Chapter Nine - Cashew (Maverick)

Maverick stumbled back out the door of Toby’s hospital room, and straightened. Everything was too bright, too loud, his vision tunneling as he walked to the nurses station in a daze. He requested a new nurse in a voice that felt distant and garbled. Somebody asked a question but he didn’t hear it, he simply turned away from their curious eyes and rounded a corner. His hand found a doorknob and he slipped into a storage closet.

There was a small light brightening the space crowded with shelves of cleaning supplies that assaulted him with the smell of disinfectant — but the only thing Maverick could see was Toby’s face. The angle of his brow, the line of his nose. He’d never seen the kid before, but the moment he’d spoke, it was like Maverick was looking in a mirror that doubled as a time machine.

He braced an arm on the wall as his heart raced, dragging in deep, shuddering breaths that were proving incapable of providing the proper amount of oxygen. His vision grew blurry, darkening at the edges, and his chest heaved.

He’d gotten a paternity test. He’d gone to the clinic and had the doctor swab him, before she’d even begun to show. The test results came back in just three days. Three days for them to tell him that he wasn’t the father — that the love of his life, his fiance, was pregnant with another man’s baby. It was a simple blood test, but they said it was ninety-nine percent accurate. Ninety-Nine.

Spots dotted his vision as he lowered to his knees. He tried to focus on his breathing. In through the nose. Hold. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Hold.

But the cashews.

“Fuck,” he whispered, pulling out his phone to google. Words began to pop out at him instantly.

…linked to gene…

…family history…

…genetic predisposition...

…inherited markers...

He dropped the phone, pressing his forehead against the wall as he returned to his breathing. In through the nose. Hold. Out through the—

It didn’t necessarily mean he was Toby’s father, Maverick rationalized. Nut allergies were common. Very common. He’d studied this in school. It was like one or two percent of the world. That’s huge. It didn’t have to be inherited from him.

But the odds…

Maverick closed his eyes. Could she be hiding the fact… No. She’d tried to convince him that he was the father. She’d been devastated. Or at least she’d acted that way… Maverick shook his head, not knowing what to believe.

The familiar, welcome burn of anger flooded his veins. He didn’t know what trick this was, what game she was playing, but he wasn’t going to let her get in his head. Not again, not after all this time.

He needed to clear his mind so he could think rationally. So… he did the thing he always did when life became a little too much — he called his dad.

“Hey Mav,” the gruff voice answered on the second ring, an immediate balm, calming his racing pulse. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Maverick answered, too quickly. He cleared his throat. “Just, uh, checking in.”

“Hmm,” the old man rumbled, not believing it for a second. Fortunately, however, he’d never been one to pry. Maverick’s mom would’ve already been six questions into her interrogation, but his father — well, the man was happy enough to let the problems come to him. There’s plenty to go around, no need in seeking them out, he always said. “Well, your mom is making me cut out the soda… so that’s not good.”

Maverick snorted a laugh. “That’s actually really good to hear,” he said. “You drink like half a case a day. It’s just syrup... you’re practically an elf.”

The sound of a grumble crossed the line, much like an irritated grizzly waking from hibernation. “Can’t have anything nice around here.”

Maverick shook his head and breathed deeply, enjoying the feeling of his lungs expanding to max capacity, then releasing it slowly. He was good. He’d overreacted a bit, but he was fine.

“Hey Dad — I’ve got a weird question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“You know how I got diagnosed with that nut allergy a few years back?”

“Yeah. I told you nuts were bad news. Pointless little rocks in your food.”

Maverick fought the urge to laugh at the fact that his father had the palate of a toddler. “I was just curious... from a medical standpoint… do you have any nut allergies? We’re doing this study on genetics and I was wondering if it was passed down.”

“Nope,” his father answered. “No allergies here.”

Relief flooded Maverick, and his eyes shut as he relaxed into the knowledge that he’d simply jumped to conclusions. He had a confirmed paternity test saying he wasn’t the father. That was more than enough.

“But…” his dad spoke up once more, his tone suddenly solemn. “Your grandad did die from eating your aunt’s famous fudge brownie. The one that she sprinkled the uh… oh, what are they called.” Maverick chest tightened with each second that passed, until the snap of fingers sounded through the line. “Cashews! She sprinkled cashews on top.”

Maverick swallowed hard. “I thought he died from choking?”

“That is what everyone said. It’s what it looked like. But I was a kid, mind you, and we didn’t have all these allergy labels back then.” He paused. “I always thought it was weird the way he was talking. I choked once on a piece of steak and I couldn’t talk when it happened. But with my Pops… well, I heard him say he couldn’t breathe. It was strange.”

“That is strange,” Maverick agreed, closing his eyes against the hard truth of the matter. “Hey, I need to get going, my break is almost up. But maybe we can get together next weekend? I’m wouldn’t mind a few hours on the lake?”

“Yeah, son, that sounds good. I’ll string up the rods.”

Maverick smiled as they hung up, though his stomach swooped low with the knowledge that he had a hereditary cashew allergy. An allergy he was very likely to pass along to his own children.