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24
Tatum’s cryptic comment pricked up the hairs on the back of my neck. My brain was like a flood breaking through a dam. First, Cat’s betrayal. Now this. Whatever “this” was remained to be seen, but I already had an ugly premonition. It was about my father, so it couldn’t be good. The last secret surprise about him ended with a new pair of half siblings.
I burst out of my apartment like a madman, tore through the streets in my car, and double-parked in front of our family home in Queens. Taking the steps three at a time, I powered through the house, searching for my mother. I found her in the backyard, gardening.
One look at my face and Mama gently put down her watering can, eyes wide.
“What the fuck, Mama? Tatum said you’ve been holding out on me about a secret. What is it?”
Bursting into tears, she covered her face as she made her way to the nearest stone bench. Sitting down heavily, she patted the seat beside her.
“I always knew this day would come,” she confessed, pulling her hands away. “I thought I would be ready for it, but I’m not. I’ve been so scared, Luca. So scared for many years.”
I took the seat she offered and grabbed her hands.
“Whatever it is, just know that I love you no matter what. You will always be my mother,” I insisted. I meant it. I might not be a mama’s boy like Nicu, but Mama and I had a special bond. Unbreakable. She worshipped my father, but she loved me. It was one of the reasons I strove so hard to hide his abuse.
She pulled away from me, hurried into the house, and came back minutes later with a small photo in her hand. Returning to her seat, she placed it face down on the bench and took my hands again.
“It’s quite a story,” she started with a nervous chuckle. “You know of my sister, Clara, no?”
I frowned. “The one who died?”
“Yes, the one who died.” She gave me an odd look, picked up the photo, and handed it to me. “The one who had six children.”
I grabbed it and looked down briefly. Recognition jolted through me as I asked, “Six? I have five cousins on your side of the family.”
I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“Six,” she repeated firmly, squeezing my hands tighter. “She died giving birth to her last one. A beautiful son with blond hair and gray eyes, just like her. Your father and I had trouble conceiving. This was before we considered IVF, which is how we had the twins. The moment I saw you, I knew I was staring into the eyes of my son. You may have looked exactly like my beloved sister, but you were mine. All mine.”
Blond hair. Gray eyes.
My birth mother.
I’d never seen a photo of her dead sister. There weren’t any on the mantle of the fireplace in the living room, the bookshelves of the family room, or the myriad walls layered with framed photos scattered throughout the house. I had heard about the death of Mama’s sister, but not that she’d died giving birth to me. This new discovery sifted through my soul. It felt strange. More than that, I didn’t know how I felt about it.
“Why?” I whispered out.
“You uncle was overwhelmed and in deep mourning. Like I told you, your father and I had been trying to have another child without any success. I had gone to Romania to help my sister toward the end of her pregnancy. I was in the delivery room while your uncle stayed home to tend to the children. Later, she got an infection. As she fought for her life, I held you. I couldn’t seem to put you down, not even to place you in your crib in the hospital. When she didn’t make it, I spoke to your uncle and he agreed to my suggestion. I took you home, and I’ve never let you go since.”
“Do you not have any photos of her because you didn’t want to be reminded that I wasn’t yours?” I asked bitterly.
“You are mine,” she replied viciously. I was taken aback by her tone. Mama was normally soft-spoken. She had a spine of steel, but rarely showed it. Before my father’s death, she followed every one of his commands. Or so I thought. Clearly, in this matter, she’d unilaterally gotten her way because he would’ve never claimed another man’s child as his own. Whatever she did or did not know about the way he’d treated me, I never doubted that she loved me. It was written on her face, and I was humbled by it, by the fierceness of her love for me.
“I loved you from the moment I set eyes on you. Not only because you reminded me of my sister, but because we were meant for each other. Do you have any idea what it’s like to meet your destiny? Because that’s what it was like when I saw you. I was meant to be your mother. I hid her photos but only because I didn’t want to confuse you. I didn’t want anyone to question the unquestionable. People can be silly and…petty. You deserved better than that. It wasn’t for my benefit; you are undoubtedly mine. You simply came from the womb of my sister, a woman I loved and grieved deeply. It’s an honor to be your mother, Luca.”
“That’s why he treated me the way he did,” I stated. Those years I suffered, believing there was something wrong with me. He resented me because I wasn’t his. My father was a prideful man, and I assumed that he would’ve viewed his inability to have more children as a failure. As the Lupul, he wouldn’t be able to tolerate such blatant weakness, especially with respect to his manhood. I reminded him of this, time and time again.
Needing a confirmation, I asked, “Was he unable to have children?”
“Yes, that’s right. Alex was a one-off. Every other child, the twins, Sebastian and Emma from that other woman, came with IVF. Part of the reason he went with that hippie American was that he thought she was particularly fertile. In the end, she had to use artificial means. It was his greatest shame, which is why I forgave him his indiscretion,” she verified.
My head spun, almost like I was having an out-of-body experience. Everything had an eerily crisp clarity to it. The slight breeze that brushed against the hot skin of my cheeks. The spicy sweet perfume of the white jasmine blossoms along the fence near us. The hard roughness of the stone bench beneath my hands. My mother’s labored breaths beside me.
Did she know what he had done to me? How he had punished me because I wasn’t a product of his loins. Our society could be so narrow-minded. Defective loins for a Lupul was an intolerable flaw. Basically, any time he felt a prick of self-disgust, he took it out on me. It certainly put my childhood in perspective. It was the answer to a question that I had been subconsciously searching for my entire life. Why only me? Why not any of my brothers?
It was hard wrapping my head around the fact that the man I thought of as an uncle was my biological father. My cousins were my siblings and my siblings were really my cousins. No. That wasn’t right. I may have fought with Alex and Nicu relentlessly, but nothing could undo the bond we had.
