Carver shook his head in confusion. “Biologically?”
Doug exhaled. He looked like he was grappling internally with something so large that it left him with very little energy for making noises and expressions. “I am your father legally, and in every other way that matters.”
“But who am I,” Carver burst out. “Why do I exist? Who was he? Why didn’t you tell me? Please.Please. I am fucking begging you, if you just talk to me right now you never have to do anything for me ever again.”
Nora wept more loudly. Doug looked at him with profound sadness. “Please don’t threaten us with that unless you mean it,” he said.
“Threaten you with what?” Carver said, dumbfounded.
“Cutting us out of your life.”
“What?That wasn’t a threat, Dad, I was just being hyperbolic.”
Doug gave him a small nod. “Well, we always thought you might not forgive us for this.”
“How about you tell me the details of whatthiseven is? God, guys, I’m giving you the opportunity to present your case. Please. Please just talk to me for once.”
Doug continued to rub Nora, then nodded at the chair he’d just vacated. “Do you want to sit, please?”
They had folded so instantly and profoundly that Carver saw no point in continuing to maintain a dominant posture. He went over and sat in the chair, looking across the room at his parents, separated from them by the coffee table and a few feet of a pearl and silver-colored Persian rug.
“I’m not really willing or able to talk about this,” Doug said to Carver in a detached, explanatory tone, as if instructing him on how to use the leaf blower. “So you’re going to have to wait for your mother to calm down and get herself together. Do you mind waiting?”
Carver felt as unnerved as the dog. He got the urge to text Chip and beg him to come back. Shouting and anger would be preferable to whatever this was. “Uh, no?”
Doug handed Nora a box of tissues from the table. She lifted her head to mop her face and blow her nose. Mascara had puddled around her eyes.
Carver crossed one leg over his lap and tried not to look impatient. He still felt quite calm, although the strangeness of this scene was tipping the calm toward disassociation.
“What happened to your knee?” Doug said, pointing.
“Oh, I, uh, fell when I was running away from you guys in the parking lot.”
“You should put some Neosporin on that.”
“Yep, I’ll get to it.”
Nora blew her nose again. “Could you get me some water, sweetheart?” she said to Doug.
Carver found thesweetheartdistasteful.
“Water,” Doug said, getting to his feet, “and the first aid kit.”
“Dad, I’m alright.”
“Half the skin on your knee is gone.”
“Just the epidermis.”
Doug exhaled and walked out of the room. Carver felt awkward being alone with his mother, and looked away, pretending to study the photos and keepsakes on the mantelpiece over the fireplace. One of the photos was from his wedding to Lillian — the two of them flanked on each side by his paired siblings and parents.
Carver realized suddenly just what a fucking aberration he was. How many times had his parents said they wanted one boy and one girl? He always thought his gender was an accident, not his conception, but no. He’d been a catastrophic five-alarm accident. His existence had sliced his family in half. No wonderhe’d always felt the way he did. No wonder! He couldn’t help marveling at this explanation, like he’d discovered gravity.
“Would it be easier for you to talk to me if Dad stayed out of the room?” Carver said.
“Oh,” Nora sighed, and shook her head. “No, no.”
“Really?”
