LOGINHe looked at the photo. Then at me."Someone connected to my family," he says. "From a long time ago."I looked at the woman in the photo again. Young, pretty, holding a baby I do not recognise. Standing slightly apart from the group like she is there but not entirely part of it."Connected how," I say."It's complicated." He says it simply, not defensively. Like complicated is just the accurate word rather than a way to avoid saying anything."Try," I say.He went quiet for a moment. "She was close to my father's side of the family for a while. Before I was old enough to understand the details. They lost touch." He pauses. "It was a long time ago Maya."I looked at him,he looked back. His face is open and steady and giving me nothing specific to hold onto which is somehow more unsettling than if he had looked guilty."Why do you have her photo," I asked "It was my father's. I kept a lot of his things after he passed." He reaches over and takes the frame from my hands gently and look
His apartment is warm when he opens the door and something smells good from the kitchen and he is in a plain white t-shirt and sweats and somehow looks better than anyone has a right to look standing in a doorway on a Saturday night."You actually came," he says."I said I would.""You say a lot of things." He said moving back towards the kitchen. "Sit down. I'd be right back give me ten minutes I dropped my bag and kicked off my shoes and sat on his couch letting myself breathe for the first time today.Ten minutes later he comes out with two plates and sets them on the coffee table and sits beside me and we eat.That is it. We just eat.He made pasta, something simple with tomatoes and garlic and fresh basil, and it is genuinely good."Where did you learn to cook," I asked"My mother. She had a rule that everyone in the house had to learn at least five meals properly before they left for university.""That's a good rule.""I thought it was torture at the time." He twirls pasta ont
I should put the phone down. I should close the laptop and go to bed and deal with all of this in the morning when my brain is not running on four hours of sleep and too many unanswered questions.I typed back.Today was strange. But I'm okay.He replies in under a minute.“Strange how”?I looked at the laptop screen. All those search results still open. Late adoption records. Adult adoptees. How to find out if you were adopted. I looked at them and then I looked at his message and I closed the laptop and pulled my knees to my chest.Just family stuff, I type. Nothing I can explain right now.You don't have to explain anything, he says. Just checking you're okay.I put the phone down on the cushion beside me and sit in the quiet of my apartment and let myself feel both things at once. The ground shifted underneath everything I thought I knew about my family. And this, whatever this is, sitting quietly on the other side of the scale like it is trying to balance something.I do not kno
I told myself I am fine the whole drive home.I am fine. My father was just surprised to see me. People look strange when they are surprised. It does not mean anything. My mother was just having an off day, struggling to find words, it happens to everyone. The lunch was just lunch and the car park was just a car park and I am reading into things because I am tired and because the last two weeks of my life have been quietly unraveling in ways that have my nervous system permanently on high alert.I am fine.I got home, dropped my bag by the door, poured a glass of water and stood in my kitchen drinking it and being fine.Then I go and open my laptop.I don't even know what to type first.I sat on my couch with the laptop open and I just looked at the search bar for a moment like it is going to tell me what I am looking for. I don't know what I am looking for. That is the honest truth. I just know that my mother started three sentences and finished none of them and asked me if I had eve
My mother picks a restaurant she has never taken me to before. We have our places, the way families do. A brunch spot on Halsted she has been going to since before I was born. The Italian place near her church where every waiter knows her name and her order before she sits down.This place is new. Quiet. A little out of the way.She is already seated when I arrive and she stands to hug me the way she always does but it is a fraction too tight and a second too long and I tell myself I'm imagining things and sit down."How is the branding project going?" she asks, unfolding her napkin. "You mentioned it was giving you trouble.""It's getting there." I open the menu even though I am not really reading it. "The client keeps changing the brief so I keep starting over.""That's frustrating.""It really is.""Well you always figure it out." She says it simply, the way she says most things about me, like it is just a fact of the world she has never had reason to doubt.The food we ordered ar
It is Caleb.Of course it is Caleb.He is standing in my hallway in a grey hoodie and dark jeans looking like someone who did not spend twenty minutes deciding whether to come here, which I do not believe for a second. His hands were in his pockets and he looked at me through the peephole with the patience of someone who is prepared to wait.I stood at the door for a long moment.Then I opened it."It's eleven o'clock," I say."I know.""On a Tuesday.""I'm aware."I leaned against the door frame and looked at him. He looks back. Neither of us says anything for a moment and the hallway is very quiet the way hallways are at eleven at night when everything else has gone to sleep."What are you doing here Caleb?""I kept thinking about your face when you left the coffee shop," he says. "You looked like someone who lost an argument they weren't supposed to lose.""I didn't lose anything.""I know. That's not what I said."I stared at him. He stares back. Completely calm, completely steady







