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“I mean, I can make observations.”
“Like what?” Cage asked skeptically. He wasn’t believing me.
“Like, I know you’re adopted.”
“What?” Cage said stunned.
I had him.
“Yeah. And it wasn’t the red hair, either. Red-headed parents have children with black hair all of the time. It’s the dimples.”
“What do you mean?” Cage asked captivated.
“Dimples are a genetic trait, meaning that it has to be passed down from your parents. But they aren’t a collective group. Meaning, having a chin dimple doesn’t make you more likely to have a cheek dimple. That means that you would have had to inherit each dimple separately. And the ones you have on either side of your bottom lip are called ‘fovea inferior anguli oris’ and are very rare.
“The odds of you inheriting all of your dimples from one parent is very low. I’m talking extremely low. For your dad not to have any dimples at all and for you to have so many, every member of his family would have had to have dimples going back for generations. And since that is even less likely, the obvious answer is most likely the correct one, that is that you’re adopted.”
I could not have been more proud of myself for making these observations. Would anyone else have noticed something so easy to miss? Even if they noticed, would they be able to put everything together like I had? I don’t think so.
For me to be able to do it on demand for Cage, had to have impressed him. I wanted so badly to impress Cage. I wanted him to think I was special in a good way. I desperately wanted him to see that my difference could be useful and something he would want in his life. I would do anything for him not to see me like the freak everyone else did.
As I stared at Cage a lot changed on his face. The look of amazement he appeared to have as I explained my theory, morphed into something else. He wasn’t happy. It looked like he was battling with something, and before the words left his mouth, I knew I had made a mistake.
“I’m not adopted,” Cage said firmly.
He didn’t know. Shit!
“You’re right.”
“What?” He asked confused.
“I’m mistaken.”
“What do you mean, you’re mistaken.”
“I was thinking of, um, what was it again?”
My mind swirled trying to come up with something he would believe and that wouldn’t make me seem like a complete asshole.
“Butt dimples.”
“What?”
“I was thinking about butt dimples. You know, the indent people sometimes have in the butt cheek. That requires both parents to have it.”
Cage looked at me confused.
“So, you said all of that, and what you meant was butt dimples.”
“Yes,” I said wanting him to believe me.
“I don’t have butt dimples.”
“Oh, then I guess none of what I said applies.”
“Is anything you just told me true? I mean, about you being the first child born that way and the whole genius thing?”
As relieved as I was that he seemed willing to let my adoption theory go, I again felt the weight of having revealed myself to him.
