Chapter 1
Chapter One
SO, I WAS WONDERING…
Gretchen
“You guys aren’t invited next time,” I say.
“Wait. There’s gonna be a next time?” My brother quirks a brow.
Of course there won’t be. I’ve finished college and I don’t plan on doing it again, but the point stands. My family is officially uninvited to any future events where I’m being recognized for…anything.
“What’s a college graduation, honey, without some hollering misfits in the audience?” The wicked half smile from my mom screams you know you loved it.
Fine. She’s not wrong. I love my family. I may not share their genetic code, but I’ll claim them as mine any day, just as they claimed me twenty-two years ago.
“Sure, but a foghorn? Seriously?” I look to Dad—the one with the guilty face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pulls me in for a hug, planting a kiss on my temple. “Proud of you, kiddo. ”
I step back as my sister-in-law, Reagan, leans in. “I tried to confiscate the foghorn, I swear.”
“She actually bought it,” my brother whispers from my other side.
Reagan slaps Drew on the chest, but he catches her hand and hauls her to his side.
Our family may be small but we’re really close. Something that I hope bodes well for me when I ask Drew for a big favor later.
Over the next hour we pose for family photos, while I’m pulled away every few minutes to say goodbye to my classmates. We pose for pictures in our caps and gowns before waving each other off into our mostly unknown futures.
When pictures are done, my family and I trek back to my campus apartment where I’ve voluntold them to help me finish packing.
My roommate opted not to walk at her graduation ceremony, so she drove off with her car packed to the brim earlier this week.
Honestly, I wish I were her right now. Gridlock traffic, moving trucks bogarting entire blocks and stairwells clogged with people on move-out day is not for the faint of heart.
“Honey!” Mom hollers from the kitchen while Reagan and I pack up my bedroom closet. “Do I need to take you to see a specialist about your ramen hoarding problem?”
“Don’t speak ill of my boyfriends, Mom!” I call back. “They may be unhealthy but at least they’re cheap and easy.”
“Gross, Gretch!” Drew yells from the living room. Reagan chuckles as she zips up the first of many suitcases.
Dad pokes his head around the doorframe, announcing he and Mom are headed out to grab dinner for us.
I could remind him that he’s in New York City, the food delivery capital of the world.
Anything we want could be here in twenty minutes or less.
But what he’s not saying is that Mom wants to explore.
When my family has visited in the past, we’d spend hours exploring the city.
Bookstores, coffee shops, Central Park, Times Square, Broadway—you name it.
We did it all. Mom has always had wanderlust in her veins, while Dad is the homebody.
She moved to rural Illinois to live the quiet life he craved, and he makes sure to sweep her off for an adventure as often as he can.
Two years ago, he surprised her with a ten-day Alaskan Cruise.
The year before that it was two weeks in the United Kingdom and Ireland.
And next month they’re off for a four-week tour of Italy.
Today, it’s the one hour they can spare to stroll the streets of Manhattan in search of food.
My parents offer quick goodbyes to Drew and Reagan since they’ll be heading to the airport soon, and hurried plans are made for us all to meet in Chicago next weekend for a belated graduation celebratory dinner.
After they leave, Reagan returns to my bedroom to continue her assigned task. Meanwhile, I find my brother in the living room where he’s transferring everything from my bookshelves into boxes.
I take in a deep breath. “Thanks for coming, Drew.”
“Of course. We wouldn’t miss it.”
Drew and I weren’t always this close. With our six-year age difference, the years we spent under the same roof consisted of him being my brother in the traditional sense.
He was protective—and a nuisance—the way you would expect a big brother to be, but it wasn’t until we were grown that we developed the bond we have now.
I take a seat on the couch, fingers fussing with the hem of my shirt. Drew transfers my Little Women collection to the box at his feet, his features looking more and more like Dad every day.
It’s not jealousy, but it’s something akin to it that I can’t quite identify. I swallow past it, same as I’ve always done.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
His question tugs my attention back to the moment. “Huh? Oh yeah, fine.”
He stares at me, unconvinced, before turning back to the shelf. My gaze shifts to the window and I settle my thumbnail between my teeth.
The couch shifts beside me. Drew gently lowers my hand from my face as he says, “What’s up, Gretch?” At my bewildered look, he adds, “You chew your nails when you’re nervous.”
I glance down at my thumb, evidence on full display where my nail has been bitten to the quick. “Right,” I breathe. I tuck a leg underneath me and turn to face him. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
Now or never. “My friend and I planned a trip for the end of next month out to Sedona. Kind of a graduation slash birthday thing.”
There is no friend. Also, the trip has nothing to do with my birthday or graduation, but I’m looking for the path of least resistance here.
I soldier on. “Anyway, something’s come up and now she can’t go.” Lie. “The resort and my plane ticket are non-refundable.” Truth. “And I don’t wanna go by myself.” Also truth. “ So, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”
He doesn’t seem appalled by the idea, but he does hesitate.
“The resort’s already paid for,” I rush to add.
“It’s a one-bedroom suite but there’s a sofa bed.
My friend felt really bad about cancelling so she’s not asking for her money back or anything.
” Another lie. Fictitious friends can’t ask for their fictitious money back.
“You’d only have to buy a plane ticket.”
A yes is all I need for now. I’ll explain everything else when we get there.
“It sounds fun, but I don’t know if I can swing?—”
“You should go,” Reagan interrupts as she plops down next to Drew. I forget how small this apartment is.
He narrows his eyes at her. “I should?”
“Yeah! You’ve got all that unused vacation time and you can use our credit card miles for the flight.”
Damn. It didn’t even cross my mind, but maybe I need to invite Reagan too.
The truth is, the person I always imagined doing this with hasn’t spoken to me in almost three years. Drew is my next best option. I adore my sister-in-law, but I’m anxious enough as it is without becoming the third wheel.
Reagan ignores her husband’s reservations and asks, “What are the dates?”
This is why she graduated from Law School at the top of her class—yes, even ahead of her husband.
She’s got the badass woman energy of Joan from Mad Men .
Quiet confidence when the situation warrants it, but calls the shots and gets stuff done when nobody else will.
The curvy figure, fair skin and strawberry blonde bob easily land her in the category of doppelg?nger.
Basically, Reagan is the antithesis of me.
Nothing about my appearance seems to make guys’ heads turn the way Reagan’s does.
I mean, sure, I want guys to see beyond what I look like, blah blah blah.
He should be interested in my personality above my appearance, yada yada yada.
But somehow, “Your personality is so hot! Can I ravish you inside this maintenance closet?” doesn’t have the same ring to it.
“Last week of June. Wednesday through Monday,” I answer.
She turns to Drew and I sit witness to a wordless conversation whereby thoughts are communicated through some sort of marital eyeball trickery.
Drew: I don’t think this is a great idea.
Reagan: Stop being a dick and take your sister to Sedona for her birthday .
Drew: What are you gonna do while I’m gone?
Reagan: That’s for me to know and you to never find out.
Drew: You’re gonna eat ice cream straight from the container and binge-watch romcoms, aren’t you?
My eyes sling back and forth between theirs as this silent exchange unfolds. A few seconds later, Drew says. “I guess I’m in.”
I squeal in delight, throwing my arms around his neck. Over his shoulder, I look at Reagan and mouth a sincere, “ Thank you .”
It’s 2am. My alarm goes off in four hours, but my mind is reeling. Drew and Reagan left hours ago and my parents are dead to the world in my roommate’s old room.
When I got word from the adoption detective several weeks ago that he had tracked down the name and current address of my biological mother, I considered hopping on a plane and showing up at her doorstep the next day. If only I was the kind of person that could be that confidently spontaneous .
The reality is, my nerves humbled me. Up to this point, I’ve tackled this process by myself, which I know was the right decision. But I’m not too proud to admit that I don’t want to do the next part—the hardest part—alone.
Unknowns and what-ifs make me nervous. I actively avoid being the center of attention as often as possible. Bottom line, I don’t know this woman. She may not care to know me. She could shut her door in my face.
If for no other reason than to talk me off a ledge of paralysis by analysis, I know that I need somebody there with me.
I should have asked Drew sooner, but with finishing up my Saks Fifth Avenue internship, final exams and the general chaos of graduation, I found ample excuses to put it off.
There’s also the fact that I’ve been on the brink of calling the whole thing off, every other second of every single day.
And maybe a not so small part of me was holding out hope, wishing on stars, and sending up prayers that the person I always imagined doing this with would find his way back to me.
What a fool’s hope that was.
Then, there’s my parents—the inevitable conversation I’ve decided to save for after I get back. Even still, the thought of telling them what I’ve done sends waves of nausea coursing through me.
For now, I have to remain focused on the most important of all the plates I’m balancing. I’m going to meet my birth mom.
I don’t know if she’s married or if she has other kids.
I wonder if she’s still in contact with my biological father.
The detective was successful in tracking down a photocopy of my original birth certificate form where he got my mom’s name, but my father’s name wasn’t included.
He offered to continue searching, but I had already charged so much to my credit card for his services, I decided that, for now, my birth mom’s name and address was enough.
The last six months have been a whirlwind of emotions—anxiety over what may or may not happen, fear of this all possibly being for nothing, excitement that I’m finally on this precipice, and now, relief that I won’t be doing it alone.
But, as it always does, the familiar ache creeps in. Because he always comes to mind. It doesn’t matter what I’m feeling or how badly I wish I could forget. It’s always him .
There was a time when he was my first and last call. My best friend. My everything. Mine. At least, I thought he was. I thought I was his , too. But I wasn’t.
Pain reverberates in my chest like a relentless wave beating against a stone wall over and over. A feeling I’ve become all too acquainted with over the past three years.
I wish I could call Connor.