I had told Eleanor that I would love to go one day, that I had always wanted to go, but that she had to work on her Dad on this one. Apparently, she didn’t need to. His new girlfriend a.k.a pet parlor owner had done the job for her, and now the three of them were going. Now they would go to the bench and sit next to the Eleanor. Now they would have their picture taken crossing the famous Abbey Road, although they would be one Beatle short.
I looked over at Eleanor, Alfred, and Ava all cuddled up on the blanket on the floor, and cleared my throat.
“I remember about the bench,” I said, without taking my eyes off them. I remember.
“I have family in Bristol and Sheffield,” Jennifer announced, her voice an annoying octave higher now. “My aunt owns a bed and breakfast, totally like the ones you see in the movies. It’s a-dorable, I’m sure Eleanor would absolutely love it.”
“I’m sure she will.” Martha nodded, then added, “Does she know any of this?” Her eyes found Frederik’s at the end of the table and they exchanged a look.
“Not yet.” Thomas ran a hand through his dark hair and shook his head. “You know how it is with kids. Don’t tell them anything until it’s set in stone, or they might get disappointed, or they won’t—”
“—go at all, even if they do know,” Dad interrupted, his mouth still full of lasagna. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Miss Apple Pants here says she ca-—”
“—has decided she’s going to Europe, too,” I blurted out, not quite meaning to. Where did that come from?
“You are?” Mom and Dad said at the exact same time, looking at me then looking at each other.
“Since when?” Mom inquired, her voice laced with joyful tears.
“Since last night and BBC.” It was not all entirely a lie. We had watched a BBC documentary about Astrid, a twenty-seven-year-old woman’s journey as she went all the way to China to find her birth mom. After two weeks of travelling a very sparse and poor countryside, interviewing at least a handful of people who used to work or live where Astrid was born, they finally found her birth mom—a small-framed and fragile old woman with cataracts, and, even though she couldn’t see her long, lost daughter coming home to find her, she could see her clearly. It was a heartbreaking story and had me weeping harder than an episode of This is US—Mom’s and my weekly ugly-cry-fix.
“I always felt in my heart that you would return to the village, to me,” the interpreter translated to Astrid, who was almost hunched over, overwhelmed with emotions and tears. And when the interviewer then asked if Astrid had any regrets about going to find her mom, she just said that the only regrets she had was not trying to find her sooner.
“I always had this hole in my heart. But now it’s whole again.” And, of course, by the time the captions rolled over the screen, both Mom and I were in tears, but Mom didn’t make one single comment about Alfred or Hans.
However, when I brushed my teeth a few minutes later, I had stared at myself in the mirror, once again second-guessing my decision, over three years ago, not to make my best effort to try and track him down. And, obviously, before I went to bed, I had already added a few more yeses to the pink Post-it notes in my closet:
Yes, because then Alfred will not end up in a documentary, walking through the cold streets of Berlin, a sad look on his face, looking for his birth dad because I never told him.
My kid will not, as Astrid in the BBC documentary, spend his first twenty something years wondering about his dad, a big hole in his heart.
There’s no “I” in mom.
They must have gluten-free, mouth-watering bread in Europe somewhere!
But what had really confirmed my decision and prompted me to blurt it out across the Italian-themed dinner table for everyone to hear, was the feeling I got—sitting there, listening to Jennifer go on and on about Thomas, Eleanor, and their little family vacation to Europe. Together. Truth was, I didn’t want Alfred and me to be the only two left behind when everyone else went off on their European adventure. Another truth was, yes, I was jealous.
“You sure about this?” Mom pushed her chair back a little to get a better look at me. Her eyes searched mine like she was reading my mind, which, of course, she was able to most of the time.
I looked down at my lap and cleared my throat.
“I am. I’m going to Europe, too,” I added, emphasizing that last word.” I looked up and found everyone staring at me, like they were waiting for me to explain further. “Even though I can’t eat the freaking bread.” I offered them a small smile.
“Okay, babe,” Mom began, saving me from making a fool of myself. What else was I going to say? “I’m going because I’m jealous. I’m going because I don’t want to be the only one under eighty and with both working knees to stay behind, in Sammamish, in the rain, while you all go on your a-dorable exotic European adventures”?
“It’s just, what about Maddie and … I just thought…” Mom’s voice trailed off and from the corner of my eye, I saw her exchange a look with Dad.
“Well, I think it’s excellent news. We’re all going—the whole gang.” Dad put his fork down and wiped his mouth with one of Martha’s embroidered napkins. “Does this mean I don’t have to buy you a new phone or those fancy headphones?” He leaned back in his chair and winked at me.
“Ah, the bribe.” Martha giggled and looked at Mom, a conspiratorial expression on her face.
“You told her?”
“I asked her if she knew what Beats earphones were and it kinda came up.” Mom slumped her shoulders and mouthed a “sorry” behind Martha’s back before she continued, “I wanted to know if I’m the only high-tech dinosaur left in this world and—”
“—She is.” Martha interrupted, an amused look on her face. “Of course, I know what they are. Is wa’ all ‘em cool dudes have—Doctor effing awesome Drake’s earphones, y’all,” she said with a poor attempt to talk some kind of street lingo.
“Ah, you’re hilarious,” Jennifer squealed from across the table and placed her hand on top of Thomas’s hand.
“Right on.” Martha pumped a fist in the air and smiled at her. I usually loved it when Martha would go all teenager on us—doing all her different voices, playing out her different wacky characters—but in that moment, it was annoying as hell. “Well, I think you’ve come to the right decision,” Martha said with her normal calm voice when she saw the look on my face. “To miss a trip to Europe, to Denmark, or to miss your opportunity to go find, find—” Martha stopped midsentence, realizing that she had already said too much.
“Find what? Or who?” Jennifer looked between me and Martha, her eyebrows almost hitting the high ceiling.
“My, um, my…” I looked over at Alfred. He had moved onto Eleanore’s lap, his head resting against her belly. As if sensing my eyes on him, he looked up and, as our eyes met, the blood in my veins almost ran cold. He looked so much like Hans in that moment that it was almost like I was staring into his blue eyes again. He waved a tired little hand at me and turned his face toward the TV again, and I faced Jennifer. I was about to tell her when Thomas’s voice cut through the living room, loud and clear:
“She’s going to find the lost love of her life.”
CHAPTER 3
Merde
I leaned my head against Alfred’s car seat as I watched Martha and Frederick’s house get smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. I was squeezed in between Alfred and Ava and their matching red car seats, in Dad’s little Leaf. They were both sound asleep and the rhythm and sound of their almost synchronized heavy breathing had the same effects as pulling a heavy blanket over my eyelids. I was exhausted. But, my brain was so wired it wouldn’t let me succumb to sleep. Not yet. Thomas’s words kept running in my mind like a tape… “She’s going to find the lost love of her life.” Those words had set off a small conversation I was not ready to have.
“How romantic,” Jennifer had squealed, once again, her eyes full of questions. “Who is he?” She slid a hand under
the table and grabbed Thomas’s hand when she thought no one was watching.
“Alfred’s dad,” Thomas had clarified, his big blue eyes searching mine.
“Speaking of the little devil,” I had said, trying to sound all cheerful, “I’d better…” I excused myself without finishing the sentence, to go check on Alfred’s diaper, even though we all knew, well, except for Jennifer, that Eleanor wouldn’t hesitate to tell me if she suspected Alfred had a dirty diaper. And that was the end of that conversation, but it was still there—like an awkward silence between us—when I had said goodbye to Thomas.
“We might see you in Europe then,” Jennifer had squealed as she air kissed me goodbye. “The way the French people do,” she replied with a giggle. Thomas smirked and looked down at his feet.
“So, Europe, huh,” Mom turned around in her seat and faced me. “Where did that come from?” It was as much a statement as a question, like she knew that my change of mind had been pushed by more than Astrid and the BBC documentary.
“I just guess you’re right. It would be kind of silly not to take this opportunity.” I looked down at Alfred and picked up the pacifier dangling from the giraffe strap. “I mean, why not? At least I can tell Alfred that I tried.” This was true. I might be afraid to find out what would happen if I did find him—would he be happy to see me? Would he still have feelings for me? Would he fall in love with me again, and did I even want that? Or would it be the most awkward thing in the world? But, if I didn’t, at least I could say I had tried. And there was an “I” in tried.
“Good for you. Good for you.” Dad drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel and looked at me in the mirror. “I never expressed this before, out of, you know, respect for you and the fact that you’re a grown woman who can make her own decisions, but I think you’re doing the right thing. If I had a kid out there, I sure would like to know.” He looked over at Mom and nodded.
“Are you sure you don’t have another one, Frank?” Mom looked down at Ava, and I could literally see her whole body melting in the car seat in front of me.
“Nope. I was a very responsible teenager. I might’ve sneaked some pot into the house from time to time, but I’ve always treated women with respect, and I’ve always used a con-um, protection. You know what I mean.” He looked at me in the mirror and, even in the dimmed light, I could see a flush creeping up his neck. “I know you are, too,” he assured me, even redder in the face now. “Who knows what German con-con-condoms are made of.” He shrugged and looked at Mom.
“I’m sure they are all the same. That time I was seeing that Italian guy and we had se—”
“—Lalalalala,” Dad started singing, covering both his ears. “I don’t want to hear about your pre-me sex life,” he continued in a lowered voice. He turned around and looked at me. “We don’t, right?”
“It’s okay. Mom had a life before you two met. It happens. What was it—three and a half men/boyfriends?”
“Yup, but no baby. And there’s absolutely no shame in kissing a few frogs before you’re stuck with a big old toad.” Mom looked at Dad, a big smile cutting her freckled face in two. “No, seriously.” She faced me again, this time adding her best mommy-look. “Why the sudden change of mind?” I guess we were back to the Ella-changing-her-mind-about-Europe subject. “It’s not all about that BBC program, right? Are you even in love with him?” I don’t know who was more surprised by the question—me or Mom—and for a long time we just stared at each other. Dad even stopped drumming on the steering wheel. “I mean, what if you tell Hans and he’s all like, ‘Hey, that’s awesome news and I would love to be his dad! Let’s get married!’ I mean, is he the one you imagine waking up next to every morning? Is he the one your fingers itch to hold hands with? Is he the one you want to share all your secrets with?”
“Whoa, whoa, back off, Mom. That’s a lot of questions at once. Where did the Zen you’re-in-charge-of-your-own-life-and-we-don’t-make-decisions-for-you parents go? I mean, pardon my French, but what the fuck? Where’s all this coming from?”
“Actually, fuck is not French,” Dad insisted. “They would probably say Merde or putain which literally mea—”
“—Frank,” Mom and I both said at the same time, trying to stop him before he spiraled down on yet another one of his encyclopedic trips.
“They say fuck in France. Believe me.” I leaned my head against Alfred’s car seat and looked at Mom, waiting for her to elaborate on this new in-your-face persona she’d just adopted.
“Well, I mean, now that it’s all out on the table… You’re going and all, so let’s start planning. As you know, we’ve never pushed in either direction when it comes to Hans, but since you decided…” She paused and looked at Dad for a moment. “Since you decided to go, we’d better think this through. I mean, we’re not going there for the Berlin wall.”
I looked up at the roof and took a deep breath. “It’s still not there,” I reminded her. “The wall.”
“I know it’s not there. But your baby’s dad most likely is, and I want you to prepare yourself the best you can.” Her eyes moved to Alfred, snoring loudly now. “You’d better find out before you go halfway across the world to find him. You need to know why you’re going,” she added, almost echoing the words Thomas has said to me a few weeks earlier—which had only left me even more confused, especially because of the way he had said it, like he wasn’t agreeing with me.
“Okay, let’s play this game,” Mom continued when I didn’t respond quickly enough. “If you lean your head back and close your eyes right now, what do you see?”
Dad scratched the back of his head and looked at Mom. “Is this a trick question?”
“No, but I wasn’t really asking you.”
“Oh, but-but can I play?”
Mom rolled her eyes at me and whispered, “Sure.”
“I see Martha’s cheese-dripping, finger-licking, gluten-free lasagna,” Dad announced.
“Of course, you do.” Mom giggled and punched him playfully on his shoulder. “You’re such a pig. That’s not exactly rocket science.”
“What do you see?” Dad asked her back, not one bit offended by her remark.
“I see a big cup of steaming hot coffee waiting for me in the morning, which means I’m tired and that I love coffee. There you go.” She held her palm down low so he could give her five.
“No, seriously,” she continued, returning her gaze on me, “my point is, whose face do you see when we talk about this, Ella? Which hand are you holding?”
Dad turned around and faced me, leaving no eyes for the dark road. “What do you see in your future?”
“A dirty diaper and my warm bed,” I joked, wrinkling up my nose. Truth be told, I didn’t dare close my eyes, afraid of who I might see, afraid it wasn’t Alfred’s dad. Afraid it was not the guy I was about to travel halfway across the world to find. Afraid that it was someone even more out of my reach.
CHAPTER 4
The swearing jar/pig
“Morning. There’s fresh coffee on the stove. And milk here, two percent. It’s organic, don’t panic.” Mom pointed her coffee cup at the little porcelain cow milk jug on the table in front of her, a big smile on her face. She wasn’t lying last night when she said coffee makes her happy in the morning. Aside from her unruly hair and the visible sleep marks on her forehead, she sure looked like she was bursting with happiness. “The babies slept like, well, babies. Not a peep. And still no peep. How ‘bout you?”
I grabbed a cup from the cabinet and gave her a half-hearted shrug. “Not too bad.” It was a lie. I had tossed and turned all night. Again. Mom’s little innocent “who do you see when you close your eyes?” game had certainly not helped with my already vivid dreams, or more correctly, dream, as in singular. It was always the same dream. It had started in my pregnancy but then faded a bit when Alfred arrived, and I was getting around two to three hours of sleep a night (I guess when you’re trying to catch up on sleep, there’s no time to chase your dreams). T
he dream had returned with a vengeance the day Dad mentioned the Europe trip, and Mom hinted about Hans and the missing Berlin wall. In the dream, I am walking down a perfectly straight boulevard, rays of sun falling on my face. Out of nowhere, Hans appears with his sisters, or what I always imagined they looked like. When he sees me, he starts running toward me and that’s when I look down and realize my water just broke. I’m always wearing white pants, for some reason, although I don’t own a single pair. Next thing I know, I’m in the hospital with Stella and Mom. Mom is dressed as a nurse. She even has a name tag which says “Mom” on it. She wraps the baby, who looks nothing like Alfred, with his dark curly hair, and hands him over to Hans, sitting right next to me on the bed. Hans smiles at me and, with his cute German accent, he whispers the same thing as the night before and the night before that: “We tried humor once. It didn’t work.” But, last night, it was not only Hans holding the baby. It was a mix of all the daddies in my life, and it was like they had all been morphed together.
The last thing I heard one of them say was, “You need to figure out why you’re going to Berlin,” followed by a loud crashing sound and then I woke up to the sound of my own fast-beating heart.
“I know it’s a lot of pressure,” Mom said, pulling me back to the kitchen.
I leaned against the kitchen counter and looked down at her. She almost looked like she, too, had been morphed into another and crazier version of herself—her hair spiraling from her head like Bob Marley dreadlocks.
“Pressure?”
“Berlin.” She got up and stood beside me. “I know I told you that you need to know why you’re going. But sometimes you don’t know which way to go until you’re standing at the crossroad, one foot in each direction. You’ll figure it out. You’re smart.” She leaned her head against mine and I could feel her nodding.
Lost in Love (The Miss Apple Pants series Book 2) Page 4
