Finding Adelina

1

**ADELINA**

"Are you ready, Adelina?" My social worker, Wendy, asks from her seat beside me.

     I nod, nerves tingling up my spine. My leg shakes beneath the table and I lean back, gently cracking my knuckles, before pulling my phone out of my pocket and checking my appearance again.

     Half of brown hair is neatly drawn back from my face and tied in place at the back of my head with a white ribbon, and the rest of it is let down, all of it being curled at the ends. I did a minimal amount of makeup, wanting to look natural but also prettier. I had to cover my eye bags with concealer and bring some colour back into my cheeks with my favourite blush after the exhausting past few days.

     I can't think of the overwhelming sadness of the week that's passed, though. I have to refocus my attention on what's about to happen.

     "They're coming from America, and they would've only gotten off the plane an hour or so ago, so they may be tired."

     "I know." I whisper, marvelling at the fact that the fact that—depending on how this goes—I could be moving to New York. The place where everyone, at one point or another in their life, wants to live.

     The doors to the restaurant open, and I snap my head toward it, frowning when I realise that it's not them. I turn back quickly to my phone, embarrassment flooding my senses at my excitement. Part of me feels guilty for feeling the emotion; my foster parents died only a few days ago. I should be mourning, not dying of nervousness because I'm about to meet my real parents.

     My phone dings with a notification, and I smile when I see who it's from. I click on it.

     LUKE: You'll be fine.

     My heart swells. He's the only person I told about this out of all my friends, and I'm glad. Not only has he helped to console me through the agonising pain of the past few days, but he's helped prepare me for this moment.

     I type back a quick response.

     ME: I hope so.

     "There they are." Wendy says, and I turn my phone off. A war wagers in my mind for a few moments, fighting over wether or not to look, but in the end I turn my head.

A man and a woman walk toward me, both brunette, although the shade of the woman's long and straight hair is darker than the mans. She looks a little tired, yet hopeful. I suddenly regret not wearing more makeup, since they're probably wishing for a perfect daughter, which I am far from.

The man looks like he's just came from a business trip, his hair slightly tousled and his dress shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. While they're both tall, he has at least a foot of height on the woman.

I watch them approach, watch the woman's lips tick up into a gorgeous grin, watch the man allow a small smile to show on his lips.

     Wendy stands to greet them, but I don't, stuck in my chair with my eyes glued to my lap. But then she taps my shoulder.

     "Adelina," she says kindly, drawing my gaze upwards, "these are your parents."

     "Hello." I say quietly, blushing a little because all of the attention is suddenly on me.

"Hi, honey." The woman—my mother—says softly. She takes my fathers hand and they both sit in the seats across from Wendy and I's. My social worker sits down too. My mother leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Thank you for agreeing to come meet with us," her Brooklyn accent isn't as noticeable as I imagined it would be, weighed down by a regular American one, "we know the past few days would have been hard for you."