Looking for Jane (15)
“That’s some letter.”
“I know. And this woman, Nancy, her birth mother was at one of those maternity homes they had after the war, for unmarried mothers, you know? Religious organizations like the Catholic Church and Salvation Army ran them. I did a quick search today; it’s a part of our history I didn’t really know about, and it’s bleak as hell.”
“Poor girl.”
“Yeah.”
Tina pauses. “So, what now?”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. It seems the adoptive mother’s last wish was that this Nancy person go find her birth mother. I feel like I need to find Nancy and give her the letter and the note. She needs to know. I did the math, and the birth mother is probably still alive.”
Tina is quiet for a moment. Angela has trouble with silences; she always feels a need to fill the empty space.
“I called my mom right after I opened it. I was actually quite upset.”
“I can imagine. Must have hit a bit close to home for you.”
Angela nods. “Exactly. It did. Mom thinks if the birth mother really wanted Nancy to have the information, then I should try to find her. She knows how much I needed to find Sheila, how that affected me growing up. And it worked out well, right?”
Tina lets out a sigh. “That may be true, but honestly, Ange, I don’t think you should do anything about it.”
Angela freezes. “What?”
“It’s such a huge confession, like you said.”
“I know! That’s why I think I need to find Nancy.”
“But what good will it do? What if she doesn’t want this information? It would upend her life. This is an enormous shock.”
Angela sets her glass down again and pulls her knees back toward her chest, clutching the letter against her body. She feels somehow betrayed by Tina’s reaction, though she doesn’t quite know why. A lump forms in her throat. “But why shouldn’t she know? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be adopted and not know your birth mother?”
Tina touches her arm gently. “Of course I don’t, hun. I wouldn’t ever pretend to understand how that feels. But this Nancy person doesn’t know what she doesn’t know, right? And I just don’t think it’s your place to decide whether or not she has this information. It was her mother’s place to tell her, but the letter never got delivered. I won’t say maybe it was never meant to be delivered, but…” She shrugs. “Maybe it’s just as well that Nancy never received it. Her mother died with peace of mind, thinking her daughter would receive her confession and go find her birth mother. But because it wasn’t delivered, Nancy’s life wasn’t turned upside down with the knowledge.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m just saying maybe it’s better this way. Maybe you should just leave well enough alone. If you go looking for Nancy, you could end up in the middle of something really messy.”
Angela feels a surge of defensiveness. Tina is a women’s studies professor at the university, still getting traction in her career. She’s the rational sort who makes decisions based on evidence and fact and isn’t as tuned in to her emotional side as Angela is. It’s part of what makes them a good match, the way they counterbalance each other, but it means they sometimes butt heads.
“I felt like…” Angela takes a sip of her fake wine, now wishing it were alcohol. “I love my mom so much, but before I finally met Sheila, I felt like a piece of me was missing. Like there was this hole in my identity that nothing could fill but her. I felt like an incomplete puzzle, but I didn’t even know what the missing piece looked like, you know? And after I found Sheila—”
A buzzer goes off in the kitchen.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart, but the pasta’s ready.” Tina squeezes Angela’s knee as she pushes herself up from the couch.
“Seriously, T?”
“If it overcooks, it’ll be total shit. Just give me a sec.” Tina rushes into the kitchen. There’s more clanking of pots, then the gush of water as the pasta is drained. “Come on and eat,” she calls.
Angela nudges Grizzly off her lap and counts to ten to calm herself down. She wanders into the dining room and refills her glass. Tina appears moments later with two steaming plates full of tender homemade tagliatelle and marinara sauce.
“Cheers,” Tina says.
Angela clinks her glass with an ill grace, still mulling over her wife’s reluctance. But how could she possibly understand? There’s silence for a few minutes as they each dig hungrily into their dinner and Angela lets her thoughts marinate.
“The thing is,” she says, “I have a different perspective on this than I would have had before.”
Tina sets her fork down. “The pregnancies?” Her face seems to sag a bit as she says it.
Angela takes a sip of her drink to try to ward off the tears that are prickling. “I feel like a mother already, T. Regardless of… everything. And I just can’t fathom Nancy not having this information when her birth mother and her adoptive mother both wanted her to know where she came from.”
Tina holds Angela’s eyes across the candles in the centre of the table. The record plays quietly in the background.
“And this Margaret, the birth mother,” Angela continues, “I know it’s not the same thing, but she had a child forcibly taken away from her. Just imagine that for a second. You and I both know what it feels like to lose the possibility of a child. How exhausting it’s been to chase motherhood. Sheila gave me up willingly, for reasons that made a lot of sense for her. But to be forced to give up your child, it’s just…” Angela searches for a sufficient word, then shakes her head. “Unspeakably cruel, I guess. I can’t not act on this.”