Leave Me
She laughed. “It’s in Central Asia. Between China and Russia and Mongolia.”
“Sounds far.”
“I know. When I graduate next year, me and my parents are going to visit.”
“Will you try to find your birth mother?” It was the kind of personal question Maribeth never would’ve dreamed of asking a month ago.
“I doubt it. I was found in a box outside an orphanage in the middle of the night. I just want to know where I come from, you know?”
Maribeth nodded. “Yes, I know. You’re lucky your parents are so supportive.”
“They’re even more excited about the trip than I am. They had to stay in Almaty for two months to get me and they loved it there so they’re thrilled to go back.”
Maribeth had been unable to locate her parents’ social security numbers in her e-mail files and for a second had thought of asking her mother. And then she’d remembered all those veiled remarks growing up. The drama about seeing Annie.
And there was the time she and her mother had gotten into a huge fight when Maribeth had missed curfew because her friend Stacy’s car had broken down. Her mother had grounded her for a week. Maribeth had tried to explain it wasn’t her fault but when her mother had refused to reconsider she had packed a bag and stormed out. She hadn’t gone far, all of ten blocks to Stacy’s house, where she was invited to have dinner. Halfway through the meal, her father had arrived, apologizing for the interruption, but telling Maribeth she needed to come home. Now.
They rode back in a stony silence and when they pulled up into the driveway, her father said, “Your mother thought you ran away.”
“Good!” Maribeth had said, gratified that she’d scared her mother and ready to go back into the ring for another round. Because her mother was being so unfair!
“She thought you ran away to find her,” her father had clarified.
It had taken a moment to realize who the her was. Her birth mother. And then all of the fight had gone out of Maribeth. She’d gone back inside and, at her father’s insistence, apologized to her mother and accepted the terms of the punishment.
“That moisturizer is perfect on you,” Ash said. “I’m going to do a brown mascara and then a pearly plum sheer lip gloss, unless you want something more dramatic.”
“Whatever you think.”
“Look up and to the right.” Ash expertly applied the mascara and casually asked Maribeth if she knew her birth mother.
“I don’t. But I think I’m close to finding out who she is.”
“That’s so cool! Rub your lips together. Now blot.” She handed Maribeth a tissue. “I’ll bet she’ll be so glad to hear from you.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Maribeth said. “Maybe she doesn’t want to hear from me. She did give me up.” And then realizing she was speaking to someone dumped in a box, she added, “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, that’s all right. The way I see it, it had to be the hardest thing in the world for my mother to leave me at that orphanage, right? And besides, who wouldn’t want to hear from you? You’re so pretty.” Ash dramatically swiveled Maribeth around to face the mirror.
The makeup had transformed her face, made it look different, younger. When she stared at her reflection, she saw that face again, like hers, but not. And though she had no way of knowing this, she felt that she’d just caught a glimpse of her mother.
49
Dear Oscar and Liv,
Do you remember last summer when we walked by that truck with all the dogs that needed homes and, Liv, you asked the woman how to buy one and she said that dogs were not for sale but up for adoption? So Oscar, you said, “Can we take one?” And the lady said, no, you needed to fill out forms and pay. And then Liv, you said, “But you just said the dogs weren’t for sale.” And she said that dogs in pet stores were for sale. These dogs were up for adoption because nobody wanted them.
Maribeth hadn’t been so sure that this was the best explanation for it, but she wasn’t going to get into it. Besides, by then the twins had moved on from the nuances of adoption to begging for a dog. (Out of the question; their building didn’t allow them and their landlord was just waiting for an excuse to evict them and raise the rent.)
But they must have brought it up again with Jason because a few nights later, before bed, he asked her why she hadn’t told the twins that she was adopted. “It hardly seemed like an apt comparison, their mother and an unwanted pit bull. Besides, they’re too young,” she’d said. She could tell by his silence that he disagreed.
There is something you don’t know about me. When I was a little baby, the mother who gave birth to me couldn’t keep me. So she put me up for adoption and Grandma and Grandpa became my parents. They are my parents. But I have other parents, too. I don’t know anything about them. And now, for the first time, maybe I want to. So I can know more things about me, and also about you.
50
They were in a holding pattern with Maribeth’s birth-mother search, Janice said, until they had additional information about her adoptive parents. It was frustrating because Maribeth knew exactly where that all was, at home, on her laptop, in well-organized files.
She could just ask Jason.
He might ignore her.
Then again, what did she have to lose at this point?
Strange request, she wrote. Do you think you could get my parents’ social security numbers for me? She told him where to find everything.
He sent her the information the same day. Maribeth forwarded it to Janice. Jason had not commented or questioned why she needed any of this and she did not need to explain, but somehow felt compelled to. Jason might have operated in the land of the opaque. But Maribeth liked clarity. Even now. Even with him.