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And once the door shuts, Grace says, “He seems like a good one,” referring to Liam.
“He definitely is. Hopefully my parents will come around someday.”
“They don’t like him?” I can tell she’s now regretting the seal of approval she just bestowed on Liam.
“It’s a very new thing, and let’s just say there’s been a lot going on these past few months.” Answering her unspoken question, I say, “I didn’t know I was adopted.”
Grace is surprised, but to her credit, her response is measured and without a hint of judgement. “I imagine that must have been a shock. When did you find out? And how did you find out, if you don’t mind me asking.”
I don’t mind at all. In fact, I think I could sit here for the next twenty-four hours talking to her. I can imagine Grace as the go-to person for the messed-up kids in her school.
“I kind of got blindsided in advanced biology. Which has me questioning whether or not I should major in bio, because the fact that my parents both have blue eyes and I have brown eyes never raised a red flag before that day.”
“Isn’t it possible?”
“Virtuallyimpossible, is the way my teacher put it.”
I take a bite of my sandwich even though I’m too keyed up to enjoy it. Putting it back down, I push the plate away and take another sip of my drink. She’s waiting on me. “I always thought there was something odd about me. Not odd, but like…a sense that I don’t belong.” When Grace reaches over to stroke her thumb over my hand, I slip it back gently and put both hands in my lap. Like a seesaw in motion, I’m up and then down. I want her comfort and then I don’t.
“I grew up having everything, and my parents are great, thebest.” I look to her as I emphasize that last word. Am I looking to hurt Grace? I’m not even sure. My shoulders lift in a half-hearted shrug. “I just always felt…different. It’s hard to explain.”
I’m surprised when I look back to her and she’s fighting off tears with a smile. “But your parents were good to you. That’s what I’ve prayed for every day.”
I bite my lip to keep myself from breaking again, but I can’t hold in the one word that’s been eating away at me ever since I found that picture.
“Why?”
The tears are back and Grace is weeping right along with me. She stands, takes my hand and leads me to the couch. When we sit she pulls me right in, and just like before with Liam, I melt into this woman’s touch, and cry what feels like a lifetime’s worth of tears.
“I’ve spent about half of my life regretting that decision. It was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life, the worst decision, and I’ve been paying for it ever since.”
“But that day,” my voice is the plaintive wail of a small child, “you could have changed your mind.”
She eases back and nods. “It took me some time to even be able to go there, in my memory, back to the day you were born. Do you know I begged the social worker not to put you into my arms? I knew it would kill me. I knew it. And when she took you back, I thought I might die, right there in the bed.” She looks down into her lap. “For a long time after that, I walked around in a daze. For years I really didn’t care if I lived or I died.” In response to my expression, she says, “There’s a difference between being suicidal and having little in terms of a will to live. It’s like living in black and white instead of color. You just go through the motions, wake up each day…exist.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You havenothingto be sorry about. I did that to myself.” She grabs the box of tissues and offers me one before using a few to mop her own face. “Have you ever seen that showGilmore Girls?”
“No.”
“I feel like universe revived that show just to mess with me.” She delivers that line with a rueful laugh. “It first came out when I was in college. It’s cute, borderline sappy…Hallmark movie-type stuff that I’d usually go for. But it was like a sucker punch. I’d hole up in my room, pretending I needed to study whenever my roommates watched it.”
“Why?”
“Because it was whatcouldhave been. A young mom, the daughter she gave birth to and raised on her own, extended family, the charm of small-town life…I caught one episode and decided I could never subject myself to it again.” Giving my hands a gentle squeeze, she says, “In my mind it was exactly what we could have been, me with you.”
“Do Damien’s parents know about me?”
“They were both deceased before I even met your father. His mother came to this country from Ireland, his father from Norway, both immigrants. When they married they settled in the Bronx, and that’s where he was raised…An area called Riverdale. Damien’s mother died of cancer when he was in high school, and he told me his father died of what he swore was a broken heart a few years later, when he was a freshman at Fordham University.” She’s wistful, back in the memory when she adds, “My parents didn’t have the best marriage, but Damien described his parents as soul mates.”
“What was he like?”
“He wasreallygood looking…Drove a motorcycle…A decorated U.S. Marine with a crewcut. He just gave off this very capable, manly vibe.” She laughs at herself. “He was a badass, but the sweetest, kindest badass. Never…I’d never met anyone like him before.”
“Where did you meet?”
She rolls her eyes. “In an off-campus bar. But then he showed up out of the blue when I was on my way to class and we had lunch. He confessed to stalking me for a few days before spotting me.” I nod, urging her to go on because I’m engrossed in this story of how my parents met, and so far, it’s beyond romantic. “A few nights later he took me out on a proper first date, and we talked for hours.” Looking to the heavens, she says, “I told him more about myself in that one night than I’d ever shared with any other person. Damien was just like that. He was a great listener.”
