Not My Mother

by Miranda Smith

  And then there’s Evan. Some might consider his sudden return to North Bay suspicious. Worse than that, he’s back in my head, his words haunting me long after our conversation at the beach ended. There’s always been a part of me that hoped we might one day reconnect, even as friends. My decision to have Ava changed that, and Mom’s arrest has changed everything since then. I wonder if his return to North Bay is too coincidental. He was here, what, a day before Mom was arrested? And he’s been trying to contact me ever since. Maybe he still cares about me and wants to make sure I’m okay. But that paranoid part of my brain wonders.

  I’m not only thinking about what Evan said concerning his return to North Bay. I’m equally bothered by what he said about Amelia. Evan, Des, Carmen—they all have their reasons for telling me to keep my distance from her, but none of them could even begin to imagine the dilemma I’m in. This woman—a stranger until last week—is my biological mother, and she’s suffered more than any person should. The fact we know so little about each other rules her out as the source; I’ve not told Amelia the circumstances of Ava’s birth.

  Today will mark the first meeting between them.

  I’ve made cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches for lunch. I’ve also made pasta salad using Mom’s recipe. I don’t realize until I’m arranging the place settings how bizarre that is. I’ve invited Amelia, my mother, over for lunch and am serving a recipe given to me by Mom, the woman who raised me. I’m not sure when, whether in my mind or otherwise, I’ll begin to separate these two women. If I ever will.

  The doorbell rings just as I’m pulling a yellow dress over Ava’s head. I leave her in her crib to open the front door. Amelia stands on the porch holding a gift bag.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she says. “I wanted to give Ava a little something, seeing as I’m meeting her for the first time.”

  “That’s so kind,” I say, taking a step back. “Come on in.”

  Amelia walks inside, her eyes scanning the room just as she did last time. She’s still not comfortable around me, and it shows.

  “I probably should have asked before buying a gift. I know some parents can be particular about that sort of thing. Don’t want their children being spoiled.”

  “Really, it’s fine. I think it’s nice you thought of her.”

  Amelia and I are still getting to know one another, but Ava is her granddaughter. It makes me happy that despite all the loss this woman has suffered in her life, perhaps she can begin a happier relationship with Ava and me. I understand why she is cautious of boundaries, but we can define those at our own pace.

  “Should I go get Ava?”

  Amelia nods and takes a seat on the living room sofa. Her breathing is controlled. She must be so happy to finally see Ava—a bonus after finding out I was still alive—but there is no way to prepare for something like this.

  “Ava, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” I whisper, talking to her in that way parents do, with no expectation of response. Ava’s gnawing at her fist when we turn the corner, not even taking in the stranger sitting on our couch.

  Amelia stands and slowly walks toward us. “She’s absolutely beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” I shift my body forward, a silent signal to Ava it’s okay to be comfortable. We’re all friends here. Family, really.

  “I see the resemblance,” Amelia says, reaching out and caressing the fabric of Ava’s dress. “She has your eyes.”

  “That’s what everyone says.”

  Ava’s still looking away, not actively avoiding Amelia, but also not engaging. Babies can be temperamental, especially Ava. It takes her time to warm up to people before she’s playful the way she is with Des and Carmen.

  “Are you hungry? I made some sandwiches.”

  We sit at the table, and I put Ava in her high chair. I can see how happy it makes Amelia to simply be close to her. I imagine, despite her worldly travels and grand experiences, this is the happiest she’s been in a long time. I feel happiness in return, knowing I’ve provided this for her.

  “I must admit, when I first arrived in North Bay, it was a bit of a culture shock. The pace here is much slower than it is in the city. After this week, it’s starting to grow on me.”

  “I know. I love it here. The beach. The people.” Although the community has certainly had better days. I try not to think about how quickly we’ve been shunned as outcasts. “Where is it you’re staying again?”

  “Emerald Shores Resort,” she says, picking up a sandwich. “It’s one of the biggest ones here.”

  “Yeah, it is. I know the hotel manager.”

  That’s Holly Dale’s hotel. I didn’t realize Amelia was staying there, and I find it odd Holly hasn’t mentioned it in all the times she’s tried contacting me this week. She’s usually on the gossip frontlines, and I’m sure she’s been eating up every detail of the Baby Caroline saga since Mom’s arrest. Des told me she’s been reaching out, claiming to want to know about this summer’s advertising, but I wonder if she’s simply on a hunt for more information. I make a mental note to get in touch with her.

  “And what about you?” Amelia asks, after taking a bite of her sandwich. “I’d like to hear more about your life, if you feel comfortable.”

  I clear my throat. Amelia has certainly shared more than I have, but that’s only because I hate rubbing my own life in her face. It was a good one, even if I was never meant to have it.

  “You know, I grew up in North Bay. Lived here my entire life, except for when I went to college.”

  I tell her some memorable moments from that time, stories I imagine most mothers would want to hear from their daughters. Stories Eileen already knows. I tell her about my role as a small business owner, what it’s like working with customers on a daily basis. And I tell her about Ava, memorable stories from her first year.

  She smiles and nods along, and in some ways, with each shared experience we’re becoming less like strangers.

  “And what about Ava’s father?” Amelia looks at Ava, then me. I can tell she’s hoping she hasn’t overstepped. “Is he in the picture?”

  “I’m guessing you didn’t see the article in the New Hutton Star?”

  Amelia narrows her eyes and shakes her head. “You’ll have to forgive me. The media has left me jaded over the years.”

  “I’m a single parent by choice,” I explain. “Ava was conceived through artificial insemination, so there’s no father in the picture. I prefer it that way, really. Even in this day and age, it’s hard for some to accept. People always say it takes two people to make a baby, but that’s not really true anymore.”

  “That took a lot of bravery, making the decision to become a parent on your own.”

  “It did.” I straighten my posture, a subconscious tic. “I was at a point in my life where I felt secure, and I was tired of waiting. I knew I wanted to be a mother, but, unfortunately, we don’t always have as much time as we should to make that decision.”

  “I understand completely.” Amelia purses her lips. “Women have more options now than they did in the eighties. You were just starting to hear about all those things that are commonplace now. In vitro. Sperm donation. Surrogacy. I always wonder if we might have explored those options. If we’d had more time.”

  It feels like I’m holding my breath again, watching her speak. Unfortunate timing. Not just for us, but for so many women then, who didn’t have the medical marvels we do now. I look at Ava, fully grasping the painful reality that I might not have her if this were a different decade.

  “I know I’m lucky. Some people may not see it that way. Being a single parent certainly has its challenges, but I hated the idea of waiting around and missing out on this experience.”

  “It’s certainly one that shouldn’t be taken for granted.” Amelia looks at Ava, then me. “What does this have to do with the newspaper again?”

  I exhale. “Someone wrote an article about us. They’re trying to spin this whole Baby Caroline is a mommy angle. The
decision I made comes with judgments, I just didn’t expect for it to happen on such a large scale.”

  “I’m so sorry, Marion. The media has been a thorn in my side for years. I wish I could have protected you.”

  “I shouldn’t even be bothering you with this—”

  “Please.” Amelia raises her hand. “Don’t feel you have to hold back on account of me. There are so few people that understand what it’s like to be in our situation. To be at the center of such a salacious tragedy. People read about it and write about it and watch the specials on television. We live it. Sometimes the only way to make sense of it is to lean on each other.”

  “I guess I just feel like you’ve been through enough.”

  “Whether it’s a week of your life or three decades, it doesn’t get easier. Don’t worry about tiptoeing around my feelings.”

  “You’re right about no one else understanding. And I feel guilty about Ava being brought into any of this. Someone close to me must have talked to the paper, so it makes it feel like my fault.” I prop my elbows on the table, letting my head dangle between them. “And then there’s the business. I’ve worked my entire adult life to try and turn The Shack into a profitable restaurant. Now all that’s about to go under.”

  “How so?”

  “The police left a lot of damage after their search. We had to dip into our savings before reopening. And business has been at a standstill since the arrest. People are wanting to distance themselves from Eileen and The Shack—which I understand completely,” I say, careful to let Amelia know that I’m not complaining about Eileen’s treatment. “That doesn’t change the fact that this is my livelihood. It’s the only business I’ve ever known, and if I lose it, I’m not sure where I’ll go from here.”

  “I’m sorry you’re losing so much. It’s not fair.”

  “At least I’m gaining something out of this mess.” I place my hand over hers and squeeze. “You.”

  Amelia can’t hide her satisfaction. She smiles and her eyes fill with tears. “It means so much to hear you say that.”

  “You’ve lost much more than I have, Amelia. I don’t want to sound ungracious.”

  “I don’t think you are for a second. In fact, I’d like to help you any way I can.”

  “You’re helping me just by being here. By listening. I need that more than you know.”

  “But the business. You and Ava don’t deserve to lose the roof over your heads because of Eileen’s mistakes.” She looks at Ava, then me. “Let me help you pay for the damage the police caused.”

  “Amelia, that’s generous, but it’s not your place. Or your responsibility.”

  “I have no one else to spend it on. When I die, this money goes with me. The least I can do is help you out. You’re my daughter, Marion.”

  It’s the first time she’s said those words directly. Hearing them steals the breath from within my lungs. I’m her daughter. It’s a realization I’ve been struggling to accept, but for the first time, it feels right.

  Beside us, Ava lets out a squeal. We both laugh, wiping away tears.

  “May I hold her?”

  I nod, standing to take away the tray holding Ava in.

  “Hello, beautiful girl,” Amelia says, holding out her arms.

  Ava stares at her, remaining still, then she leans forward. Amelia scoops her up, holding Ava close against her chest. I’m afraid Ava will squirm or reach for me, denying Amelia this moment she so desperately wants. But she doesn’t. She leans her little head on Amelia’s shoulder, raising her fist to her mouth.

  “It looks like she’s warming up to you,” I say, offering my encouragement.

  Amelia sways her weight from side to side, syncing into that tempo so many mothers master over the years.

  “She’s a very sweet baby.”

  Amelia closes her eyes and smiles, as though she’s trying to memorize this moment, hold onto it tight, so that the next time she’s confronted with a bad memory, a flashback to her own daughter being taken, she can switch it out for this.

  29 Marion

  Now

  After a few hours, Amelia leaves. She has a late afternoon meeting with her lawyers, and another conversation with investigators in the morning. Our brief reunions are interspersed with the harsh reality of our circumstances.

  Throughout all this, I’ve felt like no one understands what I’m going through, but Amelia does. She too must balance the fine line between the justice system and her own emotional needs. What is protocol and procedure to investigators is so much more to her. So much more to me. Although she has dealt with these annoying elements of the case much longer than I have—the interviews and the press and the community badgering—at least now she is getting something of a happy ending. Getting to know us doesn’t erase the pain of these past three decades, but I’d like to think it eases the blows. It’s a far happier outcome than most parents of missing children ever receive.

  Similarly, my life has been torn to pieces, all in a matter of days. I’ve been forced to re-examine every element of my past, everything that made me who I am today. It’s not something I would wish on anyone else, having to accept that the person you love most in the world is capable of a monstrous act. What Mom did is exactly that. Monstrous. Selfish. Unforgivable.

  Two moms.

  And yet, getting to know Amelia has eased my pain. We are both being forced into these nightmarish situations, yet we can cling to each other. It’s a small escape from the outside world that could never understand what we’ve been through, both together and separate. In this new, bleak reality, I somehow feel full. I feel, for possibly the first time in my life, entirely seen. Amelia has managed to make sense of things in a way my mother never could.

  And yet, there’s a part of me that feels like I’m pretending, dabbling in a life to which I can’t yet commit. I’m beginning to feel like I can connect with Amelia, include her in our lives moving forward. But I need certainty before I can start living that truth, something that still seems beyond my grasp.

  Ava’s covered up with a blanket in her pack-and-play, watching a cartoon. Her lazy eyes and shallow breathing suggest she’ll be asleep within the hour. I return to the kitchen, cleaning up after my lunch with Amelia. I keep thinking of our time together, how good it feels to simply be around her. I stare at Amelia’s plate. Her utensils and drinking glass are on the table, right where she left them.

  An idea comes to me.

  Maybe I could be sure of the truth, without getting others involved.

  An hour later, there’s a knock on the front door.

  I open it, welcoming Rick inside. I called him, requested he stop by the condo. He doesn’t falter when I tell him to keep our meeting a secret from Carmen.

  Rick’s brute stature doesn’t fit with the relaxed décor in my living room. He looks over the furniture, trying to find the best place to sit. He peers over the top of the pack-and-play and sees Ava sleeping.

  “Cute,” he says, then settles on the loveseat, his back to the window. “Press giving you a hard time?”

  “No,” I say, sitting in the seat across from him, my hands on my knees. “They’ve not been around the complex since Carmen intervened.”

  “I thought maybe that’s why you’d called me over.” He gives the room another inspection. “Doesn’t look like you’re in any kind of trouble.”

  “What would I need in order to submit a DNA test?”

  He crosses his legs, cradling one knee with both hands. Rick doesn’t seem fazed by the question. I don’t imagine many requests bother him.

  “About anyone can get one these days. You just go to one of those walk-in clinics.”

  “The last thing I need is a photo of me outside a testing facility.”

  “You’re right. So what did you have in mind?”

  He doesn’t ask who the test is for, but I suppose he doesn’t need to.

  “Has Carmen said anything about me meeting Amelia Parker?” I know he was the person who told h
er about the picture at the pier.

  “She might have some opinions.” The way he says this makes me think she addressed the topic with heavy disdain at a high volume.

  “Amelia’s the one who suggested we get a test. She thinks we should get the whole knowing/not knowing out of the way.”

  “Do you agree with her?”

  “I’m growing impatient,” I say, my eyes fixed on his.

  “All I need are samples. One from you, one from her. I can take the samples to a lab. No one would have to know you were involved.”

  “What would work as a sample?”

  “Anything containing saliva, or even hair follicles.”

  “So, like a drinking glass?”

  “Sure, if the sample is big enough.”

  In my mind, I picture Amelia’s glass. I’ve stored it in a Ziploc bag and left it underneath my bathroom sink, but I don’t tell Rick yet. Not until I’m sure I want him to go through with it. Deep down, even though I’m longing for answers, I’m wondering if I can handle the results.

  “How long would it take?”

  “Most labs around here ship off their tests. Usually takes a day or so.”

  “And they’re accurate?”

  “As accurate as can be. You don’t have to share the outcome, if that’s what you’re worried about. The state will run their own tests. It would just give you peace of mind until then. Or not.”

  In all the years I’ve known Rick, this is the most I’ve ever heard him speak. He’s not a big talker, but he gets things done. He’s effective. That’s why I reached out to him. I thought my biggest obstacle would be whether he’d give Carmen a head’s up about my plans.

  “Give me a minute?” I stand.

  “Take your time.”

  Rick pulls out his phone and starts scrolling. He doesn’t seem concerned with what my decision will be.

  I walk down the hallway leading to my room and sit on the bed, contemplating. A voice inside screams for me to go through with it, get it over with, but I’m still dreading what I might find out. Having concrete proof Mom isn’t my biological mother will destroy her case, but even that seems like an afterthought. I’m more worried about these results eliminating what little trust remains between us.