Finding Laila: Some Changes are Necessary (15 page)

Dad
leans over and takes my hand in his. “You are the baby we always wanted but
couldn’t have on our own.”

My
head is spinning over this confession at the hands of my parents. The people I
love more than anything in this world. Two people I’ve known and trusted my
whole life are telling me things that I can’t seem to wrap my mind around. My
eyes burn as tears begin to
form,
yet I can’t seem to
pull my gaze away from the two strangers who raised me.

“What
are you talking about?” I demand through clenched teeth. I can feel my nose
tingle and my entire body feels like it’s one hundred degrees.

“When
we got married, we wanted to start a family right away,” Mom says quietly as
tears continue to fall, “but after years of trying, doctors told us that our
chances of conceiving were slim to none and suggested we search other options.”
She drops her head as a sob escapes her and I look to my dad, who looks equally
upset.

“It
was another year before we found someone,” he sighs. “She wanted an open
adoption, but only because she wanted to be there when you were older, if you
had any questions.”

The
tears
spill out of my eyes as I listen to my parents tell
me a story that seems too unreal to be true. They are both willing to answer my
questions and fill in any gaps, but I’m in a state of shock.

“But
you had Luka,” I finally say when I calm down enough. “I felt her move in your stomach.
So you had a baby of your own.”

“We
did, but it never made us love you any less. You’re our baby, too,” Mom sobs.

I
shake my head furiously, still trying to understand.

“Why
today? Why my birthday, of all days? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I yell,
even as my mom winces from the bite in my tone. “Just ready to finally get rid
of me? I’m too old and too much of a burden, thank God you have a real kid to
take care of!”

“Laila
Jude,” my dad shouts, “you will not talk to your mother and me like that. Do
you understand?”

I
jump off the bed and run to my door without giving them time to stop me. Just
before I close the door, I turn to them and look my dad in the eye with all the
anger I can muster. “Apparently I’m not your concern since I’m not your daughter.”

I
slam the door and stop for a moment to hear my mom wail in pain from my words.
If I don’t hurry, they’ll be behind me in a flash, so I grab the car keys and
run out the back door without so much as a ‘see you later.’

What’s the point? Why
should I tell them anything, since it’s apparently okay to keep secrets…for
someone’s entire life!

“Laila,” I hear my dad yell as I back
down the driveway, but I don’t stop. I don’t want to hear anything else they
have to say. I don’t know where I’m heading, but I can think of a few places
that are out of the question and the quarry is one of them. It will be the
first place they’ll look.

My
phone is in my purse and the familiar ring I assigned to my parents sounds but I
ignore and silence it since there is nothing I want to hear from them anyway.
Mom told me once that driving while in an emotional state isn’t exactly wise,
and considering the blurry view I’m able to obtain through the tears, I can
understand why now.

“How
could they keep this from me?” I scream past the lump in my throat.

My
entire life has been a lie. I don’t have my mom’s eyes or my dad’s odd sense of
humor. There is nothing of me that is from them because
I’m
not from them.

Memories
flood my mind and every one of them hurts my heart.

Christmases with Grandma.
Oh
my gosh
, she’s not even my grandma!

The
family reunions in Oklahoma with Dad’s side of the family where people would
surround me and comment on how tall I was or how my features must be from Mom’s
side of the family. How did I not pick up on these little things?

The
uncontrollable sobbing is hurting my chest and I can hardly keep my eyes open
as I drive, so I pull off to the side of the road without looking to see where
I’ve ended up. It feels as if I’ve been driving for hours, but in reality it’s
only been one.

I
throw the car into park and take the keys out of the engine while I try to
compose myself and see my phone glowing again from my purse. Hesitantly, I pull
it out and see a string of texts, missed calls and messages—none of which
I have the least interest in returning, but I read through them.

Dad: Please come back home

Mom: We need to talk

Dad: Where are you?

Haden: Your mom just called
me freaking out. What’s going on? Are you okay?

Mom: Laila, you need to
come back. I’m so sorry.

Joey: What’s going on?
Where are you? I’ll come get you

Bailey: Joey is freaking
out. Call me

Dad: Get back here now

Braxton: Why is everyone
looking for you?

Cole: The Instagram stuff
wasn’t that bad was it? ;) Where are you?

Haden: Joey asked if you
were with me. Go to the gallery, I’ll meet you there.

The
last message from Haden was sent two minutes ago and the gallery is only a
fifteen-minute drive from here. As I’m about to send him a message, my phone
vibrates in my hand and I immediately answer it when I see Joey’s face flash on
the screen.

“What’s
going on?” he asks without saying hello.

“I
can’t,” I sob again as tears stream down my face. “They lied.”

“Who
lied? Where are you? You’re worrying me, Lai.”

“I’ll
be fine.” I lie, because right now I’m not sure I will be. “I just need to be
alone.”

“You
don’t need to be alone, you need to go home. Your mom is freaking out.”

“I
really don’t give a damn, Joey!” I yell at his defense of her.

“You
should—she’s your mom. What did she do that’s so terrible?”

“I
can’t talk right now. I gotta go.”

I
hang up the phone and wipe my face on my shirt before I look at my reflection
in the rearview mirror. Red nose, glassy eyes, splotchy face, and smeared mascara
stare back at me but I do my best to recover before turning the car back on. In
all the years that Joey and I have been friends, I don’t think I’ve ever hung
up on him, let alone yelled at him, but he said the wrong thing. He’s supposed
to be on my side, not theirs.

The
morning traffic is starting to get heavy, but the gallery isn’t too far away
and I have a feeling that Haden is already there. When I turn down Main Street,
the small boutique stores are only beginning to open but the small coffee shop
is busy. Any other day, I’d probably enjoy the
people-watching
,
but at the moment, my goal is to get to the building at the end of the road
where I hope Haden is waiting.

The
gallery is next door to a small bakery that is known for its homemade muffins,
so there is no place for me to park this early—which means I’ll have to
go to the back. The gravel crunches beneath the tires while I slowly make my
way to the rear entrance and pull to a stop. There is only one other car here,
and it’s not Haden’s.

Instead
of waiting for him, I climb out of the car and head to the entrance and take a
seat on the bench where cigarette butts litter the ground. My tears start
falling again, despite my efforts to be strong.

I
don’t want to cry.

I
want to be angry. I want to yell and say hateful things and make them hurt as
much as I hurt. But I don’t have the energy.

“Hey,”
I hear Haden call to me when he shuts his car door.

I
don’t say a word, and when he sees my appearance he rushes toward me. He pulls
me into his arms and melts to the ground with me as I sob anew.

“
Shh
,” he coos, smoothing my hair and holding me so close I
can hear his heartbeat. “I’m right here. You’re going to be okay.”

I
shake my head in disagreement, still unable to force my voice to work.

Slowly,
he moves his hands to my shoulders to push me away so he can see my face.
Concern is etched across his features, a question he doesn’t seem to want to
ask when he wipes the tears from my eyes.

“I
hate them,” I cry out. “I love them and I hate them and I don’t know what to
do.”

“Can
you tell me what happened?”

I
nod my head and take a deep breath in an effort to calm myself. He helps me to
my feet and holds my hand as he leads me to the back entrance of the gallery.
Stefon must have given him a key, because he opens the door and takes me to the
lounge to have a seat on the red velvet couch.

Haden
grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and hands it to me before sitting down
and pulling me into his arms. I can’t make myself look at him and he seems to
understand. He leans against the armrest and pulls me back so I am resting
against his chest with his arms wrapped around me protectively. His patience
and kindness cause my heart to swell so that I am finally able to speak.

“This
morning, my parents told me that I was adopted.”

“What?”
he gasps in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

I
lean forward so I can look at his face, but he holds me tighter and I realize
the question was rhetorical.

“Happy
birthday to me,” I mutter. “My entire life, they have told me how special I am
and how much they love me. Every time someone asked them where I got my
abilities, they claimed from them, but it was a lie. I’m not their daughter.”

“Lai?”
He says my name as if he’s asking permission to speak, so I stay quiet. “You’re
their daughter in every way that counts. Have you ever doubted that they love
you or want what’s best for you?”

I
shake my head and he leans forward so his face is next to mine.

“I’m
not going to lie and say I understand why they never told you sooner or that I
know what you’re going through, because I don’t. But they do love you.”

“I
know they do,” I agree as the tears fill my eyes again. “But how could they
keep this from me?”

“I
think that’s something you’d have to ask them.”

“Hey
guys, you aren’t my real parents, and you’ve kept the truth from me for
eighteen years. Why now? On my damn birthday?” I scoff at the potential
argument.

“Would
it have been better if they told you when you were ten? Or waited a day and
then told you?” he asks.

“That’s
not the point,” I argue. “Haden, this is huge. And I feel like the biggest
idiot for not seeing it sooner. I mean
,
I look nothing
like either of them. I used to wonder if I was adopted because I didn’t look
like anyone in my family, but that’s what kids do—but they never really
expect it to turn out true. It’s one of those weird things that everyone
wonders at some point. Right? I mean, Mom is tall, blonde, and curvy—I’m
brunette, blue-green eyes, and look like a stick. Dad is heavyset, brown eyes,
and a freaking doctor—I’m nothing like either of them.”

“I
get it,” he says, but I cut him off and jump to my feet to pace around the
room.

“No,
you don’t get it.
I
don’t get it,” I
admit. “How is this happening? How can I have so much anger, sadness, and
curiosity all at one time? It brings so many questions that I’m not sure I want
the answers to.”

“Like
what?”

“Like,
who’s my birth mom?” I drop my head to my hands and huff a disbelieving laugh.
“Birth mom. What the hell? Two words I never thought would come out of my mouth
about myself. But here I am wondering about her. Do they know who she is and
where I can find her? What about my dad? Does he even know I exist? Do I have
any other siblings?”

I
drop back to the couch and look up at the ceiling, willing the tears to stay
away. I don’t want to
cry,
yet I can’t seem to turn
the faucet off.

“Haden—I
don’t think I can handle this,” I say unwilling to look at him. “I don’t want
to.”

He
reaches out to hold my hand and waits for me to look at him. When I finally do,
he moves closer and gives me a simple kiss, calming my nerves. He leans his
forehead against mine and takes a deep breath and I close my eyes, feeling the
weight of everything on my shoulders.

“Lai,”
he whispers, “you can handle this. I know you’re hurting and you’re pissed off
right now. You have every right to be. But you are the strongest person I know
and you can do this—you have to. It sucks, but this isn’t the end of the
world and I’ll be here for you to do whatever you need.”

“I
need to go back, don’t I?”

Haden
leans back to look at me and offers a small smile that melts my cold, angry
heart. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But I think you
should.”

“Thank
you,” I sigh.

“For
what?”

“Telling
me what I
need
to hear, not what I
want
to hear.” I attempt to smile at
him.

“So
if I remind you that I love you right now, where does that fit?”

“It’s
what I want and need right now,” I tell him truthfully.

“There’s
no rush. We can sit here and talk—or not—for as long as you want.”

“Okay,”
I agree, saying nothing more.

“Not
exactly the birthday you expected, huh?”

“You
know, I thought new clothes, new phone,
maybe
a new car—but new mom never crossed my mind,” I say, trying to make a
joke.

“Did
they tell you anything about her?”

I
let out a small laugh and shake my head. “I didn’t really give them a chance.”

“So
what now?”

“I
guess I should go home and talk to them—get some answers,” I say.

He
stands up and extends his hand to help me to my feet. I rise up on my toes and
wrap my arms around his neck as he wraps his arms around my waist to hold me. I
feel safe and loved, but when he kisses the top of my head, I feel special.

“I
love you, Laila. And you know that all of us will be here for you.”

“I
love you, too,” I answer into his neck. “So much.”

“Can
I drive you back home? We can get the car later.”

I
don’t answer; I simply nod, and he squeezes me tight before leading me back
outside to face the music.