No One Ever Asked

by Katie Ganshert

  Jen assumed she had the perfect life. Three well-mannered children. A giant house. An adoring husband. It turned out, her husband didn’t adore her. The two were separated.

  Perhaps Taylor Gray was feeling the strain.

  Forty-Nine

  One year. Jubilee Covington had been home with them for exactly one year. It was Gotcha Day, a term Jen and Nick couldn’t bring themselves to use.

  “It sounds like something a kidnapper would say,” he’d said the night before.

  “Or a practical jokester,” she replied.

  She hated practical jokes.

  When they were kids, Brandon found old VHS recordings of Candid Camera in the storage room. Jen had no idea who was the fan—her mother or her father. Brandon watched every one—fast-forwarding through commercials and laughing hysterically at every prank. Jen sat through one episode, and it almost gave her hives. She didn’t think it was funny. She thought it was horrible. In fact, afterward she had a short stint of recurring nightmares wherein she would suffer some sort of public humiliation right before Allen Funt jumped out of the bushes and shouted, “Surprise, you’re on Candid Camera!”

  She would always wake up with a gasp.

  Gotcha!

  It was a word someone yelled when they weren’t laughing with you, but at you.

  Jen and Nick agreed to call it Family Day instead. To celebrate, they let Jubilee pick the restaurant. She chose Osaka, because she loved sushi and she loved watching the chef with the tall white hat light onions on fire and fling bits of grilled shrimp at people’s mouths.

  The first time they went, the chef hit Nick right below the eye. Jubilee laughed hysterically, just like Brandon when he watched Candid Camera. Maybe she would have liked the term Gotcha Day after all.

  A petite Japanese hostess brought them to their table around one of the hibachi grills. Jubilee slid into the booth first, then Nick, then Jen.

  Jen set the small gift bag to her right by her purse. It was a Saturday night, which meant they wouldn’t have the grill to themselves. The restaurant was crowded, filled with the sound of sizzling food and clinking silverware and lively conversation.

  Jen wasn’t feeling lively.

  Fake it until you make it.

  That was the advice espoused in many adoption circles. She just never thought she’d still be doing it at one year home. One year ago today, when Jubilee jumped into her arms, she didn’t think she’d have to fake it at all. But somewhere along the line, after the honeymoon period wore off and reality set in and Jubilee started peeing her pants and lying and spitting in her face, the warm, fuzzy emotions went away. Today, Jen should be overwrought with them. She should put together a montage of pictures from their airport homecoming and post it on Facebook with heartfelt words of love and gratitude, like so many of her adoptive Facebook friends did on Gotcha Day.

  Look at what the Lord has done!

  Instead, all she could manage was the small gift bag.

  Nick took her hand and gave it a squeeze, as though he could read her thoughts.

  A family joined them. A matching, blond family. Ken and Barbie and two little Kens and a baby Barbie.

  Jen didn’t miss the way Barbie’s attention flicked to Jubilee, who was happily unrolling her silverware, and then to Nick and herself. She was tired of that look—a constant reminder that they were different. A constant reminder of all the things she had to consider as Jubilee’s mother.

  She really needed to get off Facebook. She needed to stop reading all the articles posted in all the groups that left her with such a profound sense of inadequacy. There was too much to contend with. What were she and Nick thinking, taking on such a task? Trauma and attachment and the loss of so much—Jubilee’s first family, Jubilee’s culture. Hair care and skincare, because those were important things when it came to Jubilee’s self-esteem. And they really should consider adopting another child with brown skin so Jubilee wouldn’t be the only one in the family with brown skin and she could finally give her daughter bunk beds. Jubilee still wanted them. But how could Jen adopt again when she was barely handling the first one?

  In a selfish grab at motherhood, Jen had torn her away from too much. They should have spent all the money they spent on the adoption working for something noble—like family preservation and reunification. Too many orphans were poverty orphans, a fact she didn’t even know until they were ten thousand dollars in and matched with a little girl whose picture had stolen their hearts. And if they would have walked away for the sake of investing their time and money into family preservation, what would have happened to Jubilee? It was too late for her. She still would have grown up in an orphanage.

  There were too many voices in Jen’s head. Too many reasons for guilt. The latest being her racist father.

  She had brought Jubilee into a family that wasn’t safe. Not emotionally, anyway. If Jen were a good mother, she would cut him off. He probably wouldn’t care—he probably wouldn’t even notice—but her mother would. And how could she do that to her when her mother had already lost her eldest—a living ghost they refused to address because her family didn’t talk about their problems. They pretended their problems didn’t exist. They got upset when their problems were pointed out. How was anything going to change with that kind of mentality?

  “From Liberia,” Nick said.

  He was talking with Barbie and Ken, telling them about Jubilee’s big day. Their big day.

  Barbie seemed very interested.

  “What a lucky little girl,” she said to Jubilee.

  Jen cringed.

  Jubilee was not lucky.

  The three towheaded Ken and Barbie littles were lucky. Because they wouldn’t have to deal with the things Jubilee would have to deal with as she grew from a little black girl to an adult black woman. They wouldn’t be called racist names. They wouldn’t have to wonder if the reason their grandfather didn’t talk to them was because of their skin color. They all matched, and there wasn’t any trauma, and they’d never had to sleep in an orphanage that locked them in a dark, hot room at night.

  Was Jesus wit me in da orphanage?

  He sang it to me in the dark, when the doors went shut.

  The waitress came and took their drink orders.

  “Can I open da present now?” Jubilee asked after she left.

  Jen handed the small gift bag over the table, past Nick.

  Jubilee tore the tissue paper away and pulled out the framed photograph inside. She placed it on the table and stared down at it. It was a picture Nick’s brother’s wife snapped, right as Jubilee jumped up in Jen’s arms in the airport. A mother and a daughter, embracing for the first time. A picture that oozed with answered prayers and happy endings.

  “We can hang it in your room, if you want,” Jen said.

  Jubilee nodded, like she would like that.

  “That is so beautiful,” Barbie said, her eyes dewy.

  Jen’s were Sahara desert dry.

  She didn’t understand it. She thought things were looking up. Her heart was a balloon, slowly and optimistically inflating. She felt better about herself now that she was running and cutting back on the candy bars. Jubilee was doing well in school. Last week, Jen actually went into her bedroom after she’d fallen asleep to kiss her forehead. She’d never gotten that urge before.

  But sometime between then and now, something had taken a needle to her balloon. Was it discovering the article about her father? Or maybe it was the fight she had with her mom afterward. Or the black lady at the YMCA who kept staring at Jubilee’s hair. It was in need of another visit to the salon. She could practically see the woman’s thoughts.

  Do you know what you’re doing with that child?

  For a moment, Jen had been filled with a sense of shame.

  She thought about the warm, affectionate way Nia and her mother interacted. She thought
about the boisterous, animated atmosphere in Trill’s salon. A tiny taste of what Jubilee was missing. Then she came home with Jen.

  Cold, dead, fake Jen.

  The waitress returned with their drinks, and the man in the tall white hat came out to prepare the grill.

  Jubilee clapped.

  Jen stared.

  Wake me up, Lord. Do something—anything—to wake my heart up.

  Fifty

  Rose: Thinking of you today, friend.

  Camille: Thanks

  Rose: You doing okay?

  Camille: Getting a pedicure at the moment. Might spring for a professional massage later.

  Rose: Good for you!

  Camille: It’s definitely not how I imagined I’d be celebrating 22 years of marriage.

  * * *

  To: jones.anaya@crystalridge.k12.mo.us

  From: morrison.kael@missouristate.edu

  Subject: re: New Talent

  Date: Wednesday, April 24

  Dear Miss Jones,

  Thank you for your email regarding your runner, Shanice Williams. Her times are noteworthy, especially considering the fact that this is her first year participating in the sport. I’m pleased to hear that her work ethic matches her raw talent. I will most definitely be keeping an eye on her throughout the remainder of the season.

  We are always looking for exceptional student athletes to add to our student body. I’m sure I’ll be in touch.

  Sincerely,

  Kael Morrison

  Track and Field

  Missouri State

  To: jones.anaya@crystalridge.k12.mo.us

  From: coolidge.valerie@umstlouis.edu

  Subject: re: New Talent

  Date: Thursday, April 25

  Dear Miss Jones,

  What a pleasure to find your email in my inbox. I have to admit, I followed your collegiate career quite closely and was so disheartened when I learned of your injury. I can’t imagine how it must have been for you. I love to see that you’re coaching the sport that gave you so much joy.

  The times you sent definitely made me sit up and pay attention. The glowing recommendation from someone like you is the cherry on top.

  Thanks for attaching your schedule. As fate would have it, I was planning on coming to the Crystal Ridge Invitational next Saturday. I would love to see Shanice in action. Perhaps you could arrange an introduction afterward?

  Best,

  Val Coolidge

  Track and Field

  UMSL

  * * *

  Conversation Between Two Parents at the Crystal Ridge Track & Field Invitational:

  Did you see the coach from UMSL?

  Where?

  Right there. Front row, over to the left.

  Who do you think she’s here to scout—Taylor or Shanice?

  Probably both. Did you hear what happened to Alexis?

  No.

  She got sick during warm-ups. Threw up all over the track. The coach is having Shanice run her event.

  What? I thought Shanice was a sprinter.

  Apparently she’s good at the 1600 too.

  I wonder how Camille feels about that.

  * * *

  “Is Taylor gonna be in a bad mood?” Paige asked.

  “I don’t know,” Camille answered.

  “She’s never lost the 800 before.”

  “She didn’t lose; she got third.”

  “I never remember her getting third before.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with third.”

  “In the Olympics, third place earns you a medal,” Austin said.

  “Not the gold one,” Paige replied.

  Camille set her fork down and pinched the bridge of her nose as her two youngest argued about the merits of third place. She couldn’t stop picturing it. The panicked look on Taylor’s face as she finished the 1600. She almost lost to Shanice, a sprinter who didn’t run the 1600. She was hoping to beat her personal record. Instead, she came in five seconds slower. Then she bombed the 800. Racing against Shanice must have gotten in Taylor’s head. Or maybe it was the coach from UMSL.

  Of course, Camille hoped Taylor would choose a more prestigious college. It was too optimistic to hope for Brown. Taylor wasn’t the type to follow in her or Neil’s footsteps, but she had the grades and the drive to run for an Ivy League school. Still, Camille burned inside every time she pictured Anaya Jones introducing Shanice to Valerie Coolidge after the meet while her daughter sat off to the side, unlacing her track shoes.

  The front door slammed shut.

  “Oooo,” Paige said. “We aren’t supposed to slam doors.”

  “I’d like the both of you to take your plates to the sink and go downstairs.”

  Paige let out a groan and banged her head against the table. “Austin is gonna make me play chess downstairs, and I’m gonna die of boredom.”

  “Right now,” Camille said, tossing her napkin on the table and scooting back her chair.

  In the foyer, Taylor was kicking off her shoes. They hit the wall with loud thunks and dropped to the floor. She slammed her bag down by the door and stomped up the stairs.

  “Taylor.”

  She kept going.

  Stomp, stomp, stomp. Like when she was four and Camille made her clean her room before she could watch Kim Possible on Disney.

  Camille went after her. “Honey, you have every right to be upset. I would be upset too.”

  Taylor stopped at the top of the landing and whirled around. “Upset about what?” Her face was red and twisted and sneering and filled with so much contempt, it took Camille back a step.

  “Well…that Shanice was thrown into your event at the last minute. I understand why it would throw you for a loop.”

  Taylor was shaking her head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “I’m not fast anymore!”

  “Of course you are.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m not pacing myself right. I’m doing something wrong, and thanks to you, my coach won’t help me.”

  “What?”

  “She hates me. She doesn’t coach me.”

  “Well, that’s not okay.”

  “I don’t even blame her!”

  “Taylor.”

  “After everything you said at the town meeting? What Paige said in her classroom? The neighbors calling the police on Darius? They never would have called the police on Cody!” Her face was alarmingly red now. Redder than Camille had ever seen. “I hate this entire family! I wish I wasn’t a part of it!”

  With that, she spun back around, marched into her room, and slammed the door. So loud, Camille was certain Paige would have something to say about it later.

  Newton’s Third Law: Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

  Fifty-One

  It was Monday morning. Anaya was putting up a new bulletin board, and she felt good. Really, really good. She couldn’t stop thinking about Saturday’s track meet. The impressed look on Coach Coolidge’s face after Shanice ran the anchor for the 400. The way Shanice’s mother ran along the fence as her baby came in second place for an event she’d never run before. Three seconds behind a girl who would no doubt get a full-ride track scholarship. Tears had welled in her mother’s eyes. Because Shanice’s mother knew what a run like that meant.

  Opportunity.

  Anaya had handed Shanice opportunity. And for one glorious moment, she felt like she was exactly—precisely—where she was meant to be. Maybe she wasn’t helping an entire community, but she was helping one person in that community, and it sure felt good.

  A throat cleared behind her.

  She turned around, and her good feelings took a hit.

  Camille Gray stood in the doorway with her purse clutched securely in
front of her. She hadn’t seemed very pleased at the track meet on Saturday, and she didn’t look very pleased now. “I’d like to speak with you, if it’s a good time.”

  One glance at the clock said it was only thirty minutes before the morning bell would ring. So no, it wasn’t a good time. This was her planning time. Now that she coached track, she didn’t have time to plan after school. She needed every minute in the morning. But Camille Gray, room mother extraordinaire, was a woman unaccustomed to the word no.

  She took a step inside and lifted her chin. “I’d like to speak with you about my daughter. I’d like to know what you’re doing to help her.”

  “Which one?”

  “Taylor. She got third place in the 800. She never gets third.”

  “She had an off day. It happens to all of us.”

  The words seemed to act as a trigger. Camille flinched ever so slightly. “I came here to make sure you’re giving her the same opportunities you are giving everyone else on the team.”

  The same opportunities? Was she kidding? Taylor didn’t need Anaya to give her opportunity. She had that handed to her on a silver platter. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

  “You introduced Shanice to a college coach on Saturday, but you didn’t introduce Taylor.”

  “Coach Coolidge already knows Taylor. Taylor got fifth place in the 1600 at state last year as a sophomore. She’s on plenty of radars. I’m making sure Shanice is too.”

  “My daughter was devastated after the meet on Saturday.”

  “I don’t see why. Her time in the 1600 helped us get first place.”