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Mom tutted, shaking her head. “You can’t move on and up when you work as a secretary. When are you going to use that degree of yours?”
I sighed. This was why I hadn’t wanted to come at first.
“I’m happy where I am, Mom.”
She shook her head but dropped the subject. I was relieved. I was tired of hearing about the same thing over and over again. But my mom cared about me, and she didn’t have much else to do with her time. She was a stay-at-home mom, except with me having moved out, she didn’t have to parent anymore. She spent her time thinking about everything she could tell me to do and not to do with my life. I let it slide because I knew she meant well.
“What about you?” I asked. “How are you doing with Daddy gone?”
My mom shrugged. “You know me. I get by.” She looked worried about something, and I waited for her to add to her conversation, but she didn’t say anything.
After lunch, we headed into the garden together. My mom loved gardening, and even though I didn’t care for it, it was a way of bonding. We sat on the grass, weeding one of the flower beds.
“And your love life?” she asked. “Any man you have your sights set on yet?”
“No, I’m just doing my own thing for now,” I said. When my mom snorted and mumbled something about needing love, I smiled secretly. My love life—or at least my sex life—was perfect right now after Brent had had his way with me. Just thinking about yesterday in his office made my stomach clench and my toes curl. I wasn’t going to tell my mom any of that. I could only imagine how she would lecture me about sleeping with my boss and the virtues of waiting until marriage before giving it away. This was my secret, something sweet and delicious that I could put in my mouth and suck on like candy.
When I glanced at my mom, she looked worried again. I frowned.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Why do you ask, honey?”
“Because you look worried. Is something wrong?”
My mom hesitated before shaking her head.
“What is it?” I asked, knowing it wasn’t nothing. My mom averted her eyes, and I knew there was something she wasn’t telling me.
“Tell me, Mom. I’m sure whatever it is we can figure it out.”
“I’m not so sure.” She stood up and walked inside, putting her gardening gloves on the shelves by the kitchen door. I followed her and did the same.
“This came in the mail a few days ago,” she said, offering me an envelope.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Just read it. But don’t be too shocked.”
I shook my head. I was getting nervous about how she was going on. I took the envelope and opened it, reading the contents. As my eyes flitted over the words, my stomach twisted and my blood ran cold.
“Are you serious?” I asked. “Is this real?”
“Apparently, yes. I tried to follow up with a social worker, but they still have to get back to me.”
I read the contents of the letter again. The letter was from a private investigator named Morgan Taylor. It contained information about my siblings. Apparently, I had a sister.
When I looked up at my mom, she had tears in her eyes.
“I didn’t know,” she said. “The adoption was closed, and no one told me. If I knew you had siblings, I wouldn’t have taken you alone. You know that, don’t you?”
I nodded and hugged her, and she shuddered against me. I was shocked that I had a sibling. I had grown up as an only child, and I had dreamed of having siblings my whole life. Now it turned out I had one.
“I’m so sorry,” my mom said.
I shook my head again. “Don’t be, Mom. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you for anything. But what do we do now?”
The private investigator stated in the letter that my sister wanted to make contact with me. It seemed crazy that someone out there was related to me and I’d had no idea about it. And now she wanted to make contact. It left me reeling.
“You can make contact if you want to. Answer the letter. But that’s entirely up to you. I’m not going to make that choice for you.”
My mom was the sweetest woman I knew. Not only because she was my mother but because she had a big heart. She’d been open with me about being adopted from the start, so I never doubted who I was. There were so many stories about adopted children only finding out about it years down the line, and it affected them in negative ways. My mom had made sure that never happened to me, and I had grown up with a balanced, healthy childhood.
