Finding Perfect Read online

  I knock quietly on the windowpane, hoping she’s in her room. I immediately hear movement and then her curtains are pushed aside.

  She looks like a fucking angel. Still.

  I wave at her and she smiles at me. She actually looks happy to see me. That smile eliminates the majority of my nerves.

  This always happens. I get paranoid and worried when I’m away from her, but when I’m with her, I can still see how she feels about me. Even when she looks sad.

  Six opens the window and moves aside so I can climb inside. Her bedroom is dark, like she’s been sleeping, but it’s only nine o’clock.

  I turn to face her and take her in. She’s wearing a t-shirt and pajama bottoms plastered with pizza slices. It reminds me that I haven’t eaten dinner today. I don’t even remember eating lunch. I haven’t had much of an appetite.

  “What’s up?” she asks.

  “Nothing.”

  She stares at me for a moment and then gets this look in her eyes like she’s uncomfortable. She walks back to her bed and sits down. She pats the spot next to her, so I lie down and stare up at her.

  “I lied,” I say. “It isn’t nothing.”

  Six sighs heavily and then scoots down so that she’s lying down next to me. She doesn’t turn toward me, though. She stares up at the ceiling. “I know.”

  “You do?”

  She nods. “I was expecting you to show up tonight.”

  I’m suddenly regretting coming over here and confronting it, because confronting it means action will be taken, and it might not be an action I want. Shit. Now I’m scared. “Are you breaking up with me?” I ask her.

  She rolls her head and looks at me sincerely. “No, Daniel. Don’t be a dumbass. Why? Are you breaking up with me?”

  “No,” I say immediately. Convincingly. “Dumbass.”

  She laughs a little. That’s a good sign, but she looks away again, back to the ceiling, and offers up nothing else.

  “Why are things weird between us?” I ask her.

  “I don’t know,” she answers quietly. “I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

  “What am I doing wrong?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But I am doing something wrong?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What can I do to be better?”

  “I don’t even know if you can be any better.”

  “Well, if I’m not the issue, what is?”

  “Everything else? Nothing else? I don’t know.”

  “This conversation isn’t going anywhere,” I say.

  She smiles. “Yeah, we’ve never been the best at deep conversation.”

  We aren’t. We’re shallow. Both of us. Our conversations are mostly shallow. We like to keep things fun and light because everything under the surface is so damn heavy. “That doesn’t seem to be working out for us too well, so tell me what you’re thinking. Let’s dig a little and figure this out.”

  Six rolls her head and eyes me. “I’m thinking about how much I hate the holidays,” she says.

  “Why? They’re the best. No classes, lots of food, we get to sit around and be fat and lazy.”

  She doesn’t laugh. She just looks sad. And then it hits me why she hates holidays, and I feel like an idiot, and I want to apologize but I don’t know how. So instead, I slip my fingers through hers and squeeze her hand. “Do holidays make you think about him?”

  She nods. “Always.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. While I’m trying to think of a way to make her feel better, she rolls onto her side and faces me.

  I let go of her hand and reach up to her cheek, stroking it with my thumb. Her eyes are so sad and I want to kiss her eyelids, as if that’ll make that look go away. It won’t. It’s always there, hidden behind fake smiles.

  “Do you ever think about him?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I admit. “Not in the way you do, I’m sure. You carried him for nine months. Loved him. Held him. I didn’t know about him until I already knew the outcome, so I don’t think it left as big of a hole in me as it did you.”

  A single tear rolls down her cheek and I’m glad we’re talking about this, but also very, very sad for her. I think this has affected her a lot more than I realized.

  “I wish I could make it better for you,” I say, pulling her against my chest. I always try to use humor to fix the sad things, but humor can’t fix this and it’s all I know. “It scares me because I don’t know how to make you happy.”

  “I’m scared I’ll always be sad.”

  I’m scared she’ll always be sad, too. And of course I would take whatever version of Six I can get, whether that’s happy or sad or mad, but for her sake, I want her to be happy. I want her to forgive herself. I want her to stop worrying.

  It’s a while before she starts talking again. And when she does, her voice is shaking. “It feels like…” She sighs heavily before she continues. “It’s like someone took a huge chunk out of my chest. And there are two parts of me now that don’t connect. I feel so disconnected, Daniel.”

  Her painful admission makes me wince. I kiss the top of her head and just hold her. I don’t know what to say that’ll make her feel better. I never know what to say. Maybe that’s why I don’t ask her about him, because I feel like she carries all the burden and I don’t know how to lift it off of her.

  “Does it help you to talk about it?” I ask her. “Because you never do.”

  “I didn’t think you wanted to know.”

  “I do. I just didn’t think you wanted to talk about it. But I do want to know. I want to know everything if you feel like telling me.”

  “I don’t know. It might make me feel worse, but I do sometimes want to tell you about it all.”

  “Then tell me. What was it like? The pregnancy?”

  “Scary. I hardly left my host family's house. I think I was depressed, now that I look back on it. I didn’t want anyone to know, not even Sky, because I had already made up my mind that I would put him up for adoption before I came back. So I kept it all to myself and didn’t tell anyone back home because I thought it would make the decision more bearable if no one else knew about it. I thought it was a brave choice at the time, but now I wonder if it was a scared choice.”

  I pull back and look her in the eyes. “It was both. You were scared and you were brave. But most of all, you were selfless.”

  That makes her smile. Maybe I’m actually doing something right, here. I think of more questions to ask her. “How did you find out you were pregnant? Who was the first person you told?”

  “I was late for my period, but I thought it might have been the travel and being in an entirely foreign situation. But when I didn’t get it the second time, I bought a test. I took it and it wasn’t one of those plus- or minus-sign tests. It was the kind that said, “pregnant” or “not pregnant,” but it was in Italian. It said “Incinta.” I had no idea what that meant, and I had taken the test at school, so I couldn’t use my phone to Google it because it was in my locker. So after my last class, I asked the American teacher at my school what incinta meant, and when she said, “Pregnant,” I started crying. So...I guess Ava was technically the first person I told.”

  “How did she react?”

  “She was amazing. I really liked her, and for the first month, she was the only one I told. She went over all my options with me. She even went to my host family with me when I told them. And she never made me feel pressured, so it was nice to have her to talk to. When I decided on adoption, she said she knew a couple who was looking to adopt, but they wanted a closed adoption because they were scared I would change my mind in the future. But she vouched for them and I trusted her, so she helped us get a lawyer and was by my side through the whole process. And even though she knew the host family, she never tried to persuade my decision.”

  I don’t want to interrupt her, because I’ve been wanting to know all of this since the day I found out she’d had a baby, but I can’t get
past that tidbit of information she just shared. “Wait,” I say. “This teacher. She knows who adopted the baby? Can’t we reach out to her?”

  Six looks deflated when I ask that. She shakes her head. “I agreed to the closed adoption. We all signed legal paperwork. And despite all that, I’ve called her twice since I’ve been back, begging her for information. Her hands are tied. Legally and ethically. It’s a dead end, Daniel. I’m sorry.”

  I deflate at that news, but try not to show it. I nod and kiss her forehead reassuringly. I feel stupid even assuming she hadn’t tried that avenue already. I feel stupid that I haven’t tried any avenue at all. I haven’t even offered. Now that I’m looking at this situation as a whole, I’m surprised she still puts up with me.

  I keep her talking so she can’t focus on the same thing I’m focused on—how much I suck.

  “What was the delivery like?”

  “Hurt like hell, but it went pretty quick. They let me keep him in my room for an hour. It was just me and him. I cried the whole time. And I almost changed my mind, Daniel. I almost did. But it wasn’t because I thought he’d be better off with me. It was because I didn’t want to hurt. I didn’t want to miss him. I didn’t want to feel the emptiness I knew I was going to feel. But I knew if I kept him, it would just be for selfish reasons. I was worried how it would affect me.” She wipes at her eyes before continuing. “Before they came and got him, I looked down at him and I said, ‘I’m not doing this because I don’t love you. I’m doing it because I do.’ That was the only thing I said to him out loud before they came for him. I wish I would have said more.”

  I can feel tears stinging at my own eyes. I just pull her closer to me. I can’t imagine what that was like for her. I can’t imagine how much pain she’s been in this whole time. I can’t believe I thought it was because of me. I’m not significant enough to cause someone the kind of pain having to say goodbye to your own child causes.

  “After the nurse took him away, she came back to my room and sat with me while I cried. She said, ‘I know this is the worst day of your life. But thanks to you, it just became the best day of two other people’s lives.’” Six inhales a shaky breath. “That made me feel a little better in that moment. Like maybe she saw adoptions happen a lot and she could tell it was hard for me. It made me feel like I wasn’t the only mother giving up her child.”

  I shake my head adamantly. “You didn’t give him up, Six. I hate that phrase. You gave him a life. And you gave his new parents a life. The last thing you did was give up. You stood up.”

  That makes her cry. Hard. She curls into me and I just hold her, running my hand gently over her head. “I know it’s scary because we don’t know what kind of life he has. But you don’t know what kind of life he would have had if you would have kept him. And you’d have this same fear if you made that choice—wondering if you should have given him to someone who could afford to care for him. There’s so much unknown to swim around in and that’ll probably always be there. You might always feel disconnected. But you have me. I know I can’t change what you went through in the past, but I can make you promises. And I can keep them.”

  She lifts her face from my chest and looks up at me with red eyes and a little bit of hope. “What kind of promises?”

  I brush hair away from her face. “I promise that I will never doubt your decision,” I say. “I promise I will never talk about it unless you feel like talking about it. I promise I’ll keep trying to make you smile, even when I know it’s the kind of sadness that a joke can’t fix. I promise to always love you, no matter what.” I press my lips against hers and kiss her, then pull back. “No matter what, Six. No. Matter. What.”

  Her eyes are still full of tears and I know her heart is still full of sadness, but through it all, she smiles at me. “I don’t deserve you, Daniel.”

  “I know,” I say in complete agreement. “You deserve someone way better.”

  She laughs, and the sound of it makes my heart swell.

  “I guess I’m stuck with you until someone better comes along, then.”

  I smile back at her, and finally, finally, things feel normal again. As normal as things can be between people like Six and me.

  “I love you, Cinderella,” I whisper.

  “I love you, too. No matter what.”

  Chapter Three

  When I got home from Six’s house last night, I slept through the night for the first time in a month. I went to bed relieved that we were okay.

  But I woke up this morning feeling not okay.

  Sure, our relationship finally seems stable. But Six is hurting. A lot. And I keep telling myself there’s nothing I can do, but when I woke up feeling unsettled, I realized it’s because I haven’t even been trying. Sure, it was a closed adoption. Sure, I’ll probably keep getting doors slammed in my face. But what kind of boyfriend would I be not to at least try to make Six’s world better?

  This is why I’ve been on the phone for two hours. I called seven adoption agencies and was told the same thing from each of them. They aren’t allowed to release any information. I keep trying, though, because what if I get the one person who is a little bit unethical in my favor?

  I was on the eighth phone call when Hannah walked in. I told her all about my conversation with Six and how I feel like I should be doing more to try to find out information about who might have our son, or if someone can just tell us he’s okay.

  I told Chunk, too, because she’s Hannah’s shadow every time Hannah’s home from college.

  I debated not updating them, because I really don’t want them to talk about it at all ever, but it’s also nice to have people who know the truth. And besides, three brains are better than one, even if they’re all Wesley brains.

  Hannah has called three lawyers in Italy so far. Two immediately told her no, there’s nothing they can do to help. She’s on the phone with the third one now.

  “Adoption,” she says, googling something. “Um. Italian. Adozione?” She waits for a moment, and then looks down at the phone with a defeated expression. “He hung up on me.”

  Every phone call leaves me a little more disappointed than the last.

  “Someone has to be able to help,” Hannah says. She falls back onto my bed, just as frustrated as I am.

  Chunk is seated in my desk chair, spinning in a circle. “What if you’re kicking a hornet’s nest?” she says. “I mean, there was a reason they wanted a closed adoption. They don’t want you guys involved.”

  “Yeah, because they were scared she’d come back to take her baby,” I say. “But she won’t. She just wants to know he’s okay.”

  “I just think you need to leave it be,” Chunk says.

  I look at Hannah, hoping she doesn’t feel the same way.

  “I’m usually on Chunk’s side, but I’m actually on your side this time,” Hannah says to me. “Keep pushing. Maybe ask Six more questions. Someone has to know something. Italy isn’t that big, is it?”

  “Sixty million people live in Italy,” I say. “Even if we contacted forty people a day, it would take us over four thousand years to make it through everyone in Italy.”

  Hannah laughs. “You actually did the math?”

  I nod pathetically.

  “Well, shit,” she mutters. “I don’t know. You just have to keep trying. Maybe the host family knows who it was.”

  I shake my head. “Six said they weren’t really involved. There was an American who worked at the school who helped Six with the adoption. I asked Six if there was a way to get in touch with her, but Six has already tried to get information from her on more than one occasion. The woman refuses to share anything based on legal grounds.”

  Hannah looks hopeful. “But this woman knows? Someone knows where he might be?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know what she knows, exactly. I just know she helped Six.”

  “Call her,” Hannah says.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Six said
she’s tried that already. More than once. The woman is a brick wall.”

  “But you’re annoying. It might work for you.”

  Should I be offended by that? “What does me being annoying have to do with it?”

  Hannah picks my phone up and puts it back in my hand. “You have to be persistent to be annoying. Be persistent with her.”

  I look at my phone. “I don’t even know who to call. I don’t know what school it was.”

  Hannah asks for the name of the town Six did her foreign exchange in, and then writes down three numbers as she searches the internet. I can’t remember the name of the lady Six said she knew, but I do remember she said she was American. I call the first two schools and ask if they have an American teacher on the faculty and both say no.

  I dial the third number with little hope left. A woman answers in Italian.

  “Do you speak English?” I ask her.

  “Yes. How can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for a teacher. An American teacher. I can’t remember her name but I need to speak to her.”

  “We have one American teacher on staff. Ava Roberts.”

  “Ava!” I yell. That’s it! That’s the name Six mentioned last night. “Yes,” I say, trying to calm myself. I’m standing now and I don’t even remember standing up. I clear my throat. “May I please speak to Ava Roberts?”

  “One moment.” I’m placed on hold and my heart is pounding. I use my t-shirt to wipe sweat from my forehead.

  “What’s happening?” Chunk asks, appearing a little more interested.

  “I’m on hold. But I think this is the right school.”

  Hannah brings her hands to her mouth right when someone picks up on the other end. “Ava Roberts, how can I help you?”

  My voice is shaking when I start to speak. “Hi. Hello.” I clear my throat again. “My name is Daniel Wesley.”

  “Ah, a fellow American,” she says. She sounds friendly. “Are you wanting to sign up as an exchange student?”

  “No. No, I’m in college. I’m calling about something else. It might be weird, I don’t know.”