Somewhere Out There

by Amy Hatvany

  “Oh,” Brooke said, “that’s nice.” It felt like a lame response, but it was the only one she could come up with in the midst of her stupor. Natalie wants to see me, she thought. After thirty-five years. Or seventeen, if Brooke counted from the moment Natalie turned eighteen and didn’t need her adoptive parents’ permission to search Brooke out. Brooke’s stomach twisted, wondering why her sister had waited so long. Was she sick? Does she need something only Brooke could give her, like bone marrow or a lung? Was she reaching out not because she wanted to, but because she had to?

  “Natalie has asked for permission to call you,” Sarah said, interrupting the questions eddying in Brooke’s mind. “I can’t give out your contact information without your approval. She also offered to email first, if that would be more comfortable for you.”

  “No,” Brooke said, looking around her tiny studio, wondering what her sister would think of how she lived. And of the fact that, in seven months, she would be an aunt. Brooke swallowed back an itch in her throat. “It’s okay. She can call me.”

  “I can give you her number, too,” Sarah said, “if you’d like to call her, instead. She indicated she’s fine with whatever you want to do.”

  “Have you already spoken with her?” Brooke asked.

  “No, but we’ve emailed. She seems like a lovely person. At least, her emails were lovely.”

  The muscles in Brooke’s belly relaxed. “That’s good to know. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Sarah said. “Let me give you her number and I’ll pass yours along to her. Do you want me to set up a time for the call, so you’ll know when it’s coming?”

  “I don’t think so,” Brooke said. “I’ll probably just call her right now.”

  Sarah laughed. “I said the same thing about calling my son. I couldn’t dial fast enough.” She gave Brooke Natalie’s number, and wished her luck. “Call us if you need anything,” she said. “We’re here to help.”

  After they hung up, Brooke stared at the number she’d written down for a good, long time. It was local, with a 206 area code, which likely meant that her sister still lived in Seattle proper. That she, like Brooke, had grown up here. Close, but not together. Brooke wondered what Natalie’s life had been like, if she had other siblings that had taken Brooke’s place and made her presence in Natalie’s life unnecessary. How would she feel, meeting them? Or meeting the couple that had wanted to adopt Natalie but not Brooke? And what if this woman wasn’t her sister? What if the registry had gotten it wrong? If Brooke did decide to meet her, she could be setting herself up for disappointment, like she had with Claire. Brooke was certain she couldn’t go through something like that again.

  But what if it was Natalie who’d found her? What if she didn’t have to be alone anymore? This thought made tears spring to Brooke’s eyes, and she wished she had someone to talk with, but the person she’d been closest to was Ryan, and for all intents and purposes, their relationship was over. And it wasn’t like he knew anything about her past.

  Her phone beeped, indicating she had a text, and she quickly checked it, thinking perhaps Natalie had decided that text messaging would be an easier way to connect than having an actual conversation. Her pulse sped up as she read another note from Ryan. “Please call me,” it said. “We have to figure this out.”

  Brooke tapped on the reply box and typed in a short reply: “There’s nothing to figure out. I’m having the baby. You don’t want to be involved. The end.” She pressed send, and then decided to say one more thing. “Stop calling me. Stop texting. It’s over. I don’t want to see you again.” She sent that message, too, and when the phone rang in her hands only seconds later, she jerked and accidentally dropped it. It skittered across the hardwood floor.

  “Shit,” she mumbled as she crouched and fished it out from beneath the night table next to her bed. “I told you not to call,” she said, assuming it was Ryan when she answered, not bothering to look at the screen.

  “Oh,” a woman’s voice said. “I’m sorry . . . I thought . . .” Her voice caught on the words, and Brooke realized her mistake.

  “Oh my god,” she said, breathless. “Natalie?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, god,” Brooke said again. “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else. I mean, I know you’re you—the lady from the registry told me you’re you—but I thought you were my boyfriend. Well, my ex-boyfriend. We just broke up.” She paused. “Sorry, I’m babbling.” Brooke gave a nervous laugh. “Can we start again?”

  “Sure,” Natalie said, sounding just as tense and edgy as Brooke felt, which oddly made Brooke feel better. It dawned on her that Natalie didn’t know for sure that Brooke was actually her sister, either, and was likely struggling with all the same what-if scenarios that were spinning through Brooke’s head.

  Brooke sat back down on her bed, stretched her legs out on the mattress, and leaned against her many pillows, deciding that for the time being, she would go with the assumption that this woman was, in fact, her sister. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Me, either,” Natalie said. “You have no idea.”

  Brooke picked up one of her fuzzy throw pillows and squeezed it to her chest with one arm. “Is this the first time you’ve looked for me?” she asked. “I mean, it’s been a long time. I’m sure you don’t even remember me.”

  “That’s actually sort of complicated,” Natalie said.

  “How so?”

  “I didn’t know about you. Not until last month.”

  A shiver spider-crawled up Brooke’s spine. “I don’t understand.”

  “My mom . . . well, that is, my parents . . . my adoptive parents, didn’t tell me that I had a sister. I always thought it was just me.”

  Tears welled up in Brooke’s eyes. “How could they not tell you?” she asked, again wondering if this was actually her sister on the phone. Maybe this whole thing was a giant mistake.

  “Like I said, it’s complicated.” It was quiet a moment until Natalie went on to explain how her parents had finally turned over her adoption file, and how she had gone to see Gina Ortiz.

  “You saw Gina?”

  “Yes,” Natalie said. “She said she always wished she could have found you a family.” She paused. “I also went back to Hillcrest and met Miss Dottie. She told me about a girl you were roommates with after the two of you aged out of the system. Zora Herzog. I went to see her, too.”

  “Oh,” Brooke said, a little unsettled that this woman who could or could not be her sister had been digging around in her past. It made her feel exposed, a position she most decidedly did not enjoy.

  “Did you live with her?”

  “For a little while. Not long. Why?”

  “Do you still see her?”

  “No,” Brooke said, feeling a bit like she was being accused of something. “Did she say that I do?”

  It took Natalie a few seconds to respond, and when she did, it was in a quiet, measured voice. “She said that you were a hooker.”

  “What?” Brooke exclaimed. Her cheeks flushed hot and red. “That’s a lie. She’s out of her mind.”

  “Okay,” Natalie said, but she didn’t sound totally convinced.

  “Look,” Brooke began, “I did live with Zora for a couple of months after we left Hillcrest. We were both working at the same restaurant as hostesses and we knew we’d need to pool our money to find a decent place to live. But then she started dating this horrible guy who turned her on to drinking all the time and taking whatever pills they could get their hands on, so I moved out as soon as I could. I haven’t seen her in twenty years. Okay?” She realized she was ranting, but she couldn’t help it. She was furious that Zora had uttered such a nasty, blatant untruth.

  “Okay,” Natalie said again, and this time, it sounded as though she believed Brooke. “I’m sorry for asking, but I just . . . I needed to know before . . .” She trailed off, and Brooke filled in the rest of the sentence.

  “Before you decided if you wa
nted to meet me?” She felt a pinch inside her chest, like she’d been found guilty of something she had never done, but she also understood why Natalie would ask the question. If Brooke had been in her shoes, she supposed she would have done the same thing.

  “Yes,” Natalie said. “I have kids, you know? I just needed—”

  “It’s okay,” Brooke said, interrupting her. “I understand.”

  “Thanks.”

  An awkward silence fell between them, and Brooke flashed back to what it had felt like to hold her baby sister in her arms. She heard their mother’s voice, telling her to be a good, brave big sister. “I’d like to see you,” she said, and when Natalie didn’t respond, Brooke continued. “Do you want to see me?” Her voice was small, a fragile thing.

  “Yes,” Natalie said. “I do. When do you want to meet?”

  • • •

  It was Natalie who suggested the Westside café as a good place for breakfast the next morning. Brooke had never been to the restaurant, so she left her apartment an hour early to make sure she wouldn’t be late. She’d struggled over what to wear, wanting to make a good impression the first time Natalie saw her, and finally landed on a simple black skirt with an elastic waist—maybe she was imagining things, but at twelve weeks, her clothes were already starting to feel tight around her stomach—black tights and knee-high boots, and a purple sweater Ryan had bought her because he said it brought out the color of her eyes. She let her curls dry naturally to reduce their normal frizz, then swiped on a little mascara and lipstick before she walked out the door.

  Twenty minutes later, Brooke was searching for a parking spot on the very narrow, heavily populated residential side streets that T-boned the main stretch of Alki Beach. She had already driven past the restaurant, so she knew where it was, but it took her another fifteen minutes to find a place to park. It was a cold but clear morning, and the sidewalk lining the beach was littered with people jogging, walking, or pushing strollers in their Columbia fleece outerwear. The blue water of the Puget Sound shimmered as though diamonds had been scattered across it, and after Brooke walked the four blocks back to the restaurant, she stood for a moment, looking out to the green islands across the way. One of them was likely Bainbridge, but Brooke couldn’t have picked it out—local geography had never been her strong suit. Though the sun was shining, the breeze was icy coming off the water, so she tucked her hands into her coat pockets and pushed the restaurant door open with one of her shoulders.

  “Good morning,” the hostess said over the clang of pots and pans from the exposed kitchen and the noisy chatter of already-seated patrons. “Are you meeting someone?”

  Brooke nodded. “A woman named Natalie.” Her heart pounded an errant rhythm inside her chest, so she took a deep breath in an attempt to settle it. She looked over the small dining area, unsure if she’d recognize her sister after all these years.

  The hostess smiled. “Right this way, please.”

  Apparently, Natalie had come early, too. With her hands still shoved in her pockets, Brooke followed the hostess through an archway and to the very back of the seating area, to the last table, where a woman with long, straight blond hair sat alone. When she saw the hostess bringing Brooke her way, the blond woman stood up, one hand gripping the edge of the table and the other splayed across her chest.

  “Thanks,” Brooke told the hostess when they were several tables away. “I see her.” The hostess smiled, told Brooke their server would be with them soon, and then headed back toward the front. Brooke walked, the muscles in her legs quaking, the rest of the way to her sister.

  “Hi,” Natalie said, dropping her hand from her chest. She smiled at Brooke, and then took a step toward her. “I feel like we should hug?” She hesitated, waiting for Brooke to give the okay, and so Brooke bobbed her head, letting this petite woman with dark chocolate eyes put her arms around her. It was a short embrace, and an uncomfortable one, but when Natalie pulled away, Brooke’s eyes immediately filled with tears.

  Seeing this, Natalie ushered her into the seat opposite her at the table, then handed her a tissue. “I thought we might need these,” Natalie said, using one to wipe beneath her own eyes.

  Brooke didn’t know what to say. She might not even be my real sister, Brooke reminded herself. We don’t look anything alike. Without DNA testing, there’s no way to know for sure.

  But then Natalie reached for something in her black leather bag, which was sitting on the chair next to her, and pulled out a faded and worn lavender blanket. She held it carefully, as though it might fall apart, and suddenly Brooke felt as though she might, too.

  “My soft side,” she whispered, unable to hold back her tears. Oh, god. It was her. It was Natalie. Her sister.

  “Your what?” Natalie asked with a puzzled look.

  Brooke reached out for the blanket, and Natalie handed it to her. “That’s what I called it,” she said. “My soft side. I don’t know why. I just . . . did.” She clutched the worn fabric, her fingers rubbing the blanket’s silky edges in what felt like an autonomic response, as natural and uncontrollable as the beat of her heart. “I haven’t thought about this in years. I forgot I gave it to you.”

  “You?” Natalie asked. “Not my—I mean, our—birth mother?”

  “She didn’t give us anything,” Brooke said in a flat voice, unable to lift her eyes from the blanket.

  “Oh,” Natalie said.

  Brooke finally managed to look up, and took a moment to catalog her now grown-up baby sister’s face. Her hair was a darker blond, parted on one side with fringed bangs, and fell in a smooth curtain just past her shoulders. She had large, dark brown eyes, arched brows, and bowed lips, similar in shape to Brooke’s. Her skin was pale, but her cheeks glowed pink and the minimal makeup she wore accented her features. She wore jeans and a plum-hued cardigan with simple silver jewelry, including a twinkling diamond band on her left ring finger.

  “You’re married,” Brooke said, and Natalie nodded.

  “My husband’s name is Kyle. We have two kids.” She reached for her phone and tapped on the screen a few times, until she found what she was looking for. “Here,” she said. “This is Hailey. She’s seven.”

  Brooke took the phone and stared at the close-up head shot of Natalie’s daughter. “Oh my god,” she said, taking in the young girl’s brown spiral curls and wide-mouthed grin.

  “You two definitely have the same eyes,” Natalie said, using the tips of her fingers to wipe at the tear that slipped down her cheek. “I never knew . . . I always wondered where they came from.”

  Brooke stared at the little girl, blown away by seeing her eyes in another person’s face.

  Natalie reached over and swiped the screen again, bringing up a different picture, of a little boy with light brown hair and an impish grin. He stood with his arms lifted and held out straight, like an airplane’s wings. “That’s Henry,” Natalie said. “He’s five, and currently obsessed with Buzz Lightyear. Last year, it was dinosaurs.”

  “They’re adorable,” Brooke said, sincerely. She had a family, she thought. The sealed door in her heart cracked open—just an inch—just far enough to make it easier for her to breathe.

  Their server arrived then, saving her. He asked if either of them would like something to drink. “Mimosas?” Natalie said, giving Brooke an inquiring look.

  Brooke almost nodded, then remembered she couldn’t. Not with the baby. “Not for me, thanks,” she said. “Just peppermint tea. And some dry wheat toast, please.” She couldn’t tell if the slight nausea she felt was due to morning sickness or her rocky emotions, but either way, she didn’t want to get ill.

  “I’ll take coffee, then,” Natalie said. “And the continental breakfast, with a blueberry muffin.”

  After the server left them, Brooke glanced down at the blanket, then tried to hand it back to Natalie. “No,” Natalie said, holding up a single hand, her palm facing Brooke. “You keep it. It was yours.”

  Again, a million questions
ran through Brooke’s head. She didn’t know where to start, so she decided to return to the subject they’d discussed on the phone. “I can’t believe you never knew about me,” she said. “Though I guess it explains why you didn’t look for me before now.”

  “Did you ever try to find me?” Natalie asked.

  “Other than putting my profile on that registry, no. I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Natalie said. “You don’t have to explain.”

  “But I should,” Brooke said. “I want to.” She fiddled with the satiny edge of the blanket, oddly comforted by this familiar movement. “I guess I thought that if you hadn’t looked for me, you didn’t want me to find you. I figured your life was good with your adopted family, and maybe you didn’t think adding me to it was a good idea.” So much for not opening up. But talking with Natalie felt different; Brooke sensed that no matter what she said, she’d be safe.

  Natalie reached out and put her delicately boned hand on top of Brooke’s. “If I had known about you, I would have tried to find you right away.” Natalie’s bottom lip trembled. “I wish . . .” She paused before trying again. “I wish my parents knew better than to let us be separated. I wish we could have been raised together.”

  “It wasn’t just them,” Brooke whispered, trying to control her own tears. She was not typically a crier—could it be her pregnancy hormones? “The state didn’t know better. Neither did Gina.”

  “Still,” Natalie said. “I know things must have been so hard for you. I’m sorry for that.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” Brooke shrugged. “But thank you.”

  The server arrived then with their drinks, Brooke’s toast, and Natalie’s breakfast, and after confirming they didn’t need anything else, he left them alone again.

  Brooke took a few timid bites of her toast and washed them down with a sip of her tea. She watched Natalie pick at her muffin with her nose scrunched up with distaste. “Something wrong?” Brooke asked her, nodding toward the baked good.