“My feet hurt,” Indigo gripes, catching her breath. “But this makes it totally worth it.”
“Holy shit, this is so cool.” I slip my fingers through the railing and stare down at the glittering city stretched out below us.”
“It’s more than cool. It’s exciting.” Indigo reaches into her purse and fishes out her phone as I shut my eyes and breathe in the cool air kissing my cheeks.
While it might seem lame to most, tonight has been one of the best nights of my life. I’ve never run around and had fun without worrying about being judged by my sister or scolded by my mom.
“I feel so … I don’t know … free,” I say as I open my eyes.
“That’s how you should feel all of your life.” She leans in close to me and snaps a picture of us with her camera phone. “Look how good you look,” she says as she admires the picture. “And happy.”
As I examine the photo, I think about all the family photos on the wall back home, most of which don’t include me. The few my mom let me be in, I never smiled, mostly because I felt uncomfortable, like I didn’t belong.
“I do look happy, don’t I?” I smile at the girl in the photo, a girl who only hours ago didn’t exist. “Thanks, Indigo, for everything.”
“Dude, we’re only getting started.” She puts the phone away, and then we turn back toward the view. “By the time this trip is over, there are going to be so many pictures of you smiling you’re going to be posting them for days.”
I don’t bother telling her that I don’t have a social media account, that I don’t have friends, so there’s no point. Maybe when I get home, I’ll change that, too. Maybe I’ll change everything. And maybe that change will finally make Hannah back the fuck off of me.
The plan is far from perfect, but standing up on the Eiffel Tower, stories high from the ground, anything feels possible. I wish I could hold on to the moment forever, but then we have to leave, and with each step down the stairway, I feel the perfection fading as I head back down to reality.
The feeling only magnifies when I reach the bottom, and my phone vibrates from inside my jacket pocket. Digging it out, I check the message and my stomach drops.
Unknown: Have you figured out the secret yet?
Chapter 5
By the time we make it back to the hotel room, our grandma is waiting for us, and she doesn’t look very happy. Me, I’m not feeling that fantastic, either. And not just from the wine and pot. The text weighs heavily in my mind as I question over and over again who sent it and why. And what did they mean by have I figured out the secret yet? Are they referring to the secret about my real mom, or was the text simply a wrong number? It did come up as unknown, and I don’t know anyone with an unknown number.
The more I think about it, the more I don’t think the message could be coincidental. The text had to have been sent by someone I know and someone who knows about my mom.
“Where the hell have you two been?” Grandma Stephy asks the second we walk into the hotel room. She stands up from the bed, swaying to the side, a little tipsy. “It’s late.”
“Um …” I glance at Indigo for help. “We were just out walking.”
Indigo slips her purse off and sets it on the table. “Chill, Grandma Stephy. We just went and did a little sightseeing.”
She scowls at us. “You should have told me you were leaving. I was worried sick.”
“We honestly thought you wouldn’t even notice.” Indigo flops down on the bed and yawns. “You’ve been super busy with your friends.”
“Of course I noticed. I’m old, not blind.” She inches toward me, and I can smell the alcohol rolling off her. “I promised your dad I wouldn’t let you wander off.”
“Really?” A smile starts to touch my lips. My dad cares about me?
But then Grandma Stephy hesitates, and I know she’s lying.
“He really didn’t say that, did he?” Sighing, I sink down in a chair to untie my boots.
“He might not have said it, but he would kill me if anything happened to you.”
I keep my head down, focusing on unlacing the boots. “What were you and my dad talking about while you guys were in your bedroom?”
Indigo lets out a cough. “Not right now. She’s too upset.”
“What do you mean, not right now. I’m too upset?” Grandma Stephy asks, sounding drunkenly confused. When neither of us responds, she warns, “Okay, one of you two better start talking. Otherwise, I’ll ground your asses to the room for the rest of the trip.”
“I’m nineteen and Isa is eighteen,” Indigo says, pushing up on her elbows. “You can’t ground us.”
“And I’m sixty and don’t give a shit how old you are,” Grandma Stephy snaps. “I’ll ground you if I want to.”
Indigo tenses and keeps her trap shut.
I want to back off, too, but now that I’ve opened Pandora’s Box, there’s no going back. All these words just keep pouring out of me.
“Is my mom …? Did my dad …? Who’s my real mom, Grandma Stephy?”
Her eyes widen, and I literally feel the perfection and freedom I felt on the Eiffel Tower go poof.
“I heard some of the stuff you and my dad said, and … Lynn isn’t my real mom, is she?” I ask, sounding eerily calm. “That’s why she hates me so much.”
Grandma Stephy’s lips part before she rapidly shakes her head. “No, I’m not going to lie to you anymore. I told your father I was sick of this bullshit and that it was time to tell you, that they couldn’t just keep treating you like crap, that it is time. And I meant it.”
She sits down in a chair beside me and squares her shoulders. “Isa, I love you to death. You need to understand that, okay? I love you so much, and you’re my fantastic, wonderfully weird, keep-me-on-my-toes granddaughter. Your grandpa loved you, too. He even told me once that you were his favorite.”
“Hey,” Indigo says then holds up her hands. “You know what. Never mind. I’m not going to open my mouth anymore tonight.”
“Good girl,” Grandma Stephy says to her before focusing back on me. “I need to know you understand all of this. That you’re loved.”
I nod apprehensively, picking at my fingernails. “Okay, I get it.”
“And your dad loves you, too,” she tries to press.
“Okay.” This time, I sound way less sure.
“I know he’s not the best dad in the world, but I promise he loves you,” she insists, looking a tad apprehensive. “He just hasn’t always been able to show it.”
“And what about Lynn?” I’m looking her dead in the eyes, so I see the fear flicker across her face.
She swallows hard. “Lynn is …” She rubs her hand across her face, looking stressed.
“She’s not my mom,” I answer for her in an uneven voice.
She looks utterly remorseful. “I’m so sorry, Isa. I really am. I don’t want you to hurt, but I guess there’s no easy way for you to learn about this.”
Her words sink in, but it takes a moment or two for them to really, really hit me. And fucking hell, they hurt, like a kick to the shin, a slam of the elbow, a gash to your heart.
“Who’s my real mom?” I ask quietly, refusing to look at Indigo, even though I can feel her trying to catch my gaze.
Grandma Stephy smashes her lips together as her eyes well up. “I wish I could tell you, but …” She kneels down in front of me. “I don’t know who she is. Only your dad does … and Lynn. They’ve kept it a secret from the rest of the family, which was pretty easy for them, since they barely keep in contact with anyone except for the few reunions they attend.”
Her arms circle around me, and she hugs me with everything she has in her. “The only reason I know about any of this is because your dad once asked me to raise you. Your mother … she couldn’t take care of you for some reason, and your dad … well, at first, he asked me if I could take care of you because he didn’t want to put you into foster care. Then something changed, and he decided he wanted to keep you. I tried to
talk him out of it, especially because of Lynn, but he’s too goddamn thickheaded to listen to anything I say.” She leans back and takes my hands in hers.
I realize my fingers are shaking. My entire body is shaking.
“My dad never said why he took me in?” I whisper. “Why he changed his mind? Or why my mom needed to give me away?”
She shakes her head sadly. “I’m sorry, honey, but he never talks about it. The only time it’s ever been brought up is over the phone the few weeks before they dropped you off with me, and that’s because I forced the subject on him. I was tired of the way they treated you and wanted to get some goddamn answers over what the hell happened fifteen years ago between your mother and him.”
My mind swirls with confusion. “Wait … fifteen years?”
Her hold tightens on my hand, like she’s afraid I’m going to run. “You lived with your mother for a few years before you went to go live with your dad.”
I press my quivering lips together as tears burn my eyes. “Why can’t I remember any of this?”
“Honey, you were barely three when all this happened.” Her voice is gentle, yet her hold on my hand is firm as tears slide down my cheeks. “I know this is hard to take in, but—”
I yank my hands out of hers and run to the bathroom. “I think I’m going to be sick,” I say, then slam the door shut and lock it.
After I throw up the wine I drank earlier, I sink to the tiled floor in front of my bag. I dig out my sketchpad and open it up to one of my favorite comics I drew, starring me and the woman I always wished was my mom. Maybe she wasn’t just a wish, though. Maybe she was a faint memory I was trying to hold on to in dark times.
I touch the dark lines I meticulously drew and whisper, “Who are you?”
Silence is my only answer, and it hurts almost as badly as my heart.
Curling up into a ball, I hug the sketchbook to my chest. Indigo wanted me to spend the summer discovering myself, but how the hell am I supposed to do that when I have no idea where I came from?
After bawling my eyes out for what feels like hours, I finally pull myself off the floor and drag my ass out of the bathroom. The lights are still on, and Indigo is passed out in one of the beds, still wearing her dress, snoring away.
My eyes are so swollen I can barely see anything, but I stand with confidence. I have to in order to hide the nerves sloshing around inside me.
“When I get back, I want to find her,” I tell Grandma Stephy.
She quickly aims the remote at the television, shuts off the show she was watching, and rubs the sleepiness from her eyes. “Honey, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I don’t care if it’s a good idea or not.” I sit down on the edge of the bed, still holding my sketchbook. “It’s what I want—need—to do. All my life, I felt like I was crazy because I never, ever fit in with my family. And now I learn the reason … and I want to know who she is, if she’s like me. Maybe she can understand me.” Maybe she’ll love me.
Grandma Stephy ruffles her hair into place as she sits up in bed and lowers her feet to the floor. “Isa, I know it’s been hard living in that house, but I worry what’ll happen to you if this doesn’t turn out the way you want it to.”
“I don’t even know how I want it to turn out,” I point out. “I mostly just feel … lost right now.”
She scoots toward me. “I hate to be blunt, but I feel like I have to.” She blows out a deafening breath. “There was a reason your mother chose to give you to your father. Whether it’s because she couldn’t take care of you, or …” She shakes her head. “I just want you to make sure you think about all the scenarios; how this could turn out before you dive into it.”
I get where she’s coming from. I can think of a ton of reasons off the top of my head of how this could end up going down. From my real mother being just as mean as Cruella de Lynn to her being dead.
God, what if she is dead? What if I never get to know her? What if I continue to drift through life feeling so out of place?
I have to know; have to understand where I came from, what makes me tick, what makes me so strange. What makes me … well, me. And even though I know it might hurt more than anything else, I have to know why she gave me up.
“If I do that—if I spend the next few months thinking about how this is going to turn out—and I still want to find her when we get back, will you help me?” I ask.
She’s silent for a maddening amount of time, and I end up chanting one of my songs to keep from shouting at her.
Chocolate fudge. Caramel. Cinnamon rolls. I wonder if my mom bakes …
“If that’s what you decide you want to do, then, yes, I’ll help you,” she finally agrees, not sounding happy about it.
“Thank you, Grandma.”
I feel even more nervous for some reason, now knowing if I can possibly find my real mom. What will I say to her when I see her? What will she say?
“Don’t thank me yet.” Grandma Stephy points to the other bed. “Now, get some sleep. I have a lot of fun things planned for us tomorrow.”
I nod then climb into bed, still grasping my sketchbook. I may have told Grandma Stephy I’d really think this through, but I already know what my decision will end up being. Like Indigo said, good or bad, life is about experiences. And this is one experience I’m going through, even if the outcome is brutal.
Chapter 6
Paris turns out to be fun. Like, a lot of, a lot of fun. And we spend so much time sightseeing, tasting the food, tasting wine, and going shopping that I don’t have too much time to dwell on my family situation. Still, during the late hours of the night, when Indigo is snoring and Grandma Stephy is tossing and turning, I lie awake in bed, going over every single memory I can scrounge up, trying to figure out how I missed it. Missed the truth. It’s hard to take in, hard not to cry, and sometimes, I let the tears soak my pillow.
On the bright side, I haven’t received any more strange texts, and my phone has been fairly silent for most of the trip. I’m trying to convince myself that it was just a fluke, a mere wrong number, but I have the most unsettling feeling that there’s more to it than that. But I try not to stress about it too much and simply focus on having fun.
We’ve been in London for a few days now, and there are so many sights to see, like Big Ben and Tower Bridge, that we’ve had hardly any time to rest. Everyone is feeling the exhaustion, but no one wants to slow down.
“I’m so exhausted,” Indigo says to Grandma Stephy as we get on the elevator to go up to our room. “I think I’m going to crash early tonight.”
When she catches my eye and gives me “the look,” I know her feigned exhaustion is just a ruse. She really has a hidden agenda for us tonight. I’m excited to see what she has planned and cross my fingers that maybe it’ll wear me out enough I’ll pass out as soon as we go to bed.
“That’s okay. I was thinking about going out with some of my friends, anyway,” Grandma says as the elevator doors glide open. She steps out into the hallway, and we follow. “Could you two girls do me a favor?”
“Of course, Grandma Stephy; we’d be more than happy to.” Indigo lays on her charm thickly.
“Make sure the door shuts all the way when you decide to sneak out.” Grandma Stephy grins at us as she digs the key card out of her purse. “Last time, you left it open. You were lucky we didn’t get robbed.”
Indigo gives her a guilty look. “That was all the way back in Paris. If you knew we were sneaking out all this time, why didn’t you say anything?”
Grandma Stephy swipes the key card into the slot on our room door. “Because I didn’t want to ruin the fun of sneaking out.”
“But you freaked out the one time you found out we left the room,” Indigo points out as the three of us enter the small, quaint room. “Why do you suddenly not care what we do?”
“I care. I just figured you two need to have some fun.” She looks at me, and I know by you two, she really means me. Grandma Stephy sits down to
take off her shoes. “But now that we’ve got that all out into the open, I’d prefer if you two told me where you were going and I didn’t have to track you down with that little thing on your phone.”
“What thing?” Indigo asks as she unzips her suitcase.
“That little tracker thing that lets you know where your phone is,” Grandma Stephy gets up and heads into the bathroom to take a shower.
I flop down on the bed and stretch my arms and legs out. “So, does it lessen our fun that she’s known this whole time what we’ve been up to? Because that whole we’re-being-so-rebellious-and-it-makes-this-so-much-more-fun speech you gave when we snuck out to go clubbing seems pretty insignificant now.”
“Nah, we still had fun, didn’t we?” she asks with her head tucked down as she rummages through her bag for the perfect outfit.
“That we did,” I agree, sitting up. “So, what’re we doing tonight? Or is it another surprise?”
She looks up at me, grinning as she throws a shimmery black dress at my face. “Tonight, we’re going to find you a guy.”
I set the dress down on the bed and run my fingers along the glittery fabric, smoothing out the wrinkles. “I don’t need to find a guy.”
“Liar. You so need to find a guy, so you can get over that Kyler dude, and finally get your first kiss. Because it’s time. It’s really, really time.”
During a drunken conversation, I told Indigo about Kyler and how I wished my first kiss could be with him. She isn’t a huge fan of my crush on him and said I deserve a guy who actually tries to spend time with me. I wanted to argue that we technically have spent time together, but that’s kind of stretching the truth.
Knowing there’s no point in arguing with her, I get up and wiggle into the dress then curl my hair. I apply some dark red lipstick, and kohl eyeliner then add a drop of eye glitter, just because I love looking sparkly sometimes. Since I’m a newbie at the hair and makeup thing, I make sure to get Indigo’s approval.
“You look fantastic,” she says, admiring my handiwork as she douses her hair in hairspray. “Seriously, you’ve caught on to this whole makeup and hair stuff way faster than I expected you to.”
Isabella Anders (Sunnyvale NA Book 1) Page 6