The Impact of You

Avery

I’m still smiling like an idiot as I make it to my dorm room. Madison’s sitting on the futon painting her nails when I arrive. She studies my wrinkled clothes and messy sleep-styled hair with a smirk. “Have fun last night?”

“Yes.” I bite my cheek to avoid squeeing. “It was fun. How was your date?”

“Dull.” She shrugs. “Oh, a package came for you.” Madison nods toward the desk where a large envelope awaits.

Wow. It’s here. A flash of warmth invades my chest.

Madison pauses, holding the bottle of polish. “Avery? What is it?”

“Hm?” I pluck the envelope. “It’s probably just nothing.” Lie. This envelope is everything: The cure to my identity crisis, a link to my past, and a possible future with my mom. Tears prick my eyes, and still clutching the envelope, I head off for the communal bathrooms, needing a moment to myself.

I pull open the curtain to the shower on the far end and sit on the cool tiled bench seat.

Then I hesitate. Maybe I shouldn’t be alone when I open it. I dial Jase’s number, but the call goes to voicemail. After waiting several minutes, I send him a text. I balance the phone on the bench seat beside me. Since he usually replies right away, I’m surprised when he doesn’t text me back.

I’ve been waiting a lifetime for this moment, and I’m unable to put it off for even another second. I tear open the envelope and slide out the inch thick stack of papers.

I know Jase said he didn’t have any plans today, so I’m wondering where he could be. That question settles like an uneasy pit in my stomach, but I push it to the back of my mind as I begin reading the opening letter, addressed to me, on the adoption agency letterhead. It acknowledges the difficult journey this process may prove to be and lists resources to help deal with birthparent searches. Awesome. Even they don’t have faith in their process.

The following pages contain boring forms and information that my dads had to complete nineteen years ago. It’s funny to see that their handwriting hasn’t changed a bit in all that time. Seeing the sheer volume of forms and information they supplied overwhelms me. They must’ve really wanted me bad. That thought makes me smile, though it’s quickly followed by a pang of guilt about doing this behind their backs.

I continue leafing through the pages, knowing the good stuff is probably at the back of the pile.

Bingo.

shockingly familiar is clipped to the back page. The same wavy auburn hair and wide-set eyes that greet

and a generic email account

Huh.

Jessica.

name is Jessica.

brushing it lovingly with my thumb. Tears sting my eyes, and as scary as it is, I stuff the papers back into the envelope and head back to my room to email her. Lord

* * *

several times, and still nothing. I’m more worried than anything else, and since he didn’t show up for

and quiet, and although my heart is pounding at what I might find, I climb the stairs to the attic. There could be a million reasons for him not calling me back…he could have the flu, maybe something happened with his mom…or the worst – is he back with Stacia? Yet, even as I try to justify his silence, I know it can only mean one thing. I saw Marcy and Stacia talking the other night. I’m sure they saw me too. I guess I just hoped maybe Jase wouldn’t have to find out this way –

hear the floorboards creak as he crosses the room. A ragged looking Jase peers

“Jase?”

eyes. The pain I see reflected back at me is too much. This is why I don’t get close to people. This look. I hate being responsible for it when they

come in? Explain at least?”

not exactly a warm welcome, but he’s not shutting me out just yet, either. I step through the door and pull in a steadying breath. I’ve never wanted to explain this before. When confronted with my past, I always flee. Always. But Jase deserves more. So as much as it’s going to suck to tell him this story, I know I have

cold and any and all warmth between us is absent too. Jase turns to face me. “Did you know about the pictures?” he asks.

feel loved. I needed to feel loved, to be close to someone, and I loved it when Brent held me or touched me. Whether or not it had anything to do with my adoption, I didn’t know, but I craved that

didn’t say yes to the idea right away – he wore me down over a couple of weeks. And of course what followed wasn’t heartfelt; it wasn’t filled with love at all. It was an experience that left me broken,

encompassing, I stagger a step back, struggling to remain on my feet. It’s the look I hoped I never had to see it cross

had taken together, a few I took of myself and texted to him while

the air. “These are things you mention.” He

only a matter of

cramps and I think I might actually be sick.

voice is low and controlled, like he’s barely holding back