Felix got dressed and started bringing boxes up to my apartment. My fragile good mood vanished, and I felt fear, anger, and curiosity, all battling in my heart at the sight of them.

I started pacing and fussing, and pushed items back against the wall to make room.

As he brought the last box in, I made a decision.

“Thanks,” I said as he dropped the box on the floor, giving it a shove with his toe.

“Listen. I’d like to go through these on my own. I just think I’m going to want to fully digest things, take notes, you know. It’s going to take a long time, and I want it to be private.” I watched his reaction carefully.

“Oh, duh! That makes total sense. But if you want to take a break, or need to talk, it’s no trouble, just call,” he said, giving my arm a squeeze. I leaned in for a kiss, and we lingered there, sharing a moment of connection. He grabbed his bag, and headed out the door.

I spent the rest of the day going through the boxes as methodically as possible. I separated out items from my own childhood, and concentrated on creating piles for the legal adoption papers, the correspondence, and the newspaper clippings in order, by date. I learned that my birth mother went by the name Shake, though I didn’t know if that was her real name. According to a few enthusiastic reporters, she was named that for her signature trembling during the knife-throwing act. Apparently she and her knife-throwing partner had been in a long-term relationship. I studied his picture carefully for signs that he was my birth father. There was no mention of him, dating back to about two years ago, and I wondered what happened as she was billed with a new partner in the act after that.

I saw glimmers of myself in her face, though the pictures weren’t very good, being both faded and newspaper print. I got lost wondering what she was like, if she knew about my Dad’s death. Although, of course no one would think to tell her. I felt a pang of fear at the idea of reaching out to her.

I could also see from the letters that, while my Dad was forthcoming and even shared information freely about me while I was growing up, he never discussed what happened with his wife, nor any of his personal feelings with Shake. She would occasionally inquire after him, and he always said he was fine and well. It was just so typical of him to not allow people to worry, and seeing his handwriting brought tears and grief to the surface. Despite how unremarkable my dad was, he was totally remarkable to me in that he was kind, fatherly, and so totally pedestrian about it. He had strived for normality, and I’d always thought of normal as boring. I could see now that he had been gifting me with a sense of honor and family. A sense of belonging to someone.

My anger at him began to fade, as I saw him secretly scheming to get as much information for me as possible. I was angry that I didn’t have him to share it with, but I wasn’t angry with him directly, not anymore.

By the end of the day, I felt wrung out, especially after my long night with Felix. I gave him a quick call to let him know I was ok, and I gave Jana a call to make sure she was still coming. She confirmed she’d be there early in the morning. I was grateful, and fell into bed early after a light dinner.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

In the morning, Jana rang the bell and came quickly into my studio. In a heartbeat, she took in my face, the apartment, the boxes everywhere, and my mental state. I couldn’t hide anything from Jana; it was a gift of hers. She pulled me tightly into her arms, and we sat down on my bed, just hugging for a few minutes. Finally, she said, “I’m not sure what to say, but I’m sorry this is all happening at once. When it rains, it pours, huh?” She shook her head.

“I’m just glad you are here. Thanks for coming. You know I love hanging with Felix, but he’s…new. And intense. I don’t know who or what I can trust, and you are one of the things that doesn’t shake me.” I started laughing bitterly, realizing the pun on my mother’s name. Jana looked alarmed. I composed myself, and filled her in on the details of yesterday. Jana had to close her mouth a few times.

“I can’t believe he never told you, or left you a note, or anything. Honey, I’m so sorry,” she repeated, looking around at the boxes.

I explained my system to her, and we picked up where I had left off yesterday. We sat in easy silence, occasionally rustling papers, or smiling at each other in comfort. Just having another woman with me helped my sadness. Without asking, Jana went into the kitchen after a few hours to throw together some lunch. She came back with a few slices of cold pizza and some lemonade. We ate companionably and discussed our findings. It was more of the same with a few extra details. We found out that in the last few letters to Dad, all dated within the last year, Shake had referred to a brief brush with cancer and renewed her request to see me. Dad’s letters back to her admitted that I was of age to be contacted, but indicated that the stipulation of the adoption contract showed that I had to initiate contact in order for her to see me. His letters were dated less than six months ago.

“Oh God,” I whispered, the pizza slice forgotten in my hand.

“What is it?” Jana asked, concerned.

“It’s just … I thought that his health problems were coming from him stressing out about my career, and not pursuing a more normal job. I kept thinking it was my fault that he had that stroke. I already know you are going to tell me I’m being ridiculous. But it looks like he was worried about Shake reaching out to us, getting more demanding about meeting me! It’s just so stupid he didn’t talk to me!”

Frustrated, I got up and walked over to the window, yanked open the latch and slid the window back, cold air rushing in. It braced me and kept me from breaking down again. I heard Jana’s voice behind me.

“That’s a lousy thing to do. He lied and coddled you. As if you couldn’t handle it,” she said calmly. I turned around, stunned.

“That’s exactly right. I don’t want to be mad at him. I’m trying to understand why he so obviously didn’t trust me to handle this like an adult. It’s not as if I haven’t had my own doubts, wondering, making up stories and daydreams my whole life. I get that he was disappointed in the direction he saw me going, but it’s my life, and I have to make my own mistakes and choices. Holding this relationship hostage, arranging for a semi-open adoption, then not letting me even know about her, it was too much. It IS too much.”

I made a decision right then. Turning my back to the window, I announced, “Jana. I want to meet her.”

“Just like that?”

“No, not quite yet. I need to get through all this information, make sure there aren’t any other surprises. But soon.”

“Wow. Talk about surprises.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“I do, honey. I support you no matter what. But it really is totally your decision. You can’t undo anything you hear or experience, so make sure you want to do this.”

“I hear you. And thank you. But I think it’s time. Worrying about this obviously contributed to bringing him some pain, maybe contributed to his death. I don’t want the unknown to hold me back like it did him.” Jana came over to me, and hugged me tightly. I hugged her back, and we both took a deep breath.

“Let’s finish our pizza, ok? I love that pesto chicken,” she said, poking me in the arm.

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I buy it. Love you,” I said, softly.

“Love you too, jelly bean,” she said, toasting me with her lemonade.