Page 133 of Until I Find You

“Me either,” she says attempting a laugh. I’m not sure what’s funny about this moment. “I’m Juana.”

“Yeah, I know,”

“You’re…Camilla.”

I try not to wince at the way she pronounces the “I” in my name. If I had been named with Spanish naming conventions it would have been “Camila” and the “I” would have made an “ee” sound. But she didn’t name me. My adoptive parents did.

How screwed up is that? She’s my mother and she didn’t evenname me.

“How did you find me?”

Juana shifts in her seat, looks out the window. “Well, I wouldn’t have found you if you hadn’t found me first.”

I narrow my gaze on her. “What do you mean?”

“Your…investigator?”

I frown. “We didn’t find you. You were gone when we–”

“I was not gone, someone just spoke with my husband.”

My stomach drops. “They said you hadn’t lived there in years.”

“His name is on the lease. We don’t share a last name.”

“So, you were avoiding me?”

Juana sighs and nods, sadness evident in her eyes. “Yes, I was. I’m sorry.”

I grip the arms of the chair. I don’t want to feel anger. Not now. For me. For my child. It’s not good for us. But how can I help it when I’m being faced with the truth?

My birth mother wanted nothing to do with me from the beginning. She never did. And now she’s here to rub it in my face.

“Well, I apologize for…” My jaw tightens. “Trying to get in touch.”

“No, Camilla, please don’t apologize, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Why are you here, then?”

Juana looks away.

I know this can’t be easy for her, but it’s not easy for me either, and I’m on my own side here. I’m done trying to wrap my mind around how she did what she did or why she wouldn’t want to know me. I have to protect myself.Us.

“I know it might not be easy to understand where I’m coming from, but I hope you will just listen with an open heart.”

I can listen. No promises on what my heart is doing, though.

“Giving you up was very difficult for me,” she says, frank and assured. “I came to the United States for school and found out I was carrying you shortly after I arrived.”

I swallow.

“Your father–”

“My father is Dan Graff. Whoever that man is isnotmy father.”

And you are not my mother.

Juana recoils. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t meant to be…insensitive. I just mean the–the man who got me pregnant, he was a childhood friend. He wanted to marry me, but I wanted to study. It was a big deal for me to be accepted into a school, even if it was in Nebraska.” She sort of laughs at herself. “It sounded so exotic when I was in Mexico.”

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