Page 50 of Forever Then

Not surprisingly, she senses my hesitancy and speaks up first. “I can imagine you have a lot of questions. ”

I laugh as I reach for the box of tissues on the counter behind me.

“I do, but I know it’s complex and I don’t need to know anything you’re not able to share with me.

The detective said there was a lot at stake for the person who gave him the information that helped me find Cheyenne.

So…just…thank you for what you did. None of this”—I look to the windows overlooking the army of family through the glass—“would have been possible without you.”

My lungs take in the air they’ve craved for far too long. “Does Cheyenne know?”

“As of about thirty minutes ago, she does,” she says, chuckling, as she finds her sister through the window wiping icing off Kai’s face. Her gaze swells with affection.

“You know, there are decisions I make as a doctor and there are decisions I make as every other title I carry. Mom, wife, friend…sister.”

She turns to face me, hip leaning against the counter.

“The way our parents handled the whole situation—it broke her.

I was on the other side of the country while my little sister suffered here and there was nothing I could do about it.

And when the woman from the adoption agency came and took you away, it was like that last shred of light inside of her burned out.

“When our mom showed up, she focused on managing the paper trail while I consoled Cheyenne. I finally got her to sleep and found Mom in the waiting area. She didn’t say a word to me, not that that was anything new.

“It just sort of happened. One second she had her nose down filling out the birth certificate form and the next she got up to go to the bathroom and left it on the table. I was deep enough into my career to know I probably shouldn’t do it, but young enough to claim ignorance.

“My sister was hurting and I had no idea where you were going to end up or if you would ever come looking for her. So, I grabbed my camera.” She shrugs.

“I printed it and held on to it for myself. It’s not like I had some master plan to do something with it and I didn’t tell Cheyenne because I didn’t want to get her hopes up. ”

“And what about the birthing center?” I ask .

She playfully tightens her gaze, a smirk pulling at her mouth. “If you ask me why I chose to open my own practice, I’ll tell you it’s because I hated being inside a hospital all the time, but I love delivering babies.”

I laugh at the nearly word-for-word—dare I say, rehearsed —explanation I received from her husband earlier.

“And if you ask me why I chose to buy that specific birthing center”—her chin drops, but her eyes stay locked on me—“I’ll tell you it’s because of its proximity to the hospital in case of labor complications.”

“Got it,” I answer with a soldier’s salute.

“And if you ask me why I called that detective back when he came digging for information about a baby born at that address on June 30th, twenty-two years ago,” she takes in a deep breath, “I’ll tell you it’s because I always return my messages.” She embellishes with a smile and I smile back.

“Did he know you and Cheyenne were related?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I left that part out. Maybe it was a smidge of self-preservation on my part but mostly I just didn’t know what was going to come of it. I sent over the photo like it was something I’d found in an old file cabinet left behind by the previous owner.”

“Were you worried he was going to report you?”

“Wouldn’t matter if he did. Still could if he wanted to. I would have given him the photo anyway.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“Why would you risk your career like that?”

Her dark eyes linger on Cheyenne through the window.

She releases a heavy, thoughtful breath before turning back to me.

“Because my sister went through hell to bring you into this world, not just the pregnancy and birth, but in the years since, too. A part of her heart left with you when the agency took you from her arms. You weren’t here for the first twenty-one birthdays, Yanaha.

She’s smiling today, but that’s because you’re here now.

She deserved the chance to know you and if I were to lose my career over creating a path for that to happen, well…

it’s not even a fraction of the sacrifice she made for you. ”

“Thank you for what you did.” The words are far from enough and I know I’ve already said them, but they’re all I can manage.

The risk she’s taken, the secret she’s kept and the hope she’s held on to for more than two decades, never knowing if it would amount to anything, leaves me dumbstruck. And thankful.

So thankful.

Winona takes my hand in hers. “Thank you for making my sister’s heart whole again.”

The sliding door opens and Cheyenne steps inside, finding us immediately at the kitchen sink.

She rounds the kitchen counter. “I was wondering where you both were,” she says.

When she finally closes the distance, our three bodies forming a triangle, she looks between us. “I’m guessing you guys have talked.”

Winona nods and Cheyenne turns to me. “It’s wild, right? I had no idea.”

“Well,” Winona declares, “ I have no idea what you two are talking about and that is my official answer for any and all future questions on the subject.”

We share a laugh but as the humor fades, the energy shifts. The last time the three of us were together was twenty-two years ago. The only two people related to me that ever saw my face at that birthing center are the two women standing before me. One of them held me, while the other held her.

Call it a family bond or instinct, but we all move at the same time.

Our arms intertwine as we draw each other close in a group embrace.

It’s sloppy and full of dripping tears and snot-filled sniffles, but it’s the perfect full-circle moment that my ten-year-old ponderings couldn’t have begun to imagine.

“Do you think my parents think about me on my birthday?” My gosh, ten-year-old me had no idea.

I step back outside with Cheyenne and Winona following behind as I’m swarmed by a gaggle of girl cousins, all of them eager for me to finish their braids.

Connor sits at the far side of the patio with Miguel and his family who have tried to no avail to get him to consume more alcohol all afternoon.

Instead, he’s stuck with water since he took that shot two hours ago.

We lock eyes as I settle back into, what the girls have named, the braiding chair.

He notices my tear-streaked face and moves to get up but I wave my hand to assure him that I’m okay.

His lips pull tight and I smile to ease his concern.

He gives me a wink before Miguel asks him another question about his glory days of football.

The roll of Arthur’s eyes prompts an unexpected giggle.

Thirty minutes later, I’m down to the last braid.

“Where did you learn how to do this?” Rosie asks. I did her hair like mine with a single fishtail hanging around one shoulder.

“My mom taught me.”

“Does she have long hair like you?” Tally asks, her high-pitched voice sweet as sugar. I flash a look to her curly head of hair that wasn’t so easy to maneuver, but I managed a boho, organic looking french braid straight down her back.

“No, but I think that’s why she learned to braid,” I begin, flipping and scooping my fingers through my youngest cousin’s shoulder-length brown hair. “My hair has always been longer and thicker than hers, so she had to learn how to style it. She learned and then she taught me.”

“Why don’t you call my mommy your mommy?” That’s Kai, who has somehow found his way into Cheyenne’s lap to join the braid party.

“Honey, that’s not really a polite question,” Cheyenne whispers, arms wrapped tight around him in a bear hug. “She has a mommy who raised her and she calls her Mommy.”

Kai looks up at his mom, all innocence and curiosity. “Yeah, but you’re her mommy, too.”

She gives her son a kind smile before turning a nervous one on me. “You know you don’t have to answer that, Gretchen. I would never ask or expect you to call me Mom.”

I dip my chin, thankful for her understanding. I’m extraordinarily grateful to be here, to have met these incredible people and I’m proud to call them family, but I don’t think I could ever use the terms Mom and Dad for anyone other than the parents who raised me.

Cheyenne sets my mind further at ease when she says, “I think your mom is the most amazing woman on the planet and I haven’t even met her yet.”

“I think she has two most amazing mommies,” Kai says with both palms smooshing Cheyenne’s cheeks together, making the circle of us laugh.

The sound of a cell phone ringing from across the patio pulls my gaze. Connor looks at his screen and then excuses himself, before he disappears around the side of the house to take the call.

I finish up the last braid as one of my aunts orders the girls to huddle in close to me, showing off their braids for a picture.

After she’s snapped a few on her phone, they all turn and pile on one big group hug, thanking me profusely.

Who knew that a little bit of braiding would make their day? I think it made mine, too.

“Gretchen,” Connor’s voice comes close as he rushes to my side. His phone is clutched in his fist and my nerves skyrocket. “That was your brother.”

My heart slows because the panic in his eyes, the urgency in his voice—whatever comes next can’t be good.

“Reagan’s in the hospital.”