by Paula Garner
This guy’s yam/anteater was quite small, and it nestled into a blushing, generous package of balls. The whole visual reminded me of the new litter of mice we had in fourth-grade science: so pink and tender and soft-looking.
“Do they really go naked under those things?”
Gab nodded. “Real Scotsmen do. God, I’d like to be in Scotland.”
“On a windy day!”
Gab tilted the computer so she could see the screen better. “Hey,” she said without looking my way. “Have you ever touched one?”
My face grew warm. “No — whose would I have touched?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Have you?” I asked. Gab hadn’t had a boyfriend since junior high, and that was sort of in name only. She seemed to have more curiosity about sex than interest in relationships.
“Maybe.”
My jaw dropped. “Whose? When?”
She clicked at the computer, avoiding my eyes. “My cousin’s. We were playing doctor.”
“Which cousin? The one you set me up with?”
“Oh, God, no,” Gab said, laughing. “My cousin from Connecticut. We were kids.”
I must have looked shocked, because she rolled her eyes and said, “Sexual exploration is a normal part of childhood development.”
No point arguing with Dr. Shrink Jr.
“What was it like?” I asked.
She tilted her head and thought. “Well, it was small, and when it got hard, it was kind of long and skinny.”
“It got hard?” I squealed.
“Yeah, when I touched his balls. Which were pretty cool. Very soft.”
“Oh my God.” I drew my hands up to cover my face. “I can’t believe you never told me! Why?”
She lifted a shoulder. “You weren’t ready.”
I was speechless for a moment. “Does Leila know?”
Gab’s eyes went round. “No, and she never will.” She gripped my arm. “Swear you’ll never tell her. Oh my God — she’d think I’m even more of a pervert than she already does.”
I laughed at the thought of how horrified Leila might be.
“I’m serious, Jules!” She squeezed my arm harder.
“Okay, okay!” I said, pulling my arm free and rubbing it. Of course I wouldn’t say anything — and not just because Gab had asked me not to. I liked the idea of sharing something private with one of them, something that the other wouldn’t be privy to.
“Wait,” I said. “Your cousin. Did he touch you, too?”
She nodded. She might even have been blushing.
“You mean, there? Naked?”
“Yup.”
“Oh my God.” I laughed. “So what happened?”
“Well, he looked at it very closely, then told me I had cancer and I needed an operation. And then we put our clothes back on and went outside to play.”
I let my breath out. “Have you two ever talked about it since then?”
She made a face. “God, no.”
I had little comprehension of familial relationships — cousins, siblings . . . It seemed mysterious to me, mysterious and wondrous. My thoughts went back to Luke — and the idea that I’d once had something like that. It was beyond my ability to imagine.
“What if he doesn’t answer?” I said. “What if he’s not interested in me? I should have taken down my profile picture.”
“Oh my God, you are so clueless sometimes,” she said. She typed a new search in, a sly smile on her face. “Check this out.”
She brought up a screen full of vintage pictures and posters of pinup girls, curvy and scantily clad.
“These are so you, Jules,” Gab said. “I swear, if you curled your hair and put on red lipstick and a vintage outfit, you’d look exactly like them.” She stared at the page, shaking her head. “How do you not love your body? All that tits and ass.”
I skimmed the images. “They all look better than me.”
“No, they don’t! Get out of your head. Anyway, Daniel loves big asses.”
I regarded her curiously. “You talk about that?”
She rolled her eyes. “You know what it’s like at my house.”
True, I did. No subject was verboten. I remembered nearly dying of embarrassment once, when I was about eight, when her parents had argued at the dinner table about sodomy laws. I was like, What’s sodomy?
It was years before I ever hazarded another question at their house.
“Do you tell Daniel everything?” I asked her.
She tilted her head, thinking. “Almost.” Her brow furrowed and she went silent for a moment. Then she turned to me. “Wouldn’t this be weird? If you and Luke get to know each other? We’d all have brothers, sort of.”
As if that hadn’t already occurred to me. The idea of having something they both had, something I’d envied so much, was so dear I almost couldn’t bear to contemplate it.
“If I ever have kids,” Gab said, sliding my computer away and folding her legs up, “I’m going to have them close together. Daniel moved out when I was six. Garrett will be four when Leila leaves. I want my kids to grow up together.”
“Why were you and Daniel so far apart?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t crossing a line. Then again, the Wassermans seemed pretty lineless.
“My parents were going to stop at one, but they got hammered on my mom’s fortieth birthday and they decided to play roulette.” She gestured at herself. “Voilà!”
That made her mom fifty-eight. She was twenty-two years older than my mom — old enough to be my mother’s mother. The differences between my upbringing and Gab’s (and Leila’s, too) fell into sharp relief. I was raised by a girl who was herself still trying to grow up. When Mrs. Wasserman had Gab (and Daniel, too), she was an actual adult with a career and financial stability and life experience (and a loving partner). My mother was the age I am now — and all on her own. If I had a child today, I would have no idea what I was doing. And even as I felt compassion for the girl my mother was, I also couldn’t help feeling sorry for the child she was bumbling along with: me.
My phone dinged, alerting me to a message. I picked up my phone from my bedside table, and Jesus — it was right there, a message from Luke B. Margolis. “Oh my God! It’s him!” I grabbed at Gab and caught a handful of her kinky hair.
“What did he say?” Gab asked, extricating my fingers.
I showed her his message: Please tell me this isn’t a joke. Is this really Jules??
She yelped in excitement.
“That means he remembers me, right?”
“Well, duh! It sounds like he’s been hoping to hear from you. Write back!”
My stomach felt like a cage full of drunk birds. Yes — I had to write back now, while he might be waiting. What to say? Having Gab over my shoulder was making me even more nervous.
“Call Leila,” I suggested. “Let her know what’s happening.”
As Gab paced my room, narrating to Leila what was happening, I tried to think what to write back. Finally, I settled on, Hi! Yes, it’s really me! I would have looked for you sooner but I only found out this weekend that I was ever in foster care.
He wrote back immediately: You’re kidding! I always wondered if you would remember anything about us. Are you still with your mother? Are you okay?
Somehow I hadn’t considered how much he might know about my situation. Obviously they must have known something — you don’t foster kids from healthy, functioning families.
Yes, I wrote, I’m fine! Well, as fine as a person can be when they discover they were once a foster child.
Gab jumped onto the bed, scaring the bejeezus out of me. “What’s he saying?” She peered over my shoulder, still holding the phone to her ear.
Luke had written: I’ve thought about this moment for years. How did you find me?
I typed, I found your name in my scarf.
HOLY SHIT. ARE YOU KIDDING? His all-caps-ing at me made me flutter all over. I switched our scarves when they took you away. On purpose.
I stared. This was unreal. You left me a clue?
I tried, yes! I can’t believe it worked! All these years later.
I jumped as Gab gasped in my ear. She proceeded to read Luke’s message aloud to Leila, which I tried to block out — I wanted to be able to focus on Luke.
My mind spiraled with the meaning of everything he’d told me. He’d thought of me all these years. He’d wanted me to find him!
I wrote, I thought my mom had gotten rid of the scarf years ago, but it just turned up. I thought “Luke Margolis” was a designer label!
He replied, Ha-ha no, just the kid whose heart was blown to dust when they took you away. God, I can’t believe I’m really talking to you!
My heart swelled. He did care about me. He did miss me. I could hardly process that this was really happening.
Gab read his lines aloud to Leila, and I hit a wall. I took a breath and gave Gab a gentle smile. “Gab. I love you. But I think I’m good. Thanks for staying with me.”
“Seriously? You’re kicking me out now? Just when it’s getting good?”
I nodded solemnly.
She rolled her eyes and got up. “She’s kicking me out,” she said into the phone. “I’m coming back over.” She gave me a look. “You better call us later.”
“I promise.”
She left, grumbling, and I switched to the computer for faster typing. I wrote, You were sad when I left?
You don’t even want to know. You were my sister! When we lost you, it was one of the worst things that ever happened to us.
I stared at his words. Since unlocking the secrets of my past, I had thought a great deal of the generosity of a family who fosters a child, but I’d never considered how hard it might be for the family to say good-bye. The idea that I’d been the reason a family had gone through something terrible was nearly beyond my grasp.
He wrote, You’re really okay? Your mom’s all right?
Yes, I managed to type. Clean and sober this whole time.
God, that’s a relief. Listen, this is terrible timing, but I have to run — I have to rehearse for an audition. Do you live in Wisconsin still?
No. Illinois. North of Chicago.
Really? I’m going to be in Evanston next Saturday!
Evanston? It was barely half an hour away! I typed, No way!
I have an audition at NU for grad school. Maybe we could meet up before I head back to WI? Probably early – or midafternoon?
My stomach did a 360, possibly a 720, who knows. I would love that.
He sent back a smiley and gave me his cell phone number. Where should I meet you?
I frantically scrolled through town in my head. How about Laroche’s Café in downtown Maplebrook? On Second Street.
Perfect. See you then!
And then he was gone, leaving me warm and trembling. I reread our entire conversation, lingering over the lines about how devastated he and his parents were to lose me. What if I’d finally found someone to whom I might matter more than anything?
The thing I had always longed for most.
The week crawled by. I avoided my mother — not that it was necessary, since she seemed to be staying out of my way, too. Fine with me. There were countless things I could have demanded information or apologies about, but for now my focus was singular: Luke. And I was not remotely inclined to confide in her about him just yet.
Saturday morning, she was sequestered in her studio. While I waited for Luke’s text to alert me that he was finished at NU and on his way north, I tried on everything I owned, not that such an activity took very long. I went with layered lilac and white thermal tops and my favorite jeans. I wanted to look good, but not like I was trying too hard. Not that it should matter, as Gab pointed out. He was coming to connect with a onetime sister that he had always cared about, so how I looked was hardly the main point. Still, he was awfully attractive in his photo, and I figured it could only help my cause if I didn’t look like a total slob.
His text came just after noon. I hurried out the door without so much as a word to my mom. I wanted to arrive first so I could be calm, collected, and ready for him. I certainly didn’t want the awkwardness of his possibly passing me in his car on the street and maybe recognizing me.
Stepping outside was like receiving a hug from a benevolent deity. The sky beamed a blue of impossible vibrancy, and the air smelled of rain soaked earth and budding green life. Spudly, the Powells’ basset hound, barked joyously at me through the fence as I passed by. Sun flashed in the water rushing along the drainage ditches on Elm Street. As I made my way through the neighborhood and into town, I buzzed with excitement and hope. Downtown, the streets bustled with people and cars. I hoped Luke would find a parking space without too much trouble.
I entered Laroche’s with very deliberate attention to the door, just in case Luke had somehow beaten me there and was watching. I went to the counter and told Eli everything that had happened, periodically eyeing the window with a belly full of knots.
“So you’re telling me that your former foster brother is on his way here to meet you?” He poured coffee into my cup. “That seems improbable.”
“And yet!” I picked up the saucer with shaky hands and sipped from the cup.
He gave me that trouble-making grin of his. “Did you ever watch Game of Thrones?”
I glared at him. Figures he’d go straight to incest.
He shrugged, his skinny shoulders nearly touching his ears. “Hey, you’re not even related. I’m just sayin’ . . .”
“It’s not like that. Jesus.”
“Dude, you need to lay off the caffeine,” Eli said, eyeing my cup, which was rattling frantically on the saucer. My pulse hadn’t dipped below 200 bpm since Luke texted me, I was pretty sure.
“Shit,” I muttered. I needed to calm down. I glanced into the pastry window. “Hey, could you set aside two of the chocolate croissants?” I asked. “It would be sad if Luke didn’t get to taste them.”
He smirked at me, his lip ring glinting. “Right, that’s what would be sad. Poor Luke.”
I huffed at him. “Shut up. I really want him to try one.”
He reached in with tongs and, with exaggerated care, set two on a fluted pink depression glass plate I coveted half to death and had talked myself out of slipping into my purse more times than I cared to admit. He moved it up to a shelf next to the water glasses. “There,” he said. “Safe unless Madame V. sees, and then all bets are off.”
“Thanks.”
My cup and I clattered our way to a table near the window. The counter — and the people sitting at it — obstructed much of my view, but I hoped I’d spot his approach. I fiddled with my hair about a billion times as I waited, keeping tabs on the availability of parking spaces.
At precisely four minutes to one, I spotted a little blue car easing into a space across the street. I leaned as far as I could to see around a customer. After a long minute, the car door opened and the driver unfolded himself from the front seat and — oh, lord — was that him? He was tall, and lean enough in his faded jeans and pea coat to give me a complex. His hair was a little longer than in the picture I’d seen, but he had that expression that looked so open, so sweet. As he crossed the street, his scarf caught my eye. It was an exact replica of my scarf!
He pulled open the door with such effortless grace, I seriously worried for myself (what was with me and that door?). Once inside, he tossed his hair out of his eyes and scanned the room. I watched, immobilized, waiting for him to see me.
And then he did. As his expression changed to one of stunned but certain recognition, he pressed a hand to his chest.
I lifted my hand, a small hi, giving him a tiny smile. I lowered my hand quickly because it was shaking so badly.
He took a few steps toward me. “Jules?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Should I stand up? Was it unfriendly and impolite if I didn’t? But if I stood up, should I hug him? Offer a handshake?
He paused when
he reached me, shaking his head slightly. “It’s really you,” he said, breaking into a smile. “Can I give you a hug?”
Relief. I stood and he squeezed me so hard it made me squeak.
“Sorry,” he said, pulling back with a smile that warmed me to my marrow. His eyes were even more river-y and fleck-y in person. “I’ve been wanting to do that for — well, years.” He unbuttoned his coat and slipped out of it. He wore a soft and faded long-sleeved shirt. He was slim, but he had shoulders and pecs, and the kind of nearly concave stomach that would normally make my mind wander so far into the forest of fantasy, I’d need a map and flares to get back out. I blushed, remembering Eli’s lewd insinuations. I reminded myself that this person was a pseudo-brother, not a potential love interest — and to him I was certainly a sister figure.
He slid into the chair across from me, never taking his eyes off me, so I sat back down, too.
“I’m so glad you found me,” he said. “I always wanted to look for you, but my mom wouldn’t let me. She was worried it would disrupt your life, and maybe you didn’t even know you were in foster care.”
“And I didn’t!”
“Mother knows best.” He grinned. “Do you need another coffee? I’m gonna grab one.”
My internal organs were already vibrating under their fascia. “I’m good. But, hey — do you like chocolate croissants?”
His raised his eyebrows so they disappeared under his hair. “Uh, more than most things. Do they have good ones here?”
“The best.” I got up. “I’ll come with you.”
There was a short line at the counter, and we stood awkwardly, smiling and trying not to stare at each other. He had left his scarf on, and I waited for the chance to comment on it. When the people in front of us stepped away, Luke ordered a coffee, and then asked if there were any chocolate croissants.
