Passion and Ponies

by Tara Sivec

  I continue to stare at her. “And you don’t think that sounds a little bit suspicious?”

  “Suspicious how? He knows lots of guys who have things that need to be looked at,” she tells me seriously.

  I decide to let it go for now, mostly because Uncle Drew isn’t here to act as interpreter while I’m talking to Aunt Jenny. I have more important things to worry about right now, like how I can find a way to make money on this website so I can quit working at Seduction and Snacks without giving my mom a heart attack.

  “Do you want me to come in with you or stay in the car?” Gavin asks as he pulls up to Quick and Delicious, the diner where I’m meeting my…father.

  Jesus, it feels so weird so say that.

  “Come in. No, stay in the car. Wait, no, come in. SHIT! I don’t know what the fuck to do!” I complain as Gavin puts the car in park and shuts off the engine.

  “Just take a deep breath, this is going to be fine. Just because you share the same DNA means nothing. Your dad who raised you is still your dad,” Gavin reminds me. “Did the company send you that email with his name?”

  I grab my phone from the center console and pull up the email app. They sent me an email after we hung up the phone yesterday, but I was too afraid to look at it then.

  “This can’t be right,” I mutter, as I stare at the email from Cryobiology, Inc.

  Gavin leans over and glances at the email I pulled up.

  “His name is Dean O’Saur? That’s got to be a typo,” Gavin states.

  I close out of the email and open it back up, hoping we both read something wrong.

  “Dude, your dad is T-Rex. This may be the best news you’ve gotten all week!” Gavin says with a laugh.

  I groan and throw my head back against the seat.

  “T-Rex be like, ‘I can’t make my bed with these tiny arms’,” Gavin says, pulling his elbows into his sides and flapping his hands around.

  “This is not funny,” I complain.

  He continues. “T-Rex be like, ‘Raaaawr, that was a good performance, I’m going to clap now. Oh, wait.’”

  He continues flailing his hands until I reach over and punch him in the arm.

  Gavin finally drops his arms and sighs. “Just don’t be a dick right off the bat. It’s not like he got drunk and had a one-night-stand with your mom and then didn’t speak to her again for like a ton of years.”

  I look over at him and raise my eyebrow.

  “Fuck! I just described MY dad. Well, this sucks,” he complains.

  “I’m just going to go in there, see if we look anything like one another and then leave,” I tell him.

  Gavin nods. “Good plan. Get his medical history too. If there’s a history of mental illness then at least you know your problems are hereditary, T-Rex, Jr.”

  “I’m going to drag you out of this car and beat the fuck out of you,” I warn him, reaching for the door handle.

  With one last fortifying breath, I shove open the door and step out of the car.

  “Oh, you should give him some My Little Pony trivia questions. If he gets them wrong, you know he’s not really your dad,” Gavin shouts as I flip him off before slamming the door closed.

  Really, what’s the big deal with the fact that I like My Little Pony? I know for a fact I’m not the only one. I Googled it. There’s an entire following of people just like me who appreciate that friendship is magic. If Gavin took one second to watch the videos I gave him, he would realize that they are relatable, endearing ponies that have meaningful developments in their lives. If more people liked My Little Pony, world peace wouldn’t be an issue, I guarantee it. You just can’t watch that show without feeling happy. I also can’t watch that show without getting horny.

  I walk through the doors of Quick and Delicious, scanning the restaurant for a dude in his forties who looks like me. After a quick glance, I don’t see anyone that fits the bill. I walk up to the hostess counter and wait for one of the waitresses to finish cashing someone out.

  “Hi, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here. His name is Dean,” I tell her. I refuse to give his full name to anyone ever, even a complete stranger. That shit needs to stay quiet.

  She smiles at me as she comes around the counter. “Yep, he’s been here for a few minutes. Right this way.”

  My palms start to sweat and I feel like I’m going to puke as I follow her through the restaurant. I get more and more nervous with each table we walk by and I contemplate turning around and running back out to the car.

  Why the hell am I doing this? Gavin is right. Nick Branson is my father, for all intents and purposes. He taught me how to play catch, he bought me my first My Little Pony and he passed down his porn collection to me when I turned eighteen. I couldn’t ask for a better father. I shouldn’t feel like I don’t know who I am just because I suddenly found out the man who raised me doesn’t share the same DNA as me. It shouldn’t matter.

  And yet, it does.

  What if I need a kidney transplant and the only match is this guy? What if my sperm doesn’t work and the only way I can get my future wife pregnant with a baby who shares my DNA is by using this guy’s sperm? I have to do this. I have to be strong and do this for the health of my kidneys and for the lives of my future children. It wouldn’t be weird at all that their grandfather is also their father, right? I mean, people do that shit all the time and you never hear anyone say, “This is my grandpa-dad” when they’re introduced. It will be fine. It will all be just fine.

  “Here we go, I’ll be right back to take your drink order.”

  The woman smiles at me and walks away and I get my first glimpse of my father. He’s got the same blonde hair as I do, but that’s about the only similarity I see.

  The man smiles up at me as I slide into the booth.

  “So, you’re Dean,” I state, breaking the silence after a few seconds.

  “I like mushrooms,” he replies.

  Uh, okay.

  “Did you know a female swine will always have an even number of teats? Usually twelve,” he adds, the smile never leaving his face.

  Thankfully, our waitress comes over and I’m saved from having to comment on pig nipples. She takes our drink orders and leaves us alone again.

  “So, thanks for agreeing to see me. I know when you do this sort of thing you never expect to actually meet one of your kids,” I tell him with a nervous laugh.

  “I like to smell magic markers. Purple is my favorite smell,” Dean says, his smile growing even wider.

  Oh, my God. They really scraped the bottom of the sperm think tank for my mom, didn’t they?

  I guess it’s random fact time at this Father-Son event.

  “Yeah, well, I like to give my balls names that coincide with holidays,” I admit, trying to get him to do something other than smile at me.

  “Every time you lick a stamp, you consume 1/10 of a calorie. So far today I’ve had twenty-five calories. I like stamps.”

  The waitress drops off our drinks and as she turns to leave, I grab onto her arm and pull her close to me.

  “Please tell me you made a mistake and sat me at the wrong table,” I beg as I whisper in her ear.

  She glances across the table and then back at me. “Nope, that’s Dean. He was really excited about meeting his son. But just so you know, he’s already eaten four paper napkins and he’s got one in his hand right now under the table.”

  She stands up and pats me on the back before walking away again.

  “Dean, give me the napkin,” I tell him, reaching across the table with my palm up.

  He shakes his head at me and frowns.

  “Give me the napkin right now. You can’t eat napkins, Dean.”

  I give him a stern look and he slowly lifts his hand out from under the table, a small napkin clutched in his fist. He reaches towards my hand and right when he’s about to drop the napkin into it, he quickly pulls his hand back and shoves the entire thing in his mouth.

  I stare at him with wide, un
blinking eyes as he chews.

  “The average human can eat two pounds of paper before risking a bowel obstruction,” Dean mumbles through his mouthful of paper.

  As the waitress comes back to take our food order, I let my head drop to the table with a thunk.

  “Look, I told you it’s fine with Gavin and I if you stay here until you can find your own place. But do you really think going out and getting drunk tonight is a good idea? You just got in a fight with mom. Maybe you should just stay in. We can pig out on ice cream and watch movies,” Charlotte suggests.

  I know she means well, but staying here is not going to happen. I’m depressed and pissed off and sitting around watching her and Gavin be all cutesy with one another is just going to push me over the edge.

  I ignore her as she sits down on the bed in her guest room while I dig through my suitcase trying to find the perfect outfit for getting tanked and picking up a random stranger at a bar to help take my mind off of things.

  I think of Tyler and a flash of guilt washes through me.

  Shit! I have no reason to feel guilty. Tyler and I are NOT dating. We have sex every once in a while and, now that I’ve put an end to it once and for all, I need to get laid and blow off some of this steam. I’m not a slut; I just enjoy sex. Really, really enjoy sex and it’s been seven days, thirteen hours and twenty-seven seconds since I last had sex. Not that I’m counting or anything.

  “You know mom didn’t mean anything that she said today,” Charlotte continues as I pull a black, quilted, drop-waist skirt from Forever 21 out of my suitcase and hold it up.

  “Do you still have that teal, bow-front, studded tube top from H&M that you wore to Molly’s sixteenth birthday party?” I ask about our younger sister, ignoring what Charlotte said about mom.

  I made the stupid mistake of showing her the finished blog after Aunt Jenny had worked her magic. I was so excited to show someone how great it looked and she shit all over it, telling me once again that I was wasting my time on something that had nothing to do with my future.

  “Dude, seriously? Molly’s sixteenth birthday was three years ago. How in the hell do you even remember that?” Charlotte asks.

  “Do you still have that top or not? It would look great with this skirt and my black Nine West phantom peep toe ankle boots,” I muse.

  “It’s under the box of dildos.”

  “JESUS CHRIST!” I shout, jumping in surprise and quickly turning around when I hear Molly’s quiet voice.

  “How long have you been standing there? And that door was closed and locked, how did you even get in?” I demand.

  I swear to God, Molly should have been a ninja instead of a pastry chef. After being around her for nineteen years, you would think I’d be used to her stealth, but it still catches me off guard. Out of the three of us, she’s the most quiet. And I’m not just talking about the way she can move in and out of a room like a ghost. I’m talking about the fact that we don’t know anything about her life. She keeps to herself and never shares any personal information, but you can bet your ass she knows everything about everyone else.

  Molly just shrugs. “I have my ways. As I was saying, Charlotte still has that shirt. It’s on the top shelf of her closet under the largest box of vibrators I’ve ever seen.”

  With that little piece of information, she turns and walks out of the room.

  “Jesus fuck, she scares me,” I mutter before turning back to face Charlotte.

  “I swear she can read minds or some shit,” Charlotte adds as I pull off my jeans and slip into the skirt. “Did I tell you the other day I was looking all over the place for a twenty-dollar bill that I swore I left on the counter? My phone rang while I was tearing the kitchen apart and when I answered it, all she said was ‘It’s in the pair of jeans on your bathroom floor’ and then she hung up. I think we need to ask mom just how much pot she smoked when she was pregnant with her.”

  Pulling up the zipper on the side of the skirt, I walk over to the full-length mirror hanging on the wall across the room.

  “I’m sure our sister doesn’t have special powers. She probably just has your house bugged,” I say with a laugh as I check out my reflection. “Now, go get me that shirt. Or do you need some extra muscle to lift that giant box of dildos down off the shelf?”

  Charlotte curses at me before getting up from the bed and walking out of the room. She comes back a few minutes later with the top. I slide it on and put the finishing touches on my make-up before blowing her a kiss and telling her not to wait up for me.

  “So, what do you say we get out of here? My van is parked outside.”

  Gulping down the rest of my vodka and Seven, I slam the glass on the top of the bar and turn to face the douche bag sitting next to me.

  “Your van? What is this, 1987? Get your hand off of my thigh before I break your fingers,” I tell him.

  Why did I think going to a bar alone would be a great way to forget about my troubles? As soon as this guy sat down next to me I thought, perfect! A hot guy! And then he opened his mouth.

  “Awwww, don’t be like that, baby.”

  Alright, that’s it. No one calls me baby.

  Clenching my hands, I take a deep breath, not even caring that I’m most likely going to be kicked out of here the moment my fist connects with his face

  I turn my body on the barstool right as he lifts up his glass of beer, signaling to the bartender to get him another. He’s so drunk that he can’t hold his hand steady and the amber liquid in his glass sloshes all over the place while he waves his hand in the air. I watch in horror as beer splashes all over the top of my teal Taylor leather Bette Mini Coach tote.

  “You got beer on my Coach,” I whisper, unable to take my eyes off of my brand new purse.

  “Yo! Bartender! Another beer!” douche bag shouts, completely ignoring me.

  “YOU. GOT. BEER. ON. MY. COACH!”

  My voice is much louder this time as the rage washes through me. It’s one thing for this guy to grope me and talk like a moron, but no one defiles my Coach purse.

  “Calm down, baby. It’s just a purse-”

  My arm flies out before he can even finish his sentence, my elbow connecting with his throat. He drops the glass, both hands flying to his throat and he clutches tightly to it while he coughs and sputters.

  “You bitch!” he manages to shout in between coughs.

  Before I can even think about threatening to cut off his balls, a hand shoots in between us, grabs onto the front of the guy’s shirt and hauls him off of his barstool.

  Swiveling around on my seat, I see Tyler pull the guy’s face right up to his own and speak in a calm, cool manner.

  “Apologize to the lady.”

  Douche bag looks over at me and gives me a dirty look.

  Tyler’s hand clutches tighter to the front of the guy’s shirt and he roughly yanks him closer. “I said, apologize to the lady, before I shove my knee in your balls.”

  I should be irritated that Tyler just waltzed in here and took over a situation I could easily handle, but right now, watching him be this big, bad ass protector is making me so hot I can’t sit still.

  “Sorry,” douche bag mumbles.

  Tyler shoves the guy away and he stumbles backwards, tripping over his own feet and bumping into a couple of customers. Tyler turns to face me and closes the distance between us, sliding in between my thighs. Without a word to me, he grabs the drink the bartender refilled during the commotion and chugs it. I stare at his throat and watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallows, biting my lip to stop myself from leaning over and licking his skin.

  I will not have sex with Tyler, I will not have sex with Tyler.

  “So, what’s the deal? Were you on a date or something?” he asks, placing the now-empty glass back on the bar.

  “Were you following me? I was doing just fine on my own, I didn’t need your help,” I snap, wincing when I hear how bitchy I sound.

  He just shrugs, his hand reaching towa
rds my face. I jerk back right before he touches me and give him a dirty look.

  “Relax, princess, I was just going to move a piece of hair off of your cheek.”

  I hate it when people call me princess. I really hate it when Tyler calls me princess. So why the fuck do I feel like I’m on the verge of a spontaneous orgasm?

  “And no, I wasn’t following you. I had a bad day and didn’t feel like going home. My parents are most likely there doing weird as fuck sex therapy shit and I’m not in the mood to see them,” he explains. “Also, I know you can handle yourself. I stepped in for that dude’s protection, not yours. I did it for my own sanity, too. I was afraid you’d break a nail on his face and then I’d have to listen to you bitch and moan all night long about your manicure.”

  I stare at him for a few minutes to see if he’s telling the truth. When his gaze on me doesn’t waver, I sigh loudly. “Well, I wasn’t on a date. My mom pissed me off so I packed a bag and went to stay with Gavin and Charlotte. They were most likely getting ready to do some weird as fuck sex shit and I didn’t feel like sticking around while Gavin licks my sister’s ass.”

  Tyler laughs, resting his elbow on the bar, inching his way further between my legs until I can feel the material of his jeans rubbing against my inner thighs.

  “What did your mom do to piss you off?”

  And just like that, I open up to Tyler, the one person I never thought I would let my guard down around. I tell him about my fashion blog and how my mom shit all over my excitement with it. I tell him how much I hate working at Seduction and Snacks and how I hate where my life is going. He orders both of us another couple rounds of drinks without ever taking his eyes off of me, hanging on my every word and interjecting with little pieces of advice every now and then.

  Before long, I’m buzzed and everything he says makes me laugh. My hands rest casually against his chest as he tells me about meeting his real father and something inside of me shifts. It happens so suddenly that I have to catch my breath. My heart speeds up and my hands start to sweat as I feel Tyler’s heart beating under my palms. It takes me a minute to realize I’m not having a fucking heart attack. What I’m having is a moment of clarity – Tyler Branson is genuinely a nice guy. A nice guy with a huge penis, a six pack and eyes so blue they look like someone took a blue crayon and colored them in.