Neither one answered back, so she wrote again and again.
They still didn’t answer. Mom caught her crying about it.
That was when Mom had called her father. Dana stayed in her room and hugged her favorite stuffed animal, Cornie Bow. Through the wall, she heard Mom talking in that firm, calm way that made you wish she’d just yell and get it over with.
After a while, Mom came in and told Dana that her father had invited her to spend the weekend at his house.
Dana convinced herself it would all be great. She’d be on her best behavior. She’d make cookies. Her brother and sister (Marcus and Patty!) would be amazing. They’d all become best friends. She’d have a whole big family, not just Mom and the few sharp-edged stories that were all she’d ever given Dana of her grandparents.
When her father picked her up, he looked exactly like the dads in the commercials—his hair was brushed back, and he wore a red polo shirt and khaki pants. She showed him the plate of cookies she’d baked. Four kinds, she’d said proudly, because she didn’t know what Patty and Marcus liked.
While he drove around the curve of Lakeshore Drive and toward the highway, she peppered him with questions. What did they look like? What were their favorite shows? Their favorite YouTubers? Did Patty play Pokémon or Mario?
He didn’t answer, and the more he didn’t answer, the more Dana babbled to fill the silence with guesses and possibilities. She was practically vibrating with excitement and sugar overload. She was going to meet her brother and her sister.
Her father didn’t say anything until they merged into the traffic on the Skyway.
“They don’t know about you, kid.”
Dana remembered her jaw hanging open. She remembered she watched his mouth moving, but she didn’t really hear anything for a while. Too much of her brain was occupied by trying to understand what he meant.
They don’t know about you.
“It’s a pretty big thing, you know, finding out you’ve got a sister you never, well…you’re just kind of a surprise. I mean, I never thought you’d actually live close enough to visit or anything…”
“Oh. That’s okay,” she said. “We’ll tell them together. When I get there.”
“Yeah, of course. Only, not right away, okay? I mean, it’s not like nobody knows about you. Susan, my wife, she knows, but my kids…I want to ease them into it, okay?”
My kids, he said. But he meant my real kids.
“So, anyway, I told Patty and Marcus you’re the daughter of an old friend and you’re just staying with us for the weekend, okay? I will tell them you’re…well, you’re related. I promise I will. But there’s a lot going on right now. You know how that is, right? I just want to make this as easy as possible for everybody. You get it, right?”
She got it. He was her dad, but she wasn’t his real kid. She wasn’t somebody you talked about. Like Mom’s parents. They were bad people. You didn’t talk about the bad people in the family.
Why do you think I’m bad? What did I do?
“So, let’s just…let’s make a deal and not talk about how you’re…you know, that I’m your dad, okay? Just for this first weekend, okay?”
Mom doesn’t talk about you either.
Dana looked at her plate, the mound of cookies invisible under their layers of Saran wrap. Chocolate chip, peanut butter, “no bakes,” and molasses crinkles. She’d made them all for her brother and her sister. So they’d think she was cool. So they’d be glad she was part of their family, even with her weird eyes.
“Look, Dana, I know this is…well…this is all really complicated, okay? I didn’t…I just…I need your help here, okay?”
Dana stared at the cookies. They were going to his house for the whole weekend. And he was telling her she was supposed to keep a secret that whole time.
She was supposed to be a secret.
I don’t want to be a secret.
She looked at her father. He glanced away from traffic and smiled.
I don’t want to be your secret.
Dana pushed the window button to lower the glass.
“Dana, don’t!” Her father slapped his hand on his head as the wind hit his perfectly combed hair.
Dana pitched the cookies out the window. They tumbled and scattered, a long trail of crumbling comets behind the car.
She raised the window. “Okay,” she said. “I won’t.”
Now, Dana stared at the old Polaroid picture and felt that urge again. Throw it away. Flush it. Burn it. Let these people know