Jose
Tabby looked like she’d just swallowed acid as I threw my phone onto the couch. “Your mother’s a c…”
“Ah, ah, ah, we don’t use that word,” I held my hand up. I had a serious issue with the c-word, and even though she was right – my mom’s photo was probably under every definition on the internet for the word – I still couldn’t hear it. “I prefer to use total fucking bitch, if you will.”
I’d called her to ask for details about our dad, hoping that she’d at least be able to remember something. Instead, I’d had to listen to her lecture me about how she’d been trying to contact me for weeks because she was broke and wanted to come back to the States. She didn’t want to drive back, she wanted to fly because her man had left in the middle of the night with her car and purse, which had her passport in it. I didn’t reply with the obvious observation that she couldn’t fly without a passport, and that she needed to go to the American Embassy to get a new one, she could figure that out herself. The story had continued for ten minutes, with her telling me how she’d been staying with neighbors and working in a bar because I hadn’t called her back. Basically, her situation was all my fault. I’d stopped bailing her out four years ago, and she knew it. Someone withdrawing three thousand dollars from your account because they wanted to go on a party cruise would do that to you. In the end, I’d explained that I didn’t have any money that I could give her – which was a lie – and also that Olivia and I were staying with a friend, because my house had been hit by a wrecking ball with branches and leaves. This had resulted in her having an epic shit fit. Trying to distract her, I’d asked about my dad, and she’d told me to go fuck myself. Not once did she ask if I was ok, not once did she ask after Olivia, and not once did she show any concern about the fact I was homeless, too. This was the woman who’d given birth to me, and the perfect example for why I called her Wylda.
“That’s too mild,” Tabby muttered, spinning her phone around in her hand. Before I’d called Wylda, Tabby had sent a response from both of us to the message she’d received. Now, we were playing the waiting game.
“Do you think he’ll answer?” I hated feeling this vulnerable. I knew nothing about the man, only what Tabby had told me, and we’d taken the giant step of contacting him and opening up communication between us. Who the hell wouldn’t freak out about that? This wasn’t a normal family situation, getting a text from a relative who’d been living overseas for five years. This was someone who’d helped create both of us, and we didn’t even know anything about him until now.
Just then, her phone buzzed, and she looked down at it. “It’s a reply.”
The system that the company we’d used to do our tests used was linked to one that allowed messages to be sent to the familial matches that came up. It was like Facebook messenger for long-lost relatives. Opening up the one that had just come through, both of us angled our heads so we could read it at the same time.Dear Tabitha and Josephine,
Thank you for reaching out to me. I must admit, I never expected to find anyone after I sent the sample back. I had tried to contact Olivia on many occasions, but all of my letters were returned. One of my biggest regrets was never getting to meet you, betraying your mom, and now I can add not knowing of Josephine’s existence to that, too. I have missed out on so many years with you both.
It will take some time for this to sink in for all of us. In a way, I feel like I’ve just been handed the biggest gift I’ve ever received. However, I also feel like I’ve completely failed at life as well. A little girl is meant to be her father’s precious diamond, he’s meant to protect her and love her – my actions mean I’ve never done that for either of you and I’m disappointed in myself.
I’m going to put my email address and phone number at the bottom of this. When you’re ready, I’d love to hear about your lives – if you want to be in contact with me, that is. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, but I would be grateful to tell my side of it all. I don’t have an excuse, only the truth, and it won’t change things overnight, but I hope that in time it will help.