Mayhem looks over at me, a glint in his eyes. “That’s a good question.”
Dad sighs towards the ceiling. “She has a phone. There’s electricity and heat. It’s not the nineteenth century.”
“Does she grow her own lentils?” Mayhem asks.
“I have no idea.”
“She definitely grows her own lentils.” He pauses, contemplates. “Also? I bet they have alpacas.”
I finally laugh, and I absolutely can’t help it. The sound escapes before I can stop it, and a second later Dad’s mouth twitches too. Mayhem grins, delighted as ever to be a sarcastic s**t-disturber. For the first time since we walked into the office, the pressure in my chest eases. Enough to breathe, at least.
Dad looks down at the DNA report again.
“She’s mine,” he repeats.
I reach across the desk and cover his hand. His fingers tighten be
