One Pink Line (9 page)

My mom gasped, slapped a hand over her mouth and began to cry.

Dad leaned over to me and gave me a high-five. “Nice work, Gracie.”

I slapped his hand, and took the credit he was giving me for pulling it off. It was a great day, and Mom let Patch and I name the cats. Tiger and Grey-Grey

The only other times I’d seen her cry, up until that point, were once in a huge argument with my dad and once when Patch fell out of a tree. The next time she cried was sitting there in the nurse’s office, holding my limp hand.

She took a few deep breaths before making eye contact with me. “Grace, your dad and I love you very much,” she started. “And I was hoping he could be here with me today.”

“At the nurse?”

“No, not at the nurse, be here when you learned about how you and he came into my life…our lives.”

I studied her face, but did not have the maturity to comprehend what she might say. All I remember was being worried, and for the first time in my life, having a sixth sense that something was very wrong. My mother’s eyes were glassy.

“I’m scared,” I said.

She tilted her head and touched my long hair with her other hand. “What are you scared about?”

“I’m scared that I’m not your daughter.”

Her lips pursed into half of a smile. “Of course you’re my daughter, and I love you more than anything,” she said emphatically. “You know that.”

“Then how was I
conceived,
and why are you and Nurse Goode acting so weird?”

“Your dad is not your biological father,” she said, but she could tell from my expression that I was going to need a little more clarification. She cleared her throat. “When I was in college, I had
intercourse
with another man, not your dad, and I got pregnant,” she formulated a smile and looked at me to make sure I was following along. “And once I realized that I was pregnant, I was so excited, and so thrilled to be blessed with a baby.”

“Why didn’t you have sex with Dad?”

She released the glove. “Your dad and I weren’t together at the time, and I hadn’t planned on having a baby back then; it just happened. And I thank God that it did, because now we have you, and we can’t imagine our lives without you,” she mustered a smile.

I was shocked. “Oh my God,” I couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Does daddy know?”

“Yes, he does.”

“Who is my real dad?” I asked, and the words hung in the air like a bad odor. The question made my mother’s body recoil, but I repeated it. “Who is my real dad?”

She sniffed and reached for a tissue from atop Nurse Goode’s desk. “Your dad who loves you, and kisses you every night is your real dad. Your biological father is a man I had a friendship with a long time ago,” she said.

“Where is he?”

“He lives out of state, with his family.”

His family? Wasn’t I his family? Suddenly it was like I was trapped at the bottom of a sewer pipe, and my mom was above ground trying to shout down to me. I felt alone. Removed. Deceived.

My head fell into my hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I looked up. My hands were stiff. “How could you not tell me this?” I begged for an answer.

She was weak and defenseless. “I have always planned on telling you, but I didn’t just want to drop a bomb. I figured that once you learned about human sexuality, and how babies were made, that you’d come to me with questions,” she muttered. “This was certainly not where I pictured having the conversation.”

She reached for my hand again but I stood and crossed my arms.

“Let’s go home, Grace, daddy is going to meet us there,” her voice was quieter.

“I don’t want to see him.”

She sighed loudly. “Grace, he loves you, and he wants us to be together.”

“What about Patch? Who’s his dad?”

“Patch came from daddy and me.”

Of course he did. That lucky little piece of annoying filth. My life began to flash before my eyes.

My freakish height.

My Nana Lynne.

My lack of resemblance to my dad and my brother.

What would my friends think?

How was I to bear this humiliation?

Why hadn’t my real father ever called me?

We looked at each other for a moment, my mom and I, both our faces worried and confused.

“I don’t want anyone to know,” I blurted out.

“Well, you don’t have to say anything to anyone if you don’t want to, but there are a few people who know in the family already.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Like who?”

“Like, your grandparents and aunts and uncles, and everyone who loves you and has been in your life since the day you were born.”

I clenched my teeth and it hurt my brain, but the throbbing was a welcome distraction to the topic of discussion.

“Let’s go home Grace, and let Nurse Goode back in her office.”

“I’m not going home, it’s almost lunch period and I want to stay at school.”

Mom looked at me with sad eyes, wishing I would join her with enthusiasm as I would under normal circumstances. “I’d rather not leave you here, sweetie.”

“Well, I’m staying,” I insisted and grabbed my backpack. I brushed past my mom and she let me by without saying anything further. The nurse was sitting outside writing on a clipboard as I left her in my wake as well. I ran into the nearest bathroom and cried into a brown, kraft paper towel that scratched my face. Trapped and alone.

When I came home from school that day, my dad was not home, like Mom had said, so I went straight upstairs and locked myself in my room. Two hours later, there was a knock at my door.

“I’m asleep,” I said.

“It’s me, Gracie, can I come in?” my dad asked. His voice, which was normally a source of comfort, was instead embarrassing for me to hear, and felt distant.

I didn’t want to see him. I was so angry with both of them for lying to me, but I loved my dad, and deep down, I wanted so badly to be consoled.

He knocked again. “Can I come in, please?”

I opened the door and then sat at my desk chair facing the wall, not wanting to look at him.

“Thank you,” he said, and sat on my bed behind me. “Your mother told me what happened today, and she’s very upset. I don’t think I have to tell you how much we both love you, but I’m going to say it anyway, because I don’t want you to doubt it, or forget it for one second,” he said. “You mean everything to us, we love you more than anything, and to see you hurting like this is even more painful for us, if you can believe it,” he paused. “I’m sure you must have lots of questions, so I want you to know that I will answer anything you ask. Anything.”

He was right about one thing; I had hundreds of questions, but no idea where to begin. “Why did everyone lie to me?”

“We didn’t lie, Grace, we just hadn’t told you everything yet. We had planned on it; we just didn’t want to scare you at any point. I’m terribly sorry that it had to unfold this way.”

I was twirling a pencil and staring at the fraying stickers on my desktop, while my dad and I sat in silence. All I wanted to do was run over to him and have him wrap me in his strong arms, but my stubborn nature kept me firmly planted on the chair.

“Well you both were wrong, you should have told me,” I said after two dreadfully long minutes.

“Yes, we should have.”

“And now I feel stupid, and like I’m not part of this family.”

“Well you are.”

“And I’m so mad at you,” I started to cry, and the tears came pouring out, soaking my homework. I didn’t move to wipe them off my face because I didn’t want him to know how upset I was, but he walked over to me and knelt beside my chair. I threw myself on his shoulder and he held me.

“I’m so sorry, Gracie, I love you so much.”

I knew he did.

Mom came in my room after he left. “Can we talk?”

There were so many questions spinning around in my head, first and foremost, when could I meet my real father. But I couldn’t muster the energy to talk about it any longer that evening. “Not now,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

I went to my closet and grabbed a pair of pajamas from the bottom drawer of my dresser. “I’m sure.”

Mom placed a glass of ice water on the nightstand next to my bed. Then she walked over to me, leaned up and kissed my cheek. “I love you, sweetie, goodnight.” She squeezed my elbow and started to leave the room.

“Mom,” I said.

She turned around at the doorway. “Yeah?”

“I want to talk to my dad, my real dad, and I want you to call him tomorrow.”

CHAPTER NINE

Sydney

M
y college roommate was a girl named Louise Anderson. And like most people who went to Purdue, she was from a small town in Indiana, and was floored when I told her my high school graduating class had 1,200 people in it. Hers had 220.

Louise was a nice, simple girl. She had long blond hair and wore glasses with no make-up. Very Jan Brady, the later years. She attended services at the campus church every Sunday and Wednesday mornings, bible study on Saturdays, and in her spare time, she read Christian novels. Pretty much we had nothing in common, other than we both had boyfriends we’d left behind in search of higher education. Louise had dated her boyfriend, Mark, since the sixth grade. He grew up on a dairy farm, and was set to take over his family’s business one day. She told me all about it in great detail, but all I wondered was if they’d had sex or not, and how offended she’d be if I asked.

We hung out and ate meals together that first week because neither of us knew anyone else. But by week two, I was eager to find some other girls who were interested in sneaking liquor or weed into the dorm.

One of the first girls I met was Jenna Fielding. She was in a room across the hall and two doors down from Louise and I. Jenna was also from Chicago, but not the suburbs like me, she’d grown up in the city and attended private schools her whole life. She’d wanted to go to NYU, but her parents were both Purdue Alumni, and said they wouldn’t pay for her to go anywhere else. I think I initially gravitated to her because she reminded me of Taylor. She was really pretty, had similar dark features, and after only one week of being on campus, she had loads of friends. Her roommate was a basic carbon copy of Louise, so we begged them to do a roomie swap with us, but since it was against the rules they both declined.

I talked to Ethan all the time in the beginning. We had scheduled times each day so that we wouldn’t miss each other’s call, and if we did miss one, we had back-up call times. Sometimes when I hadn’t heard from him, my stomach would cramp up, and I couldn’t relax until I heard the sound of his voice. Jenna would make fun of me, and did her best to understand our relationship, but mostly she’d try and encourage me to go out and meet other guys.

“Sigma Chi is having a toga party on Saturday, underwear optional, with thirty kegs,” she informed me. “And you and I are going.”

I smiled. “I see, underwear is optional, but my attendance is not.”

“Correct.”

Most of our weekends consisted of much the same conversations. And unlike high school, weekends in college started on Thursday night. She and I, and some other girls we’d befriended at the dorm would flirt our way into frat parties and drink for free until one of us puked or passed out. Then I’d crawl into bed and call Ethan in the wee hours of the night, either waking him or not reaching him at all. If I did reach him, we’d talk on the phone for hours, oftentimes falling asleep with the receiver on my pillow. Behavior that would earn me two days of the silent treatment from Louise.

By early October, Ethan and I had begun to talk of nothing but our Fall break, and despite a few flirtatious evenings with drunken fraternity boys, I was really looking forward to seeing him back at home.

One morning, Jenna rushed into my room. “You’re not going to believe this!” she screamed.

“What’s up?”

“My parents are taking me to New York for October break, and they said I could bring a friend,” she looked at me waiting for my equally enthusiastic reaction, but I didn’t have one. “I’m inviting you, you moron!”