Chapter 24
JIYA
Iwatched Emma drift off to sleep. At eight months old, she looked more like Caleb with each passing day, especially around the eyes, and sometimes the resemblance caught me so off guard that my breath would hitch.
She had started crawling, quick and curious, playing her own version of hide-and-seek by disappearing behind furniture or into corners just long enough to make my heart jump before she revealed herself, far too pleased with the reaction she had caused.
After dinner one evening, when both children were in bed, and the house had fallen quiet, I sat down and browsed the internet. I was not really looking for anything in particular, just mindlessly scrolling and clicking through pages, trying to unwind.
A new email message popped up on the screen, grabbing my attention.
It was from a woman named Sarah Page from Family Finder Tree.
My pulse quickened.
She said she had good news and asked me to call her.
With trembling fingers, I dialled her number, barely able to sit still while waiting for her to answer. My heartbeat ricocheted through my body.
When she answered, I gave her my name and account details.
“Ms. Flores, we have found your biological mother,” Sarah said.
Everything inside me stopped.
They found my mother. My mother.
“Can I ask if you are still interested in meeting her?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied instantly. “Of course, yes!”
Seconds later, an email with further details appeared on my laptop.
I read through it quickly, my eyes darting over every line, afraid I might miss something. Then I printed out the forms, signed them, scanned them, and sent them back. I tapped my fingers on the table while I waited, unable to keep still.
Minutes later, another email came through confirming the date and time.
The meeting would be the following Saturday at 6 p.m.
My prayers were finally answered.
All those years of waiting and not knowing, of guessing and second-guessing, of building stories in my head and tearing them down again, were finally leading somewhere. I was finally going to get answers.
Then a final email appeared with my mother’s details.
I read it slowly, taking in each word as if it might somehow make her more real before I met her.
Karena Townsend
Age – 47
Occupation – Travel Agency Owner
Ethnicity – Indian
Nationality – Canadian
Lives in Vancouver with her husband and two children
I immediately Googled her. There were multiple results, and I clicked through them hungrily, wanting a glimpse of what she looked like, what kind of life she had built, who she had become before I ever stepped into it. I wanted to know something, anything, before I met her face-to-face.
I was desperate to tell someone.
The first face that popped into my head was Cole’s.
I grabbed my phone and dialled his number.
The moment he answered, I all but shrieked into the phone, “Cole, they found my mother! They found my mother! She’s coming to see me next weekend.”
He listened patiently while my words tumbled over themselves in a rush. After telling me he was happy for me, he said, “Let’s continue the conversation at dinner tomorrow.”
“Gosh, the weather is crazy,” Cole said as soon as he stepped in.
“Yes, I saw the thunderstorms coming in from the restaurant,” I replied.
Earlier, I had watched the tar-black sky roll in and heard the pitter-patter of rain against the windows.
People had been running for cover as the clouds spat beads of water onto the streets.
I had been grateful I was not out on a boat that evening.
I had said a silent prayer for those who were, hoping they would all return safe and sound.
Over a cup of green tea after dinner, Cole and I discussed the much-awaited topic. The excitement that had carried me through the day softened when I noticed his face turn serious. He leaned inward and looked directly at me.
“I’m happy for you, Jiya. Please don’t take this the wrong way. Try not to get your hopes up too high and expect too much from the first meeting with her.”
I sat back and considered his words carefully.
He did make sense. He was being practical, not cruel.
Life had taught me enough by then to know that not everything ended in daisies and hearts.
“Your face looks like I dropped your ice cream on the floor,” he said.
I looked back at him and smiled despite myself, shaking my head.
“I understand why you’ve said this,” I told him. “I barely know the woman, and I shouldn’t get too excited.” I placed my fingers between my parted lips and took a breath. “You’re right.”
I knew he was saying it for my own good.
Meeting biological parents for the first time did not always end happily.
I had seen enough television shows and heard enough stories to know that.
And then there was my own reality. My mother’s decision to place me for adoption had led me to Jeremy and Dorothy Lipster—to the horrendous foster life that followed.
She could not have known what would happen to me, but still, I could not allow myself to hope for too much from this first meeting.
That night, when I lay in bed, fear crept in where excitement had lived only hours earlier. Too many people in my life had already let me down. The joy of my mother being found slowly tightened into something anxious and painful inside my chest.
What if she changes her mind and cancels? What if she meets me and decides she does not want to keep in touch after all? More than anything, I wanted to put my curiosity to rest and get answers.
I wanted to know the truth.
Her truth.
Her side of the story.
And maybe one day, if life allowed it, even my father’s.
As I drifted off to sleep, I made a decision not to get overly excited or too optimistic.
Life was a roller coaster, and I knew better than to trust the climb too much.
During the week, I talked to Lucas about it.
“Remember how I told you about adoption, sweetheart?” I asked him.
Lucas nodded.
“Okay. So I just found out that an agency found my birth mother.”
“Is she going to come and see us, Mama?”
“Yes, she will be coming this weekend.”
“So is she my grandma... like Nana Maureen?”
“She is your grandmother,” I said gently, “but you can’t call her that yet because we still don’t know much about each other.”
Lucas frowned, trying to understand.
“She and I haven’t built that relationship yet to name and label it,” I explained. “That will take a bit more time.”
“I understand, Mama. I hope she likes us.” Lucas smiled.
“Me too, baby. Me too.”
The following Saturday, preparations were in full swing in the kitchen with Geeta. Pots clinked, vegetables piled up on the counter, and the smell of spices and fresh ingredients filled the room. While chopping vegetables, my mind wandered despite myself.
If my birth parents gave me away, there must have been something wrong with me. Maybe I was a mistake. The thought crashed into me, forcing me to stop for a second. I shook my head and tried to focus on the present.
Elle had already apologized because she could not make it. It was her father’s birthday that weekend.
The day before, I had gone to see Jack at the restaurant with Emma.
“This is good news, Jiya,” Jack had said warmly. “I am so happy for you.” He had come around the bar and hugged me. “Maureen and I will be there. We can’t wait.”
Jack and Maureen had become like the parents I never had.
Over the past months, we had grown incredibly close.
Jack supported me with the restaurant, invited me for the holidays, and when I declined, he and Maureen still showed up the next day with gifts.
He rushed to my house when Emma was born and had always worn his protective father’s hat around me, especially after I finally told him the truth about my life.
About two months after Emma was born, while I was cleaning the garage, Jack came over with food. We sat in the garage drinking lemonade, and he had asked me, “Don’t you think your parents would want to know how their new granddaughter is doing?”
“I’m an orphan, Jack,” I had said, looking at him while fighting back tears. “I don’t know who my parents are.”
That had been the moment I opened up to him.
I still did not know why I had done it so completely, but I told him about my whole life, and he just sat there and listened.
I never revealed Caleb’s name or mentioned any of the other members of the Evans family.
He never pushed either. He did not ask. He simply listened.
I was grateful to have him and Maureen in my life, and now, more than anything, I wanted my biological mother to see that too.
While dressing Lucas up, my mind wandered again.
This is my mother that I am meeting for the first time…
my mother. The thought still felt unreal.
I had so many questions I wanted to ask her, so many things I wanted to know, and so many things I wanted to hear.
For years, I had imagined this moment in countless different ways.
Now that it was finally happening, my heart felt like it was being pulled in a hundred directions at once.
I prayed that the meeting would go well.
That somehow, despite everything, something good would come out of it.
While getting ready, I heard a knock on my bedroom door.
“Come in,” I called out.
The door opened, and Cole stepped inside.
For a brief moment, he simply stood there, and I saw his gaze sweep over me before he quickly composed himself. Something about the way he looked at me made my stomach flutter.
“Need any help?” he asked.
I nodded, feeling suddenly awkward as I struggled with the strings at the back of the Indian dress I had bought with Geeta to surprise my mother. My fingers kept slipping over the delicate ties.
Without saying anything, Cole walked toward me. When he reached me, he gently turned me around so that my back faced him. The movement was careful, almost instinctively protective, and it made my breath catch in my throat. I watched him through the mirror as he stepped closer.
He lifted my hair slowly and pushed it to one side of my shoulder, his fingers brushing lightly against the back of my neck. A shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the cool air in the room.
The peach-coloured Georgette Anarkali clung softly to my frame, the fabric flowing down in delicate folds.
Cole carefully gathered the thin strings at the back and began tying them together. His fingers worked slowly and deliberately. Every small movement seemed to stretch the moment longer than it should have been.
I could feel the comforting heat of his presence behind me, feel the faint brush of his knuckles against my back as he adjusted the ties.
My breath stayed trapped in my chest the entire time.
A familiar emotion crept over me, one I knew far too well.
One I had been trying very hard to ignore.
I had brushed it away many times before, pretending it was nothing more than comfort or friendship. But standing there with him so close, feeling the heat of his hands and the gentleness of his touch, it was becoming harder to deny.
Finally, he finished tying the strings.
“Done,” he said softly.
But neither of us moved right away.
Through the mirror, I saw him looking at me. His hands rested lightly on my shoulders. The reflection held my gaze, and something unspoken passed between us in that silence.
“I’ll finish getting ready and be out in a couple of minutes,” I stuttered quickly.
I broke the moment by lowering my gaze to the floor, unable to look at him any longer.
Just moments ago, the fear of meeting my mother had been consuming every thought in my mind. That fear had begun to recede.
Because something else—something far more serious and confusing—took precedence.