug he wasn’t expecting, which only made me laugh more. I pulled back. “Look. Just look at it.”

Nick took the results from me and I moved back enough to run my hands through my hair, all but twirling in triumph. Whoever he was, he wouldn’t be like my Abue, who’d died two years before, but he could be a Grandpa or a Pop Pop or... Screw it. I did twirl. Dad was going to meet his dad!

“Wow. It’s great, Dana. Really.” Nick’s voice stopped my spinning. He wasn’t exactly frowning at the papers, but he wasn’t grinning like I was either. “It’s just...”

“Awesome is the word you’re looking for.” I pointed at the results. “Forty-seven percent! Can you believe it? You told me I’d be lucky to find someone who shared a fraction of his DNA.”

“It’s amazing that you found this guy—”

“My grandfather.” My voice broke imagining the reunion to come. Had I ever been this happy in my life?

“Probably, yes.”

I laughed out loud. “This is because it says ‘father or son’? That’s why you’re acting like you’ve got a two-by-four up your—” I bit both lips, holding back another smile and the spot-on observation I was making. “It’s okay, you can say it. The test can’t tell father from son, because both relationships share the same amount of DNA. I’ve been reading everything I could find about DNA testing since we started this thing. I know what it means.”

Nick spoke softly. “Then you know you can’t assume he’s your grandfather.”

“He is. Trust me, if you spent an hour with my parents, you’d know there’s not a chance that my dad has some secret kid floating around out there. This is my grandfather.” I eased the papers from Nick’s grip. “The only question is whether or not he’s a serial killer or something.” I went for a worst-case-scenario example, but the truth was, he could be anything. Probably not a murderer, but something else terrible. He could be a Dodgers fan. I pushed off the wall and started pacing the small area.

A loud voice called out in the shop. “Clean up! Five minutes to bell!” One by one, machines turned off and their noise was replaced by talk and laughter, the sound of running water and finally footsteps.

Nick edged toward the cage opening. “I need to clean up.”

I waved him on. “Yeah, go.”

He stood there looking anxious, which I normally found cute. “It’s just that someone needs to lock these cages...”

I tried not to sigh audibly as I dodged a few people carrying pieces into the cage. Nick was just being Nick. Would it have been nice for him to focus on the monumental news I’d just shared instead of worrying about shutting a door? Yes, but to his credit he was much more at ease once everything was put away.

“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.

“You met Mom when you were both nineteen, right?” Dad nodded, turning the ball before throwing it again. I caught it. “And she was your first real girlfriend.” Another nod, another throw. “Didn’t you ever like anyone before that?”

“Sure,” he said, “but no one caught me like she did.”

The ball hit my glove, I threw it back. “What do you mean?”

“Some people you meet and it’s nice, it’s good, but you can walk away. You’re okay without them.” He gazed toward the house. “I’ve always been that way, good on my own—it never bothered me until your mom. I knew from our first date that I would never be okay without her.”

I was slow to throw the ball back. Dad rarely talked about his life before Mom. I knew pieces, random things he or she let slip over the years. He’d never been adopted, and at least one of the foster families he’d lived with wasn’t allowed to have any more kids after Dad was removed. As for the others, he wasn’t in contact with any of them, which was telling enough. Mom was his first real family, his only family, until Selena and I came around. I wanted him to have so much more. I started to check my phone to see if Brandon had replied, but Dad barked a warning at me.

“No. No phones. Come on, Dana, do you want this or not?”