Page 38 of What are the Chances

Alma wipes her tears and sits up straight.

“I’m saying, my dear girl, I am your great aunt. My sister Lauren moved to America when she was just nineteen. Broke our family’s heart. From what we heard, she met a bloke, got married, and had a baby, but we never heard anything about the baby or much else. We stopped hearin’ anythin’ from her until we were notified via letter she’d passed away from a car accident. The letter had no return address. I had no idea she had your mama or that your mama had you.”

My aunt. My great aunt. My family. Tears spring to life in my eyes and emotion clogs my throat. I stand, not sure what to do next, but Alma knows. She stands and moves forward until I’m wrapped in her arms. Her hug is so tight, so reassuring, I nearly burst. Alma sobs into my hair, saying things in Irish I don’t understand. I thought back to the plane, how fate had sat us right next to each other, and we didn’t even know it. Maybe it wasn’t fate, but what were the chances? I cling to Alma’s arms as if I’m a kid again. I cling to the knowledge I’m not alone, that I was never alone, just misplaced in the world.

I think back to how it felt when I landed in Ireland. How free I felt. How connected. I stupidly chalked it up to the mystery around traveling and never leaving America, but it wasn’t. It was the blood in my veins crying out for purchase, for its legacy. I cry into her shoulder until I don’t have any tears left.

***

“So, what is it that you do in California?” Alma sips her soup and watches as I sip mine. We stayed for dinner and stories—history of a life I never knew about, lives I never knew about. Alma informed me it was just her and my grandmother born into her family, but Alma had three kids. All lived fairly close and had kids of their own. So, my family tree just became a tiny orchard, and I couldn’t be happier.

“I actually work as an assistant for an event planner. She’s a highly desired planner, so I stay busy with whatever she needs. I had to plan a full year in advance to take time off for this trip.”

I think back to the look on Stacy’s face when I quietly coughed into my hand near her desk. She lifted one perfectly shaped eyebrow at me and batted her fake lashes until I spoke up and asked. She acted like I was asking her for the money to take the trip as well. In three years, I had never taken a single vacation.

“And that’s what makes you happy?” Alma’s voice pitches just a little, but I feel the question as if she had yelled it into a quiet room.

Am I happy?

Alma swallows and continues. I must have looked confused because she clarifies.

“You know… as in… does it satisfy you? It’s what you’ve always wanted to do?”

What I’ve always wanted to do? No, not even close. I wanted to be an artist, but for that, I needed the ability to actually create art, which I didn’t have. Photography was the next best thing. It was what pushed me in college and what drove me to find jobs, but after a while, I needed something to pay the bills. Photography in Los Angeles wasn’t doing it. So, I applied as Stacy’s assistant, and I’ve been stuck there ever since.

I smile and try to hide the avalanche of panic happening behind my forehead. I dip my neck a bit, letting my bangs fall over my eyes. Damnit. I haven’t been this reflective since I was a camp counselor for an eighth-grade field trip. I needed air and space and time to think about the fact I had new people in my life—Mason and Alma. Stacy was like a buzzing firefly in the back of my mind—visible but not keeping my attention enough to care or worry about her existence.

Alma’s worried stare is enough to push me over the edge. She gently drops her spoon and leans in close to whisper.

“If it’s not what you love, then it isn’t worth the time it takes from your life. You must follow your mind, not your heart, it will lead you to a swampy creek. Not your gut because it’s likely just stomach acid. Not your feet because they’ll stumble into a shuck. But your head… it will guide you with sense. It will lead you to the right place.”

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