Far from the Tree(68)
“Your mom also mentioned that you recently spent time with a boy, and when they tried to discuss that with you, you got a little upset.”
“She tried to tear the roof off the house,” Grace’s dad clarified, but he sounded like he was trying to make a joke.
Grace wasn’t laughing.
“I got mad,” she said, shooting a look at her dad, “because Elaine from down the street called them to tell them that I had lunch with a boy, like it was a freaking crime or something.”
“Grace,” her mom said, “we weren’t upset. We’re just worried about you. You seem so . . . you’re not yourself, sweetheart.”
“Of course I’m not myself!” Grace cried. “I had a baby and then gave her away! I don’t even recognize who I am anymore! You act like I’m just going to go back to high school and go to dances and prom and everything, but none of that has happened. I can’t even go to the mall without people whispering about me, calling me a slut! You want a daughter back who doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Sweetheart, we know how much Max hurt you,” her dad started to say, but Grace turned in her seat, her hand out.
“Do not say his name,” she said. “Do not even say it. I hate him.”
“We just don’t want you to get hurt the same way again,” her mom said. “We just think you need more time to heal.”
“You don’t get it!” Grace cried. “I’m not going to heal from this! You keep acting like I’m going to explode at any moment, and if you don’t say anything long enough, that I’ll forget about my baby”—the word got caught in her throat and she had to almost spit it out to get it out of her—“and it’ll all be fine! That’s what you always do! You pretend like something didn’t happen, and then eventually, it’s like no one remembers that it did happen. You did the same thing with me!”
The silence after Grace’s outburst felt especially loud. “What do you mean, Grace?” Michael asked. Grace had almost forgotten that the therapist was even in the room. She wondered if he was regretting agreeing to meet with them in the first place.
“It’s like . . .” She tried to find the words that would sum up her feelings. “Like they said that if I ever wanted to know about my adoption, that all I had to do was ask them. But why was that my responsibility? Why did I have to be the one who asked? Why couldn’t they be the ones to tell me about it?”
Grace’s mom had tears in her eyes. “We just didn’t want to give you too much information.”
“No!” Grace cried. “You thought that if I knew about my biological mom, I would try to find her, and that scared the shit out of you.”
“Why do you keep those photos of Milly hidden?” her mom suddenly asked her.
“What?” Grace said. “How did you see those?”
“In your desk drawer,” she said. “I was putting back some of your pens that I found in my car and I saw them.” Her mom’s eyes filled with tears as she added, “Why are you hiding them from us? I know you miss your daughter, Gracie, but we miss our granddaughter and our daughter. We only wish you’d talk to us.”
Grace’s dad was nodding his head.
Grace felt the tears slip down her cheeks and she quickly slapped them away. “Why is it always on me to talk to you?” she asked. “Why can’t you talk to me?”
“Because we don’t want you to be sad,” her dad said, sounding every bit as sad as he didn’t want Grace to feel. “We didn’t want you to think that you weren’t wanted, and we saw what you were like when you came home from the hospital after having her. We don’t want to do anything that would make you feel that bad again.” He glanced at Grace’s mom before adding, “We’ve made a lot of mistakes, I think. But we love you more than anything. And God, Grace, we’re trying to make it better, but we don’t know how to fix you.”
Grace tried desperately not to think of the hospital, of that drive home that felt like it was tearing something out of her body, the farther away she got from Peach. “I want to find my biological mom,” she said. “I want her to know that I’m okay. And I want you to be okay with that.”
“We are,” Grace’s mom said. “We will be. Whatever you need, Gracie. We’re always going to be there for you, no matter what.”
Grace remembered how tight her mom’s grip had been on her hand during her contractions, how she had never left Grace’s side, how her dad had watched Netflix for hours with her without saying a word. The older she got, the more human her parents seemed, and that was one of the scariest things in the world. She missed being little, when they were the all-knowing gods of her world, but at the same time, seeing them as human made it easier to see herself that way, too.
“Grace, have you talked to any other girls who have been through this?” Michael asked. “A support group, maybe?”
Grace shook her head. Talking to strangers about Peach seemed impossible, almost like a betrayal.
“There are a lot of girls who are in the same situation you’re in,” Michael said, but his tone was gentle. “Is that something we can maybe explore, at least?”
Grace nodded.
“I think we’re going to make some really good progress in this room,” Michael said with a grin, and Grace sat back in her seat and closed her eyes.