Fake Out (Fake Boyfriend 1)

“Putting what off?” I ask, more convinced I know what’s coming. I stare at my mother, her grey hair that was once dark. My dad’s dark eyes, and then Cheri’s blue eyes staring at me … Oh, fuck.

“There’s no easy way to say this,” Aunt Cheri says, “but, I’m your mother.”

“Biological mother,” Mom corrects.

You’d think with that type of bombshell my mind would be racing. I wait for the irrationality to hit me, but it doesn’t come. All I can think about is all those times I felt like I didn’t belong. Or how I look nothing like my family. I thought of ridiculous theories like being switched at birth, but being adopted? Never even crossed my mind.

I begin to wonder if I’m completely oblivious or just a dumbass. Maybe both. An oblivious dumbass.

Yup, that’s me.

“Who’s my father?” my mouth asks. I didn’t realize my brain was heading in that direction.

Aunt … Mom Cheri? Nope, too weird. I don’t care if I carry her DNA, she’s not my mom. My mom’s my mom … No. My aunt’s my mom? Fuck, I need another beer. Or a drawing of my family tree, because I’m confused.

Cheri avoids eye contact as she answers, “I don’t know. It was a one-night stand at a rave.”

Classy, my birth mother.

Jesus Christ. Birth mother.

“Maddy, are you okay?” Mom asks.

I nod but stare at the plate of food in front of me. My appetite’s gone, and my throat is dry.

“Life is a bit shit right now,” Aunt Cheri says, “and I realized I don’t want to leave this Earth without knowing the boy I gave birth to. I don’t want to—”

“Leave this Earth?” I ask.

She sighs. “A few years ago, I was diagnosed with MS.”

Mom gasps. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was barely symptomatic,” Cheri says. “I thought if I ignored it I wouldn’t have to face it. But now …” She stares down at her hand which shakes with a small tremor. “It’s advanced far in a few short years—faster than average—and I don’t know how long I have before it takes away my ability to do the things I want. I want …” She breathes deep. “My highest priority is to get to know Maddox.”

“I-I … uh, umm …” I stutter.

“You don’t have to agree to anything right now,” Mom says. “You’ve been hit with some big news.”

“Is this something I could inherit?” Again, my mouth asks questions I don’t realize I’m contemplating. At least some part of my brain is functioning.

“It’s not a hereditary disease,” Cheri says. “Although, you are at a higher risk of developing it because of me.”

“Is there a test or something I could get?”

“No. They can test your probability of developing it, but it’s invasive and the results aren’t conclusive. MS isn’t caused by a single gene. It’s got a lot of factors to it.”

“Maddy,” Mom says, “You might want to look at the bigger picture. Do you have any questions for us? About why—”

I shake my head. “Crazy Aunt Cheri didn’t want to keep me, and you guys took me in. Not much to say, is there?”

Cheri frowns. “It wasn’t like that. I knew you would be better off with your mom and dad. They already had Jacie, and they’re great parents, and—”

“I know they’re great parents,” I say through gritted teeth. “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t known something was missing. I don’t belong here. I never did. Now, what, you suddenly care and have a conscience because you’re sick? I’m twenty-three years old. Where were you when I was growing up when I could’ve used the truth about who I am and where I come from?”

“Maddy,” Mom says, her voice full of sadness.

“Sorry.” Only, I’m not sorry. “This is a lot to handle right now. I need to …” I stand. “I need to go. I’m sorry.”

Footsteps trail after me as I storm through the house to the front door. I expect it to be Mom or Cheri, but a firm hand lands on my shoulder.

“Let me drive you,” Dad says.

I look into his brown eyes and don’t like what I see. Fear. “I’m not going back to New York, Da. I just need some space. A friend of mine is staying at the motel. I’ll go there and cool off—come back in the morning.”

“Still let me drive you.”

All I can do is nod and pick up my bag as I follow him out to the garage.

The drive is literally ten minutes long, so Dad doesn’t waste time getting to the point. “We did plan to tell you, but we didn’t know how.”

The laugh that escapes me is almost hysterical. “I understand. More than you know. I’m … uh … I’m not gay.”

I don’t know what possesses me to come clean now. Some act of childish revenge maybe? They lied to me for twenty-three years, so they deserve the same? I probably shouldn’t have said it, but it’s out there now.