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Lately, I’ve been panicking more often whenever I think about moving out. I’m leaving my parents’ house to move in with my best friend Callie and her boyfriend Jake. She and I have been discussing and planning this day since we were ten. We have scrapbooks full of ideas. We have always said that we were each other’s soulmates, although we are opposite in every way. It seems to be a theme in my life because no one is ever like me.
Callie and I have always been close. We were roomies during college and planned to live together, or at least very close to each other, forever, no matter what. Even though she was in a relationship, she made it clear to her boyfriend that we would come as a package deal from the moment they met.
I insisted she and Jake take the house without me and start their life together. I was fine living at home with my family for now, while I’m still getting my music classes up and going. She was offended, saying she would never leave me high and dry. Luckily, he and I can tolerate each other. However, I’ve always felt as if something was off with him, but if she was happy, I was happy.
Now, here we are, planning our move for next week. The move is the reason I’m even up here in my parent’s attic. I was looking for Christmas decorations to decorate the new place because Christmas is only a few weeks away. I want to be prepared, but nothing could have prepared me for this.
When I realized how badly I was panicking, I didn’t know what else to do other than pick up the phone and call my sister.
My younger sister Brielle is my opposite in every way imaginable, but we are closer than any sisters I know. I’ve always been known as the girl with the hot, skinny younger sister. She’s thin, like our parents, never having to watch what she eats. She’s got dark hair and piercing green eyes that have those little gold specks in them. She also has the cutest freckles that spread across her cheeks, just like our dad. People are always drawn to her beauty. She wears glasses which adds to her hotness factor.
Besides our looks, we’re also opposite in personalities. I’m extroverted, and she’s introverted. I’m loud, and she’s soft-spoken. Unless, of course, she’s defending friends or family, then she is not someone you want to mess with. We have so many differences I can’t even name them all.
I pressed on her contact in my phone. It rang once and went to voicemail, so I knew she was avoiding me on purpose. She’s in the backyard, probably ignoring me to get me to go out there, but I tried again.
“What do you want?” She picked up on the second ring this time. I know she was trying to be funny because she laughed a little. She probably thought I was just being lazy.
I didn’t speak right away. She got the hint and said, “I’m on my way.”
I heard a thud before she hung up. I imagine she threw her book. Seconds later I heard the back door open and slam shut followed by her bare footsteps in the kitchen. She knew immediately that something was wrong and came running. This is one of the reasons she’s my favorite person in the world. She just knows me. Luckily, she flew to the attic in just a few seconds.
“What’s wrong?” She bent down and grabbed my shoulders to get me to look at her. I dropped the paper and stared at her. I couldn’t get any words out. Tears were running down my face. I tried to hug her, but she had me at arm’s length, checking for injuries to ensure I had no blood or anything on me. I tried pushing her off, but she grabbed me harder and asked again, saying the words slower and louder this time.
“What. Is. Wrong. Are you hurt?”
She finally let me go. All I could do was reach down to where I had dropped the paper and hand it to her. She stared at it for a few seconds, then leaned back off her knees and sat cross-legged with a look of confusion on her face. She looked back up at me. “Okay, what am I looking at? This looks like your birth certificate.”
I nodded. “It is. Look at the names on it,” I said through my tears.
She took another look, and I knew the moment she saw it. Her mouth dropped open and she covered it with her hand.
“What the…Why the hell is your name different?” Her brows went up in surprise. When she looked back at me, I just shrugged. “Did you know you were born with a different last name?” Now that she was with me and I had calmed slightly, I could finally speak more than a few words.
“Do you think I’d be freaking out like this, giving myself a panic attack, if I did?” I rolled my eyes at her.
I reached into the box where I found the birth certificate. The next thing I pulled out was a certificate of the name change for me, changing my last name from Maturo to Miller. After I finished gawking at it, I handed it to Brielle.
“What am I going to do? What does this mean?” I hung my head.
She put her hands on my cheeks and glared at me with her green eyes.
“We’re going to go confront them,” she said calmly. “We will figure this out. I’m not leaving your side until we get answers. There has to be an explanation for this.”
After calming down, I found what I was initially looking for while Brie grabbed all the remaining papers that were in the box. I wanted them in case they could help us figure this out. I frantically searched the entire attic for clues as to what all this could mean, but I found nothing.
There were a few other things, like pictures from the day I was born, a little bracelet they put on my ankle, and a damn picture of me in a god-awful dress at my parents’ wedding. I stopped and stared at a picture of my dad holding me in the hospital; he was crying. Looking at this only made me more confused. How could he be there the day I was born but not be on the birth certificate?
My parents and I have always had open lines of communication between us. From a young age I knew that no matter my situation, where I was or how I got there, I could call my parents for help with no questions asked. God knows I’ve used and abused that. You could say their parenting style helped me grow the confidence I have today. I have never questioned being able to trust them, but this paper…this paper could change everything.
CHAPTER TWO
Lincoln
“Hey, Pops. Where do you want this stack of records?”
“Just make them look nice, Link,” Pops yelled from the back room.
My family owns a music shop, and today we closed a little early to rearrange things. At the start of the new year we will be starting a local band program where different artists can perform for the patrons in the store. Not only do they get to practice, but they also get some exposure. Instead of having the radio or our phone playing songs, we will have live music, which may bring in more people.
