I chuckle as I close the letter and inhale a deep breath before checking the front of the envelope again. Unlike the letters from Dove that I’d received years ago, this one has no return address attached. I wondered if she’d left it off intentionally to avoid being found, or if she’d simply forgotten to include it in her fit of rage.
I grab a cold beer from the fridge, crack it open, and head to the back of my bedroom. I reach under the bed and pull out the box of letters from Dove—my old, accidental pen pal who kept me alive during some of the hardest years of my life. In many ways, she’s the reason I felt an inexplicable pull to settle here in Lonestar Junction after my discharge just a few months back…
Chapter 2 – Paloma
Twelve years ago…
Dallas is 18 years old; Paloma is 14 years old.
Dear Margarita (Is that even your real name?),
Please don’t stop reading until you finish this whole letter, even if I got your name wrong.
I’m Paloma, your daughter.
My parents didn’t tell me much about you, but I’ve known since I was a child that I was adopted, and that you are my birth mother.
They said it was a closed adoption, something about you being a famous movie star working in Hollywood and getting accidentally pregnant.
Is that true? Was the pregnancy a shock to you?
Don’t worry, I’m not mad that you made a plan for adoption for me. I love my parents and siblings. I just want to know if you ever wonder about me like I've wondered about you.
It’s ok if you don’t. I’m sure you have a super cool career, full of all the pretty gowns you could ever want and lots of money.
What's your favorite color? Do you wear that color gown often?
I looked you up online to see what movies you were in, but I couldn’t find any movie stars named Margarita that fit the age my parentssaid you were when I was born.
Don’t get mad, but I got your address from the hospital registry form I found in my baby box. That’s how I found out where to send this letter. Though I guess it’s been 14 years, so hopefully you still live at this address?
My mom and dad said I could meet you, that is, if you want to meet me too.
It’s ok if you don’t.
My English teacher gave us an assignment to write a letter to anyone we wanted, using as many adjectives as possible and proper punctuation. For some reason, I thought of writing to you. I've always wanted to meet you and wondered if we looked alike. No one looks like me in my small town.
I have two siblings. My brother, Franklin’s hair is thinner and bleach blonde. It gets even blonder in the hot, Texan, sun.
My older sister, Millie, has red hair as bright as a fire hydrant.
My parents are also blonde with fair skin and blue eyes.
I don't look like any of them.
I guess that makes sense, considering the fact that I'm adopted. But do you have dark, auburn hair and brown skin like me? Are your eyes chocolate brown like mine?
My mom always tells me that when I was first born, my eyes were the color of deep, blue sea and they reminded her of the water on the east coast. They must have changed as I got older.
We took a family vacation to the east coast once and I was shocked by how warm the water was. It felt like I was in a bathtub.
Have you ever been to the Atlantic Ocean? I bet you have.
Anyways, I don’t know if that’s enough adjectives or if I'm using correct punctuation, but I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind writing back?
You don’t have to say you want to meet me, but I would like to knowif your name is really Margarita.
If so, that’s a really pretty name.
