“It’s not garbage,” I protested. “They found a very nice antique rocking chair that they sold for five hundred dollars on eBay last week.”
My sister peered at me over her designer sunglasses. It might have been a scowl, but there was too much Botox in her face to really give the full effect.
“And that is one of a number of reasons I highly doubt that those two are our biological fathers—or at least mine.”
I collapsed on to the couch.
“Beau isn’t our father? But how? That’s what we were told; that’s what I believed my whole life.”
“Wilder says they couldn’t be. His brother has done a lot of work in genetics, and he says he is highly suspicious that I am related to either of the gays. But you,” she said, looking down her nose at me. “He thinks that you’re exactly like Beau. You know, short and chubby. But me? I am too attractive to be Beau’s daughter.”
“Of course we’re twins,” I protested. “We have to be. I saw the hospital pictures.”
That had been such a big part of my life, having a twin. Even though she was prettier, had better hair, had a nicer figure and more money, it was part of my identity to have a twin. If we had different fathers, she would be what, a half twin?
“We’re barely twins. At best, we would be fraternal, obviously,” Memphis said.
“Why are you telling me this?” I said, starting to cry.
“Stop whining!” my sister barked. “You’re such a messy crier. You’re slobbering everywhere. Now,” she said, taking a DNA kit out of her purse. “When are the gays coming back? We need to get a cheek swab for a DNA test to rule them out.”
“You can’t tell them!” I said, horrified. “It would kill Beau; he would be devastated. He loves being a father!”
“Does he? Because he has you living in squalor. You aren’t even wearing any underwear. It’s like a 1920s tenement house.”
I hurried into my parents’ bedroom. Todd was bald, but Beau still had a thick mane of hair. I picked one of the brown strands off of his pillow and came back into the living room.
“What is that, an insect?”
“No, it’s DNA. You cannot tell Dad your suspicions,” I said. “It would break his heart. Run the test, but I’m sure he’s our dad.” I placed the hair in a plastic baggie and handed it to Memphis Eve.
“And if he’s not?”
“He will be,” I said stubbornly.
“I have my doubts. Which is why we need to find Mom.”
“I haven’t seen Mom since high school, when she called me a fat little goldfish.”
Memphis Eve smirked. “She always did have a sense of humor. That’s why men flocked to her. Which is why I’m certain that I am from different, far superior stock, and I will claim what is rightfully mine. I have no father listed on my birth certificate. When I find my real father—and I will—I’ll make him acknowledge me or at least pay me off to leave him and his family alone.”
* * *
“There isno way that Dad isn’t really my dad,” I assured myself several days later as I tried to put on a pleasant face for Liz and Wes’s couples shower. “Everything is going to be fine. The test will come back positive. Memphis Eve will go back to Boston with that obnoxious Svensson brother. It will be fine.”
Grace was snapping pictures of the table settings as I fussed with them.
“Can you keep that still for once?” she said.
“Sorry. My life is in the toilet.”
“I know,” Grace whispered back. “Your baby daddy issues. Just enjoy the event. I checked Memphis Eve’s Instagram earlier, and she and that Ken doll are off gracing Los Angeles with their presence.”
“I hope that lunatic Svensson burns in the sun out there,” I said.
“Signature cocktail?” Elsie offered, coming by with a tray. She was catering the event.
“It’s nice being a guest at one of these things for once,” I said, taking the cool alcoholic drink. Then I walked around the space to make sure everything was perfect. The event was being held in Mark’s brother Carter’s condo so Liz wouldn’t have to travel far.
