by Jane Charles
Love,
Kelsey,
Your Mom
* * *
Brandy,
I’m shaking as I write this. I am so worried about you.
My eyes go wide and I sit up as I start reading the next letter. What happened? How does she know something is wrong with Brandy? When did they meet?
Seventeen
Remember when I said I got a tattoo? Well, that was filmed for the reality show, and it aired about a week ago. This hasn’t been the best week because I had finals and lost a student teaching job because my boobs were shown, even though the network made sure they were all fuzzy so nobody could see anything. But, nothing was as bad as the telephone call I got.
Your mom and dad saw the show. They were thinking of trying to find me but then saw the segment and decided to call. You are sick. Really sick. They hope that my blood and bone marrow will help. Except, usually a sibling is the best for bone marrow, and you don’t have a sibling.
The hair stands up on my arms. I was sick when I was six. Real sick. I would be dead now without the blood transfusion and a bone marrow transplant.
They took my blood today. We are a match, but now they might not be able to use it because I got a tattoo, and there are rules that you can’t give blood or marrow for a year after getting a tattoo.
I’m sick with worry. And sick that I can’t help you because I got a tattoo. Had I known, I would have never gotten one.
I wish your parents would have contacted me before Thanksgiving. Then, I would be able to give you blood and anything else you need.
All I can do is wait. The doctor is going to try and get whoever is in charge to make an exception.
I’d give anything if I could hold you right now. I’d give you all of my blood, marrow, and organs if it could make you better. All I can do is sit and wait. I am going to try and learn everything I can about this disease though. Mary tried to explain, but I still don’t get it. But with knowledge comes answers, or at least I hope answers, so here’s to learning everything I can about Aplastic Anemia.
The letter drops from my hands and my mouth is hanging open. Aplastic Anemia?
That’s what I had.
Am I Brandy?
Quickly I grab the next letter. My heart’s pounding and my hands are shaking.
Brandy,
It’s Christmas and all I can think about is you. Are you in the hospital or at home? It would suck to spend Christmas in the hospital.
I haven’t heard anything from your mom or the doctor since they tested my blood, and I jump whenever my phone rings, hoping it’s good news about you.
Did you get to sit on Santa’s lap? Do you even still believe in Santa? I hope you do, and I hope he brings you health.
I’ve tried to imagine what kind of toys you’d want. Alex teases me because I once suggested trucks. Just because you are a girl doesn’t mean you wouldn’t want a truck. Though, after seeing you in the hospital, I think dolls are more for you. Or maybe a stuffed animal. But, what do I know about kids’ toys? You may be into electronic things, not cuddly soft things. Oh, I wish I knew. I’ve missed so much already, and I’m scared to death that something horrible might happen and I’ll never get to know you.
I’ve never been much of a praying person, but I’ve been praying a lot for you. Hopefully I’ll hear something soon.
Love,
Kelsey,
Your Mom
* * *
Brandy,
I met you today. You probably won’t remember, but I’ll remember always. You are so beautiful. You get your dark curly hair from me. Sorry! I know it’s a pain in the ass to control.
I twist a curl around my finger as tears come to my eyes.
Your grey eyes, so much like Brandon’s. You get them from him.
My heart is pounding. The hair. The eyes. Aplastic Anemia.
I am Brandy. I can hardly wrap my brain around it.
I wish I could remember meeting her in the elevator but I don’t. All I remember from those days was the doctors, the hospitals, and my blood always being taken.
It nearly broke my heart to see you standing with your mom. We shared an elevator at the hospital. I wasn’t expecting to see you, but I recognized your mom from when I interviewed her before agreeing to let her adopt.
I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I talked to you. Your mom was pissed.
There is a no contact clause in the contract. It was a closed adoption. I can’t talk to you or even look at you until you are 18. Even then, you are the one who has to initiate the contact. I can’t. You could decide that you never want to speak to me, and I get it. And, I’ll have to live with that. I just pray that you do want to know me one day. And, I pray that you’ll be able to find it in your heart to forgive me for not keeping you. But, my biggest prayers right now are that the doctors find the bone marrow they need and that the blood transfusion you are getting today helps.
I was told today that they won’t make an exception and allow me to give you blood. It crushed me. It’s killing me to stand by and not be able to help. When I left the doctor’s office, your mom found me and basically warned me to stay away from you. I get it. I really do. I’m not supposed to talk to you, but how could I not when you were standing right next to me?
I did kneel down in that elevator and talk to you. It’s all I could do not to grasp you to me, and the only thing keeping me from doing that was because I didn’t want to scare you. Stranger danger and all of that. I know you, but you have no clue who I am.
I promised your mom that I’d stay out of your life, stay away from you and never talk to you again. I shouldn’t have in the first place, but as I said, how could I not when you were so close?
Alex and I had a fight. He doesn’t get why I agreed to your mom’s demands, and he doesn’t get that I have to honor the contract. Besides, you are already sick and probably confused. I’m not going to screw up your life further by trying to be a part of it.
I hope you are well, and I hope the blood transfusion helps and I’ll continue to wait for news.
Love,
Kelsey,
Your Mom
I can totally see Mom warning Kelsey away from me. She’s been overprotective forever. But, would it have been that big of a deal if I got to meet Kelsey?
Okay, maybe not then. I was really scared then, and sick, so that would have just confused me.
But, I did get better. And I’m not a kid anymore. I get the rules about 18, but I’m 17 now. What’s a year?
Was my mom even going to give them to me? Ever?
Brandy,
The Rattle Box is gone. That’s what I called the pink box. Alex took it and gave it to your mom without my permission.
That’s why Mom has the letters then. I still don’t understand why she didn’t give them to me.
He thought it would help convince her that I’m not a threat and that I only love you. I was pissed at him for days, and honestly, I was afraid she’d destroy them. I don’t exactly know your mom that well. I know I picked her and your dad out, but it’s not like we are friends. Even if she would have destroyed them, I’m still glad they have you. She loves you so much, and really, that’s all I ever wanted for you. To be loved and taken care of and never have to fear anything. They couldn’t protect you from the aplastic anemia, but I couldn’t either. No parent could. It’s just something that happens, but they made sure you had the best doctors at the best children’s hospital. I really can’t ask for anything more.
Your mom finally called me. She won’t destroy the letters and promised to give them to you when you are old enough. I’m so happy because I was sick over losing those letters. She also told me that you will be getting a bone marrow transplant, and I made her promise to update me on your medical condition. She doesn’t really want to because you aren’t mine. I get it, but she understands that I will continue to worry until I know that you’ve been cured. We’ve agreed that after you are done being treated, we won’t talk aga
in. As much as it kills me, you do belong to her and not me. I won’t call her, and I won’t look for you. If we happen to cross paths in the future, I need to walk away. I have to honor that agreement, and I will.
Just know that I love you and look forward to the day we can meet. I hope you will want to meet me after reading these letters and don’t hate me for giving you up.
Love,
Kelsey,
Your Mom
Of course I won’t hate her. She loved me enough to give me up and continues to love me. Sure, I wish she would have kept me, but with everything I’ve read, who knows where I’d be. My mom and dad may aggravate me, but I’ve got it good. Better than most.
If anything, I’ll thank her, once we do meet.
Hate her? Impossible. There’s nothing she could ever do to make me resent or hate her.
Eighteen
I grab the next letter and it hits me.
Alex is Alex Douche Dosek.
Kelsey pays the piano.
Is Kelsey Mrs. Dosek?
The hair stands up on my neck and my pulse picks up.
If Kelsey is Mrs. Dosek, then why the hell didn’t she give me lessons?
To hell with the contract. She knows how important those lessons are to me. I’ve explained, in detail why I need them. I begged and told her of my dreams and she didn’t even bother to email me back.
It’s got to be her. Mom was adamant about me not contacting her. And Mom asks--a lot--if Mrs. Dosek got back to me.
I’m sure you play beautifully and if I had the time, I’d consider your application. I simply cannot at this time in your life.
“Your life.” That’s what she meant. Because I’m not 18!
Mom was pissed when she found out I talked to Mrs. Dosek at the competition and tense until I told her my request was shot down.
That’s because Mom knows damn well who Mrs. Dosek is. Worse, Mrs. Dosek knew damn well I was her daughter and still refused to help me.
I stop and take a breath. I could be jumping to conclusions. This could be a bunch of coincidences but my gut says it’s not.
Why the hell didn’t I ever learn Mrs. Dosek’s first name? She’s always been Mrs. Dosek. Nobody has called her anything else.
I’m sure if I could look her up on the internet I’d find out her first name, but I don’t have the luxury. I’m grounded!
I tear open the next letter, reading quickly, getting as much information as I can about this woman who is supposed to love me.
She married Alex when I was eight. Two years later she had a baby boy. Three years later, another boy and had her third son a year ago. I remember her being pregnant.
In every letter, she claims to love me and begs for forgiveness.
I may have forgiven her for giving me up, but I’m not sure I’m ever going to be able to forgive her for not helping me.
What makes this even worse is that she wrote about first hearing me play. How she thinks I’m a wonderful pianist and remembers my long fingers when I was born. She explained why she leaves whenever I play at competitions. She can’t be in the same room with me and that she shouldn’t have stayed that first time, but when my name was announced, she couldn’t bring herself to leave.
She’s gotten my emails but can’t return them. It kills her not to be able to help, but she can’t break the contract and hopes I find it in my heart to understand and forgive.
How the hell does she expect me to get past this? How does my mom? Both of them know how important this is to me, and once again, they’ve conspired together on what is best for Madison. It happened when I was sick, and now it’s happening again.
Well, I’m sure as hell not going to let this go.
Shoving the letters to the side, I get up and get dressed.
Peyton is standing at my front door getting ready to ring the doorbell when I open it.
“Are your mom and dad home?” She glances past me.
“No. Why?”
“Kelsey is Mrs. Dosek. I looked her up.”
“I know.”
Peyton steps back. “You know?”
“She’s also my mom.”
Peyton’s eyes go wide. “What are you going to do?”
“Meet her.”
Nineteen
The envelope with the last letter is nearly crumbled in my mittened hand. My mom’s address is on the top left-hand corner and I’ve been walking blocks looking for the right number. All of these townhouses or brownstones look the same. Five story, brick homes, lined up in a row.
At least it’s not cold out. All I bothered with when leaving the house was a thick sweater, hat and mittens. Then I grabbed a cup of coffee once I got off the subway as I started walking the street where my mom is supposed to live.
I miscalculated on the numbers – by about ten blocks from the stop I picked. But that’s okay. As much as I want to confront Kelsey, my nerves are setting in.
There is hardly anybody out. Then again, it is a holiday. Family time. People are probably snuggled in their homes watching the parade on TV, or actually at the parade like my family.
Shit, I don’t even know what time it is. Mom took my phone and I don’t own a watch. Not that the time matters anyway. There isn’t exactly a convenient time to go meet your mother. Well, we have met, except this time I know who she really is. Who I really am.
A door opens about half a block down the street. I know I’m close so I stop and see who it is. Three boys run outside followed by the guy who was with Mrs. Dosek at the music competition.
My heart skips and then starts pounding, and I take deep breaths before walking toward them.
Kelsey comes out last and locks the front door.
“Why do we always go to Uncle Dylan’s for Thanksgiving?” the middle one whines.
His name is Ethan, and if my math is right, and could very well not be, he’s seven.
I’m so close that I can hear everything they say, but they don’t even know I’m here. They haven’t looked in my direction since they came out.
“Because last time your mom cooked a turkey, she nearly killed us,” Mr. Dosek laughs.
“Nobody got sick,” Kelsey argues.
“That’s because we realized the turkey was raw in the middle before it was too late.” Mr. Dosek grabs the hand of the youngest, Gabe.
“Patty says that Uncle Dylan isn’t really my uncle,” the oldest boy, Liam, informs his father.
“Tell your friend that family is more than blood.” Mr. Dosek ruffles his son’s hair.
Since she is my mom, does that make him my stepdad? Those are my half-brothers. It’s odd. I read about them in her letters but didn’t make the connection of who they really are to me.
I hate them. They had her from birth. She didn’t hold them for just a millisecond and then hand them over to a stranger.
I got why she did it. I really do. But, dammit, it hurts that she kept them and not me. That she loved them, tucked them in at night, read them stories, and didn’t do any of that for me.
“And, sometimes blood isn’t family,” I say.
Mr. and Mrs. Dosek slowly turn. Kelsey’s eyes go wide. Do I call her Kelsey, Mom, Mrs. Dosek?
“Miss Cross?” Kelsey glances around. “Are your parents with you?”
That depends on your definition of parent. “No. I’m here on my own.”
She steps away from her real family and comes toward me. “If this is about the lessons, I can’t help you right now.”
I wish it were as simple as a few lessons. It used to be, but not anymore. I open my mouth to answer her, but words fail me. What the hell do I say to her?
Her dark eyes go wide. “Are you okay, Miss Cross? Can I call your mother?”
That one almost makes me laugh.
“Are you lost? Can I help you get somewhere?”
“No. I’m where I want to be.”
Kelsey, Mom, Mrs. Dosek bites the corner of her bottom lip for a minute before she speaks again. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I study her. Really study her, and I see myself in her features. Besides the dark curly hair, our mouths are the same. I never saw it before. But, I hadn’t been looking either.
She fishes her phone out of her pocket and calls someone then holds out the phone.
“Kelsey?” my mom sounds frantic. I’m glad Kelsey has it on speaker so I can hear their lies, but my stomach knots at her panic.
“Madison just came to see me.” Kelsey’s eyes meet mine. “She’s right here, and we are on speaker.”
“She found the letters.”
All color drains from Kelsey’s face.
Twenty
Her eyes are locked on mine while she talks to my mom on the phone. My parents are coming to get me, which isn’t a shock, but I still have time to get some answers.
“Cat’s out of the bag now,” I say when she hangs up.
“Let’s go inside.” Kelsey gestures toward the house and then turns to her husband. “Can you take the boys to Dylan’s?”
“Are you sure?” he asks quietly, searching her face.
Kelsey gives a quick nod. Are there tears in her eyes?
We go into the house, and I’m struck by the baby grand piano in the center of the room. The walls are covered with full bookshelves, music is stacked on a table, and it looks like there is an office at the back because I can see a desk and computer.
“We renovated and moved the living space and kitchen to the second story. This is where I work and give lessons.”
Lessons she wouldn’t give me.
“We’ll be more comfortable upstairs.” I follow her up the first flight, and she turns and enters a living room. It’s cheery with reds, yellows and blues, and a dark wooden floor. There are toys scattered all over. I follow her through the dining room and into a kitchen.
