Marilyn Peake - The Other

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?”

My father said, “Yes.”

I asked, “Why don’t I have a last name on my baby bracelet?”

My dad said, “Because we were planning to adopt you right away. This was all prearranged.”

I asked, “You mean through an adoption agency?”

My father said, “Well, kind of. The process was actually called an independent adoption. It was arranged by a lawyer rather than an agency. Your mom and I desperately wanted a child. With an independent adoption, we were responsible for paying all the medical and living expenses for the pregnant woman and all the legal fees involved in the adoption.”

I tried to absorb all that. I’d never even heard of an independent adoption before that moment.

I asked, “So, did you know this…” I looked down at the band again. “…Cora Frost? Did you know her?”

My dad said, “Yes.”

I was shocked that I’d never heard of this before. My parents had known my birth mother. I’d never even heard of her. I’d just assumed my parents had gone through an adoption agency and had no knowledge whatsoever about who my biological parents were.

I asked, “So what was she like?”

My dad said, “She was twenty years old when she had you. She was very smart.” He smiled. “You obviously inherited that from her.” Drumming his fingers on the table, another sign that he was nervous, he continued, “She was in college. She got pregnant by a boyfriend who took off as soon as he heard she was pregnant. She had big dreams. She planned to go on to graduate school, get her doctorate degree and eventually become a professor.”

I liked the sound of that. I asked, “Do you know where she is now?”

My dad seemed surprised by the question. He said, “Oh, no. We didn’t stay in touch. We visited her during the pregnancy.” My dad got a wistful look in his eyes. He said, “Your mom bought newborn outfits and baby blankets for the day we got to take you home from the hospital. We were so excited about the new baby we’d soon have. We were worried that Cora might change her mind after you were actually born, but we didn’t need to worry about that. She wanted a good home for you, but she made it very clear over her entire pregnancy that she didn’t want to be a mother. Your mom was there for the birth. The hospital set it up that way, so that your mom would be part of the birthing process and so that she could hold you right after you were born, to begin the bonding process. We never saw Cora again after she was discharged from the hospital. She seemed ready to move on with her life. And we were ready to begin our lives as new parents.”