Chapter 32 – Paloma
One month later…
“What’s your plan for today?” Ms. Golden asks as she enters the kitchen where I’m staring out one of the large windows that overlooks the Santa Monica skyline while sipping my morning coffee.
I smile, “Good morning Ms. Golden. Today I’m going to meet Brandy’s mother.”
“Oh, honey," she gives me a gentle squeeze, "I hope that will be good for you.”
I nod. I have no clue what I’ll even say to her mom – my biological grandmother.
I’d taken a week to process the news of my possible birth parents, and then finally moved forward with getting paternity testing done on Jackson Roe and myself.
When the results came back as a positive match, I finally googled Brandy’s name, only to find an obituary from fifteen years ago indicating that she’d died at just thirty-nine years old and was buried outside the city at the church she attended during her younger years with her parents.
When I’d contacted the church for more information, I’d been redirected to her only living relative, her mother, my biological grandmother, Catherine.
We’d arranged a meeting at her home in West Hollywood for today around noon and I was both anxiously dreading it while also excited and hopeful for some answers behind the woman who gave birth to me twenty-six years ago.
“I’m going to go take my coffee on the terrace.”
Ms. Golden nods knowingly with a smile.
It’d been a tradition for the past month I’d spent here on and off to have my coffee and breakfast burrito on the terrace while watching the sunrise with Mr. Roe.
It still felt odd to think about ever calling him dad.
To me, he wasn’t my dad. My dad was back in Lonestar Junction, probably playing pickleball with Dallas right now and shooting whiskey while helping him clear out Golden farm and prepare for the fall crops he had planned.
Clyde Hart was the only father I’d ever known who had supported and loved me throughout my entire life while encouraging me to pursue my dreams.
Yet, I understood that Jackson Roe had never had the opportunity to be a father to me.
I wanted to honor that reality while still taking the chance to get to know him better.
And these early morning coffee sessions had proven to do just that.
And surprisingly, it turned out, Jackson Roe and I have a lot more in common than I’d ever anticipated.
“Ah, good morning, Paloma,” he says smiling, "it's going to be another beautiful day in sunny California."
Other than Dallas, Jackson was the only other person who ever called me Paloma anymore.
When I’d deftly declared to my family at just fourteen years old that I’d only answer to Dove going forward, even my parents, who’d chosen the beautiful name for me after adopting me, respected my wishes to go by Dove.
But there was something tender in hearing my given name from my biological father’s lips.
“Where are you headed today? Back on tour?”
I shake my head as I stretch my arms overhead and then slip into a seat next to him. “I'm going to visit Brandy’s mother in west Hollywood.”
“Now that sounds interesting.”
I smile, “I hope it’s good. I’m nervous to learn more about her. This time we’ve spent together has showed me that I’d always thought my creativity and love for performing came from her and her career, but now I’m starting to realize I got a lot of that from you, too.”
He smiles and nods, “Yes, Brandy was a natural performer. Never afraid to take the stage. Always bold and confident. I’d like to think you've got a bit of both of us in you.”
“Do you have any idea why?” I ask, biting my lip, a question I’ve been holding off on asking Jackson for the past month of my sporadic visits to their home in the midst of concerts and flying around the country. “Why she might have decided not to tell you about me? T feels a bit unfair to you.”
His eyes look out over the ocean beyond the horizon while he shakes his head.
“Brandy was complicated in many ways. An only child to two parents who were quite critical of her career choice to work in film. I don't think she kept in touch with them throughout her twenties which means she probably didn't have much support.” He rubs his jaw, “As I recall it, she didn’t have any support from family or friends for that matter. Beyond that, I didn’t know much about her personal life. I can only assume that the pregnancy was a shock to her.”
I nod again, I’d prepared myself for that all last night when I’d laid in bed, not sleeping. Truthfully, I’d been preparing myself for this conversation since I was a child, and my parents took the time to explain to me sensitively the special way that I'd become a part of the Hart family.
“Unfortunately, you may never get the full answers you're seeking since she's no longer here to tell you herself, Paloma. And for that I’m so sorry. Truly.”
I nod again. Knowing it isn’t his fault that he didn’t that that I'd existed, or that Brandy was gone.
“Well, I better go get ready. Have to stop by the studio first to talk to my manager before I head over there.”
He smiles again, “Have you heard from that son of mine lately? Ms. Golden wants to go down to visit him soon in Texas.”
“I got a letter from him yesterday. He said he’s planting his fall harvest now. You should spend Thanksgiving with us there this year.”
Jackson nods, “We’d love that.”
A few hours later, I've wrapped up at the studio and am heading across town to Catherine's home in West Hollywood. Her quaint house, nestled in a middle-class neighborhood, features charming trim, and brightly painted pink shutters, typical of the eclectic, personality-filled homes in Los Angeles. I park my rental car, walk to the front door, and knock gently, nervously fidgeting with the plain black dress I’d chosen for this meeting with my birth mother's only living relative and overthinking every single detail.
“Hello?” a slightly, older woman with kind, brown eyes and vibrant blonde hair opens the door. She must be in her early 60s now, but other than the way her eyes slightly tilt up at the corners, giving her a slight doe-like impression, I don’t see any resemblance to myself in her.
“Hi, Catherine, I’m Paloma Hart.”
“Paloma!” She smiles and pulls me in for a hug before gesturing for me to step into her home.
“Take a seat on the couch. I know it looks a bit funky, but I promise it's comfortable. Got it at one of those fun second-hand stores in town.”
The couch is a vibrant hot-pink velvet, perfectly complementing the rest of the home, which is adorned with shades of orange, blue, and pink. The colors in the small home are simultaneously overwhelming and comforting, creating an atmosphere that strangely calms my nerves.
I take a seat as Catherine settles into one of the mismatched velvet armchairs across from me. She kicks her feet up on the coffee table, her sequined bell-bottom leggings swishing slightly as she smiles.
“Goodness. You look just like my Brandy did.”
I sit forward, eager to know more, “I do?”
She nods, smiling gently, “You’ve got her eyes. Hers were brown, not the same shade as the beautiful ones that you have, but the shape and the way yours just slightly,” she motions with her hand in the air theatrically upwards, “Tilt upwards, that’s all her.”
I smile. Though it isn’t necessary for me to feel connected to her in that way, I liked knowing that her mother noticed some similarities in us.
"Do you have any pictures of her?"
She nods and reaches under the coffee table, handing me a thick, three ring photo album.
"Take a look while I grab us something to drink."
I take a deep breath as Catherine leaves the room, then cautiously flip open the binder. Photo after photo fills the glossy pages, showcasing the smiling face of my birth mother, Brandy. I study each picture carefully, smiling at her baby photos and watching her grow up before my eyes.
We do look similar, though her skin was much fairer and hair a light blonde color.
But our facial features mirrored one another even in our teen years and I could see she had a love of performing from the several photos of her holding a faux microphone singing and standing on top of chairs as a little girl.
I’m so engrossed in the album that I don’t notice when Catherine returns until I reach the end where it abruptly stops around what appears to be her teenage years. My eyes move upward to find her gazing at me intently.
“She left home at just seventeen. We didn’t know where she went but eventually found out she’d moved in with a boyfriend she’d made and was auditioning for some small gigs in Hollywood.
She knew we wouldn’t approve.” Catherine sighs, “We knew the cost of fame and simply didn’t want her to go down a path we felt she wasn’t prepared to follow.
It appears our discouragement only ended up pushing her away, something I deeply regret to this day. ”
“I see…”
“So, what would you like to know?” she clasps her hands in her lap, changing the subject as she smiles kindly at me.
“Um… well I guess, did you know she was pregnant?”
She shakes her head vigorously, dangling earrings I hadn't noticed before bobbing back and forth in her short, cropped bob.
“No. Not until you were born, and she’d already made a plan for adoption.
She told no one that she was pregnant. Me and her father separated years ago when she was just a toddler, and neither of us had any more children so there weren't many people she was close to. She was a loner in many ways and valued her privacy. I think she kept a lot from us due to her knowing we didn’t approve of her career choice. ”
“Did you ever meet my father? Jackson Roe?”
She shakes her head again. “She never mentioned who the father was. I hate to admit this, but when she left home at seventeen, I rarely saw her. She had her own life, and I had mine. We spoke occasionally throughout her twenties, and I saw her once at the grocery store, but anytime we talked we kept things at a surface level. I know she harbored some bitterness towards me, and I don’t blame her for that. ”
I bite my lip and nod, realizing that there is likely not much that Brandy’s mother knows about what she’d been thinking if she hadn’t confided in her about the pregnancy until after I was born and already adopted by the Harts.
“So, what happened to her?” I whisper.
She takes a sip out of the snowflake mug she'd brought with her into the living room. A strange choice for the middle of August but everything about Catherine seemed a bit odd.
“It was an accident. She was working on set for a movie that was filming in Northern California during the peak winter season. She lost control of her car on one trip back to LA and slid into a snowbank. Passed away on impact.”
“That's horrible.”
She nods in agreement, “Devastating. I’m so sorry you didn’t get to meet her.
She was a beautiful woman filled with talent and kindness.
And though she'd never confided in me why she had chosen to make a plan for adoption, I could tell when she told me about the pregnancy afterwards, she loved you very much and only wanted the best life for you.”
I nod, realizing that even though Catherine can’t tell me much about my mom, this moment is still a gift.
Hearing that Brandy had pursued her dreams after my birth and still found success working in Hollywood puts to rest my fears of her pregnancy destroying her career and any regrets she might have had.
I also felt better knowing that I’d done everything I could to see her out.
Despite her tragic death, I now felt a sense of peace having answers to questions I'd long wondered about.
And though I would never understand everything, I had the gift of Jackson Roe—a man who, although he hadn't raised me or known me as a child, was genuinely interested in getting to know me now.
The fact that Brandy had placed his address on the hospital discharge paperwork told me everything I needed to know about my birth mom.
It had been a parting gift. Directing me towards a man she knew would love me and though at the time when I’d found my birth records in the attic of my parent’s home in Lonestar Junction, I hadn’t realized that she'd been pointing me towards my chosen family all along.
“Will you tell me more about her?” I say, smiling for the first time since entering Catherine's home and feeling peace regarding the future.
Catherine nods, “I’d love that.”