Truth Undressed (Exposed Series, #3) (2 page)

When you came into my life recently, I wondered every day if I
should tell you the truth. But I didn’t for several reasons. The first is that
I’m a coward, and the day you showed up at my door and asked if you could stay
was the best day of my entire life. Also, I was worried if I told you the
truth, you might walk out on me when I needed you most. Which I would have
deserved because that’s what I did to you.

The other reason I didn’t tell you was because I could see you
were in trouble. And as your biological mother and a mental health professional,
I was prepared to do anything I could do to help you. Which meant keeping the
truth from you even longer. After all, if I told you the truth, I would have
lost any credibility I had with you.

As far as before you showed up, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you
more while you were growing up. I did try in the beginning when you were little,
but it was too hard for me. Much harder than I thought it would be. I still
remember the pain I felt when I saw how beautiful and funny you were, and what
it felt like when Carol told me about your first step, your first word.

Every time I saw you I had to resist the urge to scoop you up
and run away with you. Every time. Because I didn’t want to confuse you. Or me.

I can’t tell you how many times I tried to convince myself that
I should take you back, but I had nothing to offer you, Kate. Nothing. Except a
mother’s love. And that wasn’t enough. Not for you. You deserved more. I wanted
you to have opportunities, stability, and a good education. Which meant you were
better off with Carol and Fred.

Eventually, I stopped coming around. Not because I was avoiding
you, but because I started to resent my sister. For what she did to me. Which
was totally unfair because she probably saved both our lives.

What I resented most was that she could take care of you not
only in the ways I couldn’t, but also in the ways I thought only I could.
Eventually, I convinced myself that she was a child thieving bitch. Even though
I’ve always known there’s not a malicious bone in her body.

But that’s the problem with lies. You tell them enough and you
can’t remember the truth anymore. You can no longer see the difference between
what’s real and what’s fabricated. Once you get to that point, you can’t find
your way back even if you want to. I think that’s what happened to me. I had to
convince myself so thoroughly that you weren’t mine just so I could move on
that when you showed up, the truth was buried so deep I didn’t think it was
worth mentioning.

Maybe you think that’s a bogus excuse. I don’t disagree. And I’m
sure you’re angry. I’m sure you think I’m selfish for not telling you this in
person, and you have a right to feel those things.

But make sure you direct your anger at me. Not yourself. Not Fred
and Carol. I’m the one you should be mad at. I’m the one that’s responsible for
the lies you’ve been told. No one else. I’m probably liable for anything you
don’t like about yourself, too. So please blame me if you want to blame someone.

But please also know that- whether you agree with our decision
or not- we were all just trying to do what was best for you.

I know the truth doesn’t make up for my absence. Believe me I
know. But I am so grateful for every minute you spent with me these past few
months. I hope you can forgive me for not wanting to do anything to jeopardize
it.

It was a pleasure getting to know you. You have such a bright
mind, so many natural gifts, and you’re so beautiful. If you can learn to love
yourself like Carol, Fred, and I have always loved you, you’ll be able to
achieve anything you set your heart to.

Because you are my only child, I wanted to leave you something,
but as you know, I never had much. The only thing I can really give you is the
opportunity to get to know me better. To know what my life was about, to learn
from my mistakes and what I think I did right. In my own words.

Maybe you’ll read it and decide it was just a last exercise in
my personal vanity. But maybe you'll find a wise takeaway or two mixed in from
which you can benefit.

Basically, after much reflection, I realized that I was never
happier in my life than when I was loving and being loved. And you can’t have
one without the other. Maybe that sounds obvious, but I wish I’d realized it
sooner. Because in the last years of my life, I stopped loving as freely as I
once did. As a result, I experienced less love in return.

I know this change didn’t give me cancer, but my isolation did feel
similar in the way it set in, the way it grew and fed on itself. And I don’t
want that for you. I want you to learn from my mistakes and remember to make
love a priority.

Because no matter what you’re going through, nothing can keep
you afloat as well as love can. Plus, it will keep you young and it will keep
things interesting. And if you play your cards right, you can have some great
adventures without even getting out of bed.

As you well know, because I didn’t raise you and I’m not a
prude, I feel comfortable telling you things that no one else will say to you.
Partly because they aren’t qualified. But I am. In fact, discussing love and
sex is one of the only things I’m qualified to do.

In the end, I wrote this stuff down because I love you and
because I don’t think women are honest enough with each other. Especially about
the realities of sex and relationships. And I can’t change the world, but if I
can help make your journey through life a bit more enjoyable, that’s enough for
me.

When you’re done being angry at me, I hope you’ll read it.

Love always,

Dawn

Ps- This is my high school graduation photo in case you have any
doubt. And yes, I thought that perm looked good at the time.

My hands were shaking by the time I got to the end of the
letter. Then I just stared at the photograph. I’d never seen anyone who looked more
like me in my whole life. And it was Dawn? Dawn was my real Mom and Carol was
my Aunt? What the fuck? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

It was so surreal I was sure I was just having a dream. A dream
that I was John Lennon. It had to be some kind of joke.

I looked up and Tina was just sitting there straight faced like
she was waiting for me to say something.

What was there to say? I couldn’t have said something even if I
wanted to. I felt like I’d swallowed my tongue. I looked at the urn on the
mantelpiece. It couldn’t be true. There were so many reasons it couldn’t be
true.

I mean, if it was, then my “parents” had not only lied to me my
whole life, but they just sat there while I watched my real Mom die without
telling me. And it meant I didn’t even know who my real Dad was.

Sure there were times I felt like I was adopted because my Mom
and I didn’t have much in common. But that was because I was a teenager. Not
because she was my Aunt! No one was ever really switched at birth!

And what about the things Dawn talked to me about? Masturbation?
Birth control? Nobody’s mom talks to them about that stuff.

And what about Chris? I had a brother. If my parents couldn’t
have kids how did he get here? He was like them, too. Anyone could see that.

Most of all, it couldn’t be true because I had enough problems.
I didn’t need some Jerry Springer paternity scandal dropped on my head when I
was trying to graduate, trying to get into college, trying to keep my food down,
and trying to figure out where I stood with Kevin.

I looked back at the picture of Dawn at my age. There was no
denying that she looked like me. Or I looked like her. But if it was true, it
would mean that I’d lost my Mom without realizing it, that my Mom had died and
I hadn’t even shed a tear.

My eyes began to water as I marched to where my “parents” were
sitting. I stood in front of them- so anxious I could barely speak- and held
the picture and the letter in the air.

“Is this for real?” I asked, looking back and forth between
them.

My Mom looked smaller than ever and as usual, my Dad looked at her
to figure out what he should do.

“She was my Mom?” I choked. “And you didn’t fucking tell me?”

“She didn’t want you to know,” Carol said. “She said she didn’t
want to lose you again.”

“Lose me again! She gave me away!”

Carol shook her head. “It wasn’t like that. It was for the
best.”

“Was it?” I cried. “Was it really? Because it feels like I’m a
fucking orphan!”

“You’re not an orphan, Kate,” my Dad said. “You’re our
daughter.”

“What are you saying?” I was ready to pull my hair out. “You’re
not even my Dad! I don’t even know who my Dad is!”

“Dawn said she wanted to explain everythin-”

“Explain everything?!” I felt lightheaded from the vodka and the
shouting. “Explain Chris! If you couldn’t get pregnant where did he come from?”

My Mom shrugged. “He was a surprise.” She looked at my Dad so
guiltily I thought she’d pissed herself.

“You mean he was a miracle?!”

“It happens to lots of couples,” my Dad said softly.

“A real miracle child. Wow,” I said. “You know what? That does
make sense. Everything makes a lot of sense now.”

“Kate,” my Mom said as I started up the stairs.

I spun around and tried to stare straight into her lying eyes,
but I was so angry she looked blurry. “Don’t,” I said. “Just don’t.”

I went back up to my room, pulled the vodka out of my closet, and
took a throat burning gulp. Then I sat on the edge of my bed and took another
right away. The second made my nose burn and my eyes water.

A crazy, desperate energy was coursing through my veins as I put
my trainers on. Then I ran out of the house before anyone could stop me or ask
where I was going. I was able to run down the driveway and about three houses
down until I decided that I was too drunk and out of breath to keep running.

So I walked.

And when it started to hail, I kept walking, letting the small
biting pellets of ice nick at me. I remember wondering how far I would have to walk
before the rubber soles on my shoes would wear out and whether everything would
make sense by the time that happened. And the farther I walked, the more lost I
felt. Even though I knew where I was.

Unfortunately, the hail didn’t last long before it turned to
hard rain and lightning. That’s when I turned back. I was cold within minutes
and knew it wouldn’t be long before I was frozen and soaked through. So I took
a short cut back through the soccer field at my elementary school.

Soon the lightening was cracking across the sky and the thunder
was so loud it sounded like I was right inside it. So when I got to the field I
did what I’d wanted to do since I read the letter.

I screamed.

I screamed as loud as I could into the sky until my lungs were
empty and then I fell to my knees in the mud. And then I kept screaming until my
cries turned into whimpers. Then I leaned forward and banged my fist against
the ground so hard that mud splashed up all around it.

At first I was frightened by my strength. But in the next moment
I was weak again and panting on all fours. Finally, I took a shallow breath, sat
back on my feet, and looked up at the dark clouds.

And as the rain streamed down my face, I cried for my dead
Mother.

Nothing like finding out you’re about to die makes you cling to
life.

But nobody lives forever. The closest a person can get is to
leave something worthwhile behind like inventions or art or life changing ideas.
I wish I could leave something like that behind. Something really amazing. Like
the secret to getting cats to empty their own litter boxes. Or the secret to
storing clutter in black holes. Or even just a way to make flossing less
tedious. But I ran out of time.

And unfortunately, most of the practical knowledge I have is
available to anyone with a GED and internet access. So it came down to
recording my thoughts on the only thing I’m equally passionate and qualified to
write about: the topic of female sexuality. More specifically, I want to share what
I think makes a woman a woman, how to love, and who I think every woman should
sleep with... Assuming they aren’t Mormon, Amish, oppressed, uncreative, or
uncurious.

I guess the reason I’m so passionate about this topic is because
I believe the women of my mother’s generation let me down. I don’t know if they
kept me in the dark because they thought their conservative, traditional sex
lives weren't interesting enough to talk about or whether they were just too
conservative to broach the subject. Regardless, as a professional therapist
who’s counselled dozens of couples over the last decade, I know that being
Victorian about it isn’t doing anyone any good.

When women allow sexual topics to remain taboo, they only
disempower themselves. After all, what kind of signal does it send to young
girls when they are bombarded by sexual imagery everywhere they look and
encouraged to sexualize their appearance and behavior from a young age, but
none of the adult role models in their life are actually comfortable discussing
sex and its implications with them?