I never imagined seeing a positive pregnancy test in a package for my father. And especially not with a flirting message written “love.” Did my dad cheat on my mom? Would he have a kid without us knowing?
I always thought my parents had an unbreakable love. They laughed at the same dumb jokes, waltzed around the kitchen when no one was looking, and never stopped reminding me and each other how much love we had.
But now? Now I wasn’t sure what to believe.
I left my hometown at eighteen, full of ambitions and desire to make my mark in the metropolis.
The flat was small. I had room for myself, a mushy, deep sofa, and a kitchenette barely broad enough for two. But it was mine, and I cherished every inch.
My work and college classes left me exhausted, so I couldn’t even visit my folks in the suburbs. We maintained in contact, although I hadn’t seen them in months.
So when my phone called that afternoon and my dad’s name came up, I happily answered.
“Well, if it isn’t my long-lost father,” I joked.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said warmly. Guess what? Tomorrow I’ll work in the city.”
You’re kidding!” Eyes wide, I bolted from the sofa. This is incredible! Where are you staying?
Just a downtown motel. Two nights only.”
“Then I’ll visit you. Without excuses.”
He laughed gently. “Wouldn’t stop you.”
Still tingling from the surprise, I hung up.
Dad and I had always shared something unique. He taught me to drive, applauded loudly at my performances, and prepared blueberry pancakes every Saturday morning.
I eagerly awaited his return.
I raced to his hotel the following day, bouncing through the lobby. I immediately hugged him when he answered the door.
“Dad!” Squealed with joy.
“Hey there, kiddo,” he hugged me. “Wow. You look great.”
“So do you,” I grinned, moving back to embrace him. He looked like himself, although his hair was grayer and longer since I last saw him.
But that smile? Same as before.
We caught up on the motel sofa like nothing had happened.
He inquired about my courses, job, sleep, and diet.
I inquired about Mom, the home, and Buster. All of our talk seemed natural. I felt protected. Genuinely glad.
That was until a knock on the door.
Dad went to the restroom a minute earlier.
He called, “Can you get that?” “Probably a delivery.”
The delivery man had a tiny brown item when I rose up and answered the door. I signed for it and checked the label—it was for my father.
“Do you want me to open it?” My question was loud.
“Sure,” he said. “Probably office stuff.”
I gently removed the tape, half expecting to discover documentation, a charger, or a replacement component.
But what I discovered shocked me.
Pregnivity test.
Positive.
An accompanying printed message.
Congratulations, love! Meet in the café at 7 p.m.”
With a heart and that awful word, love.
I regarded the note. The exam followed. Then again.
This is impossible. It couldn’t.
My thoughts tumbled as I reviewed the letter. Was my dad cheating? Was my trusted and respected boyfriend sneaking around with a pretentious mistress?
Bile rose in my throat. Churned stomach. My hands shook violently.
I hastily put everything back in the box and sealed it with shaky fingers.
All I could think of was my mother. Mom is kind and caring.
She deserved the truth. Was it my job to inform her?
Dad emerged from the bathroom, wiping his hands with a towel.
“What was it?” he said nonchalantly.
Trying to seem blank, I did. This is merely a delivery. No inside look.”
He nodded and grabbed it from me readily.
But I was reeling within.
I could not ignore this.
I had to find out. I needed to identify the lady.
I donned my coat and went to the café in the note that afternoon. I slid into a corner booth with a racing heart.
I searched everywhere for the mystery sender.
Maybe the blonde lady at the window? Drinking wine alone, she looked forty.
But a guy stepped into the seat next her, and I turned away.
I turned to see a familiar face enter.
My father.
The man came at 7:00 p.m.
Without hesitation. Nobody looked worried. Tall and comfortable, he entered the café like a regular guy, surveying it.
And in his hand?
A red rose bouquet.
My ears rang as I squeezed my hands beneath the table. Roses? Really? For his mistress?
My heart pounded like a drum. I clutched my coffee, preparing for what was to come.
I concealed by lowering my head and pulling up my hood. To see who he was meeting, but he couldn’t see me.
A few minutes. I felt tense everywhere.
Above the door, the bell rang.
A lady entered.
I froze.
I knew her.
My mother.
Thought I was imagining things. No, it was her, standing in the doorway, scanning the room.
Dad reached for his lips and gasped.
Why on earth…
He stood, beaming like a Christmas morning kid. In a few steps, he crossed the café and hugged her.
They laughed. They kissed. They spoke as if no one else existed, ignorant that their daughter was looking in amazement across the room.
As Mom retreated, Dad kissed her tummy.
Then it struck me.
The soft curvature under her dress.
She was regal.
My hands reached my lips. Nearly dropped my coffee.
As instinct took control, I grabbed my phone with shaking fingers. I pressed record.
Had to record this.
All day, I thought my father lied and cheated.
But he wasn’t.
He was a loyal husband passionately in love with his pregnant wife.
I replayed the film in my flat that night.
Twenty years into their marriage, my parents still looked at each other as they’d just fallen in love. I tormented myself with vehement misgivings… I realized I was completely incorrect.
The baby was coming.
Baby.
I reclined and laughed breathlessly. “Unreal.”
Three of us had been together for so long. Their only kid, me. Heart of their universe.
Now my mother was starting again at 42?
I couldn’t comprehend it.
Playing the film again, I saw my father kiss her stomach and mumble and giggle like adolescents.
It was too lovely to keep to myself.
I held my phone in front of friends and family at my mom’s baby shower six months later.
“I have a story to tell,” I said, shivering slightly, eyes gleaming as I gazed at my parents, who were sat side by side, my father’s hand on her now-prominent bump.
Confused, they looked at each other.
I clicked play.
The brief film showed Dad caressing her tummy and Mom giggling quietly, immersed in their own world.
Gasps and grins flooded the room.
Then I finished the tale.
How I discovered the box. I feared the worst. How I physically stalked my dad.
After I finished, Dad was laughing so hard he cried. Mom gently slapped my arm, shaking her head in astonishment.
“Olivia!” She chastised. “You thought your father cheated on me?”
“I panicked!” I raised my hands. “It’s not often you find a p.re.gn.a.n.cy test for your dad!”
Everyone laughed raucously. Dad wiped tears.
“Well,” he laughed, “that’s one way to give your daughter a heart attack.”
I glanced around the room at my loved ones, my soon-to-be baby brother, and my parents still grinning like newlyweds and knew this was a tale we’d always tell.
Fear turned into pure, unexpected bliss.