What We Hope For

Three

"Her name is Bernadette." Carol said as she handed an envelope to Emma, who was sitting between her and Richard on the genuine leather sofa which she had had refurbished just the month before.

"She left you this envelope when we finalised the adoption," Richard stated while trying to determine what his daughter's reaction would be to this new information.

Emma nodded while staring blankly at the envelope which probably contained all the answers she had been yearning to know all her life. At first she had thought it not to be true when her cousin Molly alluded to the fact that she was adopted when they were children. Molly had overheard her parents talking about it one night and was so shocked by the news, that she felt obligated to tell Emma the truth. "You're just jealous because I got a Barbie Dreamhouse for Christmas and you got a stinky teddy bear." Emma had said defensively, but after that day she had started to question everything she knew about who she was. Why did she have light blue eyes when both her parents had brown eyes? Why did her mother have dark brown hair and a fair skin like Snow White, but she (with her golden locks) looked more like Cinderella. Why did her father have dimples and freckels, but she had none? As she grew older, she wondered how it could be that when the Dawsons went for their regular blood donations (as the good people they were), she found herself wanting to know if they belonged to the same blood type. She had always wondered why she stood out as the tallest girl amongst the infamous "Dawson Clan" or why she was the only one in this clan who could roll her tungue.

A long silence had passed before Emma decided to say anything, "Was it a closed adoption?"

Richard had feared answering this question many times, Carol could not fathom the strength to even form a sentence.

"Yes, love," Richard said. "Bernadette is an Anthropoligist. She has done fieldwork all over the African continent. She had just graduated from Oxford with her first degree when she had you. She was only twenty one then, just like you are now."

"Oh," Emma said, unsure on how to respond to such news. What was her father trying to say? Was he braging about her biological mother to her in order to make her feel better about the situation? Yes, Emma, you may have been adopted, but at least your biological mother has recieved the Dawson stamp of approval. At least your biological mother is an Oxford graduate and not the  propriator of a meth lab. Was he offering a solution as to why her mother decided to give her up? Was he comparing her to a woman that she had lived twenty one years whithout knowing? She, too, had just graduated from medical school and was on her way to fulfilling the Dawson legacy of becomming a prestigious chardiologist, a legacy thst she now was unsure she had the right to fulfil. Was she still a Dawson?

"Did you," Emma paused before asking another question to which she feared recieving the answer, "know her?"

"Not directly," Carol finally contributed towards the conversation. "Her father, Bernard Smith, was an Attending at St. Mary's Hispital when your father was in residency." She lightly stroked her daughter's knee.

"Yes, a jolly chap indeed!" Richard smiled in remembrance. "Your mother and I had unsucessfully been trying to get pregnant for a while and when we heard that Brenadette was seeking to adopt, we jumped at the oppertunity."

"She prefered us because she knew us," Carol continued with the story. "Shortly after we brought you home, she left London for Kenya where she was going to do fieldwork for her next degree. We haven't heard anything from her since."

"After Bernard retired, he and his wife Sharon moved to Florida in the U.S."

If one were to glimpse at Emma for the slightest moment, one might see what appeared to be a hint of disappointment. Would she ever be able to find closure if she could not meet her mother? What was  the point of her recieving the envelope if it was merely going to lead her to more questions that she feared coeld not be answered?

"H-honey," Carol exchanged glances with both her husband and daughter, so it appeared unclear to whom she wanted to talk to.

As if Richard could read the mind of his wife, he said the one thing that she was too scared to say: "You know, Emma dear, we still exchange regular Christmas cards with the Smiths and I do have Bernard's email address."

"If you wanted to," Carol started, "meet Bernadette," Richard continued, "we could find out what happened to her."

There was an extraordinarilly long silence before Emma made the attemp to speak.  "I don't know....this is all so new to me" Emma admitted her fear to her parents. "W-would you mind if I read what's in the envelope first before I make any rash decizions?" She looked from parent to parent with an anxiety thst was completely new to her.

"Oh yes darling, of course!" Carol wiped her eyes before her recently-formed tears could slide down her fair cheaks. "We just want you to be happy."

"We would never want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable." Richard added.

"Well, thank you. I know that of course,"  Emma said smilingly as she slowly rose from the sofa. "Would you mind if I went to go lie down? It's been quite an eventful day."

They reluctantly let her leave. They knew better than to ask if she had enjoyed her birthday.