I sat down in the swivel chair that my Mom recently reupholstered in a blue and yellow velvet print. As I double-clicked the AOL icon and the modem started screeching to connect, my Mom walked into the living room, adjacent to the office, and sat on the arm of the chair by the window. She never sat down, and she never sat there, so it caught me off guard. Trying to ignore her, I kept looking at the computer, watching the modem connection progress, but I could tell out of the corner of my eye that she was just staring at me, so I looked up.
“What?” I asked her, full of 18-year-old attitude.
“Come sit down with me, I want to talk to you.”
“I’m already sitting down. What is it? Did Grandma die?”
“What? No, just come sit over here with me, I want to talk to you, please, this is important.” She said again, with gravity to her voice.
“Okay, I’m coming,” I said, slightly annoyed, as I rolled the chair back away from the desk, got up, plopped down on the couch, and brought my knees to my chest. “What is it?”
She sat there staring at me for a moment before she began. ”What I’m about to tell you is incredibly difficult to say, but it’s something I’ve been keeping from you for a long time, so I’m just going to come out and say it. You were born on September 2, 1983, at Henrico Doctors Hospital, but I am not your birth mother,” she said, and then she just looked at me, waiting for me to reply.
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks, my brain raced, and my eyes went blurry as I tried to process her words, then I turned to look at her.
“Is this a joke?”
“What! No! It’s not a joke, it’s true, and I’m sorry that we kept this from you for so long,” she replied with what looked like a tear in her eye. I had never seen my Mom cry.
“You’re joking, right? Why have you kept this from me for so long? That’s really messed up, Mom,” I replied, still too shaken up to cry, and completely unsure of what I felt at all. I was emotionally paralyzed.
My Mom quickly arose from the chair and came to sit next to me on the arm of the couch. She put her arm around me before speaking again.
“I know, and I’m sorry. I want to tell you everything. Your father threatened the entire family not to tell you. He didn’t think it was important for you to know.”
“Wait, wait, wait, so you’re saying everyone knows but me? The family, the neighbors, everyone? You all kept this giant secret from me my whole life? How is that supposed to make me feel, because that is super fucked up,” I said, as the news began to sink in. For once, she didn’t scold me for cussing.
“I always wanted to tell you, but your father forbade it. I wrote to your father recently and told him that it was time to tell you, and now that you are 18 and he is gone from our lives, it felt safe to do so. He continued to insist it was a really bad idea and that you had no reason to know. He always worried that you would stop loving us if you knew the truth. I would be happy to help you find your biological mother, or anything else that you want to do. I will help you. I am so sorry. I thought it was really important for you to know now, before you found out on your own, which would be even worse than it already is. Please forgive me, and know that I love you so much,” she said with an unfamiliar tone of sensitivity.
I couldn’t say anything, I just stared at the fireplace and then at the TV and back. I felt empty. I felt nothing. Finally, I spoke.
“So, is that why you want to take me to dinner? As some consolation prize for being told I’m adopted? Or are we celebrating that you finally had the nerve to tell me a secret that was never yours to keep?” I knew those words stung, but she didn’t flinch.
“We are going to celebrate our family. I love you and am so sorry. Go get dressed, we need to leave soon,” she said, effortlessly, as if she hadn’t just dropped an atomic bomb on my life. Then she rose from the arm of the couch and headed upstairs to get ready.
As I made my way upstairs, I could hear my sister getting ready in the bathroom. I had so many questions, but my first one was the most obvious. When I turned the corner to the bathroom, she just looked at me, appearing to be at an awkward loss for words.
“How could you not tell me?” I asked as soon as I stepped into the bathroom.
“So, mom told you? I wondered why it got so quiet downstairs,” she said with a blank stare in her eyes.
“Yeah. She told me,” I said, “But why didn’t you ever tell me? I’m surprised you never blurted it out in anger to me at some point over the past 18 years.”
“I just never thought of you as anything other than my sister. Until recently. Now that you know the truth, I don’t have to hide the way I feel anymore,” she said with hurt and anger in her eyes, then she turned back to the mirror and continued applying mascara. Surely she didn’t mean that, but maybe she did.
When I thought back on my childhood, it was still surprising that the secret had never been spilled by my friends, cousins, or family. I had plenty of friends whose siblings joked about them being adopted, but Amy never once got so angry at me that she revealed the truth. I looked at her emotionlessly and walked right back out of the bathroom. Dinner was going to be weird.
When we arrived at Richmond Country Club, the chatter throughout the dining room was like a loud hum, drowning every word coming out of my mom’s mouth. I was numb to my core and emotionally deflecting anything asked of me.
“What do you think, Allie?” Mom repeated, clearly aware that I was looking at her but not hearing a word she said.
“Huh? About what?” I replied flatly.
“About singing at your cousin, Kirstin’s wedding this December?” she repeated cautiously, fully aware of my current fragility and known capacity to erupt into a momentary fit of rage.
“Who gave Kirstin that idea, you? Why would she want me to do that? Just to make me feel like an extra special part of this family?” I could tell that my even tone and lack of emotion were making her nervous.
“You are an extra special part of this family. Remember that we chose you, we wanted you, and we cherish the privilege of raising you,” she said in a loud whisper, but before she could continue, I snapped back to reality and cut her off in a low growl.
