Sophie Matano

Birthdays are usually supposed to be times of celebration; the presents, the cake, the friends, the laughs. My sixteenth birthday shouldn't have been any different. Just as every August 23^rd, I was at my friend's house watching The Empire Strikes Back, the second stop in our Star Wars marathon. Our Star Wars figurines that we worshiped ten years ago had been retrieved, dusted, and spread out in front of us on the floor. Old Darth Vader masks and broken light sabers made their way out of closets and were tossed on the couch.

My phone rang, interrupting Han Solo's carbonite freezing process.

“Hello?”

“Sophie! When will you be getting home?”

“I dunno, Mom. We're in the middle of Star Wars,” I said.

BAM! Something hit me square in the forehead and I let out a cry. The Emperor lay resting in my lap and Kaia sat giggling a few feet away. In response I threw Princess Leia at her which landed down her shirt.

“Soph? What happened?”

“Nothing. Why do I have to come home?”

“We have a birthday surprise for you,” she said slowly.

“Oh. Should I come when it’s done?” I asked. I would have been excited, but her tone suggested I shouldn't be.

“No, I think you should come now.”

“Okay. I'll come now.” I hung up and told Kaia the plan.

“Well, hurry back. Han is waiting!” she gestured to the screen as I got up to walk to my house.

On the walk I had no way to anticipate what this “birthday surprise” could be. Why would my parents want me to leave Kaia’s house? Nothing seemed that important since they knew she was leaving in a week.

I walked through the back gate to find my parents sitting quietly at our patio table, our dog nipping at my dad's heels.

“Hey Soph!” my dad said excitedly.

“Hi,” I said, approaching the table. My parents were smiling too hard; it looked as if my dad was going to pop a vein as he got up to give me his seat. My mom went inside and emerged with a brown and ordinary cardboard box that had been opened. There was tissue paper spilling out, a feeble attempt at making something ordered online fancy—or so I thought.

“Before you look in here,” my mom said seriously, “we want you to know that we love you.” My dad stood behind her with an arm on her shoulder. She presented the box to me by setting it down on the glass table. Our dog Fletcher tossed a dirty ball in my lap and let the drool from his tongue fall onto my knee, making a silvery design on my dark blue jeans. I threw the ball away to distract him and he scrambled to catch it.

I stuck a hand in the box and pulled out two envelopes.

“Happy Birthday Sophie,” one read. I could tell whoever had written it originally put down “Sophia,” but had written an “e” over the “a” to spell my nickname.

“It’s from your birth mother,” my mom said before I could open it. “We understand if you don’t want to read it. She sent us a letter too. It was a very nice letter, actually. It said that she understands if we don’t want to show you this package, but of course we want to. She just wants to get to know you.”

“We hope that you want to read it. And that you let us read it. But if not—this is between you and Amy,” my dad said calmly.

Amy. That all too familiar name. She’s supposedly my “real mother,” as she was dubbed by my peers in elementary and middle school.

“You’re adopted?” they ask. When I respond yes they ask wide-eyed “so who’s your mom?”

“Darlene.”

“No, no, I mean, your real mom.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, even though I do know what they’re getting at. I couldn’t bear myself to answer such a politically incorrect and insensitive question.

Only then did it occur to me how my mom must be feeling. Her sensitive eyes looked down at me unwavering, waiting for my next move. I couldn’t read her or my dad’s expression, but I could try to guess.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry, I ordered myself, unsure why I felt the need to. I wasn’t fighting the urge to cry, but emotions are sneaky. They’ll spring on you like a tiger and the surprise is so great it’s hard to fight them.

I could feel my parents’ eyes burning my hands, trying to catch glimpses of what the letter said. Why was their interest greater than mine? I was just so numb. What a bizarre situation. It was even more bizarre that I had a brother. Sort of. A half brother named Giles. Amy had a child of her own now, which made me very happy, happier than I would have expected. This may mean she doesn’t resent me, my parents, my birth father, or any combination of the three.

I turned my attention to the other envelope. It was fuller than the previous envelope with the letter, which my parents had picked up and began reading.

“This is a nice letter, Soph,” my mom said softly.

“Yeah. It is,” I said, equally as quiet.

“What’s in there?” my dad said, pointing to the envelope in my hands. I had a hunch. Sure enough—pictures sat snugly inside.

Before this envelope full of pictures I had only one picture of Amy. She was wearing a purple fedora, and had a hand over her large belly as if she was trying to keep me from spilling out of her. My biological father Joe, a tall man with very long and dark curly hair stood behind her, similar to how my dad was standing behind my mom now.

The envelope was filled with pictures of a smiling blond baby. In fact, there were a lot of smiling blond people in this stack of pictures. They were an attractive family, I admitted. Their bright eyes reflected the light from the flash of the camera that took the snapshots. These pictures were tiny instances from a series of moments in their lives, and I wondered what had been happening when they were taken. What had I been doing when they were taken? I had thought about the idea of my birth mother frequently, but in my imagination she always stayed that pregnant woman in the picture, her life didn’t continue. These pictures proved otherwise.

“How are you feeling?” my dad asked me.

I shrugged.

“Is that your…is that Giles?” my mom asked, pointing at the picture in my hands.

“Yeah. He’s cute, isn’t he?” I said, handing the picture over.

“I’ll say! Look at his little chubby arms…” my mom cooed.

“He doesn’t look like me,” I said, unsure why I did.

“He has a round face like you,” my mom said, circling his face with a finger.

“I don’t know.” I got out of my chair. My legs felt light and awkward, like I had been sitting for a long time, even though it hadn’t been that long.

“Are you going back to Kaia’s?” my dad asked.

“Well, I told her I would be back soon and she’s waiting so…”

“I think we should talk about this.”

“You don’t have to shrink me, Dad. It’s fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. Living with a psychologist can have its perks. For example, I get free counseling whenever I want, and going to a therapist can get expensive. However, I don’t always want the help (in fact, I usually don’t. It would be fair to say never, actually), so thanks but no thanks, Dad.

I left my parents with the pictures and tried to walk calmly out the gate. I had to remind myself how to swing my arms. Left foot, right arm. Right foot, left arm...I continued looking down at my limbs until the end of the driveway.

Why now? Why my sixteenth birthday? My parents already had an agreement with her. We’re supposed to meet when I’m eighteen, and I’m looking forward to and also dreading that day. That’s only two years away, and she’s already made contact.

“I know how hard this must be for you,” she wrote. “I, of all people would understand. As I’m sure you know, I’m adopted, too.”

I hoped she would understand why I can’t write back. I wouldn’t know where do begin. What do you say in response to this kind of thing? I should probably get my emotions in check first, seeing as I’m not feeling anything. But my priorities, as twisted as they were, were clear. What mattered was watching a movie with my friend who will be going away in a week, not coming to terms with the fact that A. my birth mother doesn’t just exist in my mind and B. has gotten married and with that man has C. made a child with her meaning that I now D. have a brother.

When I reached Kaia’s house she opened the door with great enthusiasm.

“What was your surprise?” she asked.

“Oh, it was nothing,” I said, avoiding her gaze. “Just some letters from relatives and stuff.” I didn’t even know why I was lying. But it doesn’t have to be a lie, depending on the point of view.

My mom made clear to me from an early age that your mother is someone that loves and cares for you and that blood has nothing to do with it. “You may not have grown in my belly,” my mom would tell me whenever I had a question about being adopted, “but you grew in my heart.” It’s basically the nonbiological mother’s catchphrase, but to be fair, it’s a good one. However, I didn’t know where that left Amy.

“Ready to finish watching?” Kaia asked, jumping onto the couch.

“You know it!” I exclaimed, trying to fake enthusiasm. Maybe Star Wars was just what I needed.

A movie and a half later I had completely forgotten about the letters. Empty bowls that once held macaroni and cheese were stacked on the hardwood floor next to the full lemonade bottle. Kaia reached out for it to fill her glass and offered some to me.

“You know what’s weird?” I said as I took the bottle.

“What?”

“Anakin has some pretty bad lines, you know? He’s a huge creeper with a weird braid and he does things like comment on someone’s texture.”

Kaia laughed. “So what’s your point?”

“Anakin manages to get Padme, who is a serious fox. Even with his terrible moves. Luke just makes out with his sister a few times.”

“Good point. But Anakin is way better looking than Luke. Significantly better looking.”

“I would like to think that Padme isn’t that shallow,” I joked as I poured lemonade into my glass that had Mickey Mouse leading a parade on it.

“I think Leia is, though. There’s a reason why she went for Han Solo.” She took back the bottle. “I was always mad that she didn’t end up with Luke in the end when I was little,” she added.

“I’m guessing you couldn’t comprehend the act of incest,” I laughed.

“Oh no, as a six year old I was very knowledgeable in the practices of incest. I could hardly read, but I knew a helluva lot about incest!” she exclaimed sarcastically.

“‘Practices of incest?’ Have you practiced it, Kaia?” I feigned shock.

“Well, no. I don’t have a brother,” she pointed out.

“I do,” I said before I could stop myself.

“What?”

“I have a brother.”

“Except you don’t.” Kaia said, confused.

“No, no,” I laughed, “I guess he’s my half brother. I kinda got a letter from my birth mom today and it said I have a brother.”

Kaia hesitated. “Are you serious?”

“I can show you the pictures when we go to my house if you want.” I looked down in my lap where my glass of lemonade was balanced.

She didn’t ask me why I hadn’t told her this sooner. Her face didn’t give off any evidence of surprise. “What’s his name?” she asked.

“Giles. He’s really blond like I was when I was little.”

“Does he have curly hair, too?” Kaia asked.

“No. I think I got that from my birth father.” I looked back up at her.

“Lets walk to Andronico’s and get some cake mix for tonight. Yellow, right? With chocolate frosting?”

“Yeah,” I said, surprised she could read me so well and remember my taste in cake. Kaia never ate cake. She’s a health nut; one of those that feel sick when they eat ice cream and cut their meat into a million little pieces to make sure it isn’t too rare. She lives off of yogurt, corn and pasta, but whenever I make us pasta at my house she picks out the olives and takes all the broccoli.

When we were little she would give the olives to me and we would stack them up to make a tower on my plate until our parents told us that wasn’t something we were supposed to do but we never understood why. Kaia is closer to a sibling than one I was actually related to.

“Verb.”

“Umm. Exfoliate.”

“A liquid. Don’t be gross.” I tapped my pencil on the MadLibs pad.

“Are you serious? I had a really good one!”

“No. You’ve already done a lot of gross nouns!” I said scanning the page full of words that were too inappropriate for this child’s game.

“Well, what else is there?” Kaia asked, dramatically throwing herself back on my bed. Beep beep beep beep! The timer went off and we bounded downstairs to check the oven. My dog barked happily and jumped on Kaia, covering her black jeans in hair. She smiled sadly at Fletcher, but grabbed him by the collar and held him close so he wouldn’t jump at the oven. I opened the door and stuck a toothpick to test if the cake were ready. Out of the hot yellow sponge I pulled out a clean toothpick.

“Okay, it’s good,” I said, putting a hand in an oven mitt. I extracted the cake from the oven mouth and closed it. I placed it on the stove top and Kaia let Fletcher loose.

“Are you going to eat any cake with me?” I asked her, as I took of the oven mitt and threw it down on the counter.

“Yeah, alright,” she agreed.

“Really?” I asked, surprised.

“Yeah, a true friend wouldn’t make you feel like a fat ass that eats cake alone on your birthday.”

“Thanks Kaia, you’re the best,” I said sarcastically.

She headed for the door, and with a hand on the knob said “come on! Let’s finish that MadLib.” She opened the door and I followed, shutting it behind me so Fletcher couldn’t get loose and wreak havoc on the house.

“Are you positive you don’t want this liquid to be gross? It’s a really good one!”