Page 21 of Before We Came

What parents give up a child six years in? How much bullshit have I been fed? The more I read these journals, the more I despise Julianne. She was a horrible person. It’s an odd feeling, hoping I’ve been abducted because the alternative is worse.

I haven’t let myself have hope over my birth parents in... I don’t even know how long. I gave up a long time ago. Could it be that there’s still a family out there that wants me back? My life has been spent wanting to be wanted.

The lonely thoughts are interrupted when a car cuts through the trees, pulling out of the driveway. I duck down and peer over the wheel to see which direction they go. Thankfully, they turn onto the road in the same direction I’m facing. I wait for the car to pass and then I follow.

Keeping a safe distance behind, I realize I have no idea who I’m following. It could be my mom, my dad, or a goddamn housecleaning crew. I get a little closer. Based on the rear silhouette, the driver is a woman. Probably my mom. I white-knuckle the steering wheel and my thumbs tap in a quick staccato. What am I doing? Do I think I’m some fucking PI? This whole thing is a terrible idea. I shake my head, throwing out the self-doubt and negativity. This is about finding answers. My mouth forms an O, and I blow out a deep breath.You got this, Birdie.

I follow the driver into a Target parking lot and sit up as tall as I can to watch where she parks. I find a spot one row away but keep my eye on the car. I can’t yet make out her face, but I’ve seen the pictures of her on the website, and those photos brought back a few of my own memories, or at least made them a lot less fuzzy. The woman steps out of the car, and my hands shake. I don’t know if I can do this.No, I have to do this!This is my only chance, this is why I’m here.You don’t need to say anything, you can see if it’s her and leave, I promise myself, but I know it’s bullshit. After I walk in there, I won’t be leaving the same as I was.

I grab my purse, jump out of the car, and lock my door. My pace quickens as I try to keep up with her. After I clear the doors, the loud snap of a shopping cart being pulled from the stack gets my attention, and I see her profile before she walks away from me. It’s Mom.

My heart is racing, it’s pounding. My hands tremble, and a cold sweat has broken out on my skin. My throat is tight, and I try to slow my breathing, but it’s as if I’ve forgotten how to breathe. I can’t get in enough oxygen. She turns down the aisle for office supplies and my feet are tempted to just keep on walking by, but I don’t let myself.

I stand by the shelves on the endcap, trying to gain enough courage to take the last two steps. She’s alone in the aisle, looking at Sharpies, like it’s any other Wednesday. My mom is right there. She’s right there! That’s the mother I’ve wanted for twenty-two years, and here she is. Looking at markers.Look at me, Mom. Please, just look.

My emotions take over—I can’t do this any longer. I need to know. I need my mom.

I shake away the tremors from my hands and take the last steps. At first, I just stand next to her but then her perfume hits me, and I’m thrown back into my childhood all over again. Every hug she ever gave me, when she tucked me in at night, buckled me into the car, every time she was close enough for her smell to surround me and make me feel safe. Without thinking, I just say it.

“Mom?”

She turns toward me, and I almost startle with how much she’s aged.

“Huh? No, sorry, I’m”—her eyes narrow—“Birdie?”

Her voice.

“Yeah.”

“No...” She slowly shakes her head, and her chin wobbles.

“Yeah, it’s me. Have you...” I clear my throat and tilt my head back to wipe my eyes. “Have you been looking for me?” My lungs freeze and my face twists with emotion. It’s like ugly crying before the tears hit.

Her eyes widen in recognition. “Oh my God. Birdie!”

She slams into me and wraps her arms around my body with remarkable strength. She has my arms pinned to my sides. Her hold transforms into a hug that only she could give.Her hug—the specific way she hugs—the closeness, her perfume, the way her voice sounds when she’s pressed against me, her earrings, the tiny scar on her temple. All the little details I forgot about are right here. I’ve missed this so much. Why did she leave me?

I tell myself she couldn’t fake this reaction, but I am pulling to dissociate from the moment. I screw my eyes tight and fight it. She’s trembling as much as I am, her knees give out, and her body goes weak. I lunge out to grab her, and our wet winter boots squeak as we drop to the floor together. Collapsed in front of the Post-it notes and staples, we find each other again. Holding each other and crying, I don’t know how long we sit there.

“Ma’am have you fallen? Do you need help?”

“We’re fine,” we say at the same time. Our accents aren’t the same, but our inflection is. Holy shit.This is the bond.

“Birdie, my god. Oh my God, Birdie. I love you so much.” She pushes the tears and hair from my face, and her eyes dart back and forth between mine. Her hand covers her mouth in shock.

“I can’t believe—Are you hurt? Where did you come from? Where have you been?”

“I’m fine. I live in Vancouver. Do you want to—”

“Vancouver? Wait, Ken! I have to call your dad. I need to call Jack. Oh my God. Vancouver? How did you get to Vancou—? How did you get here? Are you okay? Oh my God, Birdie.”

“Mom.”

She smiles wistfully, like she’s been waiting to hear those words for a long time.

“Yeah?”

“Do you still have more shopping to do? We can finish getting what you need and then go talk or—”

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