Page 52 of Something like Desire

I look at Dad and then Mom and neither of them bother to correct her. Dad had a secret love child? That’s what they’ve been telling me that they’ll talk to us about after the wedding? Out of all possible scenarios, I did not predict that one. Before I can fully start to process this, I need to deal with the catastrophe of what my life is now, in this moment of public humiliation. I try to gently guide Gia away from the microphone, but she clutches it harder.

“Holy fucking shit.What? How old are you?” Gia says, her head bent to the side and a hand resting on her temple, like she’s trying to make sense of it all.

“I’m twenty-nine,” Claire says.

“I’m twenty-seven,” Gia counters, holding up her hands like she’s trying to do math on her fingers. “So, what you’re saying is that my dad cheated on my mom with your mom and you were born two years before I was?”

“Yes,” Claire says, like this is a private conversation between her and Gia, instead of a confrontation in a room full of hundreds of people. “I just found out about Dad six months ago. I had to search really hard and ask my mom a lot of questions and I pieced it all together and found him. It’s legit. We checked the DNA.”

Gia turns to face my mom, who’s dabbing at her eyes. Nicholas is rubbing her back. “Mom, is this why you left Dad? Did you leave him when you found out he had a secret daughter?”

Mom slowly rises to her feet, glancing around at the stunned guests before offering a small, helpless shrug. “I knew about your dad’s affairs for years,” she says, her voice so quiet I have to lean closer just to catch it. “He tried to deny it, but I knew. Neither of us knew about Claire though. Your dad was forced to admit to all of the lies he told for years. I wouldn’t put it past him to get back to try his chances with Claire’s mother again. Finding out he fathered her child brought back feelings, I know it did. I was tired of being lied to. I wanted someone to appreciate me again.” Mom sits back down.

The guests’ conversations become a low, shocked hum. I try to take the mic away from Gia yet again, but she keeps it clutched in her death grip. “No,” she barks at me. “We’re doing this. We’re airing this out. Right here. Right now. Every guest at my wedding is going to know the full story and if they don’t like it, they can go home.” She leans slightly over the mic. “Did you hear that, everybody?” she bellows. “If you think my speech and all this shit is too dramatic for you, then you can leave. Because this shit?” She raises a hand, making a slow, circular motion. “This shit is my family. I thought they were all normal up until a few weeks ago but we are some fucked-up individuals, so you can either love us or leave us.”

With the swearing and paternity results, this feels like a bad talk show from back in the day. All we need now is a fist fight and some lie detector tests. A few of the drunker guests applaud. Some of the more conservative guests stare at their glasses or examine the silverware in an attempt to not make eye contact with any of us.

Mark joins Gia at the mic, his hand on her back supportively. “Great job, sweetheart. What heartfelt revelations. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. Let’s have some of that steak that left us wanting more during our food tasting here. We’re both so blessed to have you all joining us here today. We hope you enjoy your meals, everyone. Let’s eat!”

It seems like Gia might just go along with this plan because she starts lowering the microphone but then something occurs to her, and she swings it right back toward her mouth again. “Dad, this whole time we were mad at Mom, and you knew that, why didn’t you just admit you were the one who messed up first?”

“It’s very complicated,” Dad calls from his seat, loosening his tie, his face a deep shade of red. “I should have. I’m sorry. But Gia, maybe we can all just talk about this tomorrow? After we’ve all slept on it?”

“This ismywedding speech, not yours, Dad, and I’ll be done when I say I’m done and... ” Gia lets out a burp and then gags. I swoop in and grab her by the arm, leading her toward the ladies’ room.

As soon as we get inside, Gia rushes into a stall and vomits. As predicted, I follow behind and hold the tendrils of loose hair back.

“You’re okay,” I whisper soothingly.

Gia wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and pushes herself to her feet. “Was that speech completely terrible?”

I press my lips together, searching for something diplomatic. “It was definitely memorable. Probably the most memorable I’ve ever heard.”

She lets out a groan, turning to the sink to wash her hands before splashing cool water over her face. I grab a paper towel and gently dab at the smudged mascara beneath her eyes.

“What now?” she says softly.

“Now you go back in there with your head held high, enjoy your dinner, dance, and have a great night. No more drama. Deal?”

“Deal,” Gia says with a decisive nod, trying to sound convinced.

But the pang of dread twisting in the pit of my stomach tells me the night isn’t done with us yet.

TWENTY-TWO

The rest of dinner is delicious and mainly uneventful. Gia seems to have sobered up a little since she threw up, and Mark seems to be taking great care to make sure she eats as much of her meal as possible, even taking to feeding her like she’s his child.

The lights are dim, casting the room in a warm golden glow, perfectly set for the real party to begin. The macarena and the chicken dance are queued up, sure to be guest favorites, and the energy starts to shift, laughter bubbling up as people get ready to let loose. A few couples are already on the dance floor, bobbing and shuffling to some top-forty music.

Mom and Nicholas sit quietly at their table, holding hands instead of French kissing, thank God. Dad said he needed to get some air about half an hour ago. Hopefully he comes back and hasn’t run for the hills.

I find myself staring at Claire, stunned that I never noticed how much she looks like me and Gia until now. She’s glued to her phone, probably feeling a bit out of place. Her eyes are the same bright blue as ours, and her long, wavy hair matches ours too, though hers is a lighter shade. Her Tinkerbell nose and heart-shaped face are just like ours, but unlike Gia and me, who have Mom’s smile, Claire’s features lean more toward Dad’s side of the family. She must catch my gaze because she looks up and offers a tentative smile. I weave through the crowd on the dance floor and settle into the empty seat across from her.

“I don’t know how to start this conversation,” I admit. “It’s nice, but also confusing, to meet you. I mean, toreallymeet you.”

“You too,” Claire says, facing me with teary eyes. “I went from having an absent mother, and an aunt and uncle I barely see, to having lots of relatives. Sisters even. I’m just as confused as you are.” She reaches her hand across the table, and I grab it and give it a light squeeze. “Now I guess you see why I really wanted to come, to see my sister get married. How could I miss that? And I guess you can also see why Dad wanted me to sit this one out.”

Just as I am about to slide over a few chairs to sit next to her, I catch sight of Dad, who’s entering the hall with Jayden. Jayden’s clutching a huge bouquet of red roses in one hand and a nearly empty bottle of whiskey in the other, the remnants of amber liquid sloshing around as he lumbers forward. Both he and Dad look like they’ve had their fair share of drinks. Dad’s arm is draped around Jayden’s shoulder, and the two of them wobble toward us, faces flushed and shiny.