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“We did come all this way,” he says finally. “And if we leave without even knocking, you’ll kick yourself all the way back home.”
I nod, knowing he’s right and hating it. My heartbeat still pulses in my throat.
“I’ll be right here,” he continues, “ready to be your getaway driver.”
He drops his hand from my shoulder to my lap, curls his fingers around mine, and squeezes. Despite all my earlier resolutions, I cling to him, his touch the only thing keeping me grounded at the moment.
After another minute of me sitting catatonic in the passenger seat, Maverick untangles his hand from mine and unlocks the doors. “Go,” he urges. “I’m not going to leave without you.”
I take one more long look at the house. “Alright. I’m going.”
Evenbeforemyshakyfingers press the doorbell, I can hear laughter from inside. It’s one of the boys I saw on Facebook. Even though I already knew about them, hearing their laughter—having their existence confirmed—is jarring.
The door swings open, and I’m face-to-face with her.
My mother.
The pictures I was able to find of her online were all professional family portraits. Today, I’ve stumbled across her dressed-down weekend look. Her dark blonde hair is piled on top of her head, the same way I always wear my hair when I’m lazy, and slightly overlarge glasses perch on her nose. She looks like she might be about to go on a walk, or maybe to workout, in yoga pants and a faded long sleeve shirt.
I wondered if there was any chance she would recognize me right away, but when she flashes me a polite smile, it’s clear that she doesn’t. Whatever bond may have existed between us at one time has long been severed. “Hi,” she says, poised but uncertain.
“Hi.” My voice breaks; I clear my throat and try again. “Um. I’m looking for Marie.”
“That’s me.”
Another peal of laughter from inside the house. I glance back over my shoulder to get a glimpse of Maverick’s car, comforting myself with the reminder that I’m not alone. Turning back, I clarify, “Marie Hall?”
Her eyes widen slightly. I wonder how long it’s been since somebody called her that. “Well, Porter now. But yes.” She glances at Maverick’s car, seeming a little nervous. “How can I help you?”
I’m your daughter. I’m your daughter. I’m your daughter.That’s what I wanted to say, what I imagined I’d say. I didn’t know any other way to go about it. Now that I’m here, though, the words stick in my throat.
The two little kids inside the house are her children. She’s been with them every day since they were born, seen all their milestones, knows everything about them. What does she know about me, besides that I exist?
The kids in that house are her children, and I’m…not. I belong to somebody else. I finally settle on the words that feel true: “I’m Julian’s daughter.” I clear my throat. “Azalea.”
Marie understands immediately. Her face turns white. She looks wildly back over her shoulder, then bounds onto the porch so suddenly I jump back. Slamming the door shut behind her, she grabs me by the elbow and pulls me down the porch steps and around the side of the house.
It happens so quickly that I don’t have time to think. When she stops and turns me to face her, I glance toward the street and see that Maverick is out of the car, hovering by the hood and watching us closely.
“What,” Marie says through gritted teeth, dragging my attention back to her, “are you doing here?”
My mouth goes dry.WhatamI doing here?
“I just wanted to talk to you,” I say finally.
Marie stares at me, eyes still bugging out of her head. “About what?”
She’s so on guard, so cold. I don’t know what I was expecting. Certainly not for her to cry out in relief or hug me or invite me in for milk and cookies. But this… this strikes me as heartless, borderline cruel.
I don’t know how to answer her. I have a million questions, more than I could ever hope to get answers to in a single visit even if she were willing. In my frazzled state, I frantically try to prioritize.
“I don’t know anything about you,” I say, my voice shaking pathetically. I cross my arms tightly over my chest, guarding myself. “My dad has never told me anything, and I…we don’t have any family. Just each other.”
Theremightbe a hint of sympathy in Marie’s eyes, but it’s gone so quickly I think I probably imagined it. She clenches a fist over her heart, like she’s holding onto something invisible, and glances toward the road. “Who is that man?” she asks brusquely.
I follow her gaze to Maverick, now standing on the sidewalk with his feet planted shoulder-width apart. She probably doesn’t notice the way he leans slightly to his left, favoring that leg. “My friend.”
“Is Julian in the car?”
