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“We’ve got time for that.”
My father walks in the front door holding a box from my favorite bakery. He looks between us, leans down to place a kiss on my head and then asks my mother, “Should I come back?”
“Dad, just give us a few more minutes, ok?”
He nods and smiles at her, a gesture that says:You’ve got this, and his love for her has me feeling terrible for what I’ve put her through.
"I could just say I never realized I was hurting you when I’d cut you out of what Dad and I were doing or talking about, but honestly, there’s a part of me that was doing it to punish you. I just…always got the feeling that you wanted me to be a carbon copy of you.”
With genuine curiosity, she asks, “I made you feel that way?”
“By arranging my friendships, by pushing me to dress a certain way, to date certain boys…It’s the same as saying, like, ‘No, you’re doing it wrong, I’ll show you how it’s done.’ But I’ll never look like you, I’ll never be effortlessly social the way you are, I’m…”
“What?”
“I’m me. I’m plain.”
She laughs out loud. “Plain? No, honey, you’re stunning, with curves that girls like me would have killed for at your age.” I shake my head when she sticks to defining physical traits. “But more importantly, you’re smart, you’re driven, and you’re this petite woman who can control a mammoth horse, and that’s fierce. Youdoattract people. You’re just not a social butterfly…I’m starting to get that.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever be a butterfly, but I’m good with who I am.”
“I love you,” she pauses to place a hand against her chest, “exactly the way you are.”
My father comes back, surveys the scene and then gives us each a hug. The three of sit around the kitchen island, drinking coffee and talking about my road trip. I make sure to pepper Liam’s name in liberally, to make certain there’s no confusion as to where I stand with him. My mother looks to my father when I do this, but doesn’t comment.
I describe Grace, give them her background story, tell them she definitely left a clear path for me to find her, and that she was happy when I did.
“Was it difficult?” my father asks.
“I felt bad for Liam, I was like a yo-yo going back and forth.Let’s go, let’s go home…I was pretty indecisive but he never pushed me one way or the other.And when I finally did meet Grace—”
My mother interrupts, “Howexactlydid it happen?”
“She knew we were on the way, so I think she was waiting for us to pull up, and then she came out and met me on their doorstep.”
My father asks, “Who else was there?”
“No one at first, but then her husband Owen came home.”
I tell them about Owen, that he’s a History professor at Pitt, and how he was injured serving as a Marine. “They have a nice relationship.” I look from him to my mother. “Their marriage seems solid. It reminded me of how you two are together.”
“Owen already knew about you?”
“Yes, he was the first person she told after keeping the whole pregnancy and delivery a secret for like fifteen years. Grace told me she just worked up the courage to tell her parents, her brother and her friends a year or two ago. There were a lot of tears,” I tell them, “but it felt so good to hear her talk about it. I needed so many questions answered, and she did that for me.”
Remembering the pictures, I tell them to give me a second as I run upstairs to retrieve the box. Carefully, I take out the one I love the most and unwrap it. “This is Grace, and my father, Damien Erikson.”
Peeking up, I see that my father doesn’t seem the least bit slighted, and I’m grateful. I don’t want to have to tightrope my way around titles for the rest of my life just to spare everyone’s feelings.
It’s like my mother said, this is the reality of adoption. There will always be my birth parents, Grace Dawson and Damien Erikson, and my mother and father, Audrey and Daniel Hamilton, the two people who have loved me and cared for me my entire life. Each and every one of those four people are a part of me.
The doorbell rings. I hop off my stool and announce with a smile, “Liam’s here.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
LIAM
“What’s so funny?”
