From chapter 4, Honeymoon
Kate:
“Oh, you’re up!” I said as Cathy shuffled into the kitchen.
“Good morning” she said sleepily, eyeing the bathroom door.
“Make yourself at home, Cathy. Coffee will be ready soon. The bathroom’s free if you want it.”
“Thanks. I might take a bath,” she said as she went in and closed the door.
Before long , she was back in the kitchen, now refreshed. She pulled a chair up to the table by the window and told me that Heather had left early that morning to go for a hike with a friend they had met on the Green Tortoise bus.
I filled the kettle with water from the tap, put it on the burner and lit the stove. The paper filter was filled with fragrant, fresh ground coffee. I poured hot water from the kettle and watched it transform into its dark brew. I could feel the motherly urge to nourish Cathy imbue my offering as I gripped the mug carefully and set it on the table in front of her.
She poured a long stream of cream into the mug and I watched it turn from dark brown to nearly white. She stirred several teaspoons of sugar into the milky mix with her spoon.
“I see you like a little coffee with your milk!” I chuckled as she pressed her lips into a smile. I wondered what to say next as we sat at the kitchen table.
“How did you sleep?” I asked.
“Good” she said.
Anxiety and delight shuttled back and forth inside me. We had only clocked in a few hours together. So far, so good.
Today would mark the first full day in this new chapter together. We had no script. I felt exhilarated, terrified – and game.
Cathy’s eyes watched me as she sipped her creamy brew. She had accepted my invitation to come to Portland to try me on for size. I could feel her check me out as I waited for her to speak. My mind was reeling fast, spinning with thoughts that held tight on my tongue, waiting to give her time to answer.
Her thick, collar-length hair was a lush coppery mix of browns and bronze. I asked her about the long skinny braid with a bead at the end; it hung a foot longer than the rest.
“I keep this one strand growing to remind me of where I’ve been,” she replied, and picked up the end to twirl the blue bead between her fingers and her thumb.
I soaked her in as we sipped. My eyes followed the pretty curves of her face like a magnet, coming to rest on the aquamarine glint in her eyes that looked back at me with a frank expression. I couldn’t resist looking at her face. I tried to be subtle, but smiled when I knew she’d caught me gazing – as new mothers do.
She had eyes the color of ocean waves catching light, the same aqua light that is in my sister Mary's eyes.
I returned Cathy’s gaze with my own plain, slate-blue eyes inherited from my mother’s mother on the Scottish side. I shyly reached to touch Cathy’s hair with my fingers.
“Your hair is beautiful,” I whispered.
She let me touch her hair the way a child would, quiet and waiting. My thumb gently rubbed the long tendril across my curled finger, poised to hold the strand of her burnished hair in my hand. Since the first dark fluff on the day she was born, I hadn’t touched her hair. It had been bleached with dark roots when we had first met. She’d been eighteen. Now, her thick mane of nut-brown hair touched her shoulders.
I let go, smiling. She smiled back.
We both have dramatic natural hair. It was a basic trait that was evidence of the truth of her identity. We saw things that we recognized in each other as we sat across the table. I had savored that brief touch of her hair. I hadn’t guessed what her hair would feel like. It was even thicker than mine. I felt akin to her and tears welled under my eyelids. We were related, after all.
It was an odd feeling not to have to hide or pretend anymore. Cathy had freely made her choice to come to me.
I let my arm reach up to touch her hair again. She smiled as I drew in the sensation of its auburn threads with my fingertips, to let my senses take in the essence of this daughter. It reminded me of honeysuckle in bloom – so sweet and never enough to fill the appetite. I let go.
“It’s nice to touch your hair, thank you”. I smiled and looked down at my coffee.
“Oh, you’re up!” I said as Cathy shuffled into the kitchen.
“Good morning” she said sleepily, eyeing the bathroom door.
“Make yourself at home, Cathy. Coffee will be ready soon. The bathroom’s free if you want it.”
“Thanks. I might take a bath,” she said as she went in and closed the door.
Before long , she was back in the kitchen, now refreshed. She pulled a chair up to the table by the window and told me that Heather had left early that morning to go for a hike with a friend they had met on the Green Tortoise bus.
I filled the kettle with water from the tap, put it on the burner and lit the stove. The paper filter was filled with fragrant, fresh ground coffee. I poured hot water from the kettle and watched it transform into its dark brew. I could feel the motherly urge to nourish Cathy imbue my offering as I gripped the mug carefully and set it on the table in front of her.
She poured a long stream of cream into the mug and I watched it turn from dark brown to nearly white. She stirred several teaspoons of sugar into the milky mix with her spoon.
“I see you like a little coffee with your milk!” I chuckled as she pressed her lips into a smile. I wondered what to say next as we sat at the kitchen table.
“How did you sleep?” I asked.
“Good” she said.
Anxiety and delight shuttled back and forth inside me. We had only clocked in a few hours together. So far, so good.
Today would mark the first full day in this new chapter together. We had no script. I felt exhilarated, terrified – and game.
Cathy’s eyes watched me as she sipped her creamy brew. She had accepted my invitation to come to Portland to try me on for size. I could feel her check me out as I waited for her to speak. My mind was reeling fast, spinning with thoughts that held tight on my tongue, waiting to give her time to answer.
Her thick, collar-length hair was a lush coppery mix of browns and bronze. I asked her about the long skinny braid with a bead at the end; it hung a foot longer than the rest.
“I keep this one strand growing to remind me of where I’ve been,” she replied, and picked up the end to twirl the blue bead between her fingers and her thumb.
I soaked her in as we sipped. My eyes followed the pretty curves of her face like a magnet, coming to rest on the aquamarine glint in her eyes that looked back at me with a frank expression. I couldn’t resist looking at her face. I tried to be subtle, but smiled when I knew she’d caught me gazing – as new mothers do.
She had eyes the color of ocean waves catching light, the same aqua light that is in my sister Mary's eyes.
I returned Cathy’s gaze with my own plain, slate-blue eyes inherited from my mother’s mother on the Scottish side. I shyly reached to touch Cathy’s hair with my fingers.
“Your hair is beautiful,” I whispered.
She let me touch her hair the way a child would, quiet and waiting. My thumb gently rubbed the long tendril across my curled finger, poised to hold the strand of her burnished hair in my hand. Since the first dark fluff on the day she was born, I hadn’t touched her hair. It had been bleached with dark roots when we had first met. She’d been eighteen. Now, her thick mane of nut-brown hair touched her shoulders.
I let go, smiling. She smiled back.
We both have dramatic natural hair. It was a basic trait that was evidence of the truth of her identity. We saw things that we recognized in each other as we sat across the table. I had savored that brief touch of her hair. I hadn’t guessed what her hair would feel like. It was even thicker than mine. I felt akin to her and tears welled under my eyelids. We were related, after all.
It was an odd feeling not to have to hide or pretend anymore. Cathy had freely made her choice to come to me.
I let my arm reach up to touch her hair again. She smiled as I drew in the sensation of its auburn threads with my fingertips, to let my senses take in the essence of this daughter. It reminded me of honeysuckle in bloom – so sweet and never enough to fill the appetite. I let go.
“It’s nice to touch your hair, thank you”. I smiled and looked down at my coffee.
Cathy:
“Want a cup of tea before bed?” Kate asked.
“Sure,” I said. Having still more questions than answers, it seemed neither of us were quite ready to let the night end.
Unlike our first meeting, now there were no limitations on our time, no need to leave after our appointment was over. Our conversations felt limitless as well – there was so much to talk about, so much to learn. I recalled how I imagined meeting my birthmother might be, back when I was a teenager. I thought I would learn everything about her in the first meeting and then go back to my life, contented with the knowledge gained.
As I settled into my seat at Kate’s kitchen table, Kate put on the kettle for tea. As she poured the boiling water over a blend of peppermint and camomile cradled in a metal mesh sphere, I realized I'd never had tea other than Lipton's before. Having a pot of herbal tea might seem like a small thing, insignificant; but for me it felt like it was just one of innumerable magical things that I was being introduced to by Kate.
She was a musician, independent, living on her own. She was creative and bright and her home reflected that with its whimsical details - the batik cloth hanging as a separator between the music room and her bedroom, the painting of the pepper that hung in her kitchen, the two small parakeets who kept chorus in the corner of the room.
In talking with her, it I felt like she understood me instantly, that she could relate to my own, unique way of viewing the world, who understood that world as well, and maybe could even lead me in it. I wasn’t alone. I hadn’t realized how alone I had felt for my entire life until that moment. Having someone understand me in such a complete way that incorporated beliefs, point of view, an understanding made me discover that I could know things without it having been taught.
I wanted to know everything about her, understand who she was, know everything about her life.
I was reminded of Sleeping Beauty, raised by strangers away from who she was, unknowingly being hidden from her home by her own parents for her safety, to protect her from a witch’s curse. My curse of hiding had finally been lifted and I was back to my origins, to a world that I never knew existed, but that I could instantly recognize ... as home.