Riding the Universe (18 page)

S
aturday morning, I'm having
café con leche
alone at Ricardo's, soaking in the sound of plates and silverware clanking. As much as I have tried to let the whole Gordon thing go, I still think about it way too much. I wonder how I could have been so stupid, how I could have allowed myself to get emotionally attached to him. And don't think I haven't also felt guilty that I was so willing to go the distance with Gordon against all odds, yet I wouldn't do the same for Rock.

Why was that?

If anyone deserved that kind of dedication, it was Rock. Was it because I assumed he'd always be there, whereas with Gordon, I felt him slipping away?
Sigh.
Doesn't matter
anymore. Neither of them are around now.

I fill out a preliminary survey form for the South Miami adoption investigator. As soon as I'm done with it, I'm going to give her a call. I figure a Saturday would be better, because I can always leave her a message if she's not in the office and that will give me time to think about this some more in case I regret making contact with her.

My phone rings, and I answer it quickly. It's my dad. “Hey. I thought you were fishing today.”

“Not today. Where are you?”

“Studying.”

“Where, not what.”

“At Ricardo's.”

“Oh.” He hesitates. Why is he suddenly so concerned with my whereabouts? There's something in his voice. “When are you coming home?”

“What's up, Papi?”

“Nothing. Just…don't be out too long,
linda
. It's going to rain.”

“Dad, it's May in Florida City. It rains every day.” I offer a bit of sarcasm, but I can tell there's something waiting in the wings with him. So even though I'm not finished with the survey form, I pay the bill and pack up.

 

When I pull into my driveway and see Papi swinging on the front porch instead of puttering around the garage, I know something's not right.

I close his truck up and lug all my stuff over to where he sits. “What's wrong?” I bend down and kiss his cheek.

He rubs his temples. “Go inside. Your mother wants to talk to you.”

“Is something wrong?” My face freezes up. The last time he looked this way, it was to deliver the blow.

“No,” he coos. “Nothing.” He reaches next to him to unlatch the front door for me.

I start to move past him, but suddenly he grabs my arm. Slowly, he pulls me close. He plants a kiss on my cheek and squeezes me tightly. “
Linda
.” His voice is right in my ear, the thumb from his grip caressing my skin. He has a wonderful aura about him. “I love you. Whatever happens, that will never, ever, ever change, you understand?” His face is heavy with something I can't quite place.

All I know is that his expression is killing me. What is it? Are they divorcing? After the number of times I've branded them Über-Couple of the Century? Which one would I live with? What kind of example would they be for someone trying to figure out if soul mates still exist in this world?

I swallow a ball in my throat. “Of course, Papi.”

He smiles. “It'll be fine. Go.”

I enter the house and head toward the sound of my mother and Marraine talking quietly in the living room.

“Chloé?” my mother calls out.

“I'm here.” I round the corner and find them sitting opposite each other on the couch. They both smile nervously when they see me. “Why's Papi outside? Did someone die?” I dump my stuff on the love seat.

Mom folds her hands in front of her mouth. “No. Sit down.”

I sink to the floor and sit cross-legged. My gaze bounces
from my mom's face to Marraine's and back. “I've pulled up my grade. It's probably a C or even a B by now. You can check with Rooney on Monday,” I tell Marraine.

“I've already spoken to Rooney. You're all caught up in his class,” Marraine says with a smile.

My mother laughs a little. “She can do anything she sets her mind to, right, Colette?” she says, and Marraine nods. They look at each other, faint smiles on their lips. I bounce my knees up and down. The tension in here is so thick, it's starting to suffocate me.

“Then can I have Lolita back now?”

“Forget the Harley for a second, Chloé.” Mom pushes back her red hair and secures it with a clip. She steals glances at Marraine, but my godmother has taken a sudden interest in her nails. “You never asked about your birth parents when you were little.”

Oh, God. Here we go.

No warning, nothing. She found answers. My mother did the adoption legwork for me. My breath escapes my lungs. My nerves hang off her every word.

“Which wasn't surprising,” she adds. “Kids accept things so easily. You just accepted the fact that we had no contact with them.”

My heart starts pounding inside my rib cage. Do I really want to hear what's about to be said? “What are you telling me?” I ask.

She clasps her hands together and holds them at her mouth, as if praying. “Chloé, we do know something about them—your birth parents—if you still want to know.”

“What?” I can't believe I'm hearing this. “But you always said you didn't.”

“Well, we've been carrying out their wishes for anonymity. We had no choice. But things got complicated.”

“What do you mean? Who
are
they?” I look at Marraine. She is trying so hard to act invisible. My head starts spinning. I'm going to puke.

Mom takes a huge breath and lets it out in a gush. “God, Colette, how the hell do I do this?” Her hands are shaking. Marraine moves to my mother's side, taking her hands in hers, the way she did with me in the auditorium.

First Seth, then Gordon, now this. I'm not sure I can take it, but my heart has already splattered on the floor, so what more harm can be done?

“Papi is outside,” she says, “because he's upset. He thinks that once you know what we know, that you won't love him the same way anymore. I have to ask you, honey: Do you think having new information might change the way you feel about him?”

“No, of course not,” I say quickly. Because it wouldn't. I could find out that Papi is wanted in fifty states for murder and it wouldn't change the fact that I love him. Nothing would.

“Good, because your father—your biological father—changed his mind toward the end, and wanted you to know.”

Pause.

“Toward the end of what?” I ask, looking at my mom, then at Marraine, then back again at my mom. She just sits there, as if a telepathic message is going to pop from her head into mine. What is she saying?
Your biological father…toward the end…

“Chloé, baby.” She closes her eyes, white knuckles clasped in front of her face. Suddenly, her face turns serene, like all fear has just left her, replaced by purpose and peace. She opens her mouth to speak, but I sit back.

Because I already know.

Your biological father.

Toward the end…

“Seth.” The name comes out of me softer than a whisper. And a giant volcano rises up from the ground, pierces through my chest, and erupts in my heart, spewing lava and fragments of my soul all over the ground. I feel split open, raw.

I can't speak.

I can't anything.

It's the same way I felt at his funeral when I couldn't squelch the squeezing pain in my heart, couldn't breathe, couldn't imagine how I was supposed to live without his jokes, his laugh, how I was supposed to enjoy anything ever again.

My mother's head falls right into her hands. She has no reason to be crying.
I'm
the one who should be crying. She looks different to me, for some reason. It's as if I'm here, she's miles across from me, and still frames of my life with Seth are all spread out between us.

Jumping on his back every single time he'd walk through the door. Tickle fights. Learning to drive the truck. Putting Lolita together, piece by piece. Bragging about him to all my friends how he was the coolest uncle in the world. So young, full of life and fun.

Seth.

I knew this.

One way or another, I already knew this.

“He was fifteen, Chloé.” My mother tries to talk through tears, but her sobs catch her breath.

“It's okay,
cherie
.” Marraine pats her hand. I stare at them and listen to our neighbor's dog bark outside.

Mom takes a deep, cleansing breath. I want to get up and run to my room or out of the house, but I hold it together. Why didn't he tell me this before? To my face. I had him in front of my face and in my arms.

“He wasn't old enough to raise you, and he didn't want Grandma to, because he wanted you to have brothers and sisters when you got older, so he picked me. Me and Papi.”

I gather up enough energy to speak. “And my mother?” I ask, and Marraine looks up with interest. “Don't tell me it's you.”

“
Non
.” Marraine smiles through tears. “Though that would've been an honor for me, sweetheart.”

“Yes, I'm sure Sethie would've liked that.” My mother tries smiling. I remember how Seth loved flirting with Marraine, though she always scoffed at him, kind of like me and Vince.

A baby wails out of the kitchen monitor. Marraine leaves to handle it. I hear some shushing, then quiet humming, as the squeaks from the rocking chair chirp out from the speaker.

My mom sniffles, wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Your mother's name is Tina Norris. She had brown hair and blue eyes. She was Sethie's girlfriend for, like, a month. You have her exact face.”

I imagine a girl like me, arms around a swollen belly, pregnant after less time than me and Gordon were even
together. Missing pieces from my seventeen years come effortlessly flying into place.

“She was fifteen too, Chloé.” She pauses to let that sink in. “She went through with the pregnancy, then left you with Seth. He did his best to be a man, but he wasn't a man, honey. He was only a kid—two years younger than you are now. Please don't be angry with him. He did the right thing. He didn't abandon you.”

No, he didn't. Or did he? I blink for the first time in minutes, my eyes completely dry.
I'm just like Seth, right, Mom?
I'd always ask.
Yes
, she'd replied so many times over the years, glassy eyes holding back a world of secrets.
Just like Seth.

“He was going to tell you the day the doctor thought a bone-marrow transplant might work for him. Remember how they took a blood sample from you?”

I nod, the memory of that discussion in the hospital slowly coming back to me. I hadn't understood how I could possibly help.

“Since they were considering you for his donor, he knew he first had to explain things to you. But then he fell into the coma that night, and…he never had a chance, baby. I'm sorry.”

Sorry.

Connected by astral cords…

Like twins born at different times…

No, he didn't abandon me. He was always there. Within my reach.

And my birth mother, his girlfriend, was younger than I am now. “Where is she?” I ask, trying to recall every thirty-three-year-old woman I've ever seen in Florida City. Have
I seen her without realizing it? Was she the woman who worked the register at Gears Auto when I was little? Was she the other waitress at the Pancake House?

“Your mom?” my mom asks through fresh tears. “We don't know. She left you with Seth two weeks after you were born. She lived in a world of hurt, Chloé. Very abusive parents, very unstable home. For a while, we tried contacting her, but after a couple of years, we just gave up. We were giving you a better life than she could have anyway, and honestly, I feel that's how it was meant to be.”

I nod. I'm not sure if I agree with that or not, but I'll take it. For now.

“We could help you look into it, though, if you still want.”

“I don't know.”

“I'm so sorry, baby.” Her voice is soft and pure. My mother's voice, the only mother's voice I've ever known. “That should never happen to anyone.”

Even though I've never felt sorry for myself about this, she's right. It should never happen to anyone. No one's mother should ever abandon them; it doesn't matter how young a mother you are. Maybe I've been angrier about this than I realized, but right now, I don't know where to go from here.

“It's okay,” I say, tearing my eyes away from hers. “It wasn't your fault.”

I sit there a minute trying to keep it together, but I just want to run. I want to plow out of the house and think about all this on my own, without her staring at me.

“Are you okay?” my mother asks. Then, for the first time in my entire life, I realize something new. I look into her eyes.

“You're my aunt.” I hear my voice. It sounds like someone else's.

She nods uncomfortably. “Yes, Chloé. We're related.”

She's family.

They were all my family. All along.

Oh, my God.
For the first time in my conscious reality, I look straight at a real blood-and-bones relative. A short laugh bursts out of me from the sheer awesomeness of it.

“But for all intents and purposes, young lady, I am still your mother.” She laughs forcibly, the way someone does when they're trying to get you to cheer up. “And if you start calling me anything other than Mom, you'll be grounded,” she says, starting to cry again.

“What else would I call you…Veronica? Even if Tina showed up on our doorstep, I'm always going to call you Mom.”

She presses back more tears with her hands. As if this changes how I feel for her. This fills in a lot of holes. Like why we share the same auburn highlights, the same light brown eyes. Because she's my father's sister. I should feel relieved. I should feel
thrilled
knowing all these answers, but in a way, I'm even more fragmented than before.