by Laura Tree
Chapter 5
The next day at school is pretty much the same. People stare as Damien sits next to me and try to listen to our every word. I can’t help but feel myself relaxing around him a little more.
“So what is he really like?” Mads asks as the waitress sits my coffee on the table. “It seems like you are the only one who has the inside scoop. He sticks to monosyllabic phrases when he talks to anyone else,” Mads says. I can’t help but think that I detect some jealousy there.
We meet at the coffee shop after school every Tuesday. It’s the only day that the girls don’t have practice and I don’t have to work. Although I have taken off this week because I have a million things to do before graduation.
“He’s nice.” It’s not much, but I don’t really feel like spilling the beans on him. I figure that if he wants them to know about his personal life, then he will tell them.
“Did you hear what Sally Hansen said?” Ava is busting at the seams with the latest gossip. Sally Hansen is the most popular senior girl, and always has been. Her dad is some big wig at this huge Fortune 500 company, so she never goes without.
I can’t stand her stuck--up attitude. She thinks that just because she’s rich she can have anything that she wants. I knew that, sooner or later, she would set her sights on Damien.
“I don’t really care. It’s none of my business.” I know that Ava will tell me what she said anyway.
“She told Allison that Damien was the hottest guy in school, so she was going to make him date her. Then she said that she didn’t know why he was hanging out with the ‘mutt’ of the school. She was talking about you!” Ava says with a look of exasperation written all over her face.
“It doesn’t surprise me.” And I mean it. I know that Sally is not a nice person, which is why I’ve tried to stay off her radar. She makes Mean Girls look like toddler play. Everyone knows that she’s horrible, but since her daddy is rich, she gets away with anything. It really wouldn’t surprise me if she has gotten away with murder.
“I can’t believe she knew your name,” Mads says. Ava and I look at Mads like she’s gone mad.
“Who said she knew my name?” I ask as Ava bursts out laughing.
Our conversation takes on the normal ebb and flow that it has when we get together. I could swear that I know everything about Mads’s and Ava’s lives, but there are some things that I haven’t shared with them.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Damien’s voice booms behind my back. When our eyes meet, a shiver travels down my spine. I know that I’ve basically spent the whole day at school with him, but something about him is getting to me.
“We gotta go girl, we’re supposed to meet my mom at the salon for a hair appointment, and we’re gonna be late. Call me later.” She grabs Ava’s arm and quickly heads off out of the coffee shop.
I know that Mads isn’t lying, but I’m frustrated that they just ditched me with him.
Don’t they know that there are rumors flying around about us? Of course they do; they’re the ones who told me. I guess they don’t care.
Damien takes the seat closest to me and orders a coffee. I look at him apologetically.
“Stay for a few minutes,” he says. “We don’t really get a chance to talk at school, with everyone listening in.”
“What did you want to talk about?” I ask.
“How is the whole situation with your parents going?” he asks.
I don’t really want to confide in him anymore, but he already knows more than anyone else because of our moonlit talk. I guess it won’t hurt anything to tell him more.
“They tried to talk to me when I got home last night, but I brushed them off. I told Mom that I would talk to her about it today, but I don’t really know what to say.” It comes out much easier than I thought it would. I must have needed to share this burden with someone else.
“May I suggest that you just tell her everything that you told me? Tell her how you’re feeling. I’m sure she will understand. She is your mother after all; she raised you and she knows more about you than you know,” Damien says.
His last statement kind of freaks me out. I hope he’s just projecting his relationship with his parents onto me. The way he said it makes it sound like he knows my mom personally.
I shake the thought away, pondering on what he said. I should just be honest with her. Though it took them eighteen years, my parents were still honest with me about my adoption.
“That sounds like the best scenario here.” My shoulders visibly drop from relief. I’ve made up my mind on how to handle this situation, with the help of Damien. I guess he’s becoming a friend after all.
“Hey, Lay, there’s a carnival on the pier this week. Do you want to go check it out with me tomorrow?” he asks. I just stare at him for a few seconds, my face contorted. “As friends?” he clarifies.
“That sounds like fun. I have a few errands to do after school, but I’ll meet you there at five.” My mind is racing. I thought for a second he was asking me out on a date. I feel my cheeks redden. How could I have thought that he would ask me out? Of all of the girls in the school, he wouldn’t choose the mutt— as Sally Hansen put it—to date.
I pay my tab and make a swift exit, embarrassment written all over my face.
…
I expect to see Mom sitting at the dining room table again waiting on me to get home, but she isn’t. I walk through the kitchen on my way upstairs and get momentarily distracted with the heavenly smell coming out of the Crock--Pot.
Mom makes the best Crock--Pot meals. A wave of gratitude washes over me. I have to tell her how much I appreciate everything that she has done for me, especially now that I know that she didn’t have to do it.
I run up the stairs to throw my stuff in my room, before searching out my mom.
A few minutes later I find her in the office.
“Hey Mom,” I say as she glances up at me over her glasses. I drop down into the office couch, a.k.a. the most comfortable couch ever.
Mom is sitting behind the heavy oak desk with her table lamp shining on some papers that she is intently studying. Her desk is more organized than any of the teachers’ desks at school. The top of the desk is orderly and clean; I know from experience that the inside is exactly the same.
My mom loves to organize things. She’s always told me that everything has its place. I’m not surprised that it has rubbed off on me, though she’s not my real mom.
“Hey, honey, how was your day at school?” Her tone is light. I can tell she’s trying to be patient with me.
“It was fine Mom. Do you have a minute?” I ask.
“Of course, honey,” Mom takes off her reading glasses and comes over to sit on the couch next to me. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’m just confused. I want to know why you waited to tell me,” I say. The pain washes over Mom’s face.
“I know it must be hard for you to understand, but we had our reasons. We wanted you to grow up feeling loved, and we did the best by you that we could,” she says.
“I just want to know who my real parents are. I want to meet them. I want to know why they gave me up. I am so confused and hurt. I spent my whole life thinking that you were my mom, and now you’re not.” A single tear slides down my face.
“Oh, honey.” Mom pulls me into her arms. “I will always be your mom. We chose you, and we love you dearly.” She holds on to me tightly for what feels like an hour. She lets me cry it out in her arms.
“You were three days old when we brought you home.” Mom is still holding my face to her chest; her hand rubbing my back to comfort me. “It was a closed adoption. We never got to meet your real parents, and didn’t have any information about you other than the fact that you were a healthy baby girl.”
I pull away from her as the tears subside.
“My heart leapt at the sight of you. I had been told that I would never be able to bear my own child. Your father married me any
way. I tried desperately for years to have a child of my own, but it wasn’t in the plans. When we were given the news that there was a baby for us to adopt, I was so overjoyed. The second they placed you in my arms, you were mine. I could see it in your eyes. You had the most beautiful smile.” Mom looks off into space with a glazed-over eyes and a smile.
“We chose you, Layla. We named you and we raised you. I know that we aren’t your birth parents, but we love you just the same. I hope that you can forgive us,” she chokes out, her chest heaving with sobs. My arms go around her automatically.
“Of course I forgive you, Mom. I was just upset. I feel like a different person. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be anymore. I want to find my birth parents and I hope that you and Dad understand.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Mom says. “We will help you in any way that we can.”
After discussing our schedule for the rest of the week, we decide that Sunday would be the earliest that we could do any digging around.
Dads face lights up when he sees us talking, and for a moment, the world feels right again.
...
“So how did it go last night with your mom?” Damien questions as he approaches my locker.
I close the door and turn toward our first--period class. “It went well; we had a good talk. Mom has decided to help me find my birth parents. We’re going to start on Sunday.” A smile lights my face. I didn’t know how much I wanted this until now.
“That’s great. If you need help, give me a call. I don’t mind being your partner in crime,” Damien says. It’s sweet of him to offer, but I’m still not sure if it’s a good idea to get too close to him.
I still feel betrayed by my parents for lying to me for all those years, and I don’t know how long Damien will be in my life. I’m not sure what my life will look like in a few months.
“Hey Damien.” Sally Hansen’s face pops into view. She is the Wicked Witch of the West. “I was heading to the movies tonight with some of my friends and wanted to offer you a once—in—a--lifetime chance to tag along.” When I look up, I see her twirling her long blond curl around her finger. I want to smack that bubblegum smile off her face. Her sense of entitlement really gets on my nerves.
“Actually I have plans with Layla.” Damien smiles while pointing at me. The look on her face is priceless. It looks like she’s been smacked. I can tell that she never in a million years expected him to turn her down. Did I mention her sense of entitlement? It makes me sick.
I hear Damien release an imperceptible chuckle beside me as his hand lands on my arm. I’m too busy focusing on the warm burning sensation where his hand is to pay attention to Sally Hansen at the moment. It feels warmer than last time, which is odd.
