Chapter 25
M y mother lives in a modern downtown condo building complete with tall windows, white leather couches in the lobby, and a doorman. When Luca and I enter, the doorman greets us from his perch at the front desk and calls up to Melanie for approval to let us in. I wring my purse strap in my hands. She could still say no and tell the doorman to send us packing. What would I do about my birth certificate then?
And how would I handle being rejected by my mom again?
Luca must sense my apprehension, because he reaches for my hand.
After a moment, the doorman hangs up the phone and gives us a nod. “You can take elevator two.”
We enter the elevator, and Luca pushes the button with his elbow since he’s still holding on to me with one hand, and his other is occupied by the flowers he’s brought for Melanie. Sometime after I left him at the community center, he picked up a bouquet of brightly colored sunflowers, zinnias, and snapdragons, which is just the most charming, most Luca thing to do. Especially because I can’t help but notice that the riot of colors matches his arms. He even arranged them in a mason jar so Melanie wouldn’t have to deal with finding a vase when we arrived. My heart melts at his thoughtfulness. I was too preoccupied to think of bringing anything but a list of questions.
On Melanie’s floor, we turn left down a hallway painted a soothing gray and find the nondescript door to her condo. This isn’t the kind of building where people clutter up their entrances with welcome mats or wreaths, like the DeGreco. It’s a place that leans into order and clean lines.
Melanie swings the door open, and at the sight of her, my breath catches. Since my dad has dark hair and eyes, I’d always assumed I got my blond hair and blue eyes from my mom, but it’s still jarring to see the person I’ve been picturing for thirty years standing in front of me. She’s wearing a wrap dress, eerily similar to the one I’m wearing except hers is black and white and mine is dark green.
We enter the condo into a loftlike main room with tall ceilings. A modern kitchen takes up one side of the room, the crisp lines of shiny white cabinets along the far wall unbroken by appliances. Melanie must have had them covered by the same material as the cabinets so it all matches perfectly. Across from the cabinet, a marble counter stretches the length of the kitchen, completely devoid of fruit baskets, junk mail, or other detritus, like a desert island in the middle of the ocean without the shade of a single palm tree. On the other side of the space is a living room with a sectional, coffee table, and throw rug, all in shades of ivory, cream, and alabaster.
Like the hallway outside, there is not a single hint of clutter or chaos in this condominium, and I immediately feel my heart rate slow like I’ve stepped into a meditation tent instead of my long-lost mother’s home.
“Please, have a seat,” Melanie instructs.
As I round the couch into the living area, I pass a desk built into the—also white—living room cabinetry with a single notepad on it. The words To Do are printed across the top with boxes down the side. Half the boxes are checked off. I make out the words Catherine’s birth certificate at the very bottom of the list. Its box sits empty, waiting for someone to pick up the pen and draw a neat X through it.
“These are for you.” Luca stops to hand Melanie the flowers.
“Oh.” Melanie takes the mason jar and sets it gingerly on the kitchen island. “Thank you.” She stares at the bouquet for a long beat, and then reaches out to nudge it to the left and then to the right. But no amount of arranging is going to make a mason jar of wildflowers fit into her modern, lily-white decor, so eventually she picks it up and moves it to the desk, out of the middle of the room.
I feel a little pang for Luca, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He crosses the room and drops down on the couch next to me. Melanie’s sectional is formal and firm, not really a stretch-out-and-take-a-nap type of couch, so his shoulders rock and he breathes out a little “oof” when he lands a bit too hard.
Melanie pulls open the tallest white cabinet in the kitchen, revealing a hidden refrigerator. From inside, she takes out a plate and a bottle of wine. Back in the living room, she sets the plate in front of us, and I stare down at an equilateral triangle of cheese and a parallelogram of crackers. Fat green olives sit in a bowl next to the cheese, and they’re so perfectly oval that they look like polished stones. Even if I had an appetite, I’d hate to disturb the symmetry.
Luca has no such qualms. He pops an olive into his mouth.
Melanie opens the wine—white, of course—and hands us each a glass. “I apologize that I couldn’t speak more freely with you yesterday. I knew my colleague, Dr. Kohler, could be stopping in at any moment. I don’t like to mix my career and personal life.”
“Of course. I completely understand.” I remember running into Dad on the university lawn while I was walking with Dr. Gupta. I guess I don’t like to mix my career and personal life, either. Some things are too hard to explain to people at work. “I’m sorry we took your time away from your patients. We wouldn’t have done that if we’d known another way to track you down.”
“That reminds me, you’re here for your birth certificate,” she says, clasping her hands together. “I have it right here in my files.”
Melanie crosses the room to the desk. Pulling open a drawer, she reveals neat rows of documents that I can see from my perch at the edge of the couch are in color-coded files with printed labels. I let out an involuntary sigh of pleasure, and Luca turns to look at me with an amused smile.
Melanie reaches into the green section, pulls out a file, and flips it open. She gives a curt nod, closes the file, and crosses the room to give it to me. “Here it is.”
I open it and stare at the single sheet of paper. My original birth certificate. Or at least I think it’s the original. I haven’t exactly had the best track record with birth certificates this week. It doesn’t look thirty years old—the condition is perfect—but it probably hasn’t been shuffled from apartment to apartment in damp cardboard boxes like the rest of my things from childhood. An official-looking raised seal is stamped in one corner. And then, beneath it, are the names.
I trace a finger across my father’s name, Andrew John Lipton.
“I suppose you’re wondering why you were given an altered copy,” Melanie says.
My gaze shifts to my mother’s name. Melanie Anne Jankowski. “I spent my whole life believing your name was Michelle Jones.”
“What has your father told you?” Melanie sinks down on the chair across from me.
“Absolutely nothing.” I stare at her across the room. “He promised you he wouldn’t tell me anything, and he kept that promise. I never would have known any of it, but there was a weird glitch in the government’s system when I went to do my employment paperwork.”
“The truth is—” Melanie hesitates, as if she’s debating what to say. “The truth is, I asked your father to hide my identity because I didn’t want anyone to come looking for me.”
My breath hitches. By anyone , she means me .
I don’t know what I expected. Of course she didn’t want a relationship, or she would have reached out years ago. She would have been there from the beginning. I’ve probably always known that it was a fantasy to think she wanted to be with me but that for some elaborate reason, she couldn’t.
Luca’s hand closes over mine.
“The thing is, Catherine,” Melanie says, crossing her hands in her lap. “I met your father in high school. He was the popular boy, the class clown, everyone loved him.”
I nod, because of course, none of this is a surprise. I saw Dad out there with Mrs. Goodwin and Uncle Vito and the book club today. I understand his gravitational pull.
“On the other hand, I was the teacher’s pet sitting in the front of the class,” Melanie continues. “The nerd. When your father took an interest in me, well—” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I’m afraid I got swept up in it.”
Her story isn’t completely a surprise, either. I was the teacher’s pet, sitting in the front of the class— the nerd —too. I remember how lonely it was. How lonely it can still be, sometimes. If the charming, popular guy suddenly wanted to spend time with me, would I be swept up in it, too?
With an ache in my chest, my gaze darts to Luca.
“When I found out I was pregnant, your father and I were seventeen. I had just been accepted to Harvard to start my undergraduate program in biology before applying to medical schools.”
I do some quick calculations in my head. I was born in July, which means that my mother gave birth to me a month before she started college. If she’d stuck around, she would have been going to classes with a newborn baby strapped to her back. Or maybe she wouldn’t have gone at all.
“For a while, your father and I were idealistic enough to believe we could make it work. But thank goodness, by the time you were born, we came to our senses and went our separate ways.”
Luca leans forward in his seat. “‘Thank goodness’ seems a little… strong, doesn’t it?”
Melanie turns her gaze to Luca, her blue eyes cold. “Andy was wrong for me on every level. I was planning to go to Harvard, and Andy…” Melanie raises an eyebrow. “Andy didn’t have much of a plan for his life at all. If we’d tried to make it work, we would have failed spectacularly. I might not have made it to Harvard or medical school. I certainly wouldn’t have the career that I do.”
“But you might have had Catherine in your life,” Luca points out.
Melanie turns to me, eyes softening. “I was young, and I made a choice. I hope that a woman with multiple degrees and a successful career like you can understand that.”
I nod because I do see Melanie’s point. She worked hard for her success. Maybe she was smart to not let an ill-fated relationship and a mistake affect the rest of her life.
Even if that mistake was me .
Next to me, Luca sighs.
Melanie looks at him for a long moment, her face impassive, but I can sense hostility beneath the surface. I’ve never seen someone so immune to his charms. Even Tonya at the Social Security office warmed up to him eventually. But then, Luca doesn’t seem very interested in charming my mother.
“What is it that you do?” she inquires in a frosty voice.
“I’m a doorman.”
“Have you ever made sacrifices for your career?”
Luca shrugs. “I don’t make sacrifices for jobs. I make sacrifices for people I care about.”
“Well, I suppose that’s where we’re different. Some of us have careers that require sacrifice.” Melanie turns to me. “And I may have missed out on your upbringing, but it seems that for all Andy’s flaws, he did an excellent job of raising you.” She gives me a smile. “And he even encouraged your intellectual pursuits.” There’s a hint of surprise in her voice, and part of me understands that, too. If I were her, I would have expected me to become a clown. “I think it’s just wonderful that you’re a college professor,” Melanie adds.
I pull my shoulders back, flushing with pride. “Thank you. That really means a lot.”
“I just hope the birth certificate will help you to sort out any of the issues you’re having with your new job.”
I clutch the file tightly. “I think it will…” But then I realize how indecisive that sounds. I’d hate for her to think I could possibly lose the position. “Actually, I’m sure it will. I plan to be back at work by Monday afternoon.”
Melanie gives me a nod of approval. “Good. I’m glad we’ve sorted everything out.” There’s a note of finality in her voice, as if we’ve just ended a staff meeting and it’s time to file out in the hall.
Is this my cue to leave? I slide to the end of the couch but can’t bring myself to stand up.
Melanie stares at me. Luca clears his throat.
I take a deep, nervous breath. “Well, actually, Melanie…”
It’s the first time I’ve said her name out loud. It would be awkward to call her Mom.
“Yes?”
“I was wondering if maybe… I know you didn’t want… but now…” I flush as I stumble over my words, feeling like a student asking for an extension on her homework. Get it together, Catherine. This is not how a successful college professor communicates. “I realize that you had no intention of ever meeting me. But now that you have…” My body tenses. “I wondered if maybe we could get to know each other a little better.”
“Oh.” She presses her lips together as if she’s processing this. Finally, she nods. “I suppose… that would be nice.”
My heart leaps. “Maybe we could meet for coffee?”
She gives me a close-lipped smile. “Let me save your phone number in my contacts, and I’ll be in touch.”
But I’m a planner, and I don’t like to wait around. Not when it’s something this important. “What about this weekend?” I urge. “Do you work on Sunday?”
Melanie hesitates again. “No,” she answers after a beat. “I don’t.”
The silence stretches.
I’m being too pushy. Of course, Melanie is surprised I asked. Her daughter just appeared in her life after thirty years, and now she wants to see her twice in one weekend. I should back off. But I can’t seem to. “So, would that work?”
“Sunday,” Melanie repeats slowly. And then finally, “Yes. Sure, I can make that work.”
“Oh, good.” I can hear the relief in my voice. Luca gives my hand another squeeze.
“I’ll text you tomorrow,” Melanie says. “We’ll set something up.”
Melanie and I exchange phone numbers, and then she walks Luca and me to the door, closing it with a quiet click behind us.
“That went really well. Right?” I whisper to Luca as we walk to the elevator, our feet barely making a sound on the muted gray carpeting. “Don’t you think it went well?”
“I…” He gives me a smile, but it’s different than his usual grin, more restrained. “I’m so glad you got your birth certificate.”
I hug the file to my chest. “What a relief. I’ll head to the DMV and Social Security office first thing on Monday.”
“I bet Tonya will be able to clear your identity right up,” Luca assures me. He pushes the elevator button.
“Sure…” The truth is, I am relieved by the birth certificate, but for a moment there, I forgot all about it. That scrap of paper isn’t what I was talking about when I asked if Luca thought things went well. “But what about Melanie?”
He pauses. And then finally, “What about her?”
“We’re going to have coffee on Sunday,” I prompt. He knows this. He was there when I asked her. “What do you think?”
“Right,” he says. “Great.”
Okay, Luca never converses in single syllables. I look at him sideways. “Why do I feel like there’s something you’re not saying?”
“It’s just…” He sighs, his shoulders drooping. “I think you should be careful.”
I turn to face him. “You said that the other day, too. Why do I need to be careful?”
He hesitates and then finally says, “Look, I know your mom is all the things you dreamed of… I’m sure she’s brilliant, she has an important career, and her condo…” Luca’s eyes go wide like he’s never seen anything like it. “Is so spotless you could perform brain surgery on her kitchen counters. But…” He waves a hand like he’s searching for the right words. “All of that… it’s not…”
“It’s not what?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“It’s not what’s important.”
The elevator arrives, and Luca waves for me to get on first.
“How can you say that?” I march past him to push the button for the lobby. “A person’s career is important. Their success is important.”
“Sure.” Luca steps on next to me. “But none of that is who she is. That’s just some stuff about her.”
“Stuff I admire about her,” I argue. “I know it’s all brand-new, but I think Melanie and I are alike in a lot of ways.”
The elevator begins dropping smoothly to the lobby. At each floor, a digital number on the button panel counts down, and a bell dings softly. I bet there aren’t any imaginary ghosts breaking Melanie’s elevator every other day.
“Maybe you are alike.” Luca shrugs. “I don’t know her. But I know you, and I’d hate to see you become so… enamored with all that stuff that you end up getting hurt.”
“I’m not enamored. She’s my mother . I think we could have a relationship.”
The elevator settles on the ground floor, and we step into the lobby with the white couches. Absently, I wonder if everything in the building is furnished in white, like fresh snow and new pieces of paper. I remember how Luca was surprised when he first walked into my apartment with its emerald couch and colorful botanical prints. He probably expected my place to look like this lobby. Like Melanie’s condo. And he probably thought there was something wrong with that.
Luca takes my arm and pulls me back against him. “Catherine, look. I don’t mean to discourage you when it comes to your mother.”
“Then why are you? Why can’t you just be happy for me?”
“Because I care about you.” His eyes roam over my face. “I care about you a lot. And… I don’t know. Your mom just seems a little… cold. The way she talked about your dad… the way she reacted to meeting you.”
“Cold?”
Does he think my mother is cold because she’s reserved and practical? Because she’s organized and maybe a little particular? I get that her cheese was cut into perfect ninety-degree angles, she probably used a ruler to properly space the books on her shelves, and it likely gives her anxiety when someone doesn’t use a coaster. But doesn’t he see that Melanie is not so different from me? I know I come off as cold, too. That doesn’t mean that I am.
Luca shakes his head, pressing his hands to his temples. “You know what? I’m so sorry.” I stare at his colorful arm, counting the birds in the flock near his elbow. Seven. No, there’s one soaring in from his triceps. That’s eight.
Again, it strikes me that I never thought I’d fall for a guy with tattoos. Or a wide, infectious smile. Or charm that draws a crowd. But somehow over the past week, I’ve developed feelings for him. I go out of my way to pass through the lobby just to see him. My heart gives a little kick when he walks into the room. I’ve opened myself up in ways I never, ever imagined.
Is this how Melanie felt about Dad, all those years ago? Right before she ended up pregnant and almost lost out on Harvard and a career in medicine.
Dr. Gupta’s words have been hovering on the edge of my consciousness since our call in the supply closet. The old me would never have blown off a research paper for days in a row or forgotten to give my boss a call with an update. Maybe I didn’t have any choice about going with Luca into a dark Mafia bar or on a stakeout, but the old me certainly wouldn’t have lingered for a drink afterward. Am I putting my career and future in jeopardy for a man who is all wrong for me? Just like my mother did?
“Catherine?” Luca’s face slides into my line of vision. “Are you okay?” His hand cups my cheek, and his eyes search mine.
I take a deep breath. This has all been a lot to process in a few short days. But it doesn’t mean that Luca and I are wrong for each other. We’re not the same as Dad and Melanie. “I’m fine.”
Luca leans closer. “I’m sorry I said those things about your mother. I’m sure she’s lovely, and I’m looking forward to getting to know her.” He cocks his head. “I think I can win her over.”
And despite myself, I laugh. Because if anyone can win her over, it’s Luca.
“Just like I won you over.” With a hint of a smile still tugging at his lips, Luca slides his hand behind my head, tangling it in the hair at the nape of my neck. And then he leans in, his mouth only inches away. I slide a hand up his chest, grabbing a fistful of his T-shirt and tugging him closer.
“Ahem.”
I pull away, spinning around to find Melanie’s doorman watching us with a look of disapproval. He gives us a sharp shake of his head and hitches his chin at the front door. Get out. Like two teenagers who were caught making out under the bleachers, we laugh and make a break for the door, our shoulders bumping as we stumble out onto the sidewalk.
“For the record,” Luca says, taking my face in both his hands and planting a kiss on my lips. “The doorman in your building is fine with you making out in the lobby anytime you want.”