My hands shook as I replied: My name is Jade Whitaker. Anxiety crept up the back of my neck, gave me a prickly feeling and that horrible out-of-body experience that I recognize as a full-blown anxiety attack. I was letting this complete stranger know my name and asking them to search for a person related to me by blood that I might be better off not knowing.
At this point, however, I was committed. I needed to see this through.
I typed: I don’t know any of the other information.
Hannah replied: Have you asked your adoptive parents about how you came to be adopted and if they have any records on your birth?
Tears streamed down my face as I replied. It was as though a floodgate had opened. Sobbing, my hands trembling, I typed: My mom (adoptive mom) died last year. She and my dad never told me anything about my adoption. I never asked, but now I want to know.
Hannah answered: Honey, I’m so sorry. May I ask you a question? You aren’t hoping that your biological mother will actually mother you, are you? That doesn’t always work out.
I was shocked by the question. I said: No, not at all. No one could ever replace my mom. She died of ovarian cancer and I’ve been having pain in my lower right abdomen. I suddenly realized it would be helpful to know my genetics.
Hannah replied: Can you ask your father about your adoption? It would help a great deal in our search.
I typed: Can I think about it?
Hannah answered: Of course. Everything’s on your schedule, dear. I’m just here to help.
I typed: Thank you.
That night, I thought long and hard about talking to my dad. When he came home, he looked too exhausted to approach. I decided I’d try the next day.
I slept fitfully that night. I finally decided to get up when I woke for the bazillionth time at 9:00 AM. I found my dad in the kitchen drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. He still reads a paper version of the news every single day. There was a plate on the table filled with toast crumbs and gobs of strawberry jelly swimming in butter. He always heaps toppings on everything he eats, even jelly toast. His coffee would be the same way: multiple spoonfuls of sugar. I had started worrying about him after losing my mom, worried that he’d have a heart attack if he didn’t change his eating habits.
He looked up from the paper, said good morning and took a sip of coffee before returning to whatever he was reading. The headlines on the front page facing me screamed in large font: Disease from Alien Visitors Spreads Eastward. That was scary. I’d been reading online about people on the West Coast seeing humanoid creatures with green skin and large black eyes, or gray skin and the same kind of eyes. They said the eyes were so black and reflective, they hypnotized you. Then the creatures did something that scrambled your thoughts and downloaded images into your mind, often in rapid succession—just like when you click on something that you shouldn’t in your emails or online and viruses start streaming into your computer in rapid succession and damage it beyond repair. Except that with these creatures, it was your brain that was being destroyed. Scientists had started thinking that some kind of weird, alien virus might be involved because the effect was starting to spread to people in nearby areas who had no known contact with the aliens. There was talk about placing all of California, Oregon and Washington state under quarantine.
I poured cereal into a bowl, drowned it in milk and sat down at the table. I brought up the story on the front page before addressing the issue of my adoption. I said, “What do you think about the story on the front page?”
Looking up through the top of his bifocals, my dad said, “I think it’s mass hysteria. People going nuts for whatever reason and believing in something that isn’t really there to justify it. We’re living in trying times. It makes sense that people in California were the first to see the aliens. People out there believe in all kinds of stuff—healing crystals, chemtrails, that fake Morgellons disease, using marijuana to cure disease. The culture’s ripe for people blaming their problems on aliens from outer space.”
I didn’t want to contradict him because I didn’t want to get him upset, but it wasn’t true that Californians were the first to report seeing aliens. The first report actually came from a group of hikers in the Adirondack Mountains of New York State. Soon after that, an airplane pilot reported seeing flying saucers over the village of Aurora, New York.
I ate my cereal in silence for a few minutes. Then, as casually as I could, I said, “Hey, Dad, can you tell me about my adoption?”
Dad closed his newspaper. His facial expression changed to one of deep sadness, like the sky when storm clouds suddenly roll in. He said, “Sure. I knew this day would come.” Then he got up and walked out of the room.
I didn’t know what to make of that. Was he mad at me?
He came back into the kitchen with a large manila envelope in his hands. Sitting back down at the table, he said, “Your birth certificate’s in here. It doesn’t have the name of your father on it, but it does have the name of the woman who gave birth to you.” He placed the envelope on the table between us and slid it toward me.
I looked at him. I wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the right words.
My dad rubbed his hand through his hair, a telltale sign that he was nervous. I’d won poker games against him after I’d recognized that tell. He said, “I hope you aren’t trying to replace your mother. It would break her heart.”
That was probably true; but I was pretty sure it was his way of telling me it would break his heart, too, even though he’d never admit it. I would have been more shocked that he’d even suggested such a thing except that the search angel had already questioned me about it. I guessed that was a thing people did, looked for someone to replace the mother they’d lost.
Reaching out and putting my hand on my dad’s arm, I looked into his eyes that were now filled with incredible sadness. I assured him that I only wanted to know who my biological parents were in order to ask about diseases that might run in their family. I said, “I think after mom’s death, I’ve suddenly become aware of my own mortality. Dad, I’d like to know what steps I should take to look after my health—you know, risk factors that I should be aware of, medical tests I should have done, stuff like that.”
My dad grasped my hand and covered it with his other hand. He said, “That makes so much sense. You do what you need to do. Just remember: I love you and I’m here for you, just like your mom always was.” Nodding his chin in the direction of the envelope, he said, “Go on, then. Take a look.” He released my hand.
I reached over. Grabbed the envelope. Undid the metal clasp. I felt like my life was about to change in some hugely irrevocable way. Opening the envelope would be like opening Pandora’s box. I had no idea what I was releasing into my world.
Curiosity propels us forward. There was no going back now.
I peered into the envelope. There were a bunch of things in there.
I dumped the contents onto the table. The first thing I noticed were two hospital bands. I flipped them over to read them. One had my name: Jade. No last name. My birth date. And the words: Daughter of Cora Frost.
A feeling of shock went through me. I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect to see my mother’s name on my band. I wanted to warm up gradually to finding her name on my birth certificate. I wasn’t ready for this.
I looked up at my dad. His eyes were even sadder than they’d been a moment earlier. I said, “Cora Frost—is that my biological mother?”