by Julia London
As a teen, Jane’s focus had turned to her looks. What was she, part Italian? Hispanic? Mom said she was beautiful, but Jane felt ugly and ungainly. Her eyes were too big. Her nose was crooked. That’s why they gave her away, she told herself—she was ugly. People would say to her tall, blonde brothers, “You look just like your father!” And then they would look at Jane with that awkward, blank look of not knowing what to say.
“You look like an angel,” her mother would tell her. “You’re so pretty, Janey, don’t you know that?” The only thing Jane knew at that age was that she looked different from her family.
Still, overall, Jane had been happy and content with her family and herself. At what point that had changed, she wasn’t entirely certain, but somewhere between college and teaching second grade, she’d begun to feel more detached from her family and the self she’d thought she’d known. Maybe it was because she’d taught in a part of Houston where there had been lots of kids without mothers or fathers or both, living with grandparents, or in foster care. Maybe it was because she’d read an author who wrote that our past is our present and our future, that we are all pieces of our past and our loves. Jane had so many invisible holes in her, so many pieces missing, that she’d begun to feel like her present was incomplete.
She was about twenty-eight and in her second semester of graduate school when questions had begun to simmer. Things she’d always accepted about herself and her life had suddenly seemed suspect to her, such as how everyone in her family liked to cook. Jane didn’t like to cook, but she liked to eat. And when she overate, the weight went straight to her hips. She had the metabolism of a slug and had to run four or five times a week to keep from ballooning into a whale, yet everyone in her adopted family seemed to eat without the worry of putting on weight. Matt and Eric both had a talent for music, but Jane could scarcely carry a tune. Most of her family wore contacts or glasses, but Jane’s sight was very good. She was good at science and math and considered herself to be a fairly good teacher. Now, Jane had wanted to know what other natural talents she might have had that she hadn’t even been aware of.
She’d spent hours rummaging around her distant memories and thoughts, digging for clues as to who or what she was, convinced something was there if she was only smart enough to recognize it. On a whim, she’d signed up for the national adoption registry. She’d heard about the registries—both adoptees and birth parents could sign up, and if they were both looking, and indicated they were okay with being found, the registry would match and put them into contact with each other.
As she sped down Highway 71 on her way to Austin, Jane’s hindsight was pretty clear. “You are so naïve,” she muttered to herself and cranked up her stereo. She’d signed up for the registry, nervous and anxious, expecting something back within hours. Then days. When a few weeks had gone by, Jane had realized that no one had been looking for her all these years.
It had been a surprisingly stunning blow to her ego. Looking back on it now, Jane could see that was when her life began to slow to a crawl, really long before Jonathan asked her to marry him. She just hadn’t understood that it was happening.
When the registry hadn’t produced a response, Jane had asked her mother about her adoption again. They’d been at lunch at a new restaurant near Jane’s apartment—her mother loved to check out the competition whenever she could—and Jane hadn’t been able to get the registry off her mind.
“The soup is too salty,” her mother had said as they’d eaten the first course.
“Mom, may I ask you something?”
“Shoot, sweetie. What are you having? I think I’ll try the quiche. You can always tell the quality of a restaurant by their quiche, because it’s nearly impossible to screw up, but it’s hard to make it really, really good.”
Jane had yet to look at her menu. “I’ve been kind of unsettled lately.”
“You have?” Terri had asked, looking up from her menu. “Can I help?”
“Maybe,” Jane had said. “Can you tell me . . . can you tell me more about who I am?”
Her mother had gone very quiet for a moment. She’d laid her menu down, tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and adjusted her rectangular glasses. “Mind telling me why you are asking about that now?”
“I just need to know,” Jane had admitted honestly. “I want—I need to know, Mom. I don’t have a complete picture.”
“Are you going to go look for her?” her mother had asked bluntly.
The question had startled Jane. She couldn’t believe her mother would think that, and furthermore, she hadn’t really considered it. Not very seriously, at any rate. “Go and look for someone who gave me away? No, Mom! No, I’m just curious.”
Her mother hadn’t seemed convinced. “Let’s order, then we’ll talk.” They’d ordered, and Terri had stared at Jane over her quiche, as if she’d been trying to read something into her daughter’s expression as Jane had explained how unsettled she’d been of late.
When she’d finished, her mother had sighed, put down her fork, then looked Jane squarely in the eye. “Here is the God’s honest truth, Janey. I don’t know anything about your parents. Nothing. They didn’t want us to know, and it was all handled by a private attorney.”
“Maybe the attorney knows something.”
“He probably did, but he is dead. He had a heart attack and dropped dead at the office when you were about five.”
Jane’s heart had plummeted. “Dead? That’s it, the only key to who I am is dead?”
“Who you are is Jane Aaron,” her mother had said flatly. “You are just as much a product of your upbringing and environment as you are your genes. Whoever they were, they were nothing more than an incubator.”
“Mom, I know that,” Jane had said impatiently. “I am your daughter and I don’t want to be anyone else’s daughter. And I really don’t want to find them. I just want to know a few things.”
“Like what?” her mother had asked casually, picking up her fork again.
“Like . . . where did my ancestors come from? What is my nationality? Is there any history of heart disease or that sort of thing that I should be aware of?”
“Well I don’t know how those questions can be answered unless you find your birth parents, do you? But I have to warn you that even if you do find them, they may not have the answers you want to hear.”
“I know,” Jane had said, feeling her frustration beginning to build. It had been so hard to explain what she’d been feeling, how empty the lack of knowledge about herself had left her. “But it’s worth asking, isn’t it? And they are the only ones who can answer the most basic question.”
“What’s that?”
“Why they gave me away,” Jane had said flatly.
“Oh, Janey.” Her mother had smiled sympathetically. “I am certain whoever it was gave you up because they loved you so much and they couldn’t provide for you.”
“That’s a stock answer, Mom. Why didn’t they get a job?”
“It’s a stock answer because it’s true more often than not.”
“Surely there is something,” Jane had insisted. “Adoption papers. Something.”
“Of course we have adoption papers,” her mother had said calmly. “But you will be disappointed. All the identifying information is blacked out and the court records are sealed. That means the only way you can find them is if you both sign up for an adoption registry.”
“I know,” Jane had said. “I already have. And I didn’t get a match.”
Her mother had clearly been stunned by her admission. It had been several moments before she’d spoken. “Lord,” she’d said quietly. “Once you open that can of worms, you won’t stop until you get to the bottom. It’s human nature.”
Jane had seen her mother’s discomfort, the edge of fear in her gaze. “Mom, I love my life. I love my family,” she’d said earnestly. “I don’t want to mess that up with some new reality. I just want to understand what talents I have, and if I should worr
y about certain diseases—”
“You have plenty of talent!” her mother had said angrily. “Do you think knowing who pushed you out into this world will tell you who you are? Ask me, Jane. I know who you are. I know you have the warmest smile of anyone I’ve known, and you are wonderful with children. You trained all of our dogs growing up, and you are very perceptive about other people and you have a vivid imagination. You’re beautiful and smart and funny. I know who you are. You don’t need to find your birth mother for that.”
Now Jane winced at the memory of that lunch, how she’d given her mother a patronizing smile. “I know you think that, Mom. But right now you’re being my mother. You don’t really know.”
“Don’t you tell me what I know,” Terri had snapped, her eyes tearing up as she’d dropped her fork with a clank against her plate. “I held you in my arms when you were two days old and I have never let you go. I fed you, I clothed you, I bandaged your boo-boos and I gave you Santa. I attended every school function, I stayed up with you the night Randy Davis broke up with you. I paid for your college, I helped you shop for your apartment, and now you’re going to sit there and tell me I don’t know who you are?”
“I’m sorry—”
“I didn’t give birth to you, Jane,” she’d continued angrily. “But I didn’t love you one ounce less!”
“Okay,” Jane had said, sitting back, holding up a hand. “I didn’t mean it that way, honestly. I know you love me, I know you care. And I love you.”
Her mother had stared at her a long moment, her jaw clenched. “I have to get back,” she’d said abruptly and put her napkin on the table.
“What? Mom, don’t go,” Jane had cried, reaching for her mother’s hand.
But her mother had squeezed her hand and smiled. “I need to get back to work, Janey. I am sorry for flying off the handle like that. I guess I didn’t take my happy pills this morning. I’ll see you later, okay?” She’d kissed the top of Jane’s head and left Jane sitting there.
Jane hadn’t said anything else about it for her mother’s sake, and after that lunch, Jane really had tried to push it out of her mind.
But the questions had refused to go away.
Worse, things had started to slip through the cracks. Jane had lagged in graduate school—she’d been trying to finish her master’s in psychology with the hope of entering a PhD program. Nicole had finally asked, “Why are you wasting this opportunity? You’d be a great child psychologist, Janey, and all you lack is your thesis.”
“I don’t know, really,” Jane had said. “I just wonder if I really want to be a child psychologist. I think the interest is coming from some buried need to understand myself,” she’d said with a wry laugh. “I mean, where did I get the topic of children and loss for my thesis? I can’t write something like that without working through my own loss, can I? And you know what, Nic? I’m not even sure I really suffered a loss. I am so confused about everything.”
“Are you crazy?” Nicole had cried. “You don’t have to answer all that now. But if you don’t finish, you will always regret it. This is so unlike you, Janey.”
“Is it?”
“Yes! Okay, what about sheer practicalities? You’ve put all this work into a master’s the last two years, going to night school and working weekends. At least finish the damn thing! At the very least you’ll get a raise from the school district for having a master’s degree. That’s worth it, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Jane had agreed. Nicole had been right, of course, Jane had known she’d been right. She just hadn’t been able to find the heart to finish her thesis.
And then there was Jonathan, her sweet musician with the soulful heart. She cared very much for Jonathan, and he was crazy about her. He told her frequently that he loved her and backed it up by writing songs for her and about her. He was cute, too, with shoulder-length, thick brown hair and tattooed arms. Jonathan Bauer was a free spirit, grounded in his reality, and Jane really admired him. Then Jonathan had gone and ruined it all by asking her to marry him.
Jane had known it was coming. She and Nicole had bet that it would be on Jane and Jonathan’s two-year anniversary, and they’d been right. Jonathan had taken Jane out for a special dinner. It had been a lovely, beautiful evening, with rooftop dining at a swank little bistro, with prime rib and an excellent bottle of wine.
“Jane,” Jonathan had said as they’d waited for dessert. He’d held out his hand to her, palm up.
That was the moment she’d known would come, and Jane’s heart had begun to pound. But not in a good way. In a frantic, I-can’t-breathe way. At first she’d assumed it had been a bad attack of butterflies. She’d smiled as Jonathan had risen from his chair and moved around to her side of the table. She’d tried to swallow as he’d gone down on one knee. He was nervous, she’d realized. “I can’t imagine life without you. You know I love you, Janey—I love you so much. Will you do me the honor . . .” He’d paused, fished the box from his pocket, and fumbled a little trying to open it. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?” he’d asked, and shown her the small diamond ring.
Jane had gasped. She’d gazed at the ring, tears in her eyes. She’d been thrilled! Overjoyed! But she hadn’t been able to find her tongue.
An awkward moment had passed and Jonathan had laughed uneasily. “Hello?” he’d asked jokingly.
“Wow,” Jane had said. “It’s really beautiful.”
Jonathan’s face had fallen. “God . . . are you turning me down?”
“No, no!” she’d said, but Jonathan had already come to his feet, looking sheepishly around them, and Jane had felt like she’d been outside of herself, like she’d just floated out of her body. “I’m not turning you down,” she’d said softly as he’d resumed his seat, but she had been, they’d both known she had been. The ring had sat on the table between them. “I’m just not sure I’m ready.”
Poor Jonathan—he’d looked so appalled, so hurt, and even now, as Jane pulled into McDonald’s, her vision blurred with tears of regret.
She’d tried to explain. “I just have some questions that I need to answer—”
“Like what, for God’s sake?” Jonathan had asked self-consciously.
“Like who I am, where I come from. Why I was given up for adoption.”
“Are you kidding?” Jonathan had hissed angrily, then smiled at the waitress.
She wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d walked out on her right then and there, but Jonathan really did love her. He’d stayed. They’d talked. He’d agreed, very reluctantly, that she should take some time. And they had continued to see each other, although things had never really been the same since that night.
Jane didn’t feel worthy of a lifelong commitment. What if Jonathan left her? What if he cast her out to the world without knowing where she would land, like her birth parents had done?
“That’s ridiculous,” Jonathan had scoffed one night over burgers when she’d tried once again to explain her reluctance. “Your parents probably gave you up because they were teens and they couldn’t care for you. They didn’t cast you out to the cruel, cruel world.”
That idea was easy for him to dismiss, but he hadn’t been given up at birth. “I still can’t help but wonder,” Jane had said. “I mean, I work with lots of kids who were born to teen parents, and the kids and the parents have gone through some really bad times—but their mothers didn’t give them up.”
“I think a lot of people would argue that they should have,” Jonathan had snorted. “Janey, your parents loved you. Come on, we’re talking 1980. The world was a different place then. Unwed teen mothers couldn’t keep their babies. I am sure they loved you so much they did what was best for you.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Jane had agreed for the sake of argument. But there had been something in the back of her mind telling her the world hadn’t been that different in 1980, and that Jonathan had a Pollyanna view of it. Her parents could have kept her if they’d wanted her. “What if there is some hideo
us medical thing I should know about?”
“Don’t worry about stuff like that,” Jonathan had said, and he’d covered her hand with his. “Listen, if you’re totally crazy, or have a tendency for bunions, or whatever, we’ll deal with it.” He’d laughed at his own joke. “You are going to marry me, right?”
Jane had smiled. “I’m pretty sure.”
Jonathan had sighed. “I’m beating my head against a wall here. Again. Let’s not talk about it tonight, okay? Are you going to eat those fries?” he’d asked, reaching for one.
She and Jonathan had gone on that way, in a sort of limbo, and Jane had continued to look. With the attorney gone and the records sealed, and the registry coming up empty, there had been only one other thing Jane could do: attack it from the other end. She could go to Cedar Springs, to the hospital where she was born, and begin there.
She’d decided to run her idea past Nicole first, and she’d shown up at Nicole’s house one Saturday morning with cinnamon rolls Matt had made for her. Nicole’s husband Colt had been out running errands.
“Ohmigod, that smells delicious!” Nicole had said as she’d padded into her bright yellow kitchen with the bag. Nicole had been dressed in Colt’s University of Texas sweats, her dark hair clipped up. Her eight-month-old baby, Sage, had been in a high chair with a bib around her neck. She’d smeared strained carrots all over the tray of her high chair and on her face.
Nicole had made Jane some chai tea she kept around just for Jane. “How can you drink that stuff?” she’d asked, her nose wrinkling, and helped herself to a diet soda.
“Hey, I have some news,” Jane had said lightly. “I think I am going to go to Cedar Springs.”
“What do you mean, go to Cedar Springs?” Nicole had asked as she’d settled on a chair next to Sage. “Open up, angel.”
“I am going to find my birth mom.”
Nicole had gasped so loudly that she’d startled Sage, who’d instantly begun to cry. “I’m sorry, Sagey. Mommy is sorry, but she’s so excited for Auntie Jane!” she’d cooed, wiping Sage’s face and feeding her another spoonful. “I can’t believe you’re going to do it!” she’d said excitedly. “I’m really proud of you, Janey. That’s a huge step and a hard one. What did Jonathan say?”
