And She Was

by Jessica Verdi

  It feels like entire minutes pass before she steps back.

  “I can’t believe it,” she whispers finally, her eyes roving over my face. She chews the corner of her bottom lip. “How are you here?”

  I glance at Sam, overwhelmed. I don’t know what to say. I should have planned this out better.

  “Hi, I’m Sam, Dara’s friend,” Sam says, stepping up and holding out his hand. “We drove here together from New York. We thought this was where your parents lived, actually.”

  Catherine shakes it. “So nice to meet you, Sam. And yes, this is my parents’ farm. They let us use it for our organization.” She gestures to the couch. “Come, sit. We have so much to talk about. Would you like something to drink?”

  “Oh. Um, no, that’s okay,” I say.

  Catherine grabs my hand and holds it fast with both of hers. “You know, you aren’t an easy woman to find.” Her face is flush with emotion.

  I suck in a breath. “You’ve been looking for me?”

  She seems appalled that I’d even ask that. “Dara, we looked for you nonstop for years.”

  My heart pangs. I knew it.

  “And even after the trail went cold, we kept searching, doing checks at least once a year on person-finder databases. What did you say your last name is?”

  “Baker.”

  She nods slowly, taking that in. “And you must be, what, eighteen now?”

  “Yes. I just graduated from high school.”

  “Wow …” She trails off, then seems to shake off whatever sadness had been about to descend. “Please, please, tell me everything! Where have you been? What has your life been like? What brought you here now?”

  I glance at Sam again. I need to know, now that the moment is here, after all the buildup, that it really is okay to merge these two worlds.

  He gives me an encouraging smile, as if to say, Go ahead. This is what we’re here for, isn’t it? It’s the first smile I’ve seen from him all day.

  But I don’t know. Wouldn’t it be better to ease into it? Besides, I have so many questions of my own. “I noticed you biting your lower lip,” I say, testing the waters. “Do you do that a lot?”

  Catherine chuckles and looks heavenward. “It’s my worst habit. Celeste used to do it too. Drove our mother crazy.” She tilts her head. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I do the same thing. Don’t I, Sam?”

  He nods. “All the time.”

  Catherine clasps her hands together in glee. “Proof that you’re a Pembroke girl through and through!”

  “It isn’t one of my mom’s habits, so I always did wonder if I got it from the other side of the family.”

  Her smile cracks. “What do you mean, your mom?”

  Ugh. So much for delaying the inevitable.

  “Yeah, um … I have a lot to tell you.”

  Catherine listens, silent as the country air, as I begin the story.

  Turns out Catherine isn’t all that surprised about Marcus being Mellie now. She says she always suspected “he” would go that route, after her parents told her what he had told them about his feelings.

  I know Mom said she told the Pembrokes about her plan to transition seventeen years ago, but it hurts all over again, getting the confirmation from Catherine. I hate that she told them and didn’t tell me.

  “My parents always refused to consider that he would have transitioned fully,” Catherine says. “I think that was part of why they weren’t able to track you down. They didn’t understand this stuff. They thought Marcus was having an extreme reaction to losing Celeste. They thought he was having a mental breakdown.”

  I wonder if those were the “bad things” they said to Mellie when she came out to them.

  “I can’t believe he didn’t tell you, though.” She shakes her head in disbelief.

  “Me neither,” I mumble.

  It doesn’t escape me how she keeps saying “he,” even though she says she’s the one in the family who understands trans issues. I’m not an expert on the subject, but even I know you’re supposed to use the pronoun the person uses for themself. But on the other hand, Catherine doesn’t owe Mellie anything. To Catherine, Celeste is, and will always be, my mother. The person she knew as Marcus is my father. I can’t imagine the strife Mellie taking me away must have put the family through. All things considered, I guess I can’t blame her for her word choice. I’d be pissed too. I am pissed too.

  “You poor thing,” she says, reaching her arms around me again. Since she arrived in this office, she’s barely broken a physical connection with me. Hugs, hand-holding, fingertips on arms. I don’t know how to feel about it. I want to tell her it’s okay; I promise I won’t disappear for another two decades. “All this time, not knowing we were out here. Not knowing about your real mother.” She shakes her head, and her voice has an edge to it now. “I’ll never forgive him for taking you away from us.”

  I’m right there with her on this one. “We deserved a chance to be each other’s family.” I get a little misty as I say it, and Sam, who’s been sitting there quietly, hands me a tissue. I sit up and wipe my eyes and nose.

  “You’re absolutely right about that.” She gives me a questioning look. “Should we call my parents now?”

  I suck in a breath and nod eagerly.

  She lifts her office phone and dials. I wring my hands, wishing I had that tennis ball to occupy them. But after a few seconds Catherine shakes her head and whispers, “Voicemail.”

  Of course. Because I haven’t been forced to wait long enough.

  “Mom, Dad, call me as soon as you get this.” There’s a hint of teasing in her tone, like someone giving the birthday girl a hint about a surprise party. “It’s important.” She hangs up, then explains, “They’re retired now, and they take their boat out most days, which means they’re often out of cell range. But they’ll call back tonight.”

  Boat? On top of this incredible farm and what is surely a state-of-the-art home in Hilton Head? I add a long, glistening sailboat with silk pashminas, chilled bottles of champagne, and platters of fresh fruit to the composite in my head.

  “Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “No, Dara. Thank you. For coming to find us. It’s been hard without Celeste here, but it’s been even harder knowing you were out there somewhere but we couldn’t talk to you or watch you grow up.” She claps her hands on her thighs and stands up, full of purpose. “Now. You must be hungry after your journey. Shall we have some lunch?”

  The three of us go to the kitchen, where there’s a ton of food spread out on the breakfast bar. Sandwich bread, hummus, all different kinds of vegetables, olives, chips, several different salads, fruit. I’m impressed by how healthy it all is.

  Handsome Man-bun Guy is in the middle of making himself a wrap. He puts his plate down and holds his hand out to me. “I’m Matt. I’m one of the staff members here.”

  “Dara.” His grip is somehow soft, despite his rough, farm-worker skin. I feel my cheeks flush. He shakes Sam’s hand too, and Sam begins constructing a sandwich.

  “It’s nice to officially meet you, Dara,” Matt says with a flirty grin as I select a carrot stick and take a bite. We were in that office for a long time, and I’m suddenly starving. It probably helps that I’m no longer hungover and the nerves from the drive are mostly gone now.

  Now that I know that Matt just works here, and we’re not related, I’m feeling better about the fact that I seem physically unable to take my eyes off him.

  Catherine points to something behind me. I turn to find a group of people, none of them much older than Sam and me, sitting around a table with plates of food in front of them. I didn’t even notice them when we came in. “That’s Gabby, Meadow, Ezra, and Jane.”

  I immediately feel more comfortable knowing the spread of food isn’t only for us. This may be my grandparents’ house, but I’m still a guest.

  “Guys, this is Dara and Sam. Dara is my niece.”

  Matt quirks an eyebrow at
me. “But you never met before today?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “Long story.”

  He doesn’t ask anything else, though he does seem curious. “Well, like I said, Catherine is the best. You couldn’t have gotten a better person for an aunt.”

  “I hope to learn more about her.” And Celeste too. I say hi to everyone at the table.

  They wave. It’s obvious they’re paired off. Gabby, a freckled white girl with a pierced eyebrow, is helping Meadow, a beautiful Asian girl with two long braids, remove a splinter from her palm. She succeeds, then kisses the spot. Jane, a brown-skinned girl with bright eyes and short hair, has one leg draped over tall, fair, skinny Ezra’s lap. They’re all tanned, and their clothes are covered in dirt.

  I help myself to some food and join the group. They smell of hard work and sweat. The wooden table is flanked by two long benches, and large enough for all of us, plus everyone else still outside and probably a couple of the goats too. Walt and Vincent sit on the floor, patiently waiting for scraps. Everything about this kitchen is welcoming, including the people in it. I always pictured farms being run by young boys who milk the cows before the sun comes up and old bearded men in overalls. These people are nothing like that.

  “Where are you guys from?” Ezra asks.

  “New York,” I say. “Upstate; not New York City.”

  “Are you in college?”

  “No, we just graduated from high school. Sam’s going to college in the fall, though.” Sam’s mouth is full, but he raises his sandwich in a toast. “How about you all?”

  “We go to NYU,” Gabby says, indicating herself and Meadow. “And they”—she points at Ezra and Jane—“go to Clemson. We’re all on summer break right now.”

  “Oh, I know Clemson,” I say. “Good sports school.”

  “So we’ve heard,” Ezra says with a goofy shrug.

  Jane laughs. “Yeah, we don’t really follow that stuff. Aren’t college sports so bizarre? The way the football and basketball games are nationally televised and how bookies run betting rings and all that. Why do grown-ass adults get so obsessed about a bunch of kids playing a game for no pay at a place where they’re supposed to be getting an education? It’s entirely unethical, if you ask me.”

  “I see your point,” I say after swallowing a spoonful of bean salad. “I’ve played sports my whole life, but it’s always been a personal goal kind of thing. There wasn’t any pressure from the outside.” No pressure, but also no support.

  “What sports do you play?” Matt asks. We’re sitting side by side, and even though there’s plenty of room on the bench, his leg is only an inch from mine. He’s taller than I am, more muscular, and I like the way our bodies relate to each other’s. I feel dainty next to him, feminine, not like a big, strong athlete.

  “Tennis. I’m beginning my pro career this year, actually.”

  Every single person at the table looks up from their food. I can’t help the little gleam of pride I feel at knowing I’ve impressed them.

  “That’s wonderful, Dara!” Catherine says. “I guess your father passed down that particular passion to you.”

  “No, I …” I’m not sure how much to explain. Do I want all these strangers knowing why I’m here? Not that it’s a secret; it’s just sort of … personal. “I came to it on my own, actually.” But I take this as an opportunity to get one of my questions in. “Did Celeste ever play any sports?” I ask Catherine.

  She thinks about that. “I don’t think so. She ran a lot, for exercise. But no team sports. We were never really a sports family, now that I think about it.”

  “I do yoga,” Meadow says.

  “That’s the understatement of the year,” Gabby says. “She’s obsessed with yoga.”

  “I played soccer when I was a little kid,” Matt says, “but that’s about it.”

  I switch my attention back to him. “You look good, though. I mean, like you’re in shape. I mean—” I clamp my mouth shut, and immediately want to sink beneath the table and die.

  Everyone laughs. Except Sam. His gaze lands on the space—or lack of it—between me and Matt, then travels up to Matt’s face and over to me. His lips press together.

  “We know what you mean,” Jane says, pushing her short hair back from her eyes. “Everyone reacts that way to Matt when they first meet him. Even us—and three out of the five of us don’t even like guys.”

  Ezra, Meadow, and Gabby exchange a look and a shrug. “What can I say, the boy is pretty,” Ezra says.

  “Speak for yourselves!” Catherine says. “I’m his boss and old enough to be his mother.”

  The word catches me in its net. Mother. Is Catherine a mother? Could I have first cousins out there? I want to ask, but everyone’s laughing again, so I join in instead.

  Matt doesn’t seem embarrassed. “Thanks. I do a lot of manual labor, so that’s how I get my exercise.”

  “Right. The farm.” The image of him with his shirt off, riding a horse or milking a cow, floods my vision and I grow even warmer. I don’t think I’ve ever had this kind of reaction to another person before, unless you count the massive crush I developed on John Boyega after seeing The Force Awakens. I clear my throat. “Do you work here all year round?”

  “Yup. I decided to follow my passion instead of going to college too.” He smiles, and I know it’s just for me.

  “But it’s actually not a farm,” Catherine says. “Not in the traditional sense, anyway. We’re in the process of turning the property into a farm sanctuary.”

  “What’s a farm sanctuary?” Sam asks. Look at that. He remembered he has a voice. I can’t tell if he’s being so quiet because this is my thing and he doesn’t want to get in the middle of it, or if he’s still weird because of last night.

  “We work for an organization called DFA. Dignity for Farm Animals. We help save and rehabilitate abused farm animals raised for meat and dairy. There are two other locations, in Georgia and Arkansas. This one is the newest, though; we’re just getting it off the ground.”

  “That’s incredible,” I say. Now the absence of meat and cheese at lunch makes a lot of sense. “Did William and Ruth buy the farm for that reason?”

  “No.” Catherine shrugs. “They actually thought they were going to retire here. But after about a year they realized they’d rather live closer to the water, and other people their age. They were going to sell the land, but I convinced them to sign it over to me. I’d been working with DFA for a while and was ready to take the next step.”

  “And we’re so glad she did,” Matt says.

  “So they just gave you the farm? That’s amazing.”

  “No one could ever accuse my parents of not being generous,” Catherine says.

  They’re generous. That fits in with my picture too.

  “You got here just in time for the real action,” Meadow says. “This morning we intercepted a factory farm truck on its way to a slaughterhouse. And now we’re the proud parents of twenty nine-hundred-pound pigs.”

  “Whoa,” I say. Those must have been the pigs we saw through the window. I knew they were big, but nine hundred pounds? “How did you get the people on the truck to give them to you?”

  “We had to buy them,” Catherine says. “But that’s okay. We do a lot of these, and often no amount of money or protesting or getting arrested is enough to save the individuals on board.”

  “Getting arrested?” Sam asks.

  “Well, it depends on the level of assholery of the security guards and truck drivers,” Matt says. “If they call the police, that’s when things get dicey. The cops can’t arrest us for protesting peacefully, and they know it, but sometimes they’re in the pockets of the slaughterhouse owners, and they find excuses to bring us in anyway.”

  Sam whistles. “That’s crazy.”

  “Yeah, but it’s worth it,” Gabby says, and they all nod in agreement.

  “Did you and Celeste have pets growing up?” I ask Catherine. I don’t care if I’m hogging the conversa
tion. I want to know everything.

  “We had two hamsters named Trixie and Pixie,” she says. “But we never had any dogs or cats because Celeste was allergic.”

  “She was?” As far as I know, I’m not allergic to anything.

  Catherine nods, then smiles. “I always resented her for it. I wanted a dog so badly; I’ve always loved animals. I like to think she would be proud of the work I’m doing now.” She calls Walt and Vincent over and feeds them each a potato chip. “Good boys.”

  “Do you think Ruth and William will be calling back soon?” I ask, trying not to sound too impatient and failing completely. So far, this family is everything I’d hoped they’d be and more, and I can’t wait to be part of it. But I feel like it won’t be official until I meet my grandparents.

  Catherine reaches across the corner of the table and cups my cheek in her hand. I wonder if Celeste would have done something similar if she’d lived long enough to get the chance to be my mother. “I know you’re anxious, sweetie. This reunion has been a long time coming. I suspect they’ll get my message tonight, and leave for the farm first thing in the morning. They’re not the kind of people who like to sit around waiting—they like to take action.” She smirks, the kind of knowing look that only a daughter who knows her parents very well could make. “In the meantime”—she looks out the back window—“we have to be getting back to work. Do you want to come help?”

  “Really?”

  “Sure.”

  “Um, okay? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pig in real life before.”

  “Oh my God, they’re so sweet!” Jane says. “You’re going to love them.”

  “What will we be doing?”

  “The vet is out back checking everyone out right now, and after each pig is given a clean bill of health, we’re giving them baths to wash off the factory-farm smell. Plus we have more hay beds to make, food to chop up, and fences to build.”

  Sam clears his throat. “Dara, can I speak with you for a minute, please? Privately?”

  I place my napkin on my empty plate. “Yeah.” We leave the kitchen and walk through rooms until we’re out of earshot. “What’s up?”