The First To Know. Abigail Johnson

back to school, but instead of spending my study hour in the library like usual, I headed straight for Nick’s class. I’d had Mr. Drobitsky for Woodworking the year before and knew he’d be more likely to put me to work than kick me back to my own class, plus, it’d be loud enough that no one would hear me and Nick talking.

      Sawdust floated thick in the air when I entered the shop. A few people looked up from their whirring lathes or table saws, but no one stopped me, and Mr. D was in the staining room. After making sure Nick wasn’t working with anything that could potentially cut off his finger if I startled him, I hurried up to him.

      “Dana?” He stopped sanding. “What happened?”

      I didn’t ask how he knew something had happened. I could feel that shell-shocked expression still carved into my face. “I found way better than fourth cousins.”

      “The results came?” Nick lifted his safety gasses to his head and glanced around the room. “Wait, will you get in trouble for being in here?”

      I couldn’t care less if I got detention for a month, but Nick wasn’t going to be able to think about anything else until we moved somewhere. I grabbed his hand and towed him into the walk-in project cages in the back. “Nick, I think I found my grandfather.” I laughed and grabbed him in a hug he wasn’t expecting, which only made me laugh more. I pulled back. “Look. Just look at it.”

      Nick took the results from me and I moved back enough to run my hands through my hair, all but twirling in triumph. Whoever he was, he wouldn’t be like my Abue, who’d died two years before, but he could be a Grandpa or a Pop Pop or... Screw it. I did twirl. Dad was going to meet his dad!

      “Wow. It’s great, Dana. Really.” Nick’s voice stopped my spinning. He wasn’t exactly frowning at the papers, but he wasn’t grinning like I was either. “It’s just...”

      “Awesome is the word you’re looking for.” I pointed at the results. “Forty-seven percent! Can you believe it? You told me I’d be lucky to find someone who shared a fraction of his DNA.”

      “It’s amazing that you found this guy—”

      “My grandfather.” My voice broke imagining the reunion to come. Had I ever been this happy in my life?

      “Probably, yes.”

      I laughed out loud. “This is because it says ‘father or son’? That’s why you’re acting like you’ve got a two-by-four up your—” I bit both lips, holding back another smile and the spot-on observation I was making. “It’s okay, you can say it. The test can’t tell father from son, because both relationships share the same amount of DNA. I’ve been reading everything I could find about DNA testing since we started this thing. I know what it means.”

      Nick spoke softly. “Then you know you can’t assume he’s your grandfather.”

      “He is. Trust me, if you spent an hour with my parents, you’d know there’s not a chance that my dad has some secret kid floating around out there. This is my grandfather.” I eased the papers from Nick’s grip. “The only question is whether or not he’s a serial killer or something.” I went for a worst-case-scenario example, but the truth was, he could be anything. Probably not a murderer, but something else terrible. He could be a Dodgers fan. I pushed off the wall and started pacing the small area.

      A loud voice called out in the shop. “Clean up! Five minutes to bell!” One by one, machines turned off and their noise was replaced by talk and laughter, the sound of running water and finally footsteps.

      Nick edged toward the cage opening. “I need to clean up.”

      I waved him on. “Yeah, go.”

      He stood there looking anxious, which I normally found cute. “It’s just that someone needs to lock these cages...”

      I tried not to sigh audibly as I dodged a few people carrying pieces into the cage. Nick was just being Nick. Would it have been nice for him to focus on the monumental news I’d just shared instead of worrying about shutting a door? Yes, but to his credit he was much more at ease once everything was put away.

      “Sorry,” he said. “But I guess you probably saw it...” He reached into his cubby and produced a small wooden bat with my name carved into the side. “It’s a keychain. You know, for keys.”

      “Nick.” I could hardly imagine his large hands making something so delicate. “I love it. But you have to tell me how many you broke before you finished this one.” The grip was grooved and barely half as thick as my pinky.

      He shrugged and made one of those guy noises that meant it didn’t matter. “So what are you going to do about your dad’s results?”

      “First, I’m going to do this.” I rose up on my tiptoes and brushed a kiss on Nick’s cheek. He really was a sweet guy. I still wasn’t sure if sweet was enough for me, but I wanted it to be. “And then I’m going to see what I can learn about my grandfather.”

      I walked through floating sawdust and lingering noise, exited into the silent hallway, before pulling out my phone. I logged in to DNA Detective’s website, scrolled to the relatives and clicked on the top match. Sadly, I wasn’t taken to an expansive profile page complete with photos of an older-looking version of Dad. I knew from Nick’s and Dad’s reports that all users were encouraged to add their results to a database, but they were under no compulsion to divulge any personal details. The website showed the same default avatar from the mailed report. The option to send a message was available, though. And best of all, there was a first name.

      “Brandon.” I said it out loud and couldn’t stop myself from envisioning a man with Dad’s reddish-blond hair—heavily grayed—and hazel eyes. Then I jumped when my phone buzzed. Selena was texting me.

      Selena: The results came, didn’t they? Is it bad?

      I’d been texting her every day after getting the mail, always at roughly the same time. I was an hour late today.

      Me: They came.

      Then my thumbs hovered over the keyboard. I didn’t know anything about Brandon besides his first name. He was probably a normal, noncriminal retiree living in Florida or something, but until I knew for sure that he belonged in Selena’s good-stuff category, I was keeping her in the dark.

      Me: You were right. It’s a bust. There are like two tenth cousins and no option to contact them even if we wanted to.

      Selena: So, what, you just weren’t going to tell me? I told you this was a bad idea. And expensive! I’m on week three of ramen because of you.

      Me: Sorry.

      Selena: Sorry like you’ll pay me back?

      Me: Sorry like I’ll wash your car this weekend.

      Selena: Because that’s the same. I gotta go, my lunch is getting soggy. Because it’s ramen :P

      I was going to be hearing that for the foreseeable future. At least I could show her this conversation when she later tried to claim she’d been on board the whole time.

      I pushed my bangs off my forehead, then went back to the website. Because of Selena’s initial “What if we don’t like what we find?” concerns, I’d set Dad’s profile to private when I registered his test kit, so Brandon wouldn’t get any kind of notification for matching with Dad. He wouldn’t see the “father or son” relationship prediction even if I contacted him, which meant I was going to have to come right out and say it and pray he didn’t freak out. No point in delaying that.

      Hi Brandon.

      I just got my dad’s test results back, and I think I’m your granddaughter. We don’t know anything about his family apart from the fact that he was born in Arizona. I don’t know what else to say at this point except that I hope you write back.

      -Dana

      There. Done. Easy. I was the first person in our family to talk to one of Dad’s relatives. That was monumental.