Does DNA matter?

The clock ticked. Its incessant sound like some ancient chronological torture, sending Maya slowly insane. Why is he never on time? Clearly nothing’s changed in the last ten years, Maya thought. She ran her hand gently across her swollen belly, feeling the babe within stirring under her touch. She sent it a silent apology on behalf of its currently absent grandfather, who despite Maya’s hope for change, apparently still ran on his own time, regardless of what the clock said. Actually, he didn’t even know he WAS a grandfather. Maya’s first son, Josh was now two and here she was, five months pregnant with her second.

With a sigh, Maya got to her feet and went to make another cup of tea. She stood at the bench and stared absentmindedly out the window at the waves in the distance. Their foamy white caps broke up the dark, angry surface as it roiled and swirled beneath the sombre sky – a stark juxtaposition with the gaudy, sixties-inspired curtains her estranged father had chosen as a gift to frame her kitchen windows all those years ago. I’m really not sure why I still have these, Maya thought to herself, but I just can’t bring myself to throw them out.

Maya hadn’t noticed the mist starting to roll in over the sea, but then realised it was actually steam fogging up her glasses from the kettle that had been boiling – how long had she been standing there, randomly staring out the window and pondering curtains? The man would be her undoing, she was sure of it. He’s just such a headfuck, Maya thought. Not unlike the curtains, really! She had no idea where to put him in her life – she hadn’t heard a thing from him in the last ten years, then he’d suddenly called her out of the blue and said he was coming to visit. What the hell?

The tea was hot. Probably too hot, thought Maya. Taking small sips to avoid burning her tongue, she sat back down at the kitchen table, the soft, fruity aromas of the boysenberry and peach caressing her senses, relaxing her and settling her nerves. She’d never been a huge fruit tea fan, but this had become one of her favourites, and right now, she was grateful for its effects.

Damn the man! Making her wait and fret and sit here overanalysing fruit tea. Where had he been for the last ten years? Why hadn’t he returned her calls? Why had he never attempted to make contact? Maya hadn’t changed her phone number since receiving her first mobile phone at eighteen. If he even tried to tell her he’d lost her number, she’d lose the plot at him. Seriously, what gives him the right to mess with my head like this? He’s my father – biologically at least. Why can’t he act it?

It was all just so confusing. Maya had so many questions and so few answers. Previous experience had taught her that asking the questions got her nowhere though. The man could evade answering anything. He would turn things on their head and then she would be the one ending up answering the questions.

Her son cried. Maya had put Josh’s favourite show on TV in an attempt to give her some time with her father when he arrived, but already the show had reached an end and the time had run out. As Maya entered the lounge, Josh pointed his chubby little fingers at the TV and with his eyes full of tears, sadly announced ‘Bye, bye.’

Squirming across the couch, Josh wriggled down until his feet hit the carpet, and then with the absolute surety of a toddler on an important mission, proceeded to march across to Maya, tears rolling down his plump cheeks.

‘Mama, put on again please?’ Josh said hopefully.

Maya smiled and reached down to pick up her son. ‘Of course, Joshie! Or do you want to watch something else?’

Josh looked aghast. ‘Why?’ He said, his little tear-streaked face showing fear and concern that his mother may just make him watch something else.

Maya laughed. ‘I just thought you might like a change, huh? There’s only so many times you can watch Captain Barnacles and the rest of the Octonauts saving all those sea critters, surely? Too much Octonauts?’

She playfully poked him in the ribs, knowing exactly what his response would be, but wanting to see it anyway.

Josh vehemently shook his head, his chubby cheeks quivering like just-set jelly. With eyes like saucers, he solemnly said, ‘No Mama…never too much Octonauts!’

His little brow furrowed with the effort of processing such a concept.

Maya grinned and plonked him back down on the floor.

Okay, okay. More Octonauts!’

She reached for the TV remote as Josh jumped up and raced across the lounge, tears forgotten and a huge grin on his face. He got to the couch and hurled himself at it, hoping the extra momentum would gain him those crucial few inches to get atop the cushions. Kicking his legs behind him like a fish flopping out of water, Josh finally summited the couch, turned around and triumphantly settled himself among the throw cushions and his blanket.

Maya couldn’t help but laugh – he’d only recently grown tall enough to achieve getting up onto the couch on his own. He is SO pleased with himself! Maya thought with a smile. Against her better judgement, she set the TV to play a few episodes in a row. Ultimately, she had no clue what time her father would turn up, and she hated herself for using the screen to babysit her son while she waited. Asshole. Even without being here, he was impacting her life, making her question her decisions.

The tea was cold. Maya grabbed the cup off the kitchen table and walked over to the sink, slowly pouring the tea down the drain. The ruby-coloured liquid was a stark contrast to the silver of the stainless steel as it swirled and rolled its way toward the plughole. Having steeped for so long while she had been with Josh, the now pungent aroma of the boysenberry and peach felt like an assault on her nostrils. Her stomach didn’t like pungent anything since she’d fallen pregnant again. Maya put her hands against her belly, sighing and wondering what life would be like soon with not one, but two kids to look after?

Gazing out the window, the grey-green waves were still there, incessantly rising and falling, the turbulent swell and foam a constant reflection of her own inner turmoil. Thinking back, Maya realised that the turmoil and her father had always been synonymous. The man had constantly been a source of chaos and confusion for her. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry and actually, that had always been the case. He had bought her so much joy in the few moments they had shared when she was growing up, but then there were years that went by when he’d just…disappear.

Those were the hardest. She used to think it was funny when her mother checked the obituaries in the paper. Used to think it comical that anyone would look for a death notice for their ex-husband - but years later, Maya had found out that her mother was actually doing it for her. So that she would be able to give her daughter some closure if ever her father did turn up dead, as she really thought he might.

The baby kicked. Maya was jolted back to reality. She rubbed her hand across her belly, feeling the babe wriggling and squirming under her touch. Four months left in her pregnancy and this little one was already proving to be feisty! She was grateful for the movement, for having a healthy baby nestled under her heart. But what of your grandpa? Huh, Little One? The guy who shares a quarter of your DNA? That hit home hard. How could she deny the man access into her life when he made up a quarter of her children? How she wanted to, though. How she wanted to stop the headfucks. The turmoil. The emotional baggage she was carrying around after thirty plus years of confusion and not knowing.

But would it stop? I’m half his DNA too! But what right does that give him? Maya thought. Is there some unwritten rule that means I need to open up my heart and my life to someone, simply because they helped bring me into existence? Maya’s brain hurt. Her heart hurt. God how it hurts. And the truth was, he didn’t get it. He’d never get it, she thought. But Maya was ever the optimist and still felt she should try. She had resolved nothing. She was as confused as she had ever been and had no idea what to say or what to do.

The doorbell rang.