“How was your trip?”
Amanda sat across from her mom at her dining room table. Lines of worry traced her mother’s face, and there was new silver in her hair.
“It was okay,” Amanda said, and told her a little about her visit to Eagle Cove.
She saw the emotions cross her mother’s face. Her mother didn’t want Amanda to know she was threatened by Amanda’s search. She wanted her to think all was well.
“This man, Larry, he’s nice?”
“Yeah, he’s cool.”
“Well, it’s good to be careful.”
“Of course, Mom.”
Her mother reached for her hand.
“We just want the best for you. For you to be happy.”
“I know.”
Amanda couldn’t help but think she had been a disappointment to her parents. They were both college professors, at Reed. They listened to NPR and talked about things Amanda often didn’t understand, or didn’t want to understand. But still, they had stuck by her, from herfirst days as a colicky, impossible-to-soothe infant. She loved them deeply.
She and her mother clutched hands, warmed by the touch. When they let go, Amanda felt better.
She picked up her coffee.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“If you had found out about Dennis, would you have taken him?”
Amanda saw her mother’s face freeze, and in that moment, she knew. Her mother scrambled for what to say.
“We would have looked into it, for sure.”
“I know you only wanted one child,” Amanda said.
“Yes,” her mother said, relieved.
Amanda knew she wasn’t being fair. Dennis probably had a slew of problems by the time he was sent to Brightwood. Her parents weren’t required to take in another child, especially one with issues. And yet she had wanted her mother to immediately sayOf courseandThat’s your brother just the same as if I birthed him, too, just like I always told you over the years. I always told you that I loved you as much as a biological child. I wouldn’t leave your brother out in the cold.
Amanda looked around the kitchen she had known forever. The same antique teacups hanging from hooks under the cupboards. The same counter her father had installed. The same wobbly flowerpot she had made in grade school, holding yet another generation of begonia.
“Amanda, honey?”
“Yes, Mom?”
“You know I love you. I can’t describe how much I do.”
“I know, Mom.”
“What do you need?”
What I cannot have, Amanda thought.
Amanda lived in a tiny studio apartment near the zoo. She had moved out when she was twenty-two. She had been afraid to move out, and yet desperately eager to be independent. It was the numbers that scared her—rent and utilities. Due dates and calendars.