I came home from the assembly for graduating seniors ready to kick back and relax and not have to worry about anything until the actual ceremony on Saturday. I was looking forward to having the whole summer off to goof off and relax before I headed off to college.
I got off the bus waving goodbye to my friends for what would probably be the last time I would ever see most of them and headed inside.
"Hey mom--"
"--the fuck he is! You gave up your right to say that a long time ago! I raised him, I took care of him, I was there for him! He's MY goddamn son!"
My mother, Janet, was pacing back and forth in the living room with her phone to her ear, and she was pissed. My mother hardly ever swore, so whoever was on the other end of the phone must have really pissed her off. She ran her hand through her platinum blonde hair and finally realized I was home, she held up a finger and turned her attention back to the phone.
"No the fuck you're not! Try it and I swear to God I'll make you regret it! No that's not all there is to it... motherfucker!"
Whoever she was yelling at must have hung up, because mom just stared at her phone and then at me, and burst into tears. I crossed the room in three long strides and hugged her. For a long moment we just stood there, my mom sobbing into my shoulder, and me wondering who pissed her off so much, and where I should hide their body if I ever found them.
Mom finally got herself under control and let go of me, grabbed some tissues to wipe her eyes, and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry you had to see that. How was the assembly?"
"It was fine, but what was that all about?" I asked, "Who was that?"
She wiped her eyes again and threw out the tissues, took my hand and led me over to the couch, "Andy, honey, there's something I need to tell you. It's not going to be easy to hear, and it's something I should have told you a long time ago."
Mom's face and tone of voice turned very serious and I got a little worried. One thing about my mother, she never lied to me. She may have simplified things when I was younger and didn't fully understand certain things, but she never lied. As I got older, I knew when she got that look on her face and that tone of voice that whatever she was telling me was important. We sat down and she took my hands in hers and looked me in the eyes.
"What is it mom? Does it have anything to do with that phone call?"
"It has everything to do with that phone call." she said, settling herself. She took a deep breath. "Andy, sweetie, I'm not really your mother."
I felt like I had been punched in the gut, a chill ran through me, like my blood had been replaced by ice, my mouth hung open and I stared off into the distance at nothing in particular. I finally turned my eyes back to my mother. The woman who had been there for the last 18 years of my life wasn't my mother?
"What?" I asked, the only thing I could think of to say, "You're not my mother? Are you saying I'm adopted?"
"Sort of. I'm actually your aunt." she said. "My older brother, James, is actually your biological father. His wife Sharon is your biological mother."
"Is that who that was on the phone?" I asked, putting two and two together.
"Yes, but let me tell you the whole story first," mom (I couldn't suddenly start thinking of her as my aunt) said. "First off, I'm so sorry for not telling you all this sooner. I wanted to, but I never knew exactly how to approach it. Just promise me you'll hear me out before you say anything."
I didn't say anything, but I nodded. Mom took a deep breath.
"Okay, so my brother, James, is two years older than me. He met Sharon a couple of years after he graduated college, about three years after that they got married. A year after that, you came along. I was thrilled to be an aunt, but even from the beginning I could tell Sharon wasn't happy to be a mother. Looking back on it now, the whole time she was pregnant with you, she seemed more depressed than happy. I can count the times I saw her smile on one hand. Most women I know are happy when motherhood is on the horizon, even if it's an unplanned pregnancy, which is what you were."
"Anyway, like I said, I was so happy I'd be an aunt, I volunteered to watch you whenever they needed a babysitter. So one day, he stops by, you were about 10 months old at the time, and asks me to watch you for a few hours. Doesn't tell me why, doesn't tell me where he's going, just hands you over to me and drives off. About 4 hours go by, and I haven't heard from him. I call him, it goes to voicemail, I text him, it goes unread. I start panicking, so I call grandma and grandpa, they start panicking as well. We start calling local hospitals to see if maybe they got into a car accident or something. Nothing. It's getting late, so I figure I can at least watch you overnight. He left me a handful of diapers, a couple changes of clothes, a couple of bottles, some food and your playpen. The next day, still nothing. But this time, when I try to call, I get a message saying his number is out of service."
"We're starting to get even more worried now, and on top of that I'm running out of supplies and food for you. Fortunately your grandparents went and bought me what I needed, and since they had keys they also stopped by my brother's house. All the furniture is still there, but the house is empty, all their clothes and most of their personal items are gone. So we hired a PI. It turns out he and his wife closed their bank accounts, got everything in cash and just blew town. With no paper trail, it was impossible to figure out where they went. So here I am, a 26 year old who can barely keep a houseplant alive with an infant to take care of. I sat down with your grandparents and we figured the best thing was for me to adopt you. One of your grandfather's friends is a lawyer, and he helped us go through the proper legal channels for me to adopt you. Your grandmother was a godsend, she was a huge help in helping me get everything I needed and gave me as much help as she could on how to properly raise you, I couldn't have done it without her help."
"We figured it would be easier to just say I was your mother, and we would tell you the truth when the time was right, but like I said before, I just never knew how to bring it up."
For a long moment I didn't say anything, trying to digest what she had just told me.
"So this is why all the times I asked you about my father, you said you and he were 'separated'?" I asked.
She sighed, and looked down at our hands. "Yes, I couldn't figure out any other way to explain it when you were little."
"Wait a minute," I said, "If you're really my aunt, what about Aunt Roxy?"
Roxanne was (I thought) my mother's sister who lived a couple miles up the road. She was mom's go-to babysitter, if mom ever was in a situation where she needed someone to watch me, she called on Aunt Roxy.
"She's not really your aunt," mom said, "In fact we're not related at all. Roxanne is my best friend, but we're about as close as two people can be without being related, she's like a sister to me. The number 6 figures heavily into our relationship. We were both born on the exact same day, June 6th, albeit in separate hospitals. I was born at 6:06 in the morning and she was born at 6:06 at night. We were both 6 pounds and 6 ounces. The maternity ward at both hospitals was on the 6th floor, both hospitals were exactly 60 miles away from each other, and we met when we were six years old when her family moved in across the street from us. Again, we figured to avoid confusing you, we would just call her your aunt. She's actually your godmother."
