Chapter 10 – I Like Mushrooms

“Do you want me to come in with you or stay in the car?” Gavin asks as he pulls up to Quick and Delicious, the diner where I’m meeting my…father.

Jesus, it feels so weird so say that.

“Come in. No, stay in the car. Wait, no, come in. SHIT! I don’t know what the f**k to do!” I complain as Gavin puts the car in park and shuts off the engine.

“Just take a deep breath, this is going to be fine. Just because you share the same DNA means nothing. Your dad who raised you is still your dad,” Gavin reminds me. “Did the company send you that email with his name?”

I grab my phone from the center console and pull up the email app. They sent me an email after we hung up the phone yesterday, but I was too afraid to look at it then.

“This can’t be right,” I mutter, as I stare at the email from Cryobiology, Inc.

Gavin leans over and glances at the email I pulled up.

“His name is Dean O’Saur? That’s got to be a typo,” Gavin states.

I close out of the email and open it back up, hoping we both read something wrong.

“Dude, your dad is T-Rex. This may be the best news you’ve gotten all week!” Gavin says with a laugh.

I groan and throw my head back against the seat.

“T-Rex be like, ‘I can’t make my bed with these tiny arms’,” Gavin says, pulling his elbows into his sides and flapping his hands around.

“This is not funny,” I complain.

He continues. “T-Rex be like, ‘Raaaawr, that was a good performance, I’m going to clap now. Oh, wait.’”

He continues flailing his hands until I reach over and punch him in the arm.

Gavin finally drops his arms and sighs. “Just don’t be a dick right off the bat. It’s not like he got drunk and had a one-night-stand with your mom and then didn’t speak to her again for like a ton of years.”

I look over at him and raise my eyebrow.

“Fuck! I just described MY dad. Well, this sucks,” he complains.

“I’m just going to go in there, see if we look anything like one another and then leave,” I tell him.

Gavin nods. “Good plan. Get his medical history too. If there’s a history of mental illness then at least you know your problems are hereditary, T-Rex, Jr.”

“I’m going to drag you out of this car and beat the f**k out of you,” I warn him, reaching for the door handle.

With one last fortifying breath, I shove open the door and step out of the car.

“Oh, you should give him some My Little Pony trivia questions. If he gets them wrong, you know he’s not really your dad,” Gavin shouts as I flip him off before slamming the door closed.

Really, what’s the big deal with the fact that I like My Little Pony? I know for a fact I’m not the only one. I Googled it. There’s an entire following of people just like me who appreciate that friendship is magic. If Gavin took one second to watch the videos I gave him, he would realize that they are relatable, endearing ponies that have meaningful developments in their lives. If more people liked My Little Pony, world peace wouldn’t be an issue, I guarantee it. You just can’t watch that show without feeling happy. I also can’t watch that show without getting horny.

I walk through the doors of Quick and Delicious, scanning the restaurant for a dude in his forties who looks like me. After a quick glance, I don’t see anyone that fits the bill. I walk up to the hostess counter and wait for one of the waitresses to finish cashing someone out.

“Hi, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here. His name is Dean,” I tell her. I refuse to give his full name to anyone ever, even a complete stranger. That shit needs to stay quiet.

She smiles at me as she comes around the counter. “Yep, he’s been here for a few minutes. Right this way.”

My palms start to sweat and I feel like I’m going to puke as I follow her through the restaurant. I get more and more nervous with each table we walk by and I contemplate turning around and running back out to the car.

Why the hell am I doing this? Gavin is right. Nick Branson is my father, for all intents and purposes. He taught me how to play catch, he bought me my first My Little Pony and he passed down his  p**n  collection to me when I turned eighteen. I couldn’t ask for a better father. I shouldn’t feel like I don’t know who I am just because I suddenly found out the man who raised me doesn’t share the same DNA as me. It shouldn’t matter.

And yet, it does.

What if I need a kidney transplant and the only match is this guy? What if my sperm doesn’t work and the only way I can get my future wife pregnant with a baby who shares my DNA is by using this guy’s sperm? I have to do this. I have to be strong and do this for the health of my kidneys and for the lives of my future children. It wouldn’t be weird at all that their grandfather is also their father, right? I mean, people do that shit all the time and you never hear anyone say, “This is my grandpa-dad” when they’re introduced. It will be fine. It will all be just fine.

“Here we go, I’ll be right back to take your drink order.”

The woman smiles at me and walks away and I get my first glimpse of my father. He’s got the same blonde hair as I do, but that’s about the only similarity I see.

The man smiles up at me as I slide into the booth.

“So, you’re Dean,” I state, breaking the silence after a few seconds.