Colleen stood and took her bag down from the overhead compartment.
“Are you coming?”
“Uh, I have to use the bathroom.” Lame I know, but how dumb would I look if I didn’t recognize my own father.
“Kay, see you around. Maybe.”
I watched Colleen and the passengers leave. I waited until the very last minute before grabbing my bag and walking down the aisle.
“Have a nice day,” said the steward as I stepped out of the plane.
I made my way down to baggage claim without spotting anyone who looked remotely like my father. A lot of very tan people and a lot of artsy-fartsy looking people. And a lot of men holding hands. It’s not that I have anything against gays, it’s just that at my school they were very private.
The baggage carousel spit out my black hockey bag. It thumped against the rail and started its circular journey around the belt. Of course I had to wait for the full circle to grab it.
I lugged it over to one of those screwed down set of chairs. As I was reaching for my cell, a voice behind me calls.
I whip around and see my dad. Mom was right. We look exactly alike in all respects-hair coloring, height, weight, the Adam’s apple, we’re even both wearing jeans.
Dad walks over and hugs me like it was only yesterday since he saw me. What gives?
I notice another man hovering a few feet behind Dad. He’s dressed in pressed khakis and a pink golf shirt.
We break apart and Dad motions for the pink dude to come over.
“Dillon, I’d like you to meet Henry.”
Henry extends his hand and I shake it.
I look at Dad who looks at Henry who looks at me.
Dad clears his throat. Puts his arm over Henry’s shoulder and says, “Henry and I are married.”