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PROLOGUE
MAY
THREE MONTHS AGO
I cannot believe I am finally about to do this. I mean, I am going to do this. I am. I totally am. Right? My mind goes crazy trying to psyche myself up to open the box that was given to me on my eighteenth birthday, but with explicit instructions not to open it until my nineteenth birthday. I thought it was a joke at first. Who would be making sure I didn't just open it anyway? But once I told my best friend, Logan, he practically wrenched it out of my hand and said if that was the instruction, it must be for a good reason, and we are not doing otherwise. Yeah, he is a stickler for rules. Sort of.
“Are you ready to do this?” he asks, sitting beside me on the floor.
Biting my lip, I stare at this freaking box like if I touch it, somehow the world will end, but the truth is, my world ended eight years ago when my father committed suicide, and then my mom OD’d out of grief. I was thrown into foster care, and nothing was ever the same. The only good thing that came out of that was Logan. When I made it to the first group home, he was already there and sort of became my protector. Every year or so I would be moved from one to the other, petrified of being somewhere he wasn’t, but he managed to come with me every single time. To this day, I don’t know how he made that happen, but he did.
“As ready as I'll ever be. Don’t know why I am so nervous. What could I learn here that is more devastating than what I have already been through?” I voice this out loud, but the truth is that is exactly what I have been worried about. How much worse can it get?
“That’s a good point. But, just in case, I brought you this.” From behind his back he hands me one of two mugs we made together at a pottery place the first year we were on our own. Smiling, thinking about the day we made these. I take mine from his hands.
“Mmm. This smells delicious.” I thank him, sniffing the aroma. “Extra...”
“Marshmallows and peppermint chips. Yes. Of course.” He chuckles, finishing my sentence. I can’t help smiling because that has been our whole friendship. He has paid attention to everything about me, from incredibly tiny nuances to the major things. That is one of the reasons I am totally in love with him. But, instead of confessing that truth, I simply give him my sly smile.
“You don’t know me,” I tease him, humming when the chocolatey fragrant drink hits my tongue. My eyes are closed because the first sip is one you want to savor.
“Every fucking detail,” he grumbles. My eyes pop open and he is staring at me, his nostrils flared and jaw grinding. My insides begin to tingle, and since I don't want to choke on this hot cocoa, I swallow it and try to act like I don't notice how his eyes are making me squirmy.
“Alright. Let’s do this.” Opening the box, nothing seems familiar about anything that is in it initially. I don’t understand papers, bills that have nothing to do with me, and pictures I am unsure what to make of. But then, I come across a small locket in a plastic envelope and the tears start instantly because I know what is in it. My mom used to wear it around her neck every day. Inside is a picture of her and me as a newborn. “Momma,” I whimper, ripping the locket from the envelope and opening it up. And like a burst of sun on a rainy day, there it is, the picture I still see in my dreams.
Before I can stop myself, I am clutching it against my chest and ugly crying into Logan's arms. “Shit, May. I wish I could fix this for you,” he says, kissing the side of my head.
“Why wasn’t I enough?” I ask him, my voice wobbly and broken. “Why was I never enough?” I used to ask myself this all the time after it happened. We weren’t enough for my father and then my mom didn’t love me enough to stay either.
“You are more than enough,” he whispers. “For me.” I think that is what I heard, but what do I know? I can’t stop crying. He moves slightly and then puts another envelope in my face. “I think this might be a letter.” Sitting up a little, I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and take it from him.
“Thank you.” Opening it, I take a deep breath and read.
My sweet girl,
If you are reading this, you should be an adult now, living a free and happy life. But it also means I am not with you. I know you have questions and might not understand, but I want you to know it wasn’t you, May. You were everything we could have hoped for. You are kind, bright, and so smart. But there are things in life and choices you make that seem like a good idea at the time, but then they turn out to be painful, unfixable, and leave you without hope. I am reluctant to explain any of this to you, but after losing your father earlier this month and knowing what I am about to do, I owe you this much.
Your father and I grew up together; our families were very close. We both had religion shoved down our throats and the eventuality of eternal damnation. One day, when we were sixteen, your dad confided in me that he was gay. This shocked me, especially since I had been in love with him since we were thirteen. His telling me this, though, changed nothing for me.
Right before graduation, he came to me and asked me for the biggest favor of my life. He asked me to marry him and pretend we lived as husband and wife in the open. As you can imagine, I was taken aback, especially since being his wife was all I had ever wanted, but now, knowing what I know, I never thought it would happen. Plus, he was my best friend, and I knew if anyone ever found out about him, he would be disowned by his family and, therefore, mine as well. I couldn’t let that happen to him. So, I made a deal. I would do this for him, but he had to give me a baby. I always wanted to be a mother and he knew this. So he agreed.
I hope you remember we had a happy home filled with laughter and joy and, most of all a loving one. You never heard fighting, arguing, or anything heartbreaking because we loved you so much, my darling. But behind closed doors lies the truth.
Your father had another life he loved when no one was looking at the man he was in love with. I knew. He never lied to me. I guess I just thought one day he would look at the life we had and find we were enough. Instead, what happened was his lover died, and your father couldn’t bear it and took himself from us.
We were both so lost. I had not only lost my best friend but also my support. He left nothing to us and all to his lover, who was now dead. I couldn’t face it. I was weak. I always have been. I guess that is why I agreed to an arrangement where I would never be loved. I know you are stronger than me, my darling.
Why am I telling you all of this? Because you have a right to know that your dad did give me a baby, but not one made during a night of passion or even one made from his blood. We went to a clinic and found a specimen we both agreed on who looked the most like him, and that is how we made you, May. The uniqueness of the demands from this donor is my real reason for this letter. I cannot bear the thought of you being alone your entire life. There is a strong possibility you have siblings out there. I want you to find them and be happy, my love. Be the version of you I never got to be. Loved and free.
Love always,
Mom
I have been sobbing the entire time I have been reading this. My heart is broken for my mom, who was never loved as she deserved, pining for a relationship and a man who could never love her back. I am crying for my dad, who wasn’t free to love who he wanted, thus living a life of secrecy, and for myself, who wasn’t loved enough for anyone to choose me.
“Jesus, May. I am so fucking sorry, baby.” I catch the baby, but my mind is fighting to break through right now. Everything I have learned has stunned me, and yet it scares the shit out of me because it is oh too familiar. Is that what is happening with me and Logan? I mean, I know he is not gay, but am I still with him, living, depending on him because I am hoping for something that will never happen?
“I…I don’t think I can do this.” I hiccup and begin standing. In my mind, I am talking about handling all of this right now, but in my heart, I am speaking of him and I. I don’t want to end up like my mom. I want love. Real love, and I want to be loved. Shaking my head, I begin to move away from him when his hands hold both sides of my face.
