The Names They Gave Us(89)

Am I? I do like helping people learn things—swim strokes and makeup contouring and simple piano chords. Teaching is what everything I do has in common. How did I not see it before? Leave it to my mom to drop a casual epiphany into a conversation meant to cheer her up.

I can tell the moment Bryan walks in because her gaze moves over my shoulder. The smile falls into lips-parted surprise.

“Bry?” She sounds so young, even in that one syllable.

“Hi, Mari.”

He’s standing with Rachel, hands clasped like a supplicant. Bryan, who knows my mother. Who loved my mother, once upon a time.

My mom reaches her hand out to him, her eyes filled with tears. In front of him, she crumbles. All this time, I’ve begged her to be real with me, but I confess: seeing her overwhelmed is gutting.

I step back to give them room. Or to give myself room. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.

He goes right to her, taking both hands in his. At first they don’t speak, just look into each other’s older faces, wide eyes glistening.

“I changed my mind, Bry,” she says. “I need to know about her. Just in case I don’t—I mean . . .”

“It’s okay.” He sits on the edge of the bed, so they’re closer to eye level. “She’s okay, Mari. She’s great.”

Tears dribble down my mom’s cheeks. “She found you?”

“She lives in Chicago with her husband.” Bryan’s breathing stutters, as if he’s crying too. “She works at a nonprofit and just finished her MBA. Great relationship with her parents.”

My sister, the businesswoman. I badly wish that I had a mental image. Will she want to meet me? Would we get along right away or would she feel like a stranger?

“What did they name her?” my mom chokes out.

“Elena,” he says. “And they kept our name too. Elena Grace.”

“Elena.” My mom whispers it, a fervent prayer. “Elena.”

“Come on, Bird,” Rachel says quietly. She clasps my shoulders to guide me out. “Let’s give them a minute.”

“But—” I begin. But I want to hear more about my sister. Elena. I have a half sister named Elena. Haven’t I been kept in the dark long enough? But I know my mom deserves privacy. Is this—being able to consider your mother’s feelings above your own—what growing up is?

There’s a bench outside the room where my dad is sitting, staring into nothing. I sit beside him, exiled from our own family.

Wow, am I working up a flair for drama.

“How ’bout I track down some decent tea?” Rachel asks.

I nod blandly and assume my dad does the same. Once she’s down the hall, I glance at him, at his linked hands and wrinkled button-down. “Are you okay?”

“That’s supposed to be the dad’s line.” He looks over as if he’s going to try to smile. He can’t quite manage it. “I’m so sorry about all this, Bird.”

“It’s all right, Dad. I mean, I assume you’ll pay for my therapy into adulthood . . . but.”

The joke fizzles, even as my dad huffs out a laugh.

“Your mom worried that it would be harder to guide you, morally, if you knew her past. She carries a lot of guilt from that time in her life.” His gaze pushes hard against mine. “Very misguided guilt. She didn’t do anything wrong, you understand?”

“Yeah. I do. Must be weird for you, though.”

He shrugs, not exactly denying it. “I’ve known about Grace for almost as long as I’ve known your mother.”

“So, it doesn’t bother you, Bryan being in there with her?”

“No, honey. Your mom’s life is with us. But Bryan’s a big part of her story, and he was always so good to her.” He looks over with a mock grimace. “Though, I admit, it would be easier if he’d aged poorly.”

I laugh—half at his honesty, half at the absurdity of having this conversation. It’s the closest I’ve ever felt to sitting at the grown-ups’ table. Half of me is delighted; half of me is terrified that my easy childhood days are already gone. Did I even appreciate them?

My dad wraps an arm around my shoulder, and I lean into him. “I need to ask you something, Bird.”

“Okay . . .”

“Will it be okay with you if . . . if your mom wants to see Grace? If Grace is willing to come here. Just in case your mom . . .” Dies. He can’t say it. Neither can I, and I hate my traitorous brain for thinking it.

“Elena. Her parents named her Elena,” I tell him. “And yeah, it’s okay. Bizarre but okay. I mean . . . I’d like to meet her too, of course.”

“You’re the best kid in the world, you know that? To take all this in stride.”

“I feel like I know Mom better,” I say. “That’s a good thing.”

“It is,” he agrees. “Never fails to amaze me. All the good things that spring from the difficult things.”

I pull back so I can look at him. “You writing a sermon or . . .”

He rolls his eyes. “Stinker.”

Who would call me Bird? I wondered at the beginning of the summer. He would. And it wouldn’t be the same, but we would have each other.

“She’s going to be okay,” I whisper. “Right?”