Page 17 of Ten Years Later
Until Emily led the way into her room. A wash of primary colors assaulted him—purple walls, green bedding, and red furniture.
He loved it. “Given what the rest of your house looks like, I’m surprised your mom allowed this.”
“She’s cool that way. You hungry? I was about to eat breakfast.”
Keaton already ate, but he didn’t pass up the offer. “Sounds good. And I hate to ask this, but can I use a bathroom?”
She motioned through a door sitting cracked open. “Mine’s in there. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
She left him in her bedroom. For a second he stood, inhaling the smell of clean laundry and shampoo. He crossed over to the unmade bed, touching the soft sheets. In the closet, several school uniforms hung neatly with the rest a jumbled collection of clothes. At the desk, he flipped through one of many drawing pads, this one filled with family sketches of a father, mother, and daughter playing on the beach.
He tore one out of the family flying kites and folded it, sliding it into his pocket.
In the bathroom, he did his business and as he washed his hands he noticed a wide-toothed comb with dark hair tangled in the teeth.
He dried his hands, took a long sheet of toilet paper, and pulled the hair from the comb. That, too, he put in his pocket.
Keaton took his time walking back to the kitchen, looking in each room again. In the office, he noted a framed mural of photos, tracking Emily over the years. The furthest one back she looked to be about five. Her little face held so much sadness in that photo. Though the next few years her expression gradually transformed into sweet and happy.
In the kitchen, Emily poured two bowls of Life cereal. She asked, “What kind of milk? We’ve got soy or almond.”
“You lactose intolerant?”
“I am. How did you know?”
Because you were as a child, too. “Just a guess. I’ll take almond.”
Her dairy issues had started at a young age. Neither Keaton nor Cora had dairy allergies, though they weren’t sure if it was genetic or not.
She poured almond milk in both bowls.
“You call your mom ‘Mia’?” he asked.
“Sometimes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
“Try me.”
“She’s not my mom. She became my mom out of obligation.”
“I don’t understand.”
Emily put the milk back. Eagerly, she ate cereal. “You’re not hungry?”
“Yes. Sorry.” He took a bite. “When were you adopted?”
“When I was five, nine years ago now. Mia went to high school with my real mom. They weren’t besties or anything but they knew each other and texted a few times over the years. It was only after my real mom died that Mia discovered she’d been listed as my guardian in the will.”
“Seems like a big commitment for two women who texted a few times over the years.”
Emily shrugged.
“Obligation. Did Mia tell you she feels that way?”
“No. She’s always been great about me being dumped on her doorstep. Other than a few high school stories, she doesn’t have much to tell me about my real mom, or dad.” Emily ate more cereal. “When I’m older I plan on hiring an investigator.”
