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* * *
August 9, 2000
She knew how much I hated that, but she wouldn’t stop. I snapped. Motherhood is nothing like what they make it seem like in magazines. Children are rude and irresponsible. Untidy, even now, I’m cleaning up this mess that she caused. On top of that, she was clumsy and got hurt all the time. I must have told her to look where she was going twenty times a day, but it wasn’t enough. I did everything I could. Miss Tiffany called and asked why she won’t be returning to school. I told her I could do a better job of schooling that child. At least I’ll never have to hear about how pretty Miss Tiffany is anymore.
* * *
“Pretzels or cookies?” The flight attendant pulls me from my thoughts.
“Huh? Oh, um, pretzels, please.”
“Anything to drink?” she asks, handing me two packs of pretzels.
“Ginger ale?”
She fills a plastic cup with ice and opens the tab on the can, and it releases a satisfying hiss. The bubbly drink glugs into the cup, and she hands it to me.
“Thank you,” I give an appreciative smile, and she nods, moving on to the person sitting next to me.
I take a sip and set the cup back on my tray with shaky hands. My first plane ride and I’m crossing into the United States to Minneapolis to meet my biological family. The only thing keeping my mind off the nerves is reading these journals. I’ve been tearing through them page-by-page. But after the last one, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I feel sick—I have to turn these in to somebody. I would have done it before I left, but I didn’t realize just how nefarious their contents were. I am scared to keep reading, but I need to find out what happened. Most pages are filled with narcissistic ramblings, but I’ve dog-eared the pages I think will be helpful to the police.
My life is spiraling out of control. One minute I’m planning a funeral for my “mom” and the next I’m finding out I am likely a missing person. After the last forty-eight hours, I knew I had to get out of Vancouver for a few days. Everything I thought I knew was a lie, it feels like I’m stuck in an alternate universe. Normally, I’m not impulsive, but what’s the point of playing it safe? It’s never done me any good. I’ve decided that whatever happens, happens. Might as well live on the edge a little.
* * *
August 11, 2000
I’ve decided to landscape the backyard. There will be a new patio, just like the one featured in this month’s home decor digest. Francine is going to be so jealous.
The workers have been leveling out the dirt all morning, and they need to hurry up and pour the slab. I have no idea what is taking so long. In the meantime, I’ve just bought the most beautiful collectible on The Shopping Channel. It reminds me of Elizabeth. She’s my little angel.
* * *
After traveling for five hours, my nerves are shot. I tried everything to distract myself from thinking about what’s to come. I can’t stomach another journal entry right now. I think she murdered a child. It sounds wild, but based on her writing, I’m lucky to be alive. Regardless of how this trip goes, I need to turn these in to the authorities. How could I have been so naïve all this time? My life has never felt more out of control, like one of those nightmares where you know you’re dreaming but you can’t wake up. I want to wake up.
When the plane lands, I stop in the airport washroom. I need a minute to gather myself. The landing was jarring, and the anxiety has my mind racing. Thinking is near impossible with all the toilets flushing, hand dryers whirring, and the clickety-clack of suitcases being rolled over tile. I give myself one last look in the mirror, gather my jacket and carry-on, and head out. I can do this.
Nothing I do can prepare me for what’s to come tomorrow when I see my former family. Nothing tells you how to react in these moments, and the anticipation has been pure torture, like waiting for a daunting punishment. But I’m here for answers.
* * *
Wow. I let out a whistle after entering my posh hotel suite. They accidentally booked the room I had reserved to someone else, so now I get to stay in a significantly upgraded room. I’ve never stayed in a hotel like this before, but I am guessing this is one of the nice ones—nothing like the Rosebud Motel. I’m grateful I decided to stay someplace a little classy, I’ll gladly accept the extra pampering right now. And if things go belly-up tomorrow, I want a comfortable, safe space to return to.
Letting go of my suitcase, it tips over behind me as I walk into the bedroom. This place might be bigger than my apartment. I open my arms wide and trust-fall onto the fluffy duvet cloud that is my king-size bed.Thisis living. This bad boy is massive. How many times can I barrel roll across the bed before falling off? I lie on the edge, tuck my arms in, and roll to the other side, over and over until I fall off the other side—thump.Five times. Shedding my travel clothes, I climb into the bed, a nap is calling my name.
Five whole-ass hours later, my eyes open from one of the most restful sleeps I’ve had in over a month. It ran right through lunch and dinner. My stomach is growling, and the minibar is not an option because there’s no way in hell you’ll catch me paying twelve dollars for a pack of peanut M&Ms.
After a quick shower, a little primping, and some fresh clothes, I’m feeling confident enough to ask for a table for one. Why is there shame around eating by yourself at a restaurant? But if I’m visiting the city, it would be doing a disservice to myself to not indulge at least a little. And it’s a hotel, I’m sure businesspeople dine alone here all the time.
I order a smaller entrée, being mindful of the budget I have set for myself. I’ve got a bit left over, so I can spend it at the bar afterward. If there’s ever been a time to self-medicate with a drink, it’s now. I find myself oddly paranoid I’ll accidentally run into a family member. The chances are slim, there’s nothing to worry about. Still, my birth parents are only thirty minutes away—and Jack is twenty minutes outside the city. I internet stalked him too. He has a family now. I wonder if he thinks I was abducted too? Would they tell him they gave me away?
My thoughts are suspended when the hottest guy I’ve ever seen passes by my table.Hold up.This man is more attractive than any one person should be allowed. He’s handsome as hell with his trimmed beard and thick locks begging me to dig my fingers into them. He walked in from the attached bar, wearing the most bright and genuine smile. It’s confident and sexy. Some men think they have to look broody to convey strength, but this guy shows no hesitance to express enthusiasm as he speaks with the restaurant host.
Before long, he heads back into the bar, I keep my head down as he walks by, I don’t trust myself not to blush at seeing him up close. I finish my meal, which was delicious, and pay the bill. I’m almost positive I’ve seen the guy from the bar look over at me. A drink sounds lovely, and I’m more than ready to let go of all the stress I’ve carried the last few days. For now, I’m going to forget about the journals, the genetic test, the website, everything. Tomorrow will be hard. Most likely the hardest day of my life. So, for tonight, I’m going to live in the moment and let myself enjoy one last night of normalcy before my world collapses around me. I might even ask that guy if he wants to come up to my room later. After the week I’ve had, what’s the worst that could happen? He says no? Big fucking deal. I’ll move on to the next hottest guy. Even if he rejects me, it will still be the least of my worries.
I grab my clutch purse and move into the dimly lit space. It’s more cocktail lounge than bar. Dividing the room is a long fire table that matches the one behind the bartenders. Private upholstered sofas and booths wrap around some of the back corners, and the rest of the room is peppered with high-top tables. It’s dark and seductive, the kind of place Micky would love.
My eyes are pulled to the back where some women whoop and toss back shots of clear alcohol. If the hot pink penis tiara is any indication, I’d say their bachelorette party is in full swing. Little celebrations seem to be happening all over. The deeper I go toward the bar, the more I notice people are here to party. This is the perfect environment to help take my mind off the present.
