Second Meet

“I don't even know what to say.” Her hands shake as she packs her travel bag.

Her friend hugs her shoulder. “Hi mom. It is your daughter.” She offers. Hannah smiles but it has a sick look to it. She knows Greta is trying but…”

“Right, the one you last saw as a newborn.” 

She started searching for her birth parents as soon as she turned eighteen and aged out of the system. 

“You know she thought she was doing the right thing. She couldn't have known…”

“I know.” She had almost been adopted as a baby. Her diagnosis of leukemia had changed their minds. No one wanted a baby, then toddler, then child, who could die.  In remission for ten years, still she remained a ward of the state.

She found her in a state halfway across the country after she registered on a site that helps birth parents find the children they gave up for adoption. Hannah was led to it when she started searching. They reached out through email, then text messages before calling each other. Now they are getting ready to meet in person.

The plan is to meet halfway. A motel was booked for a week. Adjoining rooms. Time to get to know each other.

The car is packed. She hugs Greta right. “I wish you were going with me.” 

“I will be there in spirit,” they hug for a full minute, “come you need to get going.” 

“Right.” She lets her go and heads towards the car. Climbing in, she sits for a bit before placing her seatbelt on and starting the car. Greta watches her drive away.

Six hundred miles until she sees her mom for the second time. The first really doesn't count though. She could barely focus. Turning the radio up all the way to drown out the sound of silence and her own loud thoughts, she drives west.

Her foster parents, the ones that almost adopted her, she has vague memories of them. In their care from a week old until she was two, her earliest memories hold their faces, touch, and the sound of their voices. From there it was a series of doctors and different people for the next six years. It seems like every time she had a treatment, a different set of arms held her.

It was always the same. “Hannah, you are a good girl, it is just…”  “We love you. We just can't…” “If you were well…”

She sighs. By the time she was pronounced in remission, all trust in people was gone. A group home was where she spent the rest of the time until she aged out. With no parents to help, she worked hard, graduating from high school at sixteen and already having two years of college. Her field of study is social work. Her workers were the only reliable people in her life. She wants to give back to other needy children.

Greta was another throw away child. They were roommates at the group home. Becoming fast friends, they became each other's confidants and helpers through the last years of their childhoods. 

Greta aged out first. She got her own place. Hannah joined her there and helped pay the bills when she did five months later. They became an atypical pair of college students, much more studious than their peers. 

It is their apartment she will return to after this meeting. The question is, will she be a person with a mom she can call on or back to be a functional orphan? 

“Still to be determined.” She mumbles to herself as she pulls into a gas station to fill back up.

Her heart beats so hard she feels it in her tight throat as she enters the lobby to the hotel they booked. 

“May I help you?” The lady behind the desk smiles broadly at her. She copies it, or thinks she does. 

“Yes. I have a reservation. Hannah Stewart.”

A quick movement over the keyboard. Hannah watches the lady’s fingers, noticing one of her nails has a chip in her polish. Her anxious eyes focus on it.

“I have found you. You will be in room 23. Just need to see your ID and you need to sign the register.

She does while she gets the nerve to ask, “Has Shawna Stewart arrived?”

“One moment,” another search, “Yes. As requested, she is in the adjoining room, 21.”

She hands her the keycard and her ID back. 

“Thank you.”

“Have a nice stay.” 

“I will try.” She thinks as she walks over to the elevator, her bag over her shoulder.

She enters her room first. After carefully putting her clothes away, hanging her pants and shirts up, and placing her underthings and PJ ‘s in the drawer, she moves to the bathroom. Examining herself in the mirror, she brushes her hair out, re-securing it back with the barrette. 

“Okay. You can do this. Just go knock on the door.” She says to herself. A few deep breaths later, she moves to exit the room. Turning right, she stops in front on #21. Lifting her hand, she knocks.

The woman that opens it has her eyes and hair. The shape of her face is similar as well. 

“Hannah.” Her eyes tear up.

“Mom.” Her throat gets tighter. 

“Would you like to come in?”

“Yes please.” 

They walk in and stand awkwardly in the middle. 

“It fits you.” 

“What?” She asks her mom.

“Your name. I knew I couldn't give you much so I wanted to give you the name I had been calling you since I found out you were a girl.”

“I have always liked my name. Thank you.”

“I thought I was doing the best by you. Just finished highschool when you were born. Your birth father was long gone. I am sorry.”

“No mom. I blamed you at first. But you didn't know, you couldn't. If it was different, I am sure I would have been adopted.”

“You're okay now? Still in remission?”

Hannah nods. “Yes. Thank God.” 

They both relax and she enters her mom's arms once again.