After I had finished my narrative, there was silence on the phone. What Emma said sent my brain into the sky.

“And your point is?”

“What do you mean, ‘and your point is’?! I just found I was adopted, that my mother was actually my aunt, my aunt was actually my mother, and that I’m not related to my father at ALL !”

I was out of breath by the time I finished.

“AIDS, calm down, dude; you’ll give yourself a heart attack the way you’re going.”

She seemed incredibly calm about the whole thing.

“Answer me a few questions,” she said, cutting me off neatly.

“Who read you stories till he nearly passed out?”

”...Papa,” I whispered.

“Who sat and watched Tiny Toons with you until he knew the theme song by heart, backwards, upside down and scrambled?”

“Papa.”

“Who went out to get medicine for you when you had Scarlet Fever and threatened to break down the door if the pharmacist didn’t give him the antibiotics?”

“Papa.”

“Who raised you as his own child?”

“Er…papa.”

“Well, there’s your answer.”