Apparent

Apparently I met him once, when I was five. We were stationed in Guam. I do not remember this.

Apparently his children with his wife, my half siblings, are all brilliant and successful. I have three.

Apparently he and my mom came up with a story so my dad wouldn’t have to ask his permission to adopt me.

Apparently, he still adores my mom.

That’s what he told me.

I picked up the phone and dialed. He answered. Mr. Garcia? Yes. Hi, this is May Anderton. Oh, hi.

We talked for about ten minutes.

He is a soft-spoken man.

He speaks pretty good English.

He is 60 years old.  I was born when he was 28. My dad had just turned 32.

So much more information, but it’s not right to publish it here, at least not now.

We said a lot in those ten minutes. We’re very efficient.

My life hasn’t really gotten any more complicated. He’s a figure from my past, and knowing that I didn’t know him doesn’t change who I am today. Jenny reminded me I turned out pretty awesome. So, there’s that.

I write here because I feel safe here.

Apparently, he wants to come meet me. He says it’ll be in about a month. Whatever public place, whatever terms I lay down. Maybe I could have a few of you around at a safe distance, in trenchcoats, hats and sunglasses. Walkie-talkies.

I don’t think he’s very tall. You could totally take him.

Anyone up to it?

My head doesn’t quite know how to process this.

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