Chapter 33 Mabel
MABLE
THREE MONTHS LATER
“Is this the place?”
I glance out the window of the SUV at the white, two-story Colonial, my hand coming up to clutch the pendant on my necklace. I rub the worn, silver disk and nod.
“Looks right.”
Sav whistles. “That’s a nice house. You said she’s a veterinarian?”
I nod again. “Vet tech. And I think her husband works construction.”
“Construction workers are hot.”
I roll my eyes as Callie and Claire laugh from the back, but I’m too nervous to join in. I’ve been a bit of a zombie these last few months, and I only decided to make the trip to Georgia a few days ago. Now that I’m here, I’m starting to think it was a mistake.
I should have emailed first. I should have called. This whole fly to Georgia and scope it out without a plan plan is feeling pretty ill-advised.
“We don’t have to get out if you don’t want,” Claire says. “Red can just drive around the block, can’t you, Red?”
“Sure can.”
I sit in silence for a moment. God, this is so fucking weird. I’m sitting in a dark SUV with tinted windows outside my birth mother’s home like some sort of stalker.
I know her name. I know what she looks like. I know where she lives. Yet, she knows nothing about me.
I don’t know what I thought I would do when I got here. I just knew I was tired of moping around filled with regret and longing. I needed to stop pining for Aurora. I needed to do something.
But, fuck, I should have chosen something else, because staking out my birth mother’s place of residence isn’t it.
“Let’s just leave,” I mumble. “I need a toffee latte and a scone, stat.”
Red puts a nearby coffee shop into the GPS and has us parallel parked in ten minutes.
I twist my hair into a bun and pull on a baseball cap before climbing out of the SUV.
I purposely dressed down today to be more inconspicuous, and it’s so weird to wear jean shorts and flip flops that I almost trip over my own feet.
Then, leaving the two most noticeable in the SUV with Red, Claire and I make our way to the building.
“Coming here was a big deal. I’m proud of you.”
I flash Claire a sardonic smile. “We parked outside the house for fifteen minutes before speeding away like criminals fleeing a bank robbery.”
She shrugs. “Yeah, but you still did it, and I know it was difficult for you. Baby steps. Next time, maybe we’ll park for twenty minutes, then drive away leisurely.”
I laugh and roll my eyes, grabbing the door of the coffee shop and pulling it open. “Maybe, but we—oh, shit.”
Someone runs smack into me. My hat is knocked backward, and my shirt is hit with something ice cold and wet. A toffee latte, from the smell of it.
“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry,” a dark-haired woman says, brushing off her scrubs and bending to pick up the cups and napkins she dropped. “Goddamn it. This is not my day. I’m so sorry...”
She looks up and meets my gaze, and her voice trails off as her eyes widen. I imagine my face is a perfect reflection, because I’m just as shocked.
I’m standing in front of my birth mother, and judging by her expression, my disguise isn’t as good as I thought. My hand shoots to my side, and I grab Claire’s hand, squeezing tight. She knows who we’ve just run into. She’s seen the pictures, and she squeezes back.
It’s okay. I’m not doing this alone. I can handle this.
I try to prepare myself for the impending freak out, but I’m dreading it.
I didn’t realize it until now, but I don’t want this to play out like a typical fan interaction.
I’ve tried not to picture this moment, but I have, and never once did our first meeting include me signing an autograph for the woman who dropped me at a fire station as an infant.
I plaster on my meet and greet smile, then open my mouth to tell her it’s okay, but she speaks first, and it about knocks me off my feet.
“Brooklyn?”
My mother’s voice is almost dazed as she scans my makeup-free face, then her eyes start to shimmer. Goose bumps raise on my arms and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck lift as I squeeze Claire’s hand hard. My fingers tremble anyway.
“No,” I whisper, and the word feels raw. “No, I’m Mabel. Mabel.”
Her expression shifts with a wave of disappointment. She shakes her head, but she doesn’t look away from me. She doesn’t stop studying my features, and I know what she’s seeing. I know because I saw the same thing the first time my lawyer sent pictures.
Same eyes. Same nose. Same lips. It’s like looking in a mirror, and just like the first time I saw her, she can’t seem to look away.
“No, of course. I’m sorry. I thought you were...I thought you were someone else. You just look...” Her voice cracks, but she forces a smile. “You look familiar. I’m sorry.”
Claire pulses her grip on my hand, and I glance at her. She gives me an encouraging smile and a tiny, subtle nod. I nod back, exhale slowly and try to keep my tears from falling as I look back at my mom.
“Actually...um...are you Gianna Amato?”
Her eyes flash with hope. “I am, yes.”
“I know you’re probably on your way to work, but would you, maybe, want to grab a coffee with me? After?”
“I can do it now. We can do it now. I can call in.”
“Oh, I don’t want you to have to do that,” I say quickly despite the way my heart leaps.
“It’s no problem. Not at all.” She smiles and sniffs as a single tear rolls down her cheek. “I want to. I’ve been...”
She closes her eyes and takes a few grounding, deep breaths as a few more tears escape her lashes, and then she nods again.
“I would love to get coffee with you right now. I live close, if you want. I’m sure I have a shirt you can change into, and I can wash that one. You...you look about my size.”
I look back at Claire and find her crying, too.
“I can grab us new coffees,” she says. “Toffee latte?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, please.”
My mom and I respond at the same time, and then we share a smile.
“And a scone?” I ask, and she nods.
“That would be lovely.”