“This guy George.” He tucked his chin into his neck and harrumphed: “ ‘So how do you feel about that, Jack? Your mother doesn’t love your father anymore, and you don’t ask your friends over because you live in two places and neither of them feels like home. Any thoughts you’d like to share with us about that?’ ” Jack laughed. “I liked George, actually. I forget, has your mother always been on her own?”

“She’s not on her own. She’s with Robin. He’s like a stepfather to me. I love Robin!” I was being a little too emphatic, but boys aren’t tuned in to that kind of thing. After a minute I said: “I never knew my real father, if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh.” Jack glanced at me. “Well. I liked your mother. She was fun. Do you remember that game we played where she used to roll us up in towels? We’d hatch or whatever cocoons do, and go tap her on the shoulder and she’d turn around all surprised, and then we’d be butterflies and dance around the room.”

I stood up, stretched, and sat down again. Now was not the time to go down memory lane. Couldn’t he see I had something to tell him? High board. Dive in.

“Know what, Jack?”

“What?”

“You’re not going to believe this.” I was trying not to smile. “I found my real father this week.”

I didn’t blame Jack for thinking it was a joke. “No way!” He stared at me, ready to start laughing if I gave a sign.

I told him the story of the search, my grandfather’s turnaround, my email, Antonio’s reply. Jack kept very still, leaning against the counter with his arms folded, his eyes fixed on my face. It was the most complete attention he had ever given me. Maybe it was an exotic thing, not knowing your father, finding him online.

“He’s a scientist in London,” I said. “He’s sometimes in the news.” Didn’t scientists write for magazines? That’s the news.

“What kind of scientist?”

“Neuroscientist. Brain.”

Jack was eyeing me with curiosity. “You seem very cool about this.”

“No, I’m not!” I didn’t know how to tell Jack I would pretty much take anyone’s father over the one I had. A mean one, or one who got drunk, or was old or divorced or way too strict. “It’s just kind of strange.”

“So what are you going to do? Try to meet him?”

“Meet him!” I echoed. “I only found him on Sunday. My mother doesn’t know. My grandfather doesn’t even know. You’re the only one who knows.”

He was silent. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”