Neither happen, leaving me in a state of purgatory.
Luckily, Nicholas, Sydney, and James are kind enough to take some of the burden off my shoulders.
James is in town visiting with Sydney, and even he insists on taking a few overnight shifts, even though I insist that it’s not necessary.
I hate to admit it but it’s nice to be back in Boston again. I feel like I have some semblance of my old life back only I don’t have to go to my dreadful job.
The money situation still bothers me, but Nicholas’ check has cleared and the second one did as well so I put my suspicions out of my mind for now.
I have enough to worry about and can’t get myself bogged down with all of the unknowns in my life.
As days turn into weeks, we develop a schedule that seems to suit everybody.
Nicholas gives up his hotel room and temporarily moves in with me.
I say move in because he doesn’t have a date by which he plans on leaving.
He was going to get another hotel suite but I insist that he stay in my two-bedroom along with James. After a few days, the whole arrangement feels a lot like college.
James had a lot of vacation days and he is using them to visit Sydney as they try to figure out what they are going to do about their relationship.
He asked her to marry him and she said yes, but they haven’t told her mother yet.
She doesn’t even know about Sydney having a boyfriend, so when she comes for her visit tomorrow there are going to be a lot of bombs dropped in her lap.
At first, Nicholas and James weren’t sure about staying with us in our apartment, but both Sydney and I insisted and it became something of an extended slumber party.
Usually, we have dinners together at the hospital where Sydney meets me after work and one of the guys takes the evening shift to give me some rest.
It feels good to have people in my life who care about me and what I’m going through. They are supportive and understanding and really there.
That’s something that I haven’t ever really had growing up.
And that’s exactly what makes me feel so shitty about keeping this secret.
I told Nicholas and later James what my mother revealed to me about my lineage. I cried to Nicholas about it many nights trying to figure out what it all means if the woman I think is my mother is really not and the man I think is my brother is really not.
I’ve gotten so used to defining myself in opposition to this family that I grew up in (especially, my parents) that now I find myself completely lost as to who I really am.
If I’m not their daughter then whose daughter am I?
When I talk to Nicholas about this for what feels like the millionth time, he brings up an interesting point.
“Maybe this is your chance for a do-over,” he says. “You’ve had a pretty shitty family, no offense-”
“No offense taken,” I say, raising my hands.
“Well, maybe you should try to find out who your real family is. Maybe you’ll surprise yourself.”
4
Olive
When I go back and forth…
Nicholas has a nice spin on the situation.
I mean, at least my biological mother never tried to pretend that she was taken hostage in order to get me to pay her debts.
Anyone would be better than that, right?
But what if she’s not?
What if she’s bad in her own way?
She did give me up for adoption to that woman, how great could she be?
Nicholas doesn’t have an answer or even a suggestion so he just wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly.
I wait for him to say that he loves me, but he doesn’t.
Anger starts to rise within me, but I push it away.
Why are you getting so mad? I ask myself. It’s not like you’re out there saying that shit to him either.
It’s at this point that I want to tell him what I haven’t yet.
I want to tell him the truth about Owen.
There’s a man who loves me in every way that you don’t, or at least, you won’t say that you do.
I especially want to say these things to him when I’ve had a few drinks. But I bite my tongue.
I don’t know if any of it is true.
My mother is a pathological liar.
She lies for no reason whatsoever.
She lies just to stir things up and make herself feel better.
I can’t know if I can believe anything she told me until he wakes up.
And even if it is…what does that mean?
Do I love him like that?
Do I even like him in any romantic way?
No. I don’t. Right?
Whenever my mind starts to swim, I turn to Sydney and ask her how much longer do I need to wait? She doesn’t have any more information than I do and tells me to do what I already know I need to do.
“Go check the post office box,” she says with a shrug.
“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head.
“You say that every day. What’s the big deal about checking the mail?”
“Because if the results aren’t there then I have to wait another day, at the very least. And if they are then…then I have to open the envelope and find out the truth.”
Sydney laughs and rolls her eyes. “I bet you were this exact same way when you were waiting on acceptance letters from school.”
“Of course, I was,” I say, tilting my head annoyed. “What other way is there to be?”
“You could accept the certainty that what has happened already happened,” she says. “And opening the letter and finding out the results isn’t going to change that one way or another.”
I cross my arms and open my mouth to say something smart in return but nothing comes out.
“Yeah…you know I’m right!”
“If I could do that then I’d be a lot more enlightened than I am right now and you and I both know that that’s not going to happen any time soon,” I mumble.
Sydney is the only one who knows what my mother told me about Owen. She’s the only one who knows that he may be in love with me. I don’t know how that’s related to the results of the DNA test but that seems to make the stakes higher somehow.
I walk downstairs where the row of post office boxes line up against the wall near the front door.
The mail woman is still there.
I had wanted to wait long enough for her to leave but for the fourth day in a row, I catch her mid-sorting.
“You waiting for something important?” she asks with a casual smile on her face.
She is in her fifties and one of those women who wears her gray hair proudly.
Her ears are adorned with thick door knockers and her government-issued uniform is taut against her large breasts.
“Um…” I start to say, debating whether or not I should lie. “Yes.”
There is no use in obfuscating the truth when the only reason I’m watching her do her job every day is because I am clearly anticipating something.
She smiles knowingly.
I hold my breath as I wait for her to ask me to explain but she doesn’t.
She’s a professional. Her job is to deliver the mail, not snoop around about its contents.
I wait for her to sort the mail in my neighbors’ boxes, pretending like I am even slightly interested in the potluck the neighbors are putting together or the condo association monthly meeting that’s going to be held on Thursday.