Mom and Dad sit facing me, quiet, waiting. They’re letting me take the lead in this discussion, and I appreciate that, but I really don’t know what to say. I’ve been kind of a brat, and while I feel like I’ve been justified in my reactions and needing time to process my feelings, I want to put it all behind us, move on, go back to normal.
But I’m not sure what normal is anymore. I know that ultimately nothing has changed, but on some level, it feels almost as if everything has changed.
“I’m sorry for being an ass.” It’s the only thing I can think to say in the moment, and those few words make my tears spill down my cheeks. I look at them through blurry eyes as the hot, thick droplets course down my face. Helplessness swamps me. I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know how to move forward, and I don’t want to move backwards, even if I could.
Mom throws herself at me, curling her arms around my neck and squeezing me tight like she’s pushing all my fractured bits back where they’re supposed to be.
Dad reaches onto the seat next to him and places a flat-ish box on the table in front of me. It’s an Ancestry DNA testing kit. Something tight and painful unwinds in my chest as I pick it up and stare at the box, turning it over in my hand.
“We’re sorry we kept this from you, Savannah.” Mom’s crying now, too. “We truly are. And while we can’t go back and change how we handled the situation, we can help you try to find out about your roots, where you come from, if you have any family left…” A muscle in her cheek feathers at the mention of family.
This must be so hard for her, too. I’d bet a part of her expects me to look for my birth family and flee. But I’ve only ever wanted somewhere to belong. And I have that right here. It occurs to me just how lucky I’ve been to have had it this whole time.
The alternative, being alone, going into the system, maybe never getting adopted by a family like mine… Well, it tastes bitter in the back of my throat. I can’t imagine never having my parents around me, or Sophia. I’m so fucking grateful that they picked me.
“I have my family right here, Mom.” I place the kit back onto the table. “But I think I need to know my backstory. Not just for my sake, but for any kids I might have in the future, too.”
Dad’s eyebrows practically jump off his forehead. “Are you…?”
“No!” I snort through my tears, glad Justin’s in another room and can’t see this snot-mess-express ugly crying right now. “But if there are things in my genetics I need to know, I want to know them now. So when I do have children, if they ask, I have the answers.”
Dad winces, but nods like he understands. He reaches down onto the chair again and picks up some papers. “We did a little digging. We still can’t find your birth father, but we have some information on your birth mother if you’d like to read it. We haven’t exhausted all avenues yet. We were thinking if you wanted…”
He tosses an unsure glance at Mom before passing the pages across the table. “We could hire a private detective to look into it. To see if he can find out who your birth father was, or if he can find anything else about where you came from.”
“You did all of this for me?” Thick, sticky, heavy emotion lodges itself in my throat and no matter how many times I swallow, I can’t make it go away.
“We’d do anything for you, baby. You’re our daughter. Nothing we dig up, no history, no DNA test, no living relatives can ever take that away from us.” Mom’s escalated to ugly crying now. “You’re right. You do need to know any pertinent medical details and that’s not something we thought about, or know off hand, but we can help you find it.”
Dad picks up Mom’s hand with both of his. “And if you’d like to pursue a relationship with your birth family…”
Mom sniffs. “We’ll support that too. Whatever you need, we’re here for you. We love you so much, Savannah.”
“I know. I love you both, too.”
In all my reading about being adopted over the past few months, one thing has come up time and again. While there are various and endless reasons why people choose to adopt a child, most people want to provide a loving home for children who otherwise wouldn’t have one. That shows such great kindness and love that sitting here, now, staring at both of my parents, I find it hard to remember why I thought I was ever unlovable.
They picked me, they kept me, they loved me. And no matter why my birth parents surrendered me for adoption, whether it was because they loved me, or they didn’t, I can’t deny that my Mom and Dad have loved me fiercely ever since.
It’s not long before Sophia bursts into the dining room complaining she’s hungry. A bashful Justin stands behind her, rubbing his neck. “Sorry. I tried to keep her busy for as long as I could.”
I give him a watery smile. “It’s okay. I think it’s time to bring Sophia in anyway.” I raise questioning eyebrows at my parents, and they both nod.
Justin moves to stand behind me, placing a strong, supportive hand on my shoulder while Sophia takes the empty seat next to dad. We talk about my origin story, and answer the questions she has, but she doesn’t understand why Mom and I are crying.
To her, I get to be a part of something wonderful, the best family in the world, and no matter why my parents gave me away doesn’t matter to her, because someone amazing found me and loved me. And that’s the most important thing. She’s not wrong.
* * *
A few hours later, the Ashes are on their way over for dinner, without Justin’s grandparents once again. I’m starting to think they’re imaginary at this point since he was right, they’re never home. Since our first trip back together and that fateful flight, Mom and Mandy have been hanging out more. Sophia says the Ashes come over at least once a week to eat, and she even heard the moms talking about me and Justin getting married someday.
I’m peeling potatoes at the kitchen window, overlooking Justin playing street hockey with a dozen of the neighborhood kids. The laughter and joy radiating from the boys and girls in the middle of the freakin’ road is contagious.
“You okay?” Dad’s voice from behind makes me jump.
“Yeah.” I rinse a potato and place it into the pot. “Just watching Justin causing havoc out there on the street.”
“He’s grown up to be a good man.” His voice is heavy, laced with meaning.He’d make a fine husbandis the unspoken message, and I almost giggle.
