Page 38 of Statistically Speaking
I fall back onto a chair, and my legs feel like jelly. My lungs are sore, and my heart rate feels three times as fast as usual. I am, though, smiling—which is weird.
“See!” announces Katie, pointing at me. “Told you it works! How do you feel?”
“Knackered,” I reply. “Out of breath. Like I’m about a hundred years old. But better than I did when I arrived.”
I have no idea why I feel better, but I do.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” says Erin, still in recovery, sounding tired but looking thrilled. “And we needed it, I think—all of us did.”
Katie jumps up to her feet with absurd speed, goes into the kitchen, and returns with three bottles of water that they seem to have chilled in advance. Experience pays.
I take some relieved glugs, and we are all silent for a few moments.
“I’ve never even heard of K-pop...,” I say, shaking my head. I tug off the beret and instantly feel better.
“It’s a whole new world,” Erin replies sagely. “So. I told Katie all about everything.”
I nod and feel some of the familiar tension seep back in.
“She was far cooler about it than I was,” she continues, looking at Katie in wonder. “In fact, her first reaction was to feel sad for you. To explain to me, her little old mama, that it must have been harder for you than you ever let on. That you were in pain, and that you probably still are, and that as your friends, we should support you, not be pissed off with you. In fact, she is wise beyond all her years, and I adore her.”
Katie nods, accepting the compliment, and says: “I am indeed. And while you’re in an adoring mood, can I get a new phone?”
I fight the urge to jump in, to say that I’ll buy her a new phone, anything she wants—because I am so pathetically grateful for her kindness, her understanding, her generosity of spirit.
“I don’t adore you that much,” Erin responds quickly. “You can get a new phone when you save enough money to buy one.”
Katie sticks her tongue out at her, in a not-very-wise way, and looks over at me.
“Have you tried to find her?” she asks. “Your daughter?”
I shake my head, and drink some more water, and gather my thoughts. It is a complex situation, and I need to tread carefully. Beneath my feet lie dreams, of course.
“No,” I reply. “For any number of reasons. I suppose partly I don’t want to upset her life. And partly, if I’m honest, I don’t want to upset my own; I’ve imagined all kinds of lives for her over the years, all of them good. All of them better than the one she would have had with me. I suppose I’m also a bit scared of finding out what actually happened. I still feel guilty.”
“About what?” Katie asks, leaning forward, elbows on her tutu-clad knees.
“About... everything. About being stupid enough to get pregnant in the first place. About letting everyone down, making my own mum’s life even more complicated. Mainly, though, about giving her away. Letting go when maybe I should have held on tight.”
“Why did you, then?” she says. “If you wanted to keep her, why didn’t you? Were you under pressure not to? Wouldn’t it have been possible?”
“It would have been possible, yes, which is maybe why I feel guilty still. Possible, but not good, for either of us. My mother wasn’t capable of looking after herself or me—she had her own issues, and I was in care at the time it happened. I wasn’t ready. Financially, emotionally, in any way—I just wasn’t ready. But that wasn’t her fault, was it?”
I leave that out there, and feel a sudden chill go through me as my dancing-it-out sweat dries against my skin.
“If that was me,” Katie says after a few moments’ thought, “I would understand. I would understand that a sixteen-year-old girl who was in care herself might not feel ready to be a mum.”
“Yes, but as has just been pointed out, you are wise beyond your years. What if she doesn’t understand? What if she feels rejected?”
“What if it’s both?” Katie counters firmly. “She’s probably not stupid. She’s probably capable of understanding it on one level and still feeling hurt on another. And if the people who adopted her were anywhere near as good as the people who adopted me, she’ll be able to cope with that.”
“Katie, it’s my wildest dream that she was raised by people like your parents—people who loved her and cherished her and gave her everything she needed. Who certainly gave hermore than I could have done at the time. When I met you, when I started to put two and two together and come up with seventy-eight, I felt elated—and relieved. Relieved because of how well you’d turned out. Relieved that I’d made the right decision all those years ago.”
I look over at Erin, who has stayed unusually silent during this exchange, wondering what she thinks of it all. Whether Katie’s accepting the situation is enough for her, or whether she still has her doubts about me.
“And how do you feel about it all now?” she asks, making eye contact with me. “After this thing with Katie, after this... disappointment, I suppose you’d call it?”
It’s a very good question, and the answer is that I’m not sure. I have never allowed myself to fantasize about a reunion, about seeing her again, about actually finding out what her life after me has looked like. I have told myself that it has been enough to know that she was better off without me. Until now.
