Thirty minutes later, we’re home. I step off the bike and pull off my helmet then punch him in the arm.
“Did you have to go so fast?”
“Ow!” he cries as he hangs his helmet on the bike then rubs his arm. “Yes, I did. You want to have time to get prettied up before we go, don’t you?”
“Is this your subtle way of telling me I look like shit?”
“Claire, it’s impossible for you to look like shit. Come on. My mom’s dying to see you.”
I stand still for a moment as I emotionally prepare myself to see Jackie Knight. Chris takes a few steps then looks back at me.
“Are you coming?”
“Does your mom know?”
Does she know what a horrible person I am, I want to ask. Does she know I kept the worst kind of secret a person could keep from you?
Chris’s sparkling features are dulled by this question. He takes a few steps toward me and looks me in the eye. “As much as I would love to tell my mom, just to have someone to talk to about it since you don’t want to, no, I haven’t told her. And I won’t tell her until this is all figured out. As far as she knows, we’re just going out to lunch today.”
“You can’t let her think we’re getting back together.”
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
“No, I just don’t want to feel double the wrath.”
This makes one corner of his mouth quirk up in a tiny half-smile, but it disappears quickly. “Claire, let’s just drop one bomb at a time. If she wants to think that us having lunch means we’re getting back together then let’s not shatter her heart any more than it already is.”
He’s referring to the fact that I didn’t contact Jackie for almost a year after I found out I was pregnant. I couldn’t face her while I was pregnant with her grandchild. Then I couldn’t face her knowing I’d given up her grandchild for adoption. I’m beginning to wonder if I should even go to this meeting with Abigail’s adoptive parents today. What kind of parent would allow their child to be anywhere near me? I might sell them to the highest bidder or get bored and leave them at the McDonald’s Playland.
“Hey, don’t start getting down on yourself,” he says as he grabs my face to force me to look at him. “We both fucked up. I should have been there for you, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself and thinking I could replace you.”
I pull his hands off my face as I turn away. I can’t look him in the eye and talk about this at the same time or I’ll fall apart.
“Please stop being so understanding.”
I walk up the paved brick pathway leading to the front door of the only real home I’ve ever had; the home I shared with Chris and Jackie for three years until I moved into the dorms at UNC two years ago. Jackie and Chris both insist that this is still my home, but something feels different. Like I broke this home and I shouldn’t be welcome here.
Chris rushes past me to get to the door first. He unlocks the deadbolt and my chest tightens. He looks over his shoulder and flashes me a soft smile before he pushes the door open.
“Welcome home.”
The smell hits me first; the scent of the lavender-bamboo scented candles Jackie buys in bulk because she’s certain they’re going to discontinue them one of these days. I step inside and it looks different. Chris must have paid for some renovations. Dark hardwood floors have replaced the beige carpet. The wallpaper is gone and the walls have all been painted soft neutral colors. Most of the furniture has been replaced and the house now looks like the inside of a Pottery Barn catalog, comfy and classic.
I want to cry. Jackie has worked so hard all her life, first as the oldest child in her family then as a single mom to Chris. But she always made room in her heart and her home for her foster children. She deserves this and I’m so happy that Chris has been able to give her the home she deserves.
The water is running in the kitchen and I follow Chris toward the sound. As soon as we step into the kitchen the water shuts off and Jackie looks over her shoulder straight at me. She looks exactly the same as I remember.
Her dark hair is cut short and stylish, but I notice a few red highlights. Her makeup is impeccable, as usual, and she’s wearing a classy gray cardigan and jeans that hug her round hips. Jackie was always stylish and always took the time to make herself pretty, even when she had foster kids climbing the walls.
For a moment we’re both frozen, stuck in a kaleidoscope of memories and unspoken words. Then the first tear trickles down her cheek and I go to her. She opens her arms and I throw my arms around her waist and bury my face in her shoulder.