Page 36 of The Wandering Season

Frigid rain still poured outside the following day, and I had no desire to leave the vacation rental to explore more of Copenhagen that day. It wasn’t even sunrise yet, and I cursed my travel-weary body for not letting me get proper sleep. I lay firmly entrenched in the covers and would remain there until hunger or the call of nature forced me from them.

I thought about reaching my arm out from under the blanket to grab my phone to research the Danish equivalent of DoorDash, but even that seemed like more effort than I was able to muster. And I wasn’t eager to find out if the best breakfast offerings to be had were a smorgasbord comprised of a dozen kinds of pickled fish. As adventurous an eater as I was, breakfast was the meal for which I sought out the familiar.

After a quarter of an hour of indecision, I felt resolve begin to rise in my core, slow but sure. I gathered the courage to see if there was some sort of coffee shop with pastries close enough that I could walk to without getting entirely soaked.

When the screen came into focus I saw a new email alert from the FamilyRoots app Avery had installed on my phone.

Dear Ms. Stratton,

Congratulations! You have new DNA relatives. Click here to view details. Thank you for trusting our service to keep you connected with your loved ones.

Your friends at FamilyRoots

I clicked the link, expecting to find another batch of third to distant cousins as we’d stumbled across in Italy. Instead, there was a solitary entry under Close Relatives—the space reserved for first-degree relatives: parents, siblings, and children.

Tara Murray: Your Mother

The room fell out of focus. The metallic tinge of bile filled my mouth, cruel and biting. I couldn’t be sure how long I sat there fighting to regain control of myself. Every breath was a conscious effort, and none too easy. It was several minutes before it registered that I had an unread entry in the in-app messaging service.

Dear Veronica, (I love the name your parents chose for you, by the way)

I hope this message is not an unwelcome intrusion in your life.

If it is, please delete this and don’t give it a second thought.

You owe me nothing—not even a small sliver of your time if you don’t wish to give it.

If you’re still reading, please know a day hasn’t gone by when I haven’t thought of you and wished that things could have been different.

For a few very specific reasons, I haven’t been able to contact you before now, but I have, with every fiber of my being, wished I could have long before now.

If this were in the pre-digital era, I’d have a wastepaper bin full of discarded drafts.

Thankfully, for the sake of the trees, I’ve just been reducing the life of my Delete key.

Some things simply deserve an explanation face-to-face, no matter how ineloquent they might be.

While you owe me nothing, I owe you that explanation and far more.

I’m happy to arrange to meet up in New York, where I currently live. Or, if you prefer, I can come to you.

I know there is a good chance I will never hear from you, but I want you to know I wish you so very well.

Sincerely,

—Tara Murray

I read and reread the message several dozen times.

It raised more questions than it answered, but she wasn’t wrong in thinking that this was heavy stuff to get out in a letter.

I didn’t envy her the task of writing it.

I couldn’t say I’d never pictured my birth mother before—always red-haired and middling height like me—but this was the first time I’d felt real compassion for her.

Reading between the lines, she’d not wanted to give me up and she’d wanted to find me.

That was what every adopted kid dreamed of, right? A slightly more grown-up version of “they never meant to give me up in the first place” from the songs in Annie where all the orphanage girls dreamed of being rescued from the clutches of Mrs. Hannigan.

But I never expected a red-haired woman to appear on the doorstep in tears, calling me her baby and begging to atone for her years of absence.

I’d only really wanted to be my parents’ biological kid.

But there was no amount of wishful thinking that could change the fact that I’d come to them by means of this other woman, who seemed to be a decent sort of human, from what I could parse from one short message.

I needed to talk to someone.

Not Mom and Dad, but family.

I checked the time on my phone, and it was still ridiculously early in the morning, which meant there was a chance Avery might be awake if she didn’t have a sunrise barre class or something.

There was no harm in texting.

If she was asleep, she’d have her phone on Do Not Disturb and wouldn’t be roused.

Given her fast-paced lifestyle, her ability to sleep hard and fast was one of her more useful superpowers.

Me: Hey, are you up?

Three blinking dots flashed immediately.

Avery: Yeah. It’s only 9 p.m. in LA.

Me: Oh, good . . . I didn’t know you were there.

Avery: Yeah. Last-minute trip to the garment district this morning. They put me up in a swanky hotel and I’m about to go soak my aching feet in the pool. I walked miles today.

Me: In inappropriate shoes, no doubt. But it sounds like your idea of a great time.

Avery: Oh absolutely. I learned tons today and I’m here for the rest of the week. Usually they send senior staff for these buying expeditions, but they decided I was ready.

Me: That sounds like a big deal!

Avery: Yep, appears I’m in line for a promotion. Will be able to give Dad’s Amex a bit of a break.

I smiled despite myself.

Me: You should still use it every so often so they don’t cancel his account.

Avery: Hahaha. The chef has become a comic. Why are you texting me at 6 a.m.? Unless you’re nursing a hangover or something equally scandalous, that’s far too early to be awake on vacation.

Me: Fitful sleep. And when I woke up there was a message from my birth mother on FamilyRoots . . .

No dots appeared, but Avery’s profile photo appeared large across my screen with an incoming call notification. I punched the green button.

“You couldn’t lead with the birth mom thing? Why did you let me prattle on about LA?”

Avery said by way of greeting.

“I mean, the news will keep and I’m always excited to hear about your life.”

“So what do you know?”

Avery pressed.

“Her name is Tara Murray and she lives in New York. She sent a message in the app. Didn’t give a ton of details, but she did offer me the chance to meet up.”

“So . . . are you going to?”

I shrugged. “I haven’t even processed everything. I just needed to talk to someone and you were the first person I thought of.”

She swallowed hard. “That means a lot, Vero.”

I ignored the stinging at my eyes. “It’s true. You’re the best sister a girl could ask for.”

She cleared her throat, pressing on just like Dad always did. “Whatever you want to do, I’ll support you. If you want to meet her in New York, I can go with you. A united front and all that. I could even come back early from LA if you want.”

Her voice grew a bit raspy, but she was able to keep her emotions in check.

“No, no, no. This is a big shot for you, and you’re not gonna blow it for this. I don’t have to meet this person tomorrow, if at all. It can absolutely wait.”

She heaved a sigh. “Okay, but I mean it when I say whatever you need, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll be upset if you don’t.”

I held up a hand in a mock salute. “Scout’s honor. I mostly just wanted to tell someone. And I’m not ready to get into this with Mom and Dad. Can you hold off on telling them anything? This feels like face-to-face stuff.”

“Definitely. As much as I enjoy being a font of family information, which is rare given that I live a couple thousand miles away from you all, that show is all yours, Ronnie.”

And with those words, I realized that, in a different way, Avery, too, had her moments of isolation from the family. She’d had to choose a coastal city to make her career feasible, while I was an easy drive from the family nest. It was her choice, certainly, but it had to have been a hard one given how close she was to all of us.

“So . . . how is Copenhagen?”

Avery ventured after a few beats. She might as well have announced, “This is me changing the subject away from your birth mom until you bring it up again. See how respectful of your boundaries I am?”

And I wished I could have told her I found Copenhagen charming, because I’m sure it was. I wished I could have brought myself to offer some platitude, but it was beyond me. “It’s a beautiful city from what I’ve seen, but the weather is gross, and I’d rather eat sawdust than venture outside today.”

I heard a grunt from the other side of the line. “Of course it sucks. You’re holed up in a vacation rental instead of enjoying yourself. I was an idiot for pushing you into this trip in winter—especially Copenhagen—and I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, really. Maybe I’ll find an English bookshop and hole up with a few novels. It’s not quite the same as reading on the beach, but it could be restful.”

“It seems a waste. Do you want me to change your ticket so you can go home? We can try the Denmark thing again in better weather.”

“I don’t know . . . I’m kinda not ready to face my own empty apartment yet. Yes, I’m in one as we speak, but it’s not my empty apartment, ya know?”

“I get it. Why don’t you go hang out in mine then? Chill on your own for a bit, and I’ll be back in three days, and we can do some touristy stuff. Broadway shows and restaurants. I’ll see what strings I can pull to get us into Le Bernardin or Daniel even. Make a real sisterly weekend out of it.”

I paused. When I thought of all the places I could go, Denver, Estes, Blackthorn, or . . . anywhere else, New York might not have been the place I would have chosen first, but the invitation was the most appealing prospect before me. I’d never been to New York, and I’d always been curious about Avery’s life outside of Colorado.

“Would it cost a fortune?”

I braced myself for some staggering change fee she’d wave her hand at as if it were couch change.

“Not at all. I booked flexible tickets all the way, sis. It won’t be a problem at all. I’ll tell my super to let you in and give you my spare key, and you can crawl around the city to your heart’s content or grab some novels at the Strand and order delivery if you really want to stay in. A mix of all of those things would be healthy. Whatever you want. And for the weekend, you can leave the planning to me. Nothing taxing, but a nice little itinerary for structure.”

She knew me. I always preferred to have something on the docket rather than making all the plans on the fly. “That would be amazing. You can show me all your favorite places.”

“You bet. It will be so fun you’ll eventually forgive me for single-handedly upending your whole life.”

“Avery, you didn’t. Honest. You had nothing to do with Jonathan. And you certainly didn’t mean to hurt anyone with the DNA kits.”

“No. I really didn’t. I made Mom and Dad do theirs too, by the way. Mom’s Italian with a bit of French. Dad’s Italian and English, just as we expected. And I’m the blend.”

“You got the best of them. Brains, beauty, charm . . . the whole package deal.”

“I wish you saw yourself through the same lens of kindness as you see me,”

she replied. “You’ve always been so hard on yourself.”

“I’m trying to do better about it. Confronting everything has maybe sent me off in the right direction at least. And I have you and Steph to thank for that.”

“I’m glad to hear it, sister. I’ve always only wanted the best for you.”

“I know it. So go ahead and change the ticket. Whenever you can get me there that won’t cost a huge upcharge.”

“On it.”

I could hear clicking in the background to confirm she was, in fact, already in the process of changing my ticket despite it being ridiculously early in the morning.

“I can get you on the nonstop at 1:00 p.m. your time, today, at no charge since it’s a same day change and we’re more than four hours out. Is that too soon?”

I giggled. “No, I think I can manage to get cleaned up and to the airport in the next seven hours. Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s the least I can do. Can I ask you a question that is officially none of my business?”

“I’m pretty sure that was your minor in college, so yes, I think you’re capable of that.”

She exhaled slowly. “Do you think you’re going to reach out to your birth mom while you’re in New York?”

I peered out the window where the rain still pelted, but it seemed to be lessening as the gloom of night slowly gave way to morning.

I tried to keep my voice neutral. “It would be my opportunity, wouldn’t it?”

“It would. You’ve been waiting for answers for a long time. This Tara person can give them to you better than anyone. You don’t have to forge a lifelong bond with her or anything, but you could meet with her as a favor to yourself.”

I took a long pause. “You may be right, Ave. I’m not sure if I’m up for it just yet.”

“Completely fair, sister. But promise me you’ll at least consider it. You deserve to know your own story.”

“I promise.”

I confirmed with Avery that I had the updated ticket in my email and all was in order, and she assured me she’d get everything set to access her condo when I reached the city. She even promised me an email with suggestions for getting from the airport and tips for navigating the city from a local’s perspective by the time I landed.

Leaving Copenhagen so soon felt bittersweet. It was a shame that I wouldn’t get to know and love the place as I had the craggy shores of Westport, the winding cobblestone streets of Beynac, and the lush hills of the Italian countryside. But I was in no sort of headspace to give the gorgeous city a fair shot. It was time to head back to familiar soil and get back to piecing together the next chapter of my life.

I saw a glimmer of a tall blonde woman in a corner of the room as I wheeled my suitcase from the bedroom into the living room. Unlike Aoife, Imogène, and Carlotta, she didn’t seem all that keen to tell me her story. I felt a warmth embrace me as this woman, whoever she was, let me know I was welcome to return when I was ready.