Todd poured me hot chocolate and wrapped an afghan around me, holding me as I cried.
“I messed up.” I sniffled as Todd stroked my hair.
“I’m sure we can fix it together. We’re here for you, Brea.”
“I know, and that’s why it’s so terrible,” I sobbed.
Just get it over with. No more lies.
“I have to tell you something.” I sniffed. “You’re not my dad.”
“What?” Beau was confused.
“Mom was sleeping around, and she slept with Walter Holbrook, and he’s probably my real dad, but I slept with Mark, who is my half cousin, I guess. You know I’m terrible at science. And now I’m going to prison. I can’t survive in prison!”
My dads looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“It’s not funny!” I shrieked, my hot chocolate sloshing. “This is the worst day of my life!”
“What in the world gave you that idea?” Todd said.
“Memphis Eve and Mom,” I said, and I sniffled. “We did a DNA test. Beau is supposed to be my biological father, and he’s not.” I pulled out my phone. “See? It’s a negative paternity result.”
My dads exchanged a look. “Where did you find the DNA? You didn’t ask us.”
“I took a hair off of your pillow.”
Beau grimaced. “Brea,” he said. “There’s something Todd and I have been meaning to tell you.”
“I already know,” I sobbed. “My whole life is a lie.”
“Well, clearly, youdon’tknow,” Beau said and reached up to his head. He tugged on his hair. He had a full head of brown hair peppered with gray, but he was yanking at it.
“Let me,” Todd said, taking a credit card out of his pocket and sliding it under Beau’s scalp then peeling it back.
I screamed again, expecting a spray of blood, but there was only a shiny, bald dome underneath.
“This isn’t my real hair,” Beau said, and then he started sobbing. “I’m a fraud! I wear a toupee. I started losing my hair at age twenty-eight, and I couldn’t go bald. I’m not Stanley Tucci. I don’t look good in a beard. I needed my hair.”
“This is a very expensive toupee,” Todd said. “Made with real human hair.”
“Oh my God,” I half sobbed and half laughed. “Oh my God. So we should do a real DNA test.”
“We already did,” Todd said. He went to an overstuffed antique filing cabinet wedged between a historic armoire and an 1890s letterpress machine. “See?” he said, taking out a sheaf of paperwork. “We felt that, in the event you ever wanted to get pregnant or, you know, had any sort of health issues, you would need to know your medical history. So we had you tested a while ago, when you were still a little girl.”
“Yes,” Beau said, dabbing at his eyes. “You’re definitely my daughter.”
I sobbed as I looked at the paperwork. Then my dads hugged me, sandwiching me in love.
“This is crazy.” I hiccupped.
“We wish you had just come to us first,” Todd said.
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You could never hurt us,” Beau said. “And even if we weren’t biologically related, you’re still our daughter.”
“And you know,” Todd reminded me, “one of us was never going to be related to you anyway, so it wasn’t going to be that big a shock.”
