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Warmest regards,
Erin
Marie looked up at me, her big blue eyes soft and compassionate as they searched mine. “Tess? Is she right? Could she be your daughter?”
I nodded numbly. “Yes.”
“Oh honey.” Marie put her arms around me and pulled me into a hug. “I had no idea.”
“I don’t usually talk about it.” I sat stiffly in her embrace, appreciative of the comfort she was offering, but unaccustomed to receiving it. I wasn’t a big hugger, and Marie and I were only casual friends. Or we had been up until now. Before I’d shared my deepest, darkest secret with her.
She leaned back and studied my face. “How do you feel?”
“I don’t know. I think I’m in shock.”
“That’s understandable. Were you looking for her?”
I shook my head. “I signed up for the genetic health screening.”
“But with these testing services, you have to opt in to allow your DNA profile to be searchable by other users. You must have opted in.”
I had. It was one of dozens of questions I’d had to answer when I registered my DNA test kit. And I’d clicked yes without hesitation.
“That sounds like you were hoping she’d find you,” Marie said gently.
I supposed I was.
And now she had.
The baby I’d given up for adoption thirty years ago wanted to talk to me.
CHAPTERTWO
TESS
I’d gotten pregnant my senior year of high school, a few months before graduation. I’d already sent off all my college applications and was eagerly waiting to hear back from my top-choice schools to see where I’d be going in the fall.
I was an overachiever in school, a straight A student involved in as many extracurriculars as I could squeeze into my schedule. Student council executive committee, first-chair clarinet in the Eagle marching band, volleyball team captain, and class valedictorian, as well as an officer in about a dozen other after-school clubs to round out my transcript.
I wasn’t the sort of girl who was supposed to get pregnant. I was a study warrior. Responsible and hardworking. A compulsive rule-follower. I didn’t even date that much. My eyes were firmly fixed on my future, not on the boys at my school.
Except one boy: Donal Larkin. He was an honors student like me, in most of the same classes and extracurriculars. We’d known each other since elementary school and were part of the same friends group, but we were almost frenemies more than friends. Through all of high school we competed for the same extracurricular leadership and student government positions, butting heads over and over again.
Despite the similarities in our transcripts, we were nothing alike. Donal was popular and easygoing, whereas I was studious and uptight. I had to work my ass off for my good grades, but Donal never seemed to work for anything. He managed to coast on his likable personality, innate intelligence, and knack for performing well under pressure. He coasted so well, he nearly beat me out for valedictorian.
It infuriated me. Everything about Donal Larkin infuriated me, but the thing that infuriated me most was that I’d secretly had a crush on him since eighth grade. I couldn’t help myself. He had these twinkly blue eyes and a smile that warmed you like the sun. No matter how much he annoyed me, when he focused those damned eyes on me and turned on his smile, my knees went weak, my senses got muddled, and I made bad decisions. Like trusting him.
Donal was chronically unreliable. You know the type—one of those people who never carried his weight on group projects and let others do the bulk of the work (usually me). He also had a bad habit of volunteering for things and bailing at the last minute. Or he’d make bargains and “forget” to fulfill his half. Again and again I’d been burned by him, but I still kept coming back for more because those twinkly blue eyes made me want to believe the next time would miraculously be different.
The first time he broke my heart was in tenth grade after he offered to give me a ride home from a basketball game. Naive, fifteen-year-old me was so foolishly excited, I let myself hope it was a sign he liked me. A hope that was crushed when he forgot all about me and left me on my own at a school halfway across the city at ten o’clock at night. I’d had to get myself home on the “L” in twenty-degree weather, and later I found out he’d blown me off to go to a party and hook up with a member of the cheerleading squad. He was a real prince charming, that guy.
I held a grudge over that for a long time, let me tell you. But I didn’t learn my lesson. Eventually, I gave him another chance to hurt me, and boy did he ever.
Halfway through our senior year, we were practicing a skit we’d been assigned for English class and somehow one thing led to another and we ended up making out in my parents’ basement. After that, we started meeting up regularly—not dating or anything, just messing around.
Donal made that abundantly clear early on. It was the second time he broke my heart. The first week after we’d started seeing each other, I overheard one of our friends ask him if he had a girlfriend who’d been keeping him busy. Donal looked right at me and said no.
I should have had the self-respect and good sense to walk away from him then and there, but I was too proud to let him know he’d hurt me. We’d always been fiercely competitive with one another, and it felt like losing to admit I wanted more. So I pretended to like the secrecy, even managing to convince myself it made it more exciting. If being his dirty little secret was what it took to keep him, then fine. I told myself it was worth it.
