Who's Your Daddy?

She looked very nervous. "Well, the date seemed too far out to me. I would have thought a date of a few weeks later made more sense, but I wasn't going to challenge her statement. It's not my place."

"So you think she may have gotten pregnant later than that?"

"Yeah, It would seem more likely, but you never know. The human body is unpredictable sometimes."

I let out a sigh. "I'm not sure I want to divorce my wife, even if it isn't my baby. I don't want to go down that path unless I know for sure. I mean it could be mine."

"It could."

"So what's the other way?"

"Sorry?"

"You said it was the best way, but that means there are other ways. How else could we do the DNA test."

She hesitated like she was struggling to decide what to do. "If you had a history of something like Down's Syndrome in your family, we could do a DNA test to detect it's presence in the fetus. If you were to provide a sample of your DNA, I could run a test to compare them. It would be between you and I, of course."

I knew what she meant. "You would do that for me?"

"I would, but you could never use the information. You would only know the truth, one way or another. Then, if you found out it was not your child, you would need to pursue legal means to get another DNA test done without ever mentioning the test I did."

"Whatever you want, Doc. I'll agree to anything. I won't get you in trouble. I swear it."

"Then, it is fortunate for us that you remembered your family has a history of Down's Syndrome. I suggest you go and talk to your wife about it so that we can schedule a DNA test."

"Thank you, Doctor, I will."

I went back to the waiting room. Cindy was beside herself.

"What was that all about?" she asked, looking extremely concerned.

I pulled her over to sit down, holding her hands and pretending to care, which I didn't.

"Baby," I began, putting on an academy award worthy performance, "there's something I've been hiding, and I need to tell you. One of the reasons I've been so reluctant to have children is that my family has a history of Down's Syndrome."

"Down's Syndrome?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's a rare birth disorder. The doctor can test our baby to see if the little guy or girl has it. We need to have the test done. Don't you agree?"

She stared at me for a moment, "Of course, we need to do whatever tests are needed."

"Great, I'll let them know."

After the doctor visit, I dropped Cindy off at home, then went back to work. I arrived home around seven that evening to find Cindy, and my Dad huddled at the kitchen table again. As soon as I walked in Tom jumped into me.

"What the fuck do you mean Down's Syndrome runs in our family? Nobody had that," he spat out angrily.

"What about Aunt Minnie, she had it," I said, making shit up.

"Minnie was just short!" he fired back, "She didn't have Down's Syndrome."

"What about Carl, my cousin. You know, Vickie's boy."

"He had a brain injury when he was a baby that left him that way."

"What about Jennifer?" I asked, really fishing now.

"Jennifer? Who the hell is Jennifer?" he asked, his voice quite loud.

"You know, she was the daughter of Crazy Tom and his second wife, Tanisha."

"You mean the girl they adopted from Viet Nam?"

"She was adopted?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"Yeah," he replied.

"Oh, well shit," I said, "I guess we didn't need that test anyway. Good thing the insurance covered it."

About a week later I got a call from the Doctor.

"Hey Doc, did you find out anything on our special test?" I asked, already knowing the answer, or thinking I did.

"I did. Congratulations," the Doctor said with a soft chuckle, "you're a father."

I was shocked.

"Are you sure?" I asked, completely blown away, "How can that be?"

"Perfect timing, I guess," she laughed. "Well, you can relax now and just accept being a parent."

I couldn't accept the results. There was no way in hell it was possible. That baby was not mine.

"Is there any way at all that the test could be wrong?" I asked, searching for an answer.

"Well," she answered, hesitating, and I knew there must be an exception, "I mean, if you thought she slept with your twin brother, you could get a false positive."

Shit.

That had to be it.

"What if, theoretically, the father of my wife's baby might be," I spoke, but froze. It was tough to put my suspicion into words. "my father."

There was silence on the line.

"Then we would need a sample of his DNA to run the test on and determine which of you were the real father."

"So, if I could get you that sample, could you run the test?"

"Not without his consent. I'm sorry, I can't do anything more."

Shit.

"Is there no other way?"

"You actually think your father was fucking your wife?" she asked. I was surprised by her use of profanity.

"I do."

There was a long pause, and then she finally seemed to give in.

"Get me a sample, and I'll have his DNA tested."

It took me a few days to get the sample. I got several to be safe

I took clumps of hair from his brush, swapped out his toothbrush with one that I first rubbed on my asshole, and even collected drinking glasses he used. I didn't want to leave anything to chance.

It turned out I didn't need to try quite so hard. The hairbrush had more than enough DNA present to satisfy the doctor. I was at my office a few days later when I got the call.

"You're sure?" I asked as I tried to process what she had told me.

"It's definitive," she replied. "There is no possibility of doubt."

I hung up the phone, stumbled down the hall to the men's room and puked into a toilet. I walked out without even closing up my office. I went as far as the first bar I could find, sat down and ordered a continuous stream of bourbon until the bartender cut me off.

After that, things got a little fuzzy. I remember ordering an Uber and trying to talk to the driver about how "women are just bitches and whores," but it came out more like "womens-bishes-an-oars." He wanted nothing to do with me or my drunken opinions. When I exited his vehicle, he sped away quickly.

I stood at the door, trying to put the key in the lock for a good ten minutes. It was of no use. I finally gave up and walked around the house, and entered the back gate. I nearly fell in the pool, twice, but successfully remained dry. I found the patio door unlocked, as usual, and entered the house through the kitchen.

I made my way to the master bedroom. I found Cindy in the shower. The bed was a mess. I had made it when I left the house earlier. I could only imagine what she'd been doing in it. I felt around. There was a wet spot on her side of the bed.

She was fucking the bastard in my bed.

I walked into the bathroom just as Cindy turned the shower off, opened the door and stepped out. She seemed shocked to see me. She quickly grabbed her bathrobe and slipped it on.

"Where have you been?" she asked, angrily, "Have you been drinking?"

I staggered back and forth. "Not enough!" I replied.

"Oh, you smell like whiskey! You're drunk!"

"Where's the father?" I asked, slurring my words poorly.

"He left today, remember?" she said, wrapping a towel around her wet hair. "He's going on the road in his camper. You were supposed to see him off. What happened?"

"Did you help him out before he left?" I asked pointing a finger in her face.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, pushing past me into the bedroom, "Help him out with what? Why have you been drinking?"

"You're pregnant!" I declared.

"Yes, we know that. You got drunk because I'm pregnant?"

"Damn straight," I said, following her into the bedroom and sitting on the bed.

"You're not making much sense," she said, "You should go to bed and sleep it off."

"Not in this bed."

"What?" she asked staring at me, "why not?"

"It's messy. I hate a messy bed. Looks fucked in."

She quickly flipped the covers over to cover the wet spot. She had a guilty look on her face.

"You're drunk. And an asshole."

"And you're pregnant."

"Yeah, I am. It's what we've wanted, isn't it?"

"You think this is what I want?" I laughed, stood up and staggered toward the closet. "Iss your baby. You fucking raise it."

"What did you say?" she started shouting and chased after me.

I stepped into the walk-in closet, grabbed my backpack and started stuffing clothes into it.

"What the fuck did you say?" she demanded. When she saw what I was doing, she hesitated. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving."

"Leaving? Where are you going? It is the middle of the night! You're drunk, dammit!"

"Not going, I'm leaving. It's different."

"Leaving? Leaving what?"

"Leaving you!" I shouted and pushed past her.

She ran out behind me. "What the fuck are you talking about? You're just drunk. Stop it. You're scaring me!"

"Fuck if I care. Be scared. Be a bitch. You're already a fucking slut, why should I care what you are any more."

"Mike, what's wrong with you? This isn't like you! What's wrong?" she was grabbing the backpack, trying to take it from me.

"Let go."

She pulled harder.

"Let go, dammit!" I yelled.

"No, I'm not letting you leave me. You're drunk. Just go lay down, and it will be ok when you sober up."

I dropped the backpack and stared at her. Tears ran out of my eyes and down my face.

"No, it won't be."

I turned and walked out of the bedroom. Cindy came after me.

"Mike, what happened? Tell me what's wrong! I can fix it. I'll fix anything."

I kept walking and spoke with my back to her.

"You should call my Dad and get him to come back. He can't be gone all that long. The wet spot was not that cold."

"What? You're crazy! What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Tell him to make sure he has good health insurance." I opened the front door and turned to look back.

"For what?" she asked, tears running down her face. "Please, talk to me, Mike. Please don't go."

I was sobering up rapidly, and I wasn't too happy about that. I summoned another uber pickup. Maybe I'd get the driver to drop me at another bar.

"You know why we had such a hard time getting pregnant?" I gave her a cold, dead stare.

She shook her head, fighting back her tears, "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Everything," I said as I turned to walk out. I paused, pulled two pieces of paper from my pocket and set them on the foyer table. "Congratulations, Cindy. You got what you've wanted. You'll make a great mom. Sorry, I won't be around to see it."

She stopped yelling, and I assumed she was looking at the papers. One was the results of my fertility test that showed I was sterile with no chance of getting even the most fertile of women pregnant. The other was the 2nd DNA test that definitively showed who was the biological father of her child.

I swear I could hear her screaming for two blocks.