Lincoln gives me a silent,tense ride to my parent’s house, which is only twenty minutes away. They haven’t moved since I left the house years ago. Thankfully, when I fell on my ass, the first time I got dumped and with nowhere to live, they decided to gift me the apartment I’m currently living in.
I’m smart enough to know that if I didn’t have the family I do, I’d be in much worse shape than I currently am. My parents have given me the world, and yet, I still don’t feel good enough to be their daughter.
I might not be living up to the Carlson standard with where my cousins are in their life, but the Myers’ standard is just as high.
“Penelope, sweetie, is everything okay?” my mother, Holly, asks as she gives me a big hug.
I scrunch my nose at the use of my full name and just hug her back.
“Everything’s good.”
“Aiden was telling us how much work you’ve put into the company outing you’re planning,” she tells me with a huge smile.
It’s embarrassing, I’m hitting thirty sooner than later and my mother has to act like my planning a company function is a big deal.
All of my cousins are ridiculously successful. Aiden played in the MLB and is CEO of a company. Lincoln took over for my uncle and father when they stepped down from Carlson Commercial Enterprises. Even the twins are successful in the clubbing sphere.
Then there’s me. Penelope Abigail Myers, front desk at Kemper’s Sport Supply with my twenty-two college credits, embarrassing dating history, and no fucking clue where I want to go from here.
My mother pets down my hair and kisses the side of my head.
Holly Myers is as beautiful as women get. She’s sixty-five, but you would never guess. She has perfectly dark hair, not a single gray in sight, her skin is tight and clear and her brown eyes still have a youthful sparkle.
I grew up constantly wishing I looked like her. That I looked like anyone in my family. It’s not that I don’t realize I’m attractive, I just never fit in. Anywhere she took me, strangers would ask about my blonde hair and what relative I got it from, and I didn’t have an answer.
“I reached out to the PI,” she says, interrupting my thoughts.
“You didn’t have to do that, Mom.”
My mom cups my cheeks and looks at me. I feel like I might cry. Why do moms have the ability to just make you want to shed your whole damn soul in front of them?
“Knowing this information doesn’t change anything for me or your father, sweetheart. Nothing could change how much we love you. We should have started this process sooner. I’m sorry for that.”
My eyes are welling up with tears as she touches my face.
“Unless something has changed for you. Oh, God. I’m not pressuring you, am I?” she asks.
“No, Mom. I still want to know.”
I want to know because it’s hard to not only not know where you come from biologically, but it’s the fear of the unknown. Why didn’t they keep me? How could they keep me until I was two and then disappear? And most of all, why has it been so hard to find them after all this time? I’ve signed up for every ancestry site and I still don’t have any hits.
My mom pets down my hair. I know I have it good, beyond good.
Yet there’s always this lingering missing piece that no matter what I do, I can’t seem to stifle.
My parents were everything you could want parents to be; loving, kind, generous. But most of all, understanding. I never had to hide my feelings about being adopted, or try to shield them from my feelings of not fitting in.
They know by getting this information, they won’t be replaced. No one could ever take away the bond I have with my parents. But there is this incessant need to know the whole story of where I come from.
“I’ll give Loyd your information and he can update you on anything he finds.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She squeezes me tight as she leads me through the house and to the kitchen, where the rest of the family is waiting for us.
Sunday dinnersalways wind up the same. Our parents hang inside and even though we’re all grown adults now, we always wind up outside.
Gavin laughs as he passes me the joint and I take a deep inhale before handing it to Ben.
