Farrah had looked in the mirror that morning for a long time. She saw her skin, her eyes, her hair, her nose, her lips. All the pieces of herself that made up her physical body. Apart from the miscarriage, she’d never been seriously ill or injured.
Gratitude had touched her heart, and she’d turned away from her reflection, the answer to her question a definite no.
She did not like her.
And if she had to list all the reasons why, they were all about the decisions she’d made, the things she’d done, and the people she’d hurt in her life. She’d tried to shower away some of the miserable feelings, but they remained.
So she’d called Meagan and said she was sick, and then she called her parents and asked if she could come stay with them for the weekend. They’d been thrilled, and Farrah half-expected a welcome-home parade when she arrived.
But her parents’ house sat in silence, the sky gray all around it. Farrah stayed in the car and looked at the cream-colored brick. In the summer, her father worked hard to keep the rust stains from creeping up the side of the house, and her mother tended a garden equal in size to the house.
Her stomach grumbled, prompting Farrah to get out of the car and go inside. The air held a note of winter and the hint of cinnamon as she walked toward the front door. A curtain fluttered, and her mother opened the door a few moments later.
“Farrah.” She wore a warm smile and swept down the stairs to embrace Farrah.
Guilt pricked Farrah’s heart, and tears gathered behind her eyes. She clung to her mother, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Mom.”
Her mom didn’t have to ask for what. No additional explanation needed. She patted Farrah’s back, and her voicesounded higher when she said, “I made maple oatmeal cookies. Come on.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes as she turned, but Farrah saw the storm of emotions on her face.
“Mom?” Farrah paused on the top step before entering the house. “Do you like me?”
Surprise stole across her mother’s face, through her dark eyes that matched Farrah’s so well. “Of course I do. Iloveyou.” She gestured for Farrah to come in out of the cold.
She did, pulling the door closed behind her. “But do you like me?” she pressed. “Even though I?—”
“Farrah, I prayed for a daughter like you for a decade,” her mother said, tears welling up and overflowing. She didn’t even try to brush them away this time. “I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you, and yes, I’ve always liked you.” She put a weathered, wrinkled hand on Farrah’s arm and led her into the kitchen.
“You’re a fun person. Remember when you were learning all the bones in your health class, and you’d come home and say things like, ‘My mandible is moving as I chew.’” She laughed, the sound throaty and conjuring up memories that had happened right here in this house.
Her parents were all Farrah had ever had. She’d abandoned them twelve years ago for reasons she didn’t understand—until now.
“I felt like I’d lost you,” she whispered into the last echoes of her mother’s laughter.
“What was that?”
“I left Vermont, because I felt like I’d lost you. When I found out I wasn’t really yours.”
“Farrah.” Her mom smiled warmly up at her. “You’ve always been ours. You’ll always be ours.”
“Hey, baby doll.”
She turned into the comforting embrace of her father. He smelled like freshly buttered popcorn from the theater he owned, and she drew in a deep breath of him. “Hey, Dad.”
“Your mom’s right, you know.” He stepped back and snagged a cookie from the cooling rack. “You may have left for a while, but we always knew you’d come home.”
Farrah marveled at the pair of them. “I have all the letters and cards you sent,” she whispered.
“We know.” Her father exchanged a glance with her mom. “We don’t need more apologies, Farrah.” He sounded so sincere, so kind, when he said it. “As your mom said, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to us.”
“I haven’t lost you.” Farrah wasn’t asking, but she needed to say it out loud to herself so she’d believe it.
That night, after her parents had gone to bed, Farrah swept all the makeup from her face. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and looked into her brown eyes. “They like you,” she whispered. They liked her without lip gloss. Without a job. Without any strings attached.
They’d forgiven her for abandoning them. For not responding to twelve years’ worth of cards and letters. For trying to replace them with a man who had never wanted her.
“Why do I wanthimto like me?”
Gary Lewis had never liked Farrah. He hadn’t even liked the idea of her. The only reason she’d been born was because her mother refused to end a life. She’d given hers for Farrah’s, and Gary had given Farrah away.
