Drew:What are you gonna do while I’m gone?
Reagan:That’s for me to know and you to never find out.
Drew:You’re gonna eat ice cream straight from the container and binge-watch romcoms, aren’t you?
My eyes sling back and forth between theirs as this silent exchange unfolds. A few seconds later, Drew says. “I guess I’m in.”
I squeal in delight, throwing my arms around his neck. Over his shoulder, I look at Reagan and mouth a sincere, “Thank you.”
It’s 2am.My alarm goes off in four hours, but my mind is reeling. Drew and Reagan left hours ago and my parents are dead to the world in my roommate’s old room.
When I got word from the adoption detective several weeks ago that he had tracked down the name and current address of my biological mother, I considered hopping on a plane and showing up at her doorstep the next day. If only I was the kind of person that could be that confidently spontaneous.
The reality is, my nerves humbled me. Up to this point, I’ve tackled this process by myself, which I know was the right decision. But I’m not too proud to admit that I don’t want to do the next part—the hardest part—alone.
Unknowns and what-ifs make me nervous. I actively avoid being the center of attention as often as possible. Bottom line, I don’t know this woman. She may not care to know me. She could shut her door in my face.
If for no other reason than to talk me off a ledge of paralysis by analysis, I know that I need somebody there with me.
I should have asked Drew sooner, but with finishing up my Saks Fifth Avenue internship, final exams and the general chaos of graduation, I found ample excuses to put it off. There’s also the fact that I’ve been on the brink of calling the whole thing off, every other second of every single day. And maybe a not so small part of me was holding out hope, wishing on stars, and sending up prayers that the person I always imagined doing this with would find his way back to me.
What a fool’s hope that was.
Then, there’s my parents—the inevitable conversation I’ve decided to save for after I get back. Even still, the thought of telling them what I’ve done sends waves of nausea coursing through me.
For now, I have to remain focused on the most important of all the plates I’m balancing. I’m going to meet my birth mom.
I don’t know if she’s married or if she has other kids. I wonder if she’s still in contact with my biological father. The detective was successful in tracking down a photocopy of my original birth certificate form where he got my mom’s name, but my father’s name wasn’t included. He offered to continue searching, but I had already charged so much to my credit card for his services, I decided that, for now, my birth mom’s name and address was enough.
The last six months have been a whirlwind of emotions—anxiety over what may or may not happen, fear of this all possibly being for nothing, excitement that I’m finally on this precipice, and now, relief that I won’t be doing it alone.
But, as it always does, the familiar ache creeps in. Becausehealways comes to mind. It doesn’t matter what I’m feeling or how badly I wish I could forget. It’s alwayshim.
There was a time when he was my firstandlast call. My best friend. My everything. Mine. At least, I thought he was. I thought I washis, too. But I wasn’t.
Pain reverberates in my chest like a relentless wave beating against a stone wall over and over. A feeling I’ve become all too acquainted with over the past three years.
I wish I could call Connor.
Chapter Two
CHUG, CHUG, CHUG
Gretchen
I’ve avoidedthe city since Drew and Reagan’s wedding. Chicago’s not small, but even the microscopic chance of running into a certain someone has been enough to keep me away.
While I was in college, it was easy to keep my distance. I’d fly into O’Hare, head straight to Bloomington, and stay there until my parents drove me back to the airport. But I’ve graduated now. No matter how much I want to, I can’t avoid the city forever.
Alas, I’m here with a smile on my face, trying not to let the paranoia of barreling into his chest around the next corner consume me whole.
Skyscrapers tower over the city streets below. The familiar hum of the hustle and bustle along the sidewalks, commerce everywhere, lives under my skin. I’ve always loved Chicago. But now it only reminds me of Manhattan. A place I’m ready to return to as soon as possible.
After a brief walk from the parking garage, we make it to theupscale steakhouse on the Magnificent Mile where Drew and Reagan are already seated. Hugs are exchanged all around before we sit. As I take the seat next to Mom, I notice two empty seats across the table, leather-bound menus resting atop their pristine place settings.
To nobody in particular, I ask, “Is somebody else coming?”
The answer I expect is something along the lines ofthey’re extra menusorthe hostess only had a 7-top available.
