A Chip Off the Old Block?

“Trust me, Kid. You have no idea who I am,” I said. I stepped out of my Benz willing my hand-tailored suit and Rolex to intimidate him.

“I do too,” Chip said. “You’re my Dad.”

“Wha…?” I examined his wide-set brown eyes, the slight gap between his front teeth, and the smattering of freckles on the bridge of his nose. “I, I…uh….”

Shit. Was it possible? I tried to do the math in my head. He looked eleven, maybe twelve. And Sylvia and I…Goddammit. When was that party? We graduated in 1998. The Smith twins would have been turning seventeen and…Oh. My. God. But why didn’t she tell me?

What now? Was I supposed to shake his hand? Ask him his middle name? See if he wanted to play catch? “That your beagle?” I asked, not knowing what else to say. Chip nodded and scooped up the pup. “I’m so happy to finally meet you.” The words were hard to get out.

“Aw shit, Mister. I just can’t anymore. I ain’t your kid.”

Sylvia slipped Chip a five. “No way. Don’t pretend you didn’t deserve that,” she glared at me.

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