Better Than One
Tiny snowflakes floated from the sky and melted as they touched the ground. Though visibility was fine, I wasn't used driving in anything worse than light rain. I drove slower than the flow of traffic either in order to arrive at Starbucks in one piece, or to postpone the awkward rendezvous for as long as possible – I wasn't sure which. When I held the brake down for an extra second after the light turned green, angry honks from drivers behind me sounded. I pressed my foot on the gas and made a wide left turn due to my limited experience in my rented SUV.
A piece of paper lay on the dashboard – my short Facebook exchange with Dorothy Jameson, and the reason I found myself in Seattle in the dead of winter. I don't know if it's lawful in a closed adoption for the adoptee to contact her birth mother after twenty-one years, but I had done just that.
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