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“Whenever you are.”
My chest was tight as we decided to get coffee later that afternoon. “My girlfriend will be coming with me,” I said. “I hope that’s okay.”
She didn’t hesitate for a second. “Of course. I look forward to meeting both of you.”
When the time came, my friends each hugged me before we left. “Good luck,” Nia said softly. “Whatever happens, you’re going to do great.”
“You’re a better person than I am.” Trevor hung onto me for a few seconds before letting go.
Kyle kept it simple. “You got this.” He patted me on the shoulder, and then we were good to go.
Chelsea didn’t give me a pep talk. Then again, she didn’t have to. As she drove in silence, her presence was all I needed. Anything she could’ve said, I already knew.
As soon as we walked into the coffee shop, a shiver ran down my spine. I could recognize Ava from behind without even seeing her face. It was the way her brown hair rippled like mine. The way she hunched over the table. I was already picking up on resemblances, and I hadn’t even greeted the woman.
Chelsea patted my arm. “You good, baby? You want to leave? We can walk out right now if you’re not feeling good about this.”
“I wouldn’t say I feel good, but I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” I straightened my spine and approached the woman at the table. “Ava, it’s nice to meet you.”
She sat straight, looking shocked. “Tara.” She stood carefully and enfolded me in a hug, then immediately backed off. Her weakness was evident, and I felt bad for making her come out rather than meeting her at home. “I half-thought you wouldn’t come. It’s good to see you, it really is. You look very different from last time we met.”
I gave her a polite chuckle. “Eighteen years tend to do that.”
“I suppose they do.” She sank back down. She looked just like her Facebook pictures, except that her face was drawn and pale. Despite the effort she was making to be warm and friendly, I could see she was ill. “And this must be the girlfriend.”
“Chelsea.” Chelsea offered her hand. “I’m basically Tara’s emotional support animal. You can just pretend I’m not here.”
Ava didn’t miss a beat. “It’s lovely to meet you, too. Are you getting something to drink?”
“I don’t think so.” I was here for this conversation—no point pretending otherwise.
She already had a cup—black coffee, from the looks of it. “What brings you two to Boston?”
“I came to visit some friends.” I’d come up with the lie earlier. “I thought I might as well take the chance to meet you.”
“While you still can, I suppose? Before the old bat kicks the can.” She smiled self-consciously.
She was hardly old. I’d guessed forties from her pictures, and now I was thinking fifties. Either way, she wasn’t old enough to die.
“I certainly hope that won’t be happening anytime soon,” I said truthfully. “And I wanted to apologize for going off on you on the phone.”
She fidgeted with her cup. “It’s understandable. When I thought about it later, I could see where you were coming from. I dumped a lot on you in one conversation. Things I’ve been struggling with for years, I expected you to come to terms with in the space of one phone call.”
It felt good to hear her admit that. “I thought about it, too,” I told her. “You’re staring death in the face. It’s not surprising that you’d do anything you can to avoid it, and that you weren’t too concerned with any other pleasantries.”
She gave me a sudden, genuine smile. “I’m glad we can understand each other.”
Despite wishing I could hate her, I liked her smile. It reminded me of mine. “You said you struggled,” I said. “Was that with…”
“Not being in touch with you.” Looking down at her cup, she bit her lip. “I did think of you over the years. I wondered what was happening to you. You were the cutest little thing, and then we lost touch with your mom, and hearing what happened to her… It was a tragedy.”
I had a strange feeling in my chest—different from how I usually felt when people pitied me about my mom. Maybe it was because Ava had already known her. She wasn’t sorry for me, she was sorry with me. Instead of making me defensive, this was something like catharsis.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
“I brought a few pictures.” The effort Ava was using to speak was obvious. “It occurred to me that you might not have many, and I thought it might be nice for you to see them.”
My heart wrenched. “More like not any.” She could’ve shown me those pictures any time over the past few years, I reminded myself. She could’ve contacted me, reached out. She’d found my Facebook page, and she was sitting on the knowledge of who I was.
