2
Gianna aka Ria (17years)
“Package, Poppit!”
Frowning, I pulled out my earbuds and cocked an ear not sure I’d heard correctly. When he didn’t call out again, I dropped my book, climbed out the hammock near my window, and scooted out of my room. Downstairs, I turned toward the kitchen after finding the living room empty.
Bhavna Singh stood at the stove, stirring her famous lamb korma while her husband, Harsh, sat at the table, fidgeting with something electrical again. Since retiring a year ago, he made it his mission to try and fix everything in the house with disastrous results. “You called, pappa?”
He looked up, his usual charming smile absent. When he set his screwdriver aside and tipped his chin at the small brown box on the kitchen counter, I understood why. Staring at it, I chewed the tip of my thumb, a telltale habit when I became anxious.
Harsh stood and came up behind me. With his hands on my shoulders, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s probably urgent.”
My eyes met Bhavna’s concerned gaze before she offered me a reassuring smile. “Pappa’s probably right, sweetheart.”
Usually, I couldn’t wait for the day the package arrived but the fact that it was a whole two months, left me out of sorts. Nodding, I reached for the package, untied the twine and pulled off the triple wrapping. I read the single line on the small piece of paper glued to the sealed box and looked up. Both Bhavna and Harsh’s normally smiling faces wore expectant frowns.
“When?” Bhavna was the first to break the silence that had settled between the three of us.
“Tomorrow morning at ten.” I chewed my upper lip as Harsh withdrew his phone from his pocket.
The second he opened Google, he asked, “where?”
“Madison Wharf.”
Bhavna neared me and with her arm, across my shoulders, we watched as he did a quick search. “It’s an hour’s drive from here,” he said, looking up from his phone. “We’ll leave after breakfast.”
“What about school?” I hedged, having never missed a day since the year began.
“I’ll call Wilbur.” Harsh smiled, referring to the principal. There were few people Harsh trusted, and Wilbur was one of them. Privy to my secret, he knew the lengths to which Harsh would go to keep it that way.
I nodded as Bhavna guided me to the dinner table. Although we ate with the nightly ritual of discussing whatever game we’d watched earlier that morning, I couldn’t stop the palpitating nerves each time I glanced toward the counter where the sealed box sat. My fingers itched to open it, but I knew it would be a waste of time. I had to wait until I reached Madison Wharf, not before.
“You okay, poppit.”
Harsh reached across the table and squeezed my hand, his brown eyes swimming with tenderness. Even at sixty-six, he was a handsome man who carried his tall frame well. At five feet nine, Bhavna complemented his height perfectly, to say nothing of her dark black hair and sparkling green eyes. Although I looked nothing like them, if anyone saw the three of us together, how happy we were, they would never believe that these two adorable people, were my adoptive parents. Yet they never treated me with anything less than heartfelt love and care.
I came to them the day after my ninth birthday and I’d cried for almost a month. Regardless, their warm smiles and gentle words never faltered and soon eased me into accepting my new life. Even though I didn’t understand why, every year that question mark grew smaller as I learned a little more. With it, my maturity grew quicker because unlike the kids my age, I had to be more cautious than curious. I wasn’t allowed social media accounts, sleepovers, or long-term friends. The fewer people that knew me, the better.
Still, there were times I wished my life wasn’t as complicated as the reason the adoption dictated. One more year, and I’d be free.
“One more year, sweetheart,” Bhavna voiced my inner thoughts with a heavy sigh.
