Finding Laila: Some Changes are Necessary Page 14

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  I nod my head and take a deep breath in an effort to calm myself. He helps me to my feet and holds my hand as he leads me to the back entrance of the gallery. Stefon must have given him a key, because he opens the door and takes me to the lounge to have a seat on the red velvet couch.

  Haden grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and hands it to me before sitting down and pulling me into his arms. I can’t make myself look at him and he seems to understand. He leans against the armrest and pulls me back so I am resting against his chest with his arms wrapped around me protectively. His patience and kindness cause my heart to swell so that I am finally able to speak.

  “This morning, my parents told me that I was adopted.”

  “What?” he gasps in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

  I lean forward so I can look at his face, but he holds me tighter and I realize the question was rhetorical.

  “Happy birthday to me,” I mutter. “My entire life, they have told me how special I am and how much they love me. Every time someone asked them where I got my abilities, they claimed from them, but it was a lie. I’m not their daughter.”

  “Lai?” He says my name as if he’s asking permission to speak, so I stay quiet. “You’re their daughter in every way that counts. Have you ever doubted that they love you or want what’s best for you?”

  I shake my head and he leans forward so his face is next to mine.

  “I’m not going to lie and say I understand why they never told you sooner or that I know what you’re going through, because I don’t. But they do love you.”

  “I know they do,” I agree as the tears fill my eyes again. “But how could they keep this from me?”

  “I think that’s something you’d have to ask them.”

  “Hey guys, you aren’t my real parents, and you’ve kept the truth from me for eighteen years. Why now? On my damn birthday?” I scoff at the potential argument.

  “Would it have been better if they told you when you were ten? Or waited a day and then told you?” he asks.

  “That’s not the point,” I argue. “Haden, this is huge. And I feel like the biggest idiot for not seeing it sooner. I mean, I look nothing like either of them. I used to wonder if I was adopted because I didn’t look like anyone in my family, but that’s what kids do—but they never really expect it to turn out true. It’s one of those weird things that everyone wonders at some point. Right? I mean, Mom is tall, blonde, and curvy—I’m brunette, blue-green eyes, and look like a stick. Dad is heavyset, brown eyes, and a freaking doctor—I’m nothing like either of them.”

  “I get it,” he says, but I cut him off and jump to my feet to pace around the room.

  “No, you don’t get it. I don’t get it,” I admit. “How is this happening? How can I have so much anger, sadness, and curiosity all at one time? It brings so many questions that I’m not sure I want the answers to.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, who’s my birth mom?” I drop my head to my hands and huff a disbelieving laugh. “Birth mom. What the hell? Two words I never thought would come out of my mouth about myself. But here I am wondering about her. Do they know who she is and where I can find her? What about my dad? Does he even know I exist? Do I have any other siblings?”

  I drop back to the couch and look up at the ceiling, willing the tears to stay away. I don’t want to cry, yet I can’t seem to turn the faucet off.

  “Haden—I don’t think I can handle this,” I say unwilling to look at him. “I don’t want to.”

  He reaches out to hold my hand and waits for me to look at him. When I finally do, he moves closer and gives me a simple kiss, calming my nerves. He leans his forehead against mine and takes a deep breath and I close my eyes, feeling the weight of everything on my shoulders.

  “Lai,” he whispers, “you can handle this. I know you’re hurting and you’re pissed off right now. You have every right to be. But you are the strongest person I know and you can do this—you have to. It sucks, but this isn’t the end of the world and I’ll be here for you to do whatever you need.”

  “I need to go back, don’t I?”

  Haden leans back to look at me and offers a small smile that melts my cold, angry heart. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But I think you should.”

  “Thank you,” I sigh.

  “For what?”

  “Telling me what I need to hear, not what I want to hear.” I attempt to smile at him.

  “So if I remind you that I love you right now, where does that fit?”

  “It’s what I want and need right now,” I tell him truthfully.

  “There’s no rush. We can sit here and talk—or not—for as long as you want.”

  “Okay,” I agree, saying nothing more.

  “Not exactly the birthday you expected, huh?”

  “You know, I thought new clothes, new phone, maybe a new car—but new mom never crossed my mind,” I say, trying to make a joke.

  “Did they tell you anything about her?”

  I let out a small laugh and shake my head. “I didn’t really give them a chance.”

  “So what now?”

  “I guess I should go home and talk to them—get some answers,” I say.

  He stands up and extends his hand to help me to my feet. I rise up on my toes and wrap my arms around his neck as he wraps his arms around my waist to hold me. I feel safe and loved, but when he kisses the top of my head, I feel special.

  “I love you, Laila. And you know that all of us will be here for you.”

  “I love you, too,” I answer into his neck. “So much.”

  “Can I drive you back home? We can get the car later.”

  I don’t answer; I simply nod, and he squeezes me tight before leading me back outside to face the music.

  Chapter 16 ~ Finding Words

  Butterflies swarm in the pit of my stomach the closer we get to the house. The street feels foreign, even though I’ve practically lived here my entire life. Anger surges through me again, but I take a deep, steadying breath and release it in an attempt to remain calm.

  I stare out the side window at the homes I’ve played at, the places where I’ve gotten bruised and bloodied playing with the boys, and three houses down, my own home comes into view. As if he can sense my hesitance, Haden reaches over and takes my hand in his so he can press it to his lips.

  “You’re going to be okay,” he says with a sad smile. “Just try to hear them out.”

  He pulls into the driveway and leaves the car running while I climb out. The front door opens and my parents stand side by side looking at me; Mom is in tears. I lean down to thank him for helping me, but he shakes his head and smiles.

  “Quarry. Later? I’ll get one of the guys to come with me to get your car from the gallery, okay?”

  I nod and step away from the car and watch as he drives away with a simple wave to my parents. They return the small gesture with one of their own but linger at the top of the stairs with anxiety written all over their faces while I remain in the driveway. My shoulders slump in defeat, and I take a step toward the walkway and am met by my mom running toward me.

  She gathers me into her arms, her tears staining my shirt. It’s hard for me to wrap my arms around her, but I make myself do it—and as soon as I do, my eyes sting with tears.

  “I’m so sorry,” she cries. “I knew there was never an easy way to do it, but God help me, I didn’t want it to be this way.”

  She releases me from her hug but keeps hold of my hands like she thinks I’m going to bolt again. Maybe I will. I’m staring at the ground and she reaches for my chin so that I’m looking at her, but I turn away.

  “Can we go inside?” I finally ask when I have my voice back. “I’d rather not have an audience.”

  Dad remains standing near the front door, and he’s not nearly as apologetic in his appearance as Mom is.

  “Laila,” his voice cracks slightly, “if
you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will ground you for the rest of your life. Do you understand me?”

  I look at him in disbelief because he’s never really been this stern with me. I give him a heartbroken smile before I speak. “I’m eighteen.”

  “I don’t care how old you are. You are our daughter, and if you have a problem you stick around and deal with it. Go upstairs and cry, scream, play loud music—but we do not walk out on each other, and you don’t take off without letting us know where you’re going. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” I respond, stepping into the house.

  From the entrance, I can see tissues are strewn across the living room floor and the kitchen counter—evidence of their worry. Mom takes my hand and leads me to the couch to have a seat, and my dad moves to the other side.

  “Can we try this again?” she asks.

  “It’s already out there, Mom. I don’t think there’s another way to say that I’m not your daughter.”

  “We never said that you’re not our daughter—and you are not allowed to say that again,” Dad sighs.

  My mom speaks first. “Honey, I was in the room when you were born, Andie, your birth mom, had asked me to be there. When she interviewed us, she was six months along—and there was something about her that was endearing and kind. She was strong, but I knew that she was sad and scared about what she was doing. She was my age, but not ready to be a mom, and there I was with your dad, hoping to start a family.”

  “Andie,” Dad speaks up, “originally wanted a closed adoption, but changed her mind and that’s when she met us. She and your mom became close and she asked if we would send pictures and keep her updated on your life and we agreed.”

  “I think it had to be the hardest thing she’d ever done. The moment you were born, she looked at you and smiled before turning away. The nurse placed you in my arms and that moment, I became a mom.” Mom wipes her eyes and pulls out a photo album that I’ve never seen before.

  “What happened to her?” I ask weakly.

  “She moved away when you were two. I think the possibility of seeing us with you was too much. But she had our address and wrote, so we sent her pictures.”

  “What’s this?” I ask of the small photo album.

  “These are some photos of Andie,” she says, sitting back on the couch and pulling me along with her. “She was very pretty—you look a lot like her.”

  She wipes away a stream of tears and I see that this is very hard for her—for both of them—but especially for Mom. She opens the book and there’s a picture of a young girl who has my eyes and the same color hair. Her arms wrap around her small belly and she looks to be laughing.

  “This was taken about a month after we met her,” Dad says. “Your mom said something to her about looking like her own prom date where her hands were and she started laughing. I didn’t think it was funny, but for whatever reason, she did.”

  “Andie had a great sense of humor,” Mom comments with an easy smile while we look at the other pictures. There are only about ten there, and the last one is Andie with a tiny baby—me—in her arms. She’s looking down at me and I can see the sadness in her eyes and my heart hurts for her.

  “She told us that she didn’t have the support of her family to care for you, and she wanted that for you. She wanted you to have two parents who loved each other, who would raise you to be a strong, independent woman, and she wanted you to know that she would always love you.”

  “Mom,” I cry, burying my head in her neck.

  “There’s more,” my dad says when he stands up and walks to a box I never realized contained anything. “The last time we heard from her, she gave us something for you.”

  He has two pieces of paper in his hands and looks at my mom, who gives him silent permission to continue.

  “This was the letter that she sent to us,” he hands me the first one, “and this is a letter she wrote to you.”

  The one to me is sealed; clearly it’s never been read.

  “This is too much,” I sigh, holding them both. “Can I be alone for a bit? I promise, I won’t leave. But I can barely breathe right now and I feel like I’m about to lose it.”

  Mom pulls me tight into her arms and I feel her nod. I stand up and she follows, and for the first time, I see the pain in my dad’s eyes. He steps aside so I can pass, but stops me and pulls me into his arms.

  “You’ve always been my girl,” he croaks. “Always.”

  “I know, Dad.”

  He releases me from his grasp and I walk out of the living room to head upstairs, but stop at the first one. When I look back, Dad is sitting next to Mom, holding her while her shoulders shake and her hand covers her mouth. My heart breaks again, but I make my journey to my room to wrap my mind around everything I’ve learned since this morning.

  * * *

  I have no idea what an open adoption is, so I search online to find answers and I’m stunned by the amount of information. Andie selected my parents, and I don’t think she could have picked anyone better.

  I glance at the letters resting on my bed, but I’m not prepared to see the contents. The words that they contain could give me answers I never knew I needed or they could devastate me. Instead, I turn back to the screen and read about the adoption process.

  Exchange of information

  Visits

  Letters and phone calls

  There are so many options. She could have been involved in my life, but she chose to leave.

  Why?

  I look at the letters again and feel the pull to read them and discover their secrets. My curiosity is getting the best of me, so I walk over to the bed and lean against the pillows. I pick up one of the letters and tap it in my hand as I weigh my options. I don’t want to be shattered by the words because I’ve dealt with enough for one day.

  Maybe I should hold off.

  I scoff aloud because that’s not going to happen. Instead, I unfold the first piece of paper to read last letter she wrote to my parents.

  Dear Julie and Garret,

  Thank you for the birthday package you sent last month. Laila is getting so big and beautiful. You look like the family I always wanted for her.

  I’ve settled here in San Diego and it’s great. I miss my family, but it was the right thing. It was too hard to be near Laila and not see or hold her. I will always have a place for her in my heart, and for you both as well.

  Giving her up was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but you both know that I wasn’t ready to be a mom yet. I couldn’t raise her, but I’m so thankful that I found two wonderful people who would take care of her and love her as their own. I prayed so many times for the strength to move on, but even with the distance between us, I still can’t.

  Even as I write this, I can’t stop crying because of the finality of it all. This will be the last letter you receive from me. I need to let go and attempt to move on, and as long as you keep sending me pictures of that sweet angel, I’ll never be able to do it. So please, do not send me any more pictures or updates. If you do, I will return them unopened.

  Knowing you has been a blessing and I hope that you continue to take care of Laila and raise her to be as wonderful as you. She is a gift, incredibly special and beautiful, and all I ask is that you do everything in your power to make sure that she’s strong, smart and kind.

  Perhaps someday, if and when you tell her about me, could you please tell her that I will always love her? I’ve included a letter for her as well, should you feel that it is appropriate to give it to her. Thank you both for proving me right and being the best choice for our girl.

  Always,

  Andie

  I can read the pain in her words and I know that it was hard for her to end communication, how could it not be? As much as it pains me to know that my parents kept something so big from me, knowing that this woman exists brings me some sort of happiness and I want to know more. Without another second to spare, I carefully open the letter addressed to me
and immediately tears fill my eyes. A picture of Andie, holding me when I was around one falls out.

  My dearest Laila,

  I am at a loss for how to start this. If you’re reading it, then you know that you are adopted and I’m sure you have a mix of emotions going on inside of you. I can’t help but wonder how old you are when you see this? Are you happy? Do you hate me? I really hope you don’t.

  At the time I am writing this letter, you have turned three and I just saw pictures of you with your brown messy hair, big smile and cake all over your outfit. Every time I see your face, my heart melts again and I question the choices I’ve made in my life. The one thing I’ve never questioned was bringing you into this world. This last year, not seeing you, has been pure torture, but I know I did the right thing in moving away.

  Your parents are the most wonderful people I have ever met. They are the parents that I wish I could have had for my own. We don’t get to choose our family, but I did get to choose yours and I know, even now at whatever age you are, I chose right. I’ve never seen two people more in love and more ready for a family. I hope you have a family. I was an only child and I was very lonely. I hope that your mom and dad have given you brothers and sisters, because I would have loved to have that in my own life.

  I want to tell you a little bit about me, in case you ever wonder. I was born in San Diego, California—my dad was a marine, so we moved a lot. When he retired, he moved us to Texas to be near his mom, but after she died, we stayed because he was tired of moving. I went to a small private school in San Antonio and played just about every sport I could, but swimming was always my favorite.

  When I found out I was pregnant with you, I was in the last semester of my senior year of college, so I had to take the semester off. My parents were not happy, which is why they cut me off. Things between us have never been quite the same, but deep down, I know they love me. (Even if they have a hard time showing it.)

  I moved back to San Diego last year to live with my grandmother—my mother’s mom—so I could finish up my business degree. I’ve been very lucky to have her, because she reminds me all the time that I can do anything I want. I know that you two would love each other.