He should remember the smell of the Thanksgiving turkey fresh out of the oven. He should have been there to catch the football my father always insisted on hurling at me. His tongue should still hold onto the taste of the Russian angel wing cookies my mother made every Christmas. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he should have the imprint of my grandmother's laugh and the ice cream truck that came down the road every summer afternoon. He should remember sleeping with the windows thrown open, so the spring air brought in the smell of lilacs and jasmine from the trees outside.
There were also memories I can’t share with him, but that he should have. That both of us should have. We should remember running around in the sprinkler together on a hot summer afternoon. We should have sneaked down the stairs and peeked into the living room to grab a glimpse of Christmas presents. Knowing us, we should have brainstormed together for weeks leading up to that moment to come up with elaborate plans to trap Santa. We should have had Easter egg hunts, birthday parties, campouts.
There are whole lives we should have lived, but we never got the chance. I got far closer than he did. I have those memories and had those people as a part of my life when he never did. Both of us know why that version of our lives was never lived, but we don't talk about it.
After I show him the entire house, I pull out some of the old photo albums, and we sit on the couch to go through them. He listens as I point out the faces in each of the images and tell him what was going on. I'm not expecting the emotion in his voice when he reaches forward and touches his fingertips to Grandpa's face. He's staring at something, his expression still and quiet.
“I look like him,” Dean says. “My eyes. I never knew anyone who had my eyes.” We look at each other, and he gives me a faint smile. “Until you.”
“Until my father,” I correct him. “You knew him first.”
Dean nods and looks back at the picture. He's seeing the faces of his family for the first time. Features he couldn't identify in anyone around him when he was younger, and others he may have never noticed in himself, but sees now that they're right in front of him. It's been more than a year since he came into my life, and we've gotten closer as the months went by. Our work has kept us from being able to spend a lot of time together, but there's a bond that feels as if it was always there. A tie by merit of birth. Perhaps even stronger than with other relatives because our fathers are identical twins.
“I did,” he admits. “But I didn't know what I was looking at. Now, I do. Our fathers look like their father, and I look like them.”
He draws in a breath, and I lean down to catch his attention. "We didn't know about you. They didn't know about you. Never. Your mother knew my parents and stayed in touch with them, but she never said anything about you. She kept your paternity a secret your entire life. She was embarrassed about Jonah and the way he dropped her after their fling because of his obsession with my mother."
"Wouldn't you be?” Dean asks.
“Absolutely,” I say. “I think she was brave and strong as hell. She took care of you by herself and did everything she could to give you a good life. She had to make a really hard decision, one I don't envy at all. I don't doubt for a second she knew what Jonah was capable of and the type of person he is. She had to protect you, and that meant keeping you from the rest of us.”
"I wish it hadn't," Dean sighs. "I grew up with no father, no grandparents, no siblings, no cousins. It was just Mom and me. I loved her, and I appreciate everything she ever did for me, even more now that I know how hard it was for her, but I always wanted to know who I was. I wanted a family.”
"You have one now," I tell him. "And I'm glad to have you as a part of my life. It’s as if there was a piece I didn't realize was missing."
"I knew it was missing. And I'm glad to have found it," he replies.
The emotion is high in his eyes, and his strong, war-honed body is tense. I know what that means. He's closing up, getting overwhelmed by everything. Tugging the album into my lap, I close it and cover it with my arm like I'm blocking anything else from getting to him.
"Are you hungry?" I ask. "I'm starving."
Dean smiles, and the turmoil in his eyes fades. "Me, too."
"Good," I say, setting the book firmly on the coffee table. "I'll find something."
I bounce up from the couch and head into the kitchen, but the energy drains when I'm out of his sight. Pressing my hands to the counter, I hang my head and concentrate on the breaths coming in and out of my lungs. With each one, I brush away the thoughts and pain. I make myself come back into the moment, to right now when I can make a difference and change the course. I start searching the cabinets, refrigerator, and pantry, deciding not to think about anything else.
A few moments later, I head back into the living room with an enormous bowl of pretzels in one hand and holding
