Heritage

I would like to thank my proofreader MrsIntJ and for the prereads from 26thNC and Sbrooks103x. It's not really a Christmas story, but I wrote this during the holiday season, so I sprinkled a little in at the beginning.

No hard sex scenes in this one. I hope it is entertaining, and as always, all comments are welcome.

****

I remember it like it was yesterday. The Christmas village with the huts all decorated with lights, displaying their wares, enticing buyers to purchase small gifts, chocolates, the smell of the roasting nuts. It was burned in my mind. I was only ten at the time and I got a sense that my older sibling did not understand the enchantment I was feeling. It was Christmas in Hamburg Germany. To me, it seemed like a wunderland. I felt like we were in the heart of Christmas.

That year, my family - mom, dad, and my three older siblings, were visiting from the States. My dad said we had to experience at least one German Christmas, so we were staying with my uncle and his family. Listening to Dad and Uncle Carl speak German as we walked through the village just added to the magical ambiance. They were drinking their gluhwein as we strolled, and I could make out a word or two every once in a while. I was proud to be able to understand some of their conversations. My dad had taught me many german words as we grew up, and I tried to absorb each of them.

As they spoke, even in German, I could tell that my dad was tipsy. I didn't see him that way often, almost never. But having brought his family to Germany for Christmas and being with his brother's family was a special occasion for all of us. As we walked, Dad would stop, every so often, and talk to us kids about his special memories of growing up in Germany and of Christmases there.

"Kids, come over here. This is a cookie hut," he said. "You have to try the engelsaugen cookies."

I beamed. I understood the German words for 'angel eyes'. They were angel eyes cookies.

"These were my favorite Christmas cookies growing up," Dad said. "My mutter made the best englesaugen in all of Germany."

I could see a hint of sadness in Uncle Carl's eyes. Their mutter, or mother, Gertrude, had passed just two years ago. Their father, my grandfather, had died five years before that, so I had never met either of them.

****

My dad was a proud man and very proud of his German heritage. He would tell us about how his father was a great craftsman. He was a machinist by trade and mutter Gertude was a wonderful hausfrau to him and his siblings. My father was an electrician by trade and a damn good one if his friends were taken at their word.

Dad had met my mother when he was in the US attending a trade school. To hear them tell it, it was love at first sight. After finishing trade school, Dad had to return to Germany, and they corresponded by mail. He didn't tell her, but he applied for a visa and found a job in Cleveland where my mom was living after graduating with a teaching degree. One day, while mom was teaching her second-grade class, Dad walked into the classroom with a dozen roses and a ring in his pocket. The rest, as they say, is history.

My mom, Susan, is of Dutch descent with brown hair. I guess most would have considered her a good-looking woman in her younger days, but to me, she was just my mother. Our family, which consisted of myself, two older brothers, and one older sister, lives in Dayton. Dad worked for an aircraft parts manufacturer.

My parents didn't start having us children until mom was 30, late by the standard of the day and I wasn't born until mom was thirty-nine. Now I was 40. Dad, Dominic, died about five years ago and Mom, now 79, was in an assisted-living facility not far from our home in Cincinnati.

When I was young, my family celebrated a mixed German/American style Christmas. We marked the start of the season with our advent calendars. On St. Nicholas Day in early December, we would place our shoes by the door, and he would bring us candies, nuts, and a small present. On the evening of the twenty-fourth, we opened our family presents. Christmas morning it was Santa presents around the tree.

Mom also cooked many German style foods for my dad and us to enjoy.

Now that I was grown and had a family of my own, I tried to carry on some of these German traditions. Many weekends I would take to the kitchen and make a German meal. Trish, my wife, and the two boys enjoyed them but Trish said I needed to learn how to cook without turning the kitchen into a grand mess.

****

It was a typical evening in the Hoffman household. Trish was completing dinner. Ryan, the oldest of my two boys was twelve and excitedly showing me his latest class project. Ryan was one of those kids that would get enamored about a topic, immerse himself in it for a few weeks, then become bored and move on to his next thing. I'm like that, too, and was especially so when I was his age.

One of Ryan's teachers was doing a heritage project. He wanted to demonstrate the students' diversity within the school. We lived in a Cincinnati suburb and the student body, like most of this area, doesn't appear very diverse. Ryan's teacher decided to use DNA analysis to demonstrate to the students that real diversity existed, even at Graven Middle School.

Of course, a parent of each student had to sign a release form, and I had done so a few weeks prior, not giving it much thought. It seemed like a good idea to demonstrate to Ryan the diversity that existed in the world. It's funny how those small decisions, the ones you hardly give any thought, turn around and rock your world.

The students had each taken saliva samples and a company analyzed their genetic makeup. Ryan was his enthusiastic self that evening as he talked about what the class had discovered.

"Dad, you won't believe the diversity in my class," he said excitedly. "We have every kind of heritage you can imagine. We have American Indian, Black, European, Asian. We all put pins on a map for the different regions of our heritage and have almost every region in the world."

"Of course, you do Ryan," I said. "People have been traveling the world for eons and mixing their bloodlines."

"I'll bet you have some German in your class as well," I grinned.

"Yeah, German too," Ryan said.

"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes," Trish yelled from the kitchen. "Kids, go wash your hands and get to the table."

I looked at the class paperwork. It did show a lot of diversity in his class. With his paperwork was an envelope from the firm that had done the analysis. It was unopened. Ryan hadn't bothered to open his own analysis. I opened it thinking it would be fun to show him how his heritage contributed to the overall class. I knew his mother's Irish heritage would be prominent. I also knew my German bloodline would be there.

I opened the envelope and looked at Ryan's analysis but something wasn't right. Ryan's DNA showed almost no German. I was confused. How could he not have German in him? My dad was almost 100% German.

I know this sounds crazy, but my first thought wasn't infidelity on my wife's part. That is how much I trusted Trish. We had a very close marriage. We could talk about anything, and we didn't keep issues hidden. Plus, she is a very passionate woman who enjoys sex. We had tried many positions and little kinks over the years, and she loved to surprise me by doing different things or going back to something fun we hadn't tried in a while.

She was also the mother of my children. I couldn't imagine either of us jeopardizing what we had for a little extra-marital fun. So, yeah, call me a sucker, but I was the ever trusting husband.

At the time my only thought, as I examined Ryan's paperwork, was the teacher must have mixed up Ryan's sample. Although his name was on the form, these couldn't be his results. I stood there confused, still looking at the data. A typical school screwup, I figured.

"Rick, dinner is on the table!" Trish yelled. "We are waiting for you to say grace."

Ten minutes later, sitting at the table, Ryan was telling his mother about his classroom diversity project. I was about to mention how they had screwed up Ryan's results when a lightbulb went off in my head. There could be a way those were Ryan's results.

I stopped chewing, my mouth hanging open. I was paralyzed by my thoughts. Staring off into nothingness, my mind contemplated the unthinkable. It just couldn't be.

"Rick... Rick, are you ok?" I realized I could hear Trish from about a million miles away.

"Huh, what?"

"What's wrong, Rick?"

If Trish had any worry about Ryan's class project, she was certainly playing it cool.

I tried to recover quickly. "Ah, nothing, really. I just realized that I forgot to respond to a really important email at work." I know, it was lame, but I had to think fast and I'm not a good liar."

"An email?"

I nodded my head, trying to muster my acting skills. "I can't believe I forgot to do that. It's information I should have sent to one of our most important clients."

"I'm sure everything will be fine," Trish said then looked at the kids. "Who wants dessert?"

After dinner, I told Trish I needed to go work on the email and headed to my home office. I sat at my desk and opened my laptop but just stared at the login page. Could it be true? Was it possible that Ryan wasn't my biological son?

If Trish had any concerns about the heritage project, she was certainly a good actor. Maybe that is why I never suspected anything? These thoughts, of my wife cheating on me, and having someone else's child had my head swimming. I sat there trying to comprehend what was happening. What should I do?

About thirty minutes later Trish stuck her head in the door.

"Is everything ok?"

"Yeah, sure. I just realized I needed to do some analysis for a meeting in the morning." I didn't even look up from the desk as I spoke. I was afraid my expression would give me away. She may be a good actress, but I didn't think I was a good actor at that point.

****

A short time later, I returned to the family room. The kids were upstairs supposedly doing homework but more likely playing games on their tablets. Trish was searching for something to watch. She suggested some Lifetime movie and I agreed. I would have agreed to any show she suggested. My mind could only think of one subject. It was a jumble with all the thoughts around Ryan's DNA test. Was it a mixup or could it really be his result? If they were Ryan's, then not only had Trish cheated on me, but I was raising someone else's child.

I wanted to ask her if she had seen Ryan's results. Maybe just casually mention it and see if it got a reaction from her. But I decided, if she had cheated, I didn't want to tip her off. I had more thinking to do and sitting in the same room with her, I had a hard time concentrating.

"Should we get one, Rick? Rick? Rick, what is wrong with you? Are you even listening to me? You are a million miles away tonight."

"Huh, what? I'm sorry Trish. I'm still thinking about work, I guess. We are trying to finalize that big project in Forest Hills."

"Well," Trish paused and looked at me annoyed. "Do you think we should get a runner for the hallway? I don't like the cold floor on my feet in the winter."

"Sure, Trish. I think that's a good idea."

****

"Oh, Rick. That's so much bullshit. You are saying that Ryan isn't your biological son?. That can't be possible," Bob, my officemate and one of my best friends, was looking at me like I had a second head.

"I don't know what to think, Bob. You can see the results," I pointed at the papers on the table. "Ryan doesn't have any German in him."

"Trish would never cheat on you. And for her to have someone else's baby? That's just crazy."

"Look Bob, she might be a loyal wife today, but twelve years ago she- maybe she was fucking someone else?" I pointed at the papers again.

Bob stared at them for a moment, then looked at me questionably. "How much German does Ryan have in him? He's got to have some, huh?"

I knew he was looking for an explanation, just as I had last night.

"Almost none. Two percent, according to that report."

"Well, that's some," Bob shrugged.

"Bob, my dad's parents were both German. I'm half German. My mother was Dutch."

Bob still looked confused. "Well, two percent is some."

"Ryan should be at least one-quarter German. The report should say something like twenty-five percent. Not, two percent."

You could see the realization finally come to Bob's face. "Oh, shit. Ryan is not yours, is he?" I shook my head.

"No, it appears not."

"What about Greg...". Bob suddenly realized what he was saying and stopped. Greg is my younger son.

"Yeah, I've already thought about that. I need to get Greg tested too." And I'll get Ryan retested as well just to make sure it wasn't a school mixup.

I'll also start digging into Trish's past and try to figure out who the father might be. She was working for that insurance agency at the time, and she had that boss I hated. What was his... Frank, that was his name. He was one of those cheesy guys that thought he was god's gift to the world. His flashy clothes, his BMW, always wearing lots of jewelry. God, I hope Ryan isn't that slimeball's kid."

During the time my two boys were born, Trish was working as an admin for an insurance brokerage. It wasn't a big office. Maybe about 25 people. It was led by the five main brokers, each having their own small staff. Maybe Ryan was Frank's or someone else's from her office? Ryan may be the result of a one night stand when she was supposed to be out with the girls. It hurt my heart to even think about these questions, but I know I needed to know more. So my research began.

I needed to keep it together around Trish. She may be a good actress, but I needed to work on my skills. It was going to be difficult, but I didn't want to disrupt the family atmosphere until I knew more. I also wondered if Trish was still cheating on me. I didn't see any signs, but I also realized that I was the clueless husband. Trish was still her usual attentive self. She still wanted sex regularly. Looking back to the days the boys were born, I couldn't think of anything unusual then either.

I always looked back on those early days with Trish with love. We didn't have a lot of money, but we both worked hard and got by. We had built a great family life. I was proud of us, what we had achieved. Now I was questioning everything.

****

Two weeks later, Mark and Ryan's DNA test results were back. I'd had them mailed to my office, and when I saw them in my mailbox, it gave me a knot in the pit in my stomach. What if Greg wasn't mine either?

I would wait until the end of the day to read the results. I had sat the envelope on my desk. It was like it was radioactive or maybe filled with that poison ricin? I wasn't sure I could open it.

At the end of the day, after Bob had left, I finally ripped it open and stared in disbelief.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK! Greg wasn't my biological son either. In fact, the results looked the same as Ryan's. Trish must have had a long term affair with whoever her fuck buddy was at the time. I couldn't believe she had done this to me.

I just stared at the paperwork. It became blurry, and I couldn't read the details as my eyes filled with tears. A long term affair with some guy. She must have loved him? Maybe he was married, too, and as much as they loved each other, they just couldn't be together? I had to wonder if it was still going on. Were my boys being exposed to their biological father and didn't know it? Why would she have children with another man but not me? Did she love him more than me? They must really enjoy humiliating me behind my back. I felt myself sobbing. I was crying uncontrollably.

As soon as I got myself under control, I left my office. Standing in the parking lot by my car, I realized I didn't know where I was going. I thought about calling Bob, but I didn't want to discuss the situation. What I really wanted was for it all to go away. To somehow go back in time. If I just hadn't seen those results. If Ryan's teacher hadn't been so stupid about diversity. He's probably some pinhead liberal or something? I just wanted this to go away, for my sons to be mine, but that wasn't going to happen.

An hour later I found myself in a bar. I didn't even know the name of it. It was just the first bar I came to as I drove aimlessly. It was one of those small, dark neighborhood bars where everybody was a regular, especially on a Tuesday evening. There were only about five customers in the whole place. I sat by myself at the end of the bar and ordered a Sam Adams and a shot of Cuervo.

"No, make that two shots of Cuervo," I told the bartender as I sat there numb to the world.

At some point later my cell was ringing, and it was Trish. What could I say now? I was already on my third round, and she would know I was drunk as soon as I started talking. I couldn't deal with it so I just shut off my phone. 'Fuck her anyway' my hazy brain was thinking.

"Another shot of Cuervo please," I slurred out.

"I've seen this before," the bartender said. He was a biker type, overweight, with a thick beard and one of those chains from his belt to his back pocket. "I can tell by your look. She really fucked you over didn't she?"

I just nodded.

"You know the pain will be back tomorrow, don't you? The booze only works temporarily."

"My two sons aren't mine," I slurred. "I found out today that my wife cheated, and my kids aren't really mine." I downed the shot the bartender had just poured me.

"Wow. That really sucks." I could see the pity in his eyes. "Give me your keys or I stop serving you."

I didn't hesitate. I knew I was too drunk to drive and handed him my keys.

The bartender reached down below the counter grabbing another shot glass which he set beside my recent empty. Filling both of them to the brim, he grabbed one, holding it up. I grabbed mine.

We looked at each other.

"Fuck her," he said.

"Yeah, fuck her," I slurred, then we both downed our shots.

****

Damn that sun. Every way I turned my head it seemed to be on my face. That bright, orange ball had crept over the horizon and my car was, unfortunately, facing east. I squinted my eyes open slightly. It was only about six in the morning, but the brightness of the summer sun wouldn't let me sleep any longer. Fuck, my head was pounding.

I realized I was covered in a blanket. The one from my trunk. Then I remembered the bartender. He must have helped me to my car. I remembered drinking Cuervo shots with him. The haze in my mind started to clear. Then, I remembered standing facing the toilet, bending over, puking my guts up. The bartender was holding me by the back of my pants, making sure I didn't fall in.

I pulled the blanket off, threw it in the back seat and rolled down the window. The morning air was refreshing in the damp car. I was deep breathing, trying to get my head clear and keep my stomach settled. I noticed a piece of paper on the console. 'Keys are under the passenger seat", it said. I dug around and found them.

I hope I tipped this guy well. He had taken care of me in my time of need.

The fresh air was helping. Early mornings, before the heat of the day arrives, are beautiful this time of year. I thought for a second, I really should get up earlier and enjoy this best part of the day.

My head began to clear. Shit! Alarm bells were going off in my head. I realized Trish had no idea where I was or what I had been doing. She must be in an absolute panic. I found my phone in my pocket. When had I shut it off? It was now taking forever to power back up. Reconnected with the world it showed I had fourteen missed calls and twenty-one texts. I called Trish immediately. I wasn't sure what I was going to tell her, but I couldn't make her wait any longer.