Page 25 of Exquisite Temptation

"Thank you for answering my questions." Hoisting myself up, I expel a sharp breath. "It’s been a long day, and I need to get up early. Good night." I run straight for my room, not waiting for them to answer.

If I was in a state to drive, I’d have left tonight. After falling in and out of a restless sleep, I leave a note on the kitchen counter. Throwing my things in the car, I take off. A flicker of excitement sparks inside me, dulling the ache in my heart at the thought of reconnecting with my brother and seeing Christopher again.

Today it’s an 80's music and comfort food day. I open the oven and take out the muffins, leaving them to cool down. The sharply sweet aroma of the blueberries perfumes the air, making my mouth water. I invited Christopher to pop in for coffee and muffins, expecting him to make an excuse, but he didn’t. He’s been a super supportive friend. Picking up the stack of papers, I park my ass on the couch, intending to work through them to free up my Sunday. My cell vibrates on the coffee table, but I ignore it. The moment I stepped into my apartment on Sunday, I put my phone on silent. I’ve been screening and dodging everyone’s calls all week apart from Carter’s. He told me he's having trouble processing the news and reassured me I’d always be his sister, regardless if we are blood related or not. I’ve buried myself under a mountain of work to help me deal with the grief, which threatens to knock me off my feet and drown me. But I fight back with every ounce of energy I’ve got. It will not defeat me.

The next day, during lunch break at work, I sent a message to Eleanor Ecclestone, and, within twenty minutes, she sent me her home telephone number. I was bracing myself for an awkward, stilted, and mildly painful conversation with a total stranger, but, despite her cultured, formal tone, she was funny and easy to talk to. My parents bombarded me with voice messages. I gave in and called, and what should have been an easy conversation ended up being painful and exhausting. They can’t understand that they have violated my trust by not being honest with me, going back to the same excuses about not knowing how, bla, bla. The sting of their betrayal striked so deep into my heart, and, knowing myself, the wound would take years to heal. I can’t see a way of going back to our ‘normal’ ever again. Names are unique and given to us at birth, yet, they stole the part of me which is unique and identifies who I am. The entire experience is traumatic, agonizing, and surreal. Who am I now? Heidi or Micaela? At the moment, neither, but the first stone on the road of reclaiming my identity is going back to my birth name. Katie has recommended me to a therapist who is expert in adoption and identity work.

The harsh, buzzing sound of the doorbell ringing makes me flinch. Getting up, I swing the door open, coming face to face with my brother. I gawk at his expressive gray eyes, heart shaped face, and aquiline nose, wondering how I failed to notice our obvious strong facial similarities.It’s because you only have eyes for Christopher.

"Sebastian, what a lovely surprise. Did you come to see Allie? She isn't back yet." I curve my mouth into a smile. He stares at me with a haunted look on his face. My heart twists in my chest. He looks like a broken man.

"No, I came to see you, Heidi."

"Oh! Please come in." I lead him to the lounge, pointing to him to take a seat.

"Excuse my mess, getting the paper grading mountain tamed is a losing battle." I transfer the stack of papers to the armchair. "I was about to have a coffee break and muffins. Want some?" He bobs his head, giving me an ear-splitting grin.

"I'll be right back. Make yourself comfortable." He lowers himself on the couch, stretching his legs in front of him. After making coffee, I stroll back and place the loaded tray on the table.

"Thank you. I'm sorry I dropped in unannounced. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision as I was driving home on my way back from the airport."

Airport? Did he go to see Allie? She mentioned nothing when I spoke to her earlier.

He slides his hand into his jacket pocket and takes out a yellowed photograph, passing it to me. My eyes land on the dark-haired boy from my dreams and me sitting on a bench and eating ice cream. Covering my mouth to imprison my rising sob, I dart my gaze to my brother.

"Is it real? I didn't make up this memory?" My voice shakes under the weight of my wayward emotions.

"Yes, it was the last time we were together. The next day, social services took you to the family who adopted you. On that day, I promised myself I would find you when I grew up, and I've kept my word. I haven't stopped searching for you, Micaela." My pulse slams into my neck. I’ll never forgive them for changing my name. Never!

"For days, I was crying myself to sleep, praying you would come back for me. But as the days turned into months, and you didn't come back, I deliberately blocked my memories of you, Mom, and Dad. It was the only way I could survive losing you all," My voice falters as grief demolishes my fragile self-control.

I bury my head in my hands to hide my embarrassment of breaking apart. My tumultuous, unrestrained sobs drown the music playing in the background. Sebastian drops next to me and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into a bear hug. My chest constricts with pain, making me crumble inside and drown in sorrow. He holds me tight and pats my back until I’ve no tears left to cry. I lift my head, forcing him to let me go.

"Sorry, I'm an ugly crier. I've been trying to keep my emotions under a tight lid since I discovered I was adopted, but seeing the photo of us kinda broke me." I pull my legs to my chest and wrap my arms around them, resting my chin on my knees. He picks up a napkin and hands it to me.

"Don't worry, sis, it runs in the family. Dad was the ugliest crier, snot and all." He chuckles. My throat thickens with emotion.

"I wish I could remember them. Sometimes, the image of a dark-haired boy pushing me on a swing trickles in my mind, but it feels unreal, almost like a scene from a black and white movie." I fan my face to cool down my burning skin and stinging eyes. Godammit, all I do lately is cry.

"That's me and you. Dad made the swing for you on your first birthday. I was lucky they let me keep the photo albums. They were my most prized possession as I bounced from one foster family to another. It's what kept me going." Exhaling deeply, he pulls the corner of his mouth into a tight smile.

"Oh, my God, I'm so sorry you had to go through so much suffering. Life sucks! But the good thing is we finally found each other, right?" He nods, gazing at me with a sorrowful expression on his face. Leaning forward, I give him a hug, squeezing him tight.

My adoptive family aren’t huggers. I must have inherited my hugging gene from my biological family.

While we munch on muffins, we talk about our childhoods, taking turns in asking each other questions. The ease and familiarity help the conversation flow. We laugh and joke as if we are two friends reuniting after not seeing each other for years. I imagine not all reunions are straightforward. Frowning, I stop laughing and rub my earlobe.

"Ever since I discovered I'm adopted, everything feels surreal, and my emotions cycle so fast. I’m scared I'll go mad. All of this should feel weird as hell yet finding out you are my brother feels strangely right. The day when we first met in the fetish store, something about you felt familiar, safe, and the voice at the back of my head told me I could trust you."

He smiles, showing a perfect row of pearly white teeth. "You are not alone. I feel exactly the same. There is so much to process and digest emotionally, so we need to give ourselves time."

"We will both need years of therapy." I giggle. "Did you find out about me through the DNA company?" He shakes his head, chewing and swallowing a large piece of the muffin.

"Sis, these blueberry muffins are as scrumptious as our moms. I thought I’d never taste them again." He pauses and takes a large gulp of his coffee. "No, I went to see our grandmother in the Hamptons. She told me you called her and showed me the photo you sent her. To say I was dumbstruck would be an understatement. She wants us to visit her in the summer." He fills me in on everything he discovered about our father’s life prior to moving to Seattle.

"Our father had a choice, but I didn’t. My parents changed my birth name to their daughter’s, who died before they adopted me, because I reminded them of her. I get it. Losing a child is the worst loss you can experience. Still, it’s fucked up, what they did."

"Now, I'm not trying to make any excuses for them. Grief can cause people to make irrational decisions that might have felt like the right ones at that moment in time. They probably wanted to protect you and feared losing you. I'm sure they didn't intend to betray or hurt you." He tilts the corner of his lips into a reassuring smile.

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