Ever wonder what would have happened if an author did something differently in their story? Well, here is the first in a series of alternative scenes and situations based on Twice as Much as Half. This particular ending I did seriously consider using as the actual ending of the story, but figured if I did so I'd be shot. I shared the idea with my bestie (Shreek) and she convinced me that I had to write it as an alternative ending. We then went on to think of different things I could have done with the story. And so, this little mini series was born. As always, updates will be sporadic and based purely on the amount of assessment I have at the time.

Alternative Ending #1: A Maury Povich Moment

I used to fantasise about being a normal kid. It was all prompted by the beginning of my school career when I realised that my situation wasn't normal. In my dreams I'd have a mother who was a housewife and a father who worked in a local factory and they both loved and adored me and each other very much. In the evenings Mom would make pot roast or meat loaf and we'd all sit down to eat as a family at exactly six o'clock without fail. The family dog would greet me at the door with face licks when I arrived home from school each day and sleep across my feet at night. Mom taught me to cook and sew and we would have tea parties in the living room with all my dolls as guest. Dad would take me to the park on weekends and help me climb the monkey bars even though Mom said I was too little. When it stormed we'd sit together in the kitchen playing board games by candle light and when I had nightmare I would crawl between them in their big comfy bed and they would wrap their arms around me until I fell asleep again, whispering words of love and comfort.

The reality of my situation is that my father is a homicide detective with the Trenton Police Department and my father is the owner of a security company named Rangeman. Yes, I have two fathers and they're complete opposites. Dad (the detective) was a strictly by the books kind of guy, he was all rules and regulations and you can't do that it's illegal. Papa, on the other hand, encourages me to try new things all the time, like last year when he introduced me to marijuana as a try-it-at-home-and-they'll-be-less-likely-to-try-it-outside-and-get-in-trouble kind of manoeuvre. Sometimes I think he does these things just to get on Dad's nerves, other times I think that they've just always been under each other's skin anyway and there wasn't a lot either one of them could do about it. After all, old habits die hard.

There is one thing we all agree on, though. Mama was never going to find out about the marijuana.

Up until recently, Mama finding out about anything that Papa or Dad do with me wasn't even a plausible option, since she was... well, she was dead to us, at least we thought she was dead. But a few of weeks ago we found out that she wasn't (dead, that is) and everything pretty much turned upside down from there.

As you can imagine, the living arrangements of my ever growing patchwork family are now more complicated than ever. We all (by which I mean, the adults) decided before Papa was even released from hospital that for the time being at least I should continue to stay with him in his seventh floor apartment. This was for a number of reasons. First, all my stuff was there and they didn't feel that uprooting my entire existence mid-term was a wise idea, especially with how easily I lose and forget things when they're not in plain sight. Second, Mama and Ella thought Papa needed someone to keep an eye on him and make sure he wasn't overdoing it in his own home. That was my job each morning and evening during the week. To make sure Papa was taking the appropriate amount of rest. Tank would keep an eye on him during the work day, because Papa insisted that he immediately immerse himself back in the business the moment he was allowed to go home. We allowed him to only because it was in the same building he lived in, otherwise I think there would have been a lot more protesting.

Weekends I spend with Mama in her little rented house on the edge of town doing the types of things you expect of a mother and daughter who have been estranged for thirteen or so years. We sat around telling stories about our lives. Well, no, it was a lot deeper than that. We were learning how to co-exist. Mama was learning how to deal with the responsibilities involved with being the mother of a teenage daughter and I was learning how to interact with a mother. Something I'd never had the opportunity to do before now. It was going pretty well.

Last weekend we went to the mall for some serious mother-daughter bonding time (apparently it's not serious bonding if shopping isn't involved). We had a great time picking out things for each other to try on. I deliberately picked out some outrageous outfits for myself – stuff I wouldn't normally touch with a ten foot pole – just to see how she'd react. I have to admit she did a lot better than some of my friend's mothers. Apparently mothers tend to get a bit irate if their teenage girls come out dressed in skanky, sequin covered, booty dresses and four inch heeled ankle boots. Mama handled my presentation with aplomb.

When I opened the door to the change room and stepped out with confidence and sass she barely blinked an eye. "It's a bit sparkly, isn't it?" she commented after a moment of critical analysis. "I mean," she'd paused here, tilting her head to the side. "It's not very practical."

At that I'd sent her a small smile. "Tell me what you really think," I'd prompted. "You're allowed to hate it."

She'd hissed out a breath between her teeth and shook her head. "I'm really not a fan."

"Good," I'd told her, nervously tugging on the hem. "I don't like it either. Too short."

"Too sparkly."

"Too impractical."

"Too not you."

We'd shared a smile at that before she pushed off the wall she'd been leaning against. "Stay there, I'll grab something else for you to try on."

So things with Mama were going quite well. She knew me well enough that she wasn't constantly second guessing herself with her actions like she had in first couple of weeks. She was confident enough in her knowledge of my eating habits that she could plan and prepare meals without having to consult me about what I would and wouldn't eat. Not that there's much I wouldn't eat.

Apparently, the fact that Mama could cook was a big deal. As a kind of house warming Mama had invited the Papa, Dad, Tiffany, and a few of the Lost Boys over for dinner and all of them, with the exception of Tiffany, had gone to inspect the kitchen to make sure she wasn't hiding take out containers or a chef or something after tasting her cooking.

Speaking of Tiffany, she was now officially my future step mom... ish... What do you call the fiancée of one of your two male guardians when neither of them is biologically related to you? I don't know, and it doesn't really matter anyway since Tiff baulked at the first mention of the label. I'm under firm instructions to just call her Tiff. So that brought the tally of parental figures in my life up to four and aside from the fact that they were spread over four locations (for the time being, until Tiff's lease ends and then it'll be three) it was looking almost like a normal family with divorced parents that remarried. The figures were the same at least. I think that's where the similarities end. I don't think I'd survive with a normal family though.

Speaking of normal, the guy that was causing all the problems? The same guy who was trying to kill Mama back when I was a baby? Yeah, he's far from normal. Apparently he had some kind of weird crush on Mama, and when I say weird I really mean it. He was under the impression that he was supposed to be with Mama or something. Like, he thought that by Mama having me she was cheating on him and he didn't take kindly to that. That's why he tried to kill her. As far as he was concerned if he couldn't have her, nobody could. He tried to kill her back then and when Diesel and Janelle helped Mama stage her death he saw it as a success. He went out celebrating after he heard the news and did some really stupid stuff that landed him in jail. Of course, he blamed Mama for that as well, so when he was finally released a few weeks ago he sought revenge on her, despite knowing that she was long dead. When he saw me at the mall with Dad that day he'd lost it.

So anyway, to cut a long story short, Mr. Killer Dude, whom I am not allowed to know the name of for some reason – I assume the same reason Papa didn't allow me to know everything about Mama all those years, he thought I was too young – was disposed of in an orderly fashion two days after Papa came home from hospital. Papa was a little bitter that he was not the one to 'dispose' of him, but he settled for knowing that his men would do the job well. I can only assume what was done to Mr. Killer Dude prior to his death, and knowing how protective the Lost Boys are of me and Mama, I'd say it was rather violent and torturous. But hey, what goes around comes around. He tortured and killed Mama, so I don't see why his treatment should be any different, even if Mama's death was only fake.

"Hey Antisocial," Tank called from the doorway of my bedroom at Mama's house distracting me from my laptop. "What are you doing up here all along, looking studious?"

I smiled up at him, hitting the save button without looking at the screen. "I just had some thoughts I needed to get out of my head," I told him closing the Word document and the laptop. "What are you doing up here?"

"Looking for you. A bunch of family is downstairs in the living room. I've got some news that you all need to hear."

The look on his face said it was serious, so I set the computer aside and followed him quietly downstairs. When we arrived at the entrance to the living room everyone inside stopped talking to look expectantly at Tank. I made my way across the room to the empty seat next to Mama and took up the same pose as everyone else, looking up at the big man, waiting for his news.

"Well what is it?" Papa demanded after a minute or so of utter silence. "We don't have all day."

Taking a deep breath, Tank just plunged right into the thick of it by blurting, "I know who Genny's father is."

There was a collective gasp as we all continued to stare at him. Mama grabbed my hand in hers like she needed some reassurance; I didn't protest, feeling the need myself. I couldn't see Papa from my position, but I could feel his eyes on me, watching for my reaction. I took a deep breath and met Tank's eyes. "Go on then," I said confidently, despite the fact that my heart rate had sped up to about a bazillion miles an hour. "I'm ready."

"Fucking hell," Dad breathed. "How the hell can you be ready? I'm not ready. Well, no. That's not true. I'm ready. Ready to run from the room that is. Do you have any idea how life altering this may be? Once you find out who your father is you're going to be curious about what kind of person he is and -."

"Shut up, Morelli," Tio Eloy said from the corner. "If you don't wanna hear it just leave now."

Mama had been watching everyone speak like she was at a tennis match, her head bobbing from side to side to follow the conversation. "How did you find out?" she simply asked when everyone was quiet again. "They wouldn't tell me when I rang up. They said they wouldn't even tell me if I went in in person and had photo ID."

"I started investigating a few weeks ago," Tank started. "Prompted by the news that you'd used a sperm bank in Ohio, I started calling around. I used the story that the information was pertinent to my investigation with Rangeman and most were happy to check up on what I was asking about."

"Wait," I interrupted. "That day I overheard you on the phone asking about donations Papa had made years ago. That's related to this, isn't it?"

He nodded his head. "There were a number questions I was trying to find an answer for. The first, of course is which sperm bank Steph used. The second, which sperm bank Ranger and a few of our friends had donated to during a crazy quest while on leave. And the third was who your father was. As it turns out, the sperm bank we donated to and the sperm bank Steph used are one and the same. Now came the tricky part. Getting the lovely receptionist ladies to release the information on which sperm donor Steph used over the phone. Eventually, I had to send an official letter with a photo copy of my Rangeman ID and the investigation report thus far. Once it was received I had to wait for them to check my credentials and also check the records. They got back to me this morning."

"Well?" Mama and I asked in unison, further proving how similar we are.

"Who's the father?" Dad asked impatiently.

"He's of Cuban descent, has dark brown hair, brown eyes and is approximately five foot ten," Tank stated. "And he's standing in this room." Without exception, each and every set of eyes swung to Papa. It was the obvious choice. "And it's not Ric," Tank added.

I snapped my head around to stare at him. "What do you mean it's not Papa?" I demanded. "Who else could it be?"

Tank looked me straight in the eye and stated calmly. "The name of your biological father is Eloy Manoso." In the moment following his statement, there was a loud thunk from the corner. I looked over to see Tio Eloy had fallen into a dead faint, hitting his head on Mama's end table.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Dad yelled breaking the quiet. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Tank shook his head solemnly from side to side. "I have all the official documents right here." He held up a manila folder he'd been carrying. "The facts don't lie. I even got a paternity test done. Eloy really is the father."

Everyone was silent for another moment, clearly processing this information. I know I was. I mean. Think of what this meant for my already messed up life! Tio Eloy is my father? It's the most ludicrous thing I've ever heard!

"So let me get this straight," I started, amazed at how calm I sounded. "Tio Eloy. My uncle. Is my biological father?" Tank gave a tight nod. "So that makes Papa, the man who's always been my father figure, my uncle?" Another tight nod. I let out a laugh that sounded slightly hysterical, even to my own ears. "Well slap my thigh and call me Bubba. What's next? Is Mama really me sister?" I couldn't get anymore words out as the laughter overtook my ability to speak. The situation was just too surreal. It was like something out of Maury Povich or Dr. Phil or some other hideous day time talk show. I couldn't believe it.

As I gripped my aching sides, I caught a glimpse of Papa agitatedly turning pages in the folder Tank had mentioned. His face was not a blank mask as I'd expected it might be, instead it was set in a grim, angry line. "He's right," Papa gritted. "He's bloody right." Shoving the folder away from him in disgust, he turned and promptly kicked Tio Eloy... my father in the side.

Tio Eloy... Papa Eloy? Made no reaction, so Papa... or, um... Tio Papa? Kicked him again. And again. And again. Until Dad and Morelli pulled him away and out of the house to cool down.

I realised I was still laughing when I turned to a shocked looking Mama and stated almost merrily, "I'm going to need sooo much therapy, aren't I?"

Please send in a review and let me know what you think. I'm also open to suggestions of alternative scenes you might like to see.