I slide the closet door open and look up at the shoebox on the shelf. It’s a large box. Brian wears a size fourteen. Despite his size, Brian has the most gentle heart of anyone I’ve ever known. I know his need to share these photos with Abby is largely inspired by guilt.
Brian was badly electrocuted after seven months at his job as an electrician. He was just nineteen years old and he was told by his doctor to get fertility testing when he was twenty-three. He didn’t meet me until he was twenty-five and I was twenty-one. We got married three years later and immediately began trying for a child. After five months with no success, I was baffled.
I’d had an abortion my sophomore year in college, and I began to wonder if the abortion had damaged me. Then, Brian remembered his doctor had recommended fertility testing to him almost ten years earlier. It was a huge blow to his ego. He was twenty-eight years old and unable to father his own children. It was devastating to both of us, but he took it especially hard. He even offered to divorce me so that I could be with someone who wasn’t defective. In the end, we decided to adopt.
It took four years, $67,000, and countless tears for us to become parents. So, yes, it was extremely disheartening and terrifying when Abby was just four months old and we were contacted by Chris Knight’s lawyer. This was the man whose music I listened to while cooking dinner, and he was asking to be a part of my daughter’s life.
At first, I didn’t see how it couldn’t be a good thing for Abby. It was Brian who was looking into the future and seeing all the times Abby would go running to the Knights, the beautiful, rich couple who would probably never feel the need to discipline Abby. They’d leave that part to us, so they could remain the good guys. At least, this is how Brian saw the future if we agreed to an open adoption. I think he was right.
I slide the box off the shelf and I’m surprised by how heavy it is. Brian is the one in charge of taking the pictures out of the safe-deposit box and putting them in this box. I did have a slight crush on Chris Knight eighteen years ago, so I thought it would be best if Brian handled this part. Though, I never told him why. Even eighteen years later, I’m still not sure how I’ll feel when I see these pictures. But I need to look at them before Abby does. I need to make sure there are no objectionable photos in here.
I place the box in the master bathroom, then I unlock the master bedroom door. Racing back to the bathroom, I lock the door behind me. I turn the cold water on in the shower, then I sit on the toilet and place the box in my lap. Abby’s in the bathroom down the hall, getting ready to go to school. This is my only opportunity to do this before Brian leaves for work.
I lift the lid on the box and the first photo is of Claire Knight holding Abby in that conference room more than seventeen years ago. I didn’t know they had taken photos of Abby while they were in there. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
I take a few breaths to calm myself, then I flip to the next photo in the stack. My heart races when I see another picture from that meeting in the conference room, but this one is with Abby and Chris. They’re both smiling as she reaches for his mouth. She has his brown eyes, the feature of her appearance that made her question why she doesn’t look like Brian or me.
I set the pictures back in the box and replace the lid. I can’t do this. Brian will have to return the photos to the safe-deposit box without me. I don’t have the strength to look through these hundreds of pictures while suffering such feelings of inadequacy.
We’ll never be as young or wealthy or good looking as the Knights. And I know it’s ridiculous to envy a woman who obviously has emotional issues after dealing with the suicide of her mother, but I do. I envy Claire. I don’t know how she got Chris to forgive her after she gave Abigail up for adoption without his knowledge. All I know is that this adoption nearly broke Brian and me more times than I can count. I won’t allow a box of photos to deliver the final blow.
AMY RIDES HOME with Caleb and me after school. An April storm swooped in while we were in third period. The smell of the rain and the sound of the drops tapping on the vinyl convertible top is soothing after a long day of fake smiles. Amy and Caleb are the only people who know about the significance of today’s date. Everyone at school was wishing me a happy eighteenth birthday, completely oblivious as to how unhappy today actually is.
I haven’t told Caleb or Amy, but I’ve already made my decision about opening the safe-deposit box.
Caleb pulls into the driveway, next to my dad’s silver pickup truck, and turns off the engine. The silence that follows brings a smile to my face. They’re both waiting for direction from me.
“Let’s go. I’m sure my mom is pacing the living room, waiting for me to walk through the front door.”
Caleb laughs, but Amy shakes her head. Her wavy brown hair is damp at the ends from the rain and the light freckles on her nose are showing through her makeup, but she still looks great. My makeup is probably all gone.
“Is your mom going to freak out?”
I push the passenger door open and a few raindrops fall on my arm. “Amy, this is my mom. Of course she’s going to freak out… on the inside. On the outside, she’ll pretend like everything is okay.”
Caleb grabs my shoulder as we stroll up the front walk, then he gives it a soft squeeze. “Whatever you choose is the right choice. Don’t let anyone make you believe otherwise.”
I smile and, for some reason, the $4,000 guitar lying in his trunk comes to mind. Of course Caleb thinks that whatever I choose is the right choice. He thinks I’m so special I actually deserve a $4,000 guitar. I could probably run away tonight and Caleb would tell me I made the right choice. Of course, if I ran away tonight I’d probably end up spending the night with Caleb at the apartment he shares with his twenty-three-year-old roommate. So that’s a bit obvious.
“Is your dad supposed to be home right now?” Amy asks as I reach for the doorknob.
“No, he probably left work early. It’s a big day for them, too.” Pushing open the front door, I’m a bit surprised to find my dad standing in the foyer, as if he were waiting for me. “Hey, Dad.”
He clears his throat and smiles. “I know I wished you a happy birthday this morning, but I’m going to do it again.” He extends his right hand forward and I see the gold key lying flat in his palm. “Happy birthday, sweetheart. This is yours now.”
I draw in a few deep breaths, then I reach forward and take the key from his hand. I curl my fist around the sharp metal, squeezing as it digs into the soft flesh of my palm. Looking up into my father’s blue eyes, the barely disguised grimace crinkling the skin around the corners, I tuck the key into the front pocket of my jeans.
“I’m not going today,” I say, smiling so he doesn’t think this was a difficult decision to make. “I don’t know if I ever will, but thank you for trusting me to make the decision on my own. I love you, Dad.”
I wrap my arms around his thick waist and he squeezes my shoulders so tight it hurts. “I’ve always trusted you, sweetheart. I know you’ll make the right decision for you.”
“What’s going on?”
My mom’s voice is soft and laced with worry, but it still grates on my nerves. I love my mom, but her inability to trust that I would make the right decision has broken something between us. I don’t know if I’ll ever hear her speak and hear the same voice that sang me to sleep every night until I was eight years old.
“I’m not going,” I say, letting go of my dad.
Her eyebrows knit together, but there’s a spark of hope in her eyes and a slight curl to her lips. “Why not?”
I blink a few times to hold back the tears. “Because I’m afraid of hurting you.”
“What? That’s silly.”
“No, it’s not. I can see how much you want me to leave that part of me in the past. Even if you don’t say it, I can see it in your eyes.”
“I’m sorry, Abby. I just—”
“No, you don’t have to explain, Mom. I understand.” I sniff loudly as I wipe the tears fr
om my face. “You don’t want to lose me. And I’m lucky to have you. I know that… I don’t want to lose you either.”
She shakes her head and takes my face in her hands. “Oh, honey. You’re not going to lose me. You’ll never lose me.” She kisses my forehead and tucks my hair behind my ear. “Yes, I’m afraid of what this will do to our family going forward, but it’s natural. We fought so hard for you, Abby. I just want to protect you. I want to protect this family.”
“From what?”
She presses her lips together as she considers this question. “I don’t know. But please don’t let my fear influence you. This is your decision, honey. Your father and I will support you no matter what you choose to do.”
I nod and she takes me into her arms. I allow myself to cry on her shoulder for a moment, before I excuse myself to my bedroom with Caleb and Amy. Closing the door behind us, I immediately take a seat on my bed while Amy sits at my desk and Caleb sits next to me.
“She’s hiding something from me,” I say as Caleb grabs my hand.
“Our parents probably hide more things from us than we do from them,” Amy replies, opening up my laptop. “Do you want me to respond to all your birthday greetings on Facebook?”
“Yes, please.”
“Not the ones from guys,” Caleb adds, and I shove him. “Are you sure you don’t want to see what’s inside that box?”
I nod quickly. “I’m not ready. I’m actually glad my mom made me wait. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to face the people who gave me away.”
“What if they had no choice?” Amy says.
“No choice? In what kind of world would they have no choice? Of course they had a choice. Maybe it was a difficult one, but it was still the choice they made. Why do I even want to meet someone who didn’t want me? My parents want me. They’ve always wanted me and now I’m going to risk hurting them just to satisfy my curiosity? It doesn’t make sense.”
“You’ll know when you’re ready,” Amy says, an automatic response as she scrolls through my Facebook profile and responds to hundreds of birthday wishes.
“That’s bullshit.”
I look up at Caleb and he’s staring straight at me. “What?”
“That’s bullshit,” he repeats. “You’re not going to hurt your parents. And you know that.”
I try to let go of his hand, but he tightens his grip. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know better than you do. I had a mother who didn’t want me. Really didn’t want me. But you… you don’t know what your birth parents felt about you and I think that’s what scares you the most. Not knowing.”
The soft tapping of Amy’s fingers on the keyboard of my laptop stops. I bite my lip as I try to deny that what Caleb just said is true, but I can’t. He’s right. I’m not afraid of hurting my parents. I’m afraid of hurting me.
CHAPTER NINE
Two months after
I KNOW THAT, technically, I’m doing nothing wrong. I’m an adult. I have the right to decide where I want to spend the night. But lying to my parents always makes me anxious. Still, I don’t think it’s the lie that’s got me so worked up. I’m afraid to spend the night with Caleb.
I shouldn’t be afraid of spending the night with him. We’re not going to have sex. At least, I don’t think we are.
“So Amy is going to keep her ringer on all night in case they call, right?” Caleb asks as we drive toward the apartment he shares with his roommate, Greg Lawson.
I’ve hung out with Greg plenty of times and he’s agreed to spend the night at his girlfriend’s house to give us some privacy. But I can’t help but feel weird about this whole thing. Even knowing that this will be our apartment soon.
Greg graduated from UNC Chapel Hill two years ago. He was the only person Caleb found who was willing to take a chance on a seventeen-year-old roommate after Caleb’s dad died last year. Caleb absolutely did not want to get placed in foster care at his age. He asked for more hours at the tire shop where he works to bring in some more cash, and he’s been living with Greg ever since. Until Greg gets married and moves out in July. Then, Caleb and I have agreed we’ll take over the lease.
Caleb and I are going to live together.
It feels surreal as he turns left off Stanhope, into College Crest. College Crest is a neighborhood just east of NC State and Meredith College, mostly inhabited by college-age residents. Greg took over the lease on this apartment when his friend from NC State moved to Seattle after graduation. Two years on, and now Caleb and I will be assuming the lease. It’s hard to find a vacant apartment in College Crest.
“Yes, Amy is going to keep her phone on and she’s going to answer,” I reply, sliding my right hand between the seat and the passenger door to hide it as I wiggle my fingers. I run the fingers of my left hand through my hair to disguise the same action. I don’t want Caleb to know how terrified I am right now.
He reaches across and grabs my hand out of my hair as he turns into the parking lot on Stanhope. “Are you panicking?”
He rubs his thumb over the top of my hand and I close my eyes as I draw in a large breath.
“A little.”
He pulls his car into an empty space near the back of the lot, but he doesn’t turn off the engine. “We don’t have to do this. I’ll take you home right now and you can decide what you want to do later… Or now. You can tell me right now if you don’t want to live here. I’ll find another roommate… Or I’ll give you this apartment and find another place.”
“Caleb, stop. We’ve discussed this. I’m not taking this apartment without you, and I’m not going to try to find another roommate. No one else will understand me the way you do.” I look down at his hand in mine and smile. “I’m going to live with you. Nothing else makes sense.” I look up and he’s not smiling. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not really nervous about tonight.”
“Abby, you don’t have to be nervous. I’ll sleep in Greg’s room and you can sleep in mine. It will be like sleeping in your own bed, only it’ll smell much better.”
I shake my head as I reach for the door handle. “You always know what to say to make me feel so much better.”
We enter the apartment and, after he drops my backpack on top of the kitchen table, Caleb heads straight for the refrigerator. “I stocked up on Cheerwine for you,” he calls to me as I take a seat on the navy-blue sofa where Caleb and I have made out a thousand times.
He comes out of the kitchen with a can of Cheerwine, my favorite cherry soda, and a bottle of drinkable yogurt for himself. Caleb is addicted to drinkable yogurt, and not the fruity kind. He drinks the plain stuff, which I find disgusting. But he claims it gives him super powers.
He sits next to me, handing me the soda and offering me a sip of his yogurt. He smiles when I shake my head. “You’re missing out.” He grabs the TV remote off the coffee table and turns on the DVR. “I even recorded your favorite show,” he says, scrolling through a long list of episodes of Congressional Chronicle on C-Span.
I open my Cheerwine and take my shoes off so I can curl my feet up on the sofa. “You really are the perfect roommate.”
He puts on a romantic comedy movie he obviously recorded for me, then he sets the remote down on the table. “Tonight is your night, angel-face.”
“Angel-face?”
He guzzles the last drops of yogurt and places the empty bottle on the table. “Do you prefer sunshine?”
I take a large gulp of soda and place the can on the table, then I lie back with my head in Caleb’s lap. “Let’s mix it up. How about… turtledove?”
“Turtledove it is.”
He runs his fingers through my hair as we watch the movie and I don’t notice I’ve fallen asleep until I wake up in Caleb’s arms as he carries me to his bedroom.
“I can walk,” I mutter groggily.
“It’s fine. This totally makes up for the fact that I didn’t get to work out today.”
He lays me down on the bed and I’m fu
lly awake now. “I have to get ready for bed,” I say, sitting up immediately.
Caleb holds up his hand to stop me. “I’ll get your stuff.”
He returns a moment later with my backpack. “I know you take a shower before you go to bed. I’ll just go… out there until you’re done.”
“Wait.”
He looks at me with that hopeful look in his eyes and my entire body is buzzing with anxiety. “Can you turn on the water in the shower for me?”
He smiles and nods for me to follow him. We enter the small bathroom and the first thing I think is that it desperately needs some new decor. The plastic shower curtain is covered in squiggly blue lines that are meant to resemble waves. But in between each line, there’s nothing. It’s just clear plastic. And the shower curtain liner behind it is also clear. Not very private.
I put down the toilet seat and the lid and Caleb smiles. “I knew I forgot something. Damn toilet seat gets me every time.”
The nice thing about being an only child is that I’ve never had to share my bathroom. Our small three-bedroom, two-bath house in Raleigh is just big enough for our family. My dad never goes in my bathroom, so I’ve never had the pleasure of accidentally sitting down on a toilet while the seat is still up. But every time I’ve visited Caleb’s apartment over the past ten months, I always find the toilet seat up. It’s not a big deal, but it’s one of those classic reminders of the things that happen when a male and female share a living space.
“Just don’t let it happen again, buttercup,” I reply, setting my backpack on the closed lid of the toilet as Caleb squeezes in next to me and pushes the shower curtain open.
“Turn it to the left to turn it on,” he says, turning on the water in the shower. “Wait a little while until it gets hot, then turn it back to the right if you want it cooler or to the left if you want it hotter. But be careful, it gets really hot. Greg rigged the water heater to go full throttle.”