The Valeditztorian

by Alli Curran

  “Wow. You know, this is exactly what happened with the mice in Brazil. I can’t wait to tell Grace.”

  “No need,” says Joan, smiling. “I recently contacted our esteemed oncology colleagues in Salvador. Both Alvin and Grace were very pleased to hear about these developments.”

  “So what now?” I ask.

  “For the next few days we’re keeping Roberto in the ICU, in order to monitor him for any unexpected problems or side effects. Then we’re going to send him home, with a lot of good rehab.”

  “Did I hear you say something about rehab?” Carla says, speaking over the crowd to Joan. “I can help with that.”

  “How so?” asks Roberto, taking her hand.

  “We’re going to start by hitting lots of tennis balls,” says Carla. “I don’t care if you have to do it from a wheelchair. I’m getting you back on the court, whether you like it or not.”

  “That sounds incredible,” he says, kissing the top of her hand.

  “Can I play too?” asks Aimee.

  “Of course you can, sweetheart,” says Roberto. “I’m going to need your help to regain my strength.”

  Turning my attention back to Joan, I ask, “What about GrR and the IRB approval? There must be other people around here with the Mts mutation, who also need the medicine.”

  “In light of recent events, I managed to schedule an emergency IRB meeting for tomorrow, which means that anyone else needing the drug shouldn’t have to wait much longer.”

  “That’s great news,” I say.

  Joan nods her head in agreement.

  My moment of truth has now arrived. Taking a few steps closer to the Santos family, I notice that Carla’s long, muscular arms are wrapped protectively around Aimee, who’s nestled snugly in her lap. Mr. Santos is beaming. Similar to the tennis picture in Aimee’s room, the family appears joyful and whole. Though it will probably take some time, I’m sure they’re all going to recover, both physically and emotionally.

  Making my way past the crowd of doctors, I eventually reach the Santos family’s inner circle.

  “You look great,” I say to Roberto.

  “Thanks to my daughter, I feel great,” he replies, winking at Aimee.

  Aimee is grinning from ear to ear, just like the Cheshire Cat.

  “I’m so happy for you,” I say, “for all of you.”

  Carla looks at me and says, “Thank you, Emma, for everything you’ve done.”

  “I didn’t do much. Aimee was the brave one.”

  I smile at my amazing daughter.

  “We’re pretty grateful to her as well,” says Carla, giving Aimee’s shoulders a squeeze. “Emma, we’d really like to see you again, once we leave the hospital. By any chance, are you free for dinner on Saturday? We were thinking that you could come to our apartment, to celebrate Roberto’s homecoming. Since we don’t have any other relatives in New York, you could be an honorary family member.”

  She looks at me hopefully.

  “Oh,” I say, “umm, I’m not sure whether….”

  Carla starts to look disappointed.

  “If you’re not comfortable with….” she starts to say.

  “No, no…I’m not uncomfortable. Well, maybe I am uncomfortable. It’s just that this whole situation is a bit complicated.”

  “Why? Because you were Aimee’s tutor?”

  “No, that’s not it. You see, I….”

  I can’t go on.

  It’s like I have lockjaw. My facial muscles completely freeze up. When I was a teenager, I worked so hard to keep my pregnancy a secret that I’m not sure how to begin discussing it, especially not with this select group of individuals. Instead of trying to explain the situation verbally, I reach into the pocket of my jeans, pulling out the letter I’ve already written.

  “For Carla, please read alone” is written across the front of the envelope.

  Attempting to hand it over, my fingers are trembling so vigorously that I drop the envelope onto the floor. Rather than sticking around to watch Carla pick it up, I sprint out of the ICU. Before I reach the stairwell, my eyes are already brimming with tears.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Unspoken Explanations

  April 25th, 1999

  Dear Carla,

  My full name is Emmaline Rachel Silberlight. I was born in California in 1974, and my family moved to Connecticut when I was still a toddler. In high school I fell in love with a boy my age and accidentally got pregnant. Though my mother objected, I decided to carry the pregnancy and give the baby up for adoption.

  If you check Aimee’s birth certificate, I’m certain you’ll find my name recorded there as her biological mother. You should know that I didn’t purposefully seek out my daughter. By pure coincidence, or perhaps fate, I found her through the tutoring job. Initially I didn’t recognize Aimee, but eventually I suspected our true relationship. Her “mermaid toes” convinced me that I’d come to the correct conclusion.

  To be clear, I have no intention of trying to take Aimee away from you and Roberto. I couldn’t have chosen kinder parents to raise my daughter, and I’m grateful that you’ve taken care of her for all these years.

  If, by some chance, you’d be interested in “adopting” another family member, I would love to get to know all of you better. Please understand that if you agree to this, my family situation will complicate matters. Nearly 10 years ago, when I decided to give Aimee up for adoption, my mother stopped speaking to me. Nowadays we occasionally communicate by phone, but the two of us haven’t physically seen one another since the pregnancy. While I never would’ve imagined this prior to meeting you, I believe that Aimee holds the key to reuniting my family.

  Take as much time as you need to consider what I’ve said. Of course I’ll understand if you want to end things here. Life is so complicated—sometimes horrible, sometimes wonderful. I’m thankful that after a brief period of “horrible,” we were able to share something wonderful at the hospital. Who knows what the future will hold? If you decide that you want me in your future, let me know. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume that our relationship has come to an end.

  Fondly,

  Emma

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Messages

  As I jog home from Memorial, my cheeks are wet with tears. Arriving in my apartment a few minutes later, I find that the message light is already blinking on my answering machine. Despite my shaky hands, I manage to successfully push the playback button on the very first try (it’s a pretty large button). While catching my breath, I listen to the message.

  “Hi, Emma, it’s Carla. Aimee grabbed your letter off the floor before I could stop her, so she read it first.”

  Some background scuffling interrupts her speech.

  Helen pokes her head in my doorway.

  “Hey, Emma,” she says.

  “Shh,” I say, holding up my hand to indicate that I’m listening.

  “No, Aimee,” Carla’s voice continues. “Let me go first, and then you can have a turn….Anyway, Emma, we all just read your letter, and our decision is unanimous. Now that we’ve found you, we’re not about to let you go. Without your help, our family would’ve just gotten a whole lot smaller. Given the circumstances, we’re in favor of sticking together….Okay Aimee, alright. Here you go.”

  Aimee’s little-girl voice plays out next.

  “Please come back, Emma. I want to get to know you, too. I think it’s really cool that you’re my birth mom. I’ve always wanted to meet her—I mean you. I’m so glad it turned out to be you! Can I meet my grandparents, too? Please call and say that you’ll come to dinner.”

  Carla’s voice says, “That’s all for now. Just call me as soon as you get this message.”

  Standing in my bedroom doorway, Helen is staring at me in open-mouthed disbelief.

  “Hello, Helen. How are you?” I ask, smiling.

  Speech continues to elude her, so I add, “Oh, yes, there’s a very interesting story behind that phone call. Woul
d you like to hear it?”

  She just nods.

  My voice is almost giddy as I ask, “Do you have a few hours?”

  The good news is that aside from Aunt Pam and my parents, Helen was the only other person in my life who knew about my pregnancy, since she was living with my family at the time. This should make the storytelling much simpler. Before recounting all the details, though, I immediately return that phone call.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Family Reunion

  New York, December 1999

  The holidays this year are surreal and wondrous. Significant people in my life, individuals I’d loved and thought permanently lost, are resurfacing like jewels from an old treasure chest.

  I gaze in amazement around the Santos apartment, unable to believe my eyes. In the kitchen, my mother and Aunt Pam are teaching Carla how to make potato latkes. All three women are up to their elbows in potato peels, shrieking with laughter over God knows what. Five candles in a Hanukkah menorah burn brightly over the granite countertop. Roberto and my dad are schmoozing in the living room, talking sports. On the other side of the same room, Red’s family (his wife and their three kids—a boy and two girls, ages two, four, and five) and Aimee are all chatting excitedly around a Christmas tree. Aimee seems thrilled to be getting acquainted with this side of her family. Wearing a sparkly white tank top, her bare arms are noticeably free from scratch marks. Two small cousins from Texas, the children of Roberto’s brother, are racing around the apartment, trailed halfheartedly by their exhausted-looking parents.

  Roughly eight months ago, following Roberto’s discharge, I began learning the history of the Santos family. Originally from Argentina, both Carla and Roberto lost their parents early in life, due to an unfortunate combination of illness, accidents, and bad luck. Only Roberto had a sibling, the younger brother now residing in Texas. An only child, Carla benefitted financially from a substantial inheritance acquired following the death of her parents. Though they could’ve lived off the interest from her trust, Carla and Roberto both wanted to establish themselves in meaningful careers.

  “I always wanted to write children’s stories,” Carla explained one evening, as we sat together in their living room after Aimee had gone to bed.

  “I didn’t really have an artistic passion,” said Roberto, “so I ended up becoming an immigration lawyer.”

  As Roberto spoke, I studied his face. Though he still looked ridiculously thin, his hair seemed to be growing back in.

  “Which you are passionate about,” Carla said.

  “Yes, fortunately, I love my job. A lot of my work is actually pro bono.”

  “That’s the best part, right?” asked Carla.

  “Absolutely. I enjoy giving something back to the Latino community.”

  “How about you, Carla?” I asked. “Did you end up publishing any books?”

  “No,” she shook her head. “After college, when I was looking for a day job, an editing position opened up at Seventeen Magazine. Since I really don’t have much talent for creative writing, editing turned out to be the perfect profession for me. Would you believe that after all these years, I’m still working there?”

  “That’s great. So it sounds like you’re both happy with your jobs?”

  “At this point in time, we are,” said Roberto, “but we weren’t always so content.”

  “He’s right,” said Carla. “Before Aimee came along, we would’ve traded everything for a child.”

  Carla’s eyes started to look a bit misty.

  “The jobs were fine,” Roberto continued, placing one arm over Carla’s shoulder, “but they weren’t enough to keep us satisfied.”

  “We were thankful to have them, mind you, but from an emotional standpoint, our lives felt a bit empty,” said Carla.

  “What Carla is trying to say is that we both really wanted to have a baby….”

  “And we couldn’t have one,” Carla finished.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Carla tried to get pregnant for a long time, a few years at least,” said Roberto, “but it never happened.”

  “That is so ironic,” I said.

  “What is?” asked Roberto.

  “That I got pregnant at fifteen, without even trying.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Carla. “Of course, both of our situations are extremely common. Teenagers get pregnant by accident all the time, and plenty of older women struggle for years, trying to have a baby.”

  “That must’ve been hard to deal with,” I said.

  “‘Hard’ doesn’t come close to describing how I felt. Trying and failing to get something that I desperately wanted, over and over again, was heartbreaking.”

  “Is that why you chose adoption?” I asked.

  “Eventually, yes, but in the beginning we weren’t even thinking about adoption. After we gave up on the idea of conceiving naturally, we decided to try in-vitro,” said Carla.

  “That was a terrible mistake,” said Roberto. “The two of us were miserable during that whole fiasco.”

  “Look who’s talking,” said Carla. “At least your butt wasn’t a giant, blueberry pincushion.”

  “Believe me,” said Roberto, “I hated giving those shots. After three rounds of IVF, I was ready to shoot myself.”

  Carla moved closer to Roberto on the couch.

  “Me too. I think both of us became pretty depressed when we realized the in-vitro was also going to fail.”

  “Then what happened?” I asked.

  “Carla ended up making an appointment with a psychologist in the neighborhood,” said Roberto. “At first I was skeptical, but the woman turned out to be very helpful.”

  “He’s right,” said Carla. “During our first visit, the therapist suggested adoption. Though we hadn’t yet considered the idea, as soon as she mentioned it, adoption completely made sense.”

  “Remind me, honey,” said Roberto, “was she the one who gave us the name of the adoption agency?”

  “Yes, and we called immediately. Two months later we received notification that a teenager in a nearby state was ready to put a baby up for adoption.”

  “That must’ve been you,” said Roberto, looking in my direction.

  “I suppose it was,” I said.

  “When we got to the hospital a few days later, I knew we’d made the right decision,” said Carla. “Aimee was the most beautiful thing we’d ever seen. Holding her in my arms, I immediately sensed that she was meant for us.”

  “Why did you name her Aimee?” I asked.

  “My mother’s name was Antonia,” said Carla.

  “And my father’s was Mateo,” Roberto added.

  “Oh, I see,” I said. “When you put those together, you get Aimee.”

  “Essentially,” said Carla.

  “Did your lives change much after you brought Aimee home?” I asked.

  “Undoubtedly,” said Roberto. “Bringing a baby into the house changes everything.”

  “What changed the most?” I asked.

  Roberto laughed.

  “Probably our schedule. Both of us started getting a whole lot less sleep. Right Carla?”

  “Yes, but I’d say that it was a labor of love.”

  Locking eyes with me for a moment, Carla said, “More than anything else, Aimee gave us a true sense of purpose.”

  “She brought happiness back into our home,” Roberto added.

  Over the next few months, as we got to know one another, I marveled at the openness of the Santos family. Apparently unconcerned that I might usurp their relationship with Aimee, they welcomed me with open arms. Though I worried that they’d draw the line at inviting my parents, this wasn’t the case at all.

  “So you’re saying that you really won’t mind if I invite my parents to meet Aimee?” I asked Carla.

  “Of course not,” she said. “Emma, how many times have you asked us this question already?”

  “Oh, about three or four.”

  “I’d say at
least ten,” said Carla. “Look, I know you’re having a hard time believing this, but Roberto and I actually want Aimee to meet her grandparents. So would you hurry up and call them already? They’re not getting any younger, you know, and neither are we.”

  That did it. Carla finally convinced me to face my fear of permanent rejection and dial their number.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said.

  “Emma,” said my mother. “What’s wrong?”

  “I have some news.”

  “Oh, no. Are you sick? Did you drop out of medical school?”

  “Neither. Would you believe that I’m actually calling with good news?”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, and it’s particularly good news this time.”

  “Okay,” she said, though her voice sounded doubtful.

  “I found her.”

  “Found who?”

  “Aimee.”

  “Who’s Aimee?”

  “My daughter, Mom. Your granddaughter.”

  “What do you mean, you found her? Where is she?”

  “She lives right here in New York, just a few blocks away from me.”

  “What about her family?”

  “They’re wonderful, Mom, and they want you and Dad to meet her.”

  “Oh, my God. Let me take a deep breath.”

  She paused for a moment.

  “I can’t believe it. I never thought I’d get the chance to see her….” Her voice was cracked on the last word, but she continued, “When can we come?”

  “As soon as possible. How about right now?”

  “You’re not kidding? This isn’t some kind of sick joke?”

  “No, Mom. I’m not kidding.”

  Then I heard her yelling, “Larry, LARREEE….It’s Emma, and you’ll never believe what she said.”

  Two hours later in my apartment, I embraced my mother for the first time in a decade.

  Later, when I tried to thank Carla for being so magnanimous about opening the door to my family, she responded without hesitation.