Chasing Ellie

6. Overbearing Curiosity

Ellie Hope

"How was school?" Mama asks.

I'm barely inside the door, my shoes still on as I let my bag fall to the floor. Mama's like that. Nosey and inquisitive, inserting herself into people's lives, it's where I get it from.

"Oh you know." I say on a sigh, kicking my Vans off. "The same old boring cliche nonsense."

"Was Laurel in?" She smiles at me, laughing softly through her nose at my response.

I shake my head just as her arm falls around my shoulder so she can hug me. She pulls me close and kisses my hair like she does most days when I get home.

I'm lucky, I've got a great a family.

There is a but though.

I can't help but wonder who my biological parents are. What're their full names? Do I look like them? Why'd they give me up? Where are they?

It is the biggest secret of my life. One I've been trying to unravel unbeknownst to anyone else because it was a closed adoption. Freddie has no idea how good he has it. His birth parents are both still in his life and whenever he has a question all he has to do is wait until he sees them. Not Lizzie and me though.

Lizzie's adoption was closed too but I can remember when mom and Mama we're going through the process. Freddie was barely crawling. The details of it all were a little lost on me, I mean it's not like this was a common occurrence for 10 year old me but I had overheard a quiet conversation in the evening between mom and Mama. One where they said Lizzie's mom was raped.

I haven't bothered to divulge that I heard the above information. Sometimes things are just better left unsaid. It's not like it'll benefit Lizzie in anyway.

And then there's me. And I know just about nothing other than my biological mom's name was Diana and my dad they called A.J. And by called I mean I found some old documents that had a scribbled note in mom's handwriting on a sheet of a paper. I also know what hospital I was born at, a picture of mom and Mama with teary eyes as they smiled at the camera with me bundled in their arms. A nurse by the name of Tammy, her tag conveniently facing the camera unobstructed, beside them.

Those are my only two clues.

And neither mom or Mama know I've been searching. I'm not exactly sure how to tell them. How do you say I want to meet my parents to the people who raised you? The people who are your parents?

Because sharing blood with someone doesn't mean shit about being a parent. Mama and mom were the ones there for all my highs and lows and every single moment in between.

And I'm grateful, I am. But still curious too.

"She also still hasn't responded." I tell Mama. "Think I'm being overbearing?"

Sometimes the line between concern and just plain nosey get a little blurred for me. I just want all the details, the facts, whatever is pertinent to the matter so that I'm educated. I don't mean to be pushy or obtrusive but I also don't like not knowing. It's left me constantly staggering between being that annoying person that everyone thinks likes to meddle and genuinely caring.

Like take Wes for example. Upon meeting Wes I had no idea what Tourette's was or the truth about OCD or ADHD. My knowledge was all cliches and stereotypes and ignorance. Luckily Wes was very cool, dealing with my four thousand questions that probably probed too far in some instances. Actually I know they did now because now I understand Wes. Like where he holds tension in his face when he's suppressing or how routine is essential. It doesn't bother me one bit to have things change day to day or minute to minute in fact I prefer that. Change is exciting and new and fresh. But I stick to our routine because Wes needs it. For two reasons, one it helps his ADHD, he remembers things better when they're constant. And two his OCD goes bananas if he doesn't.

"I think you're being a good friend." She plants one last kiss on top of my head and then we part as she says "I've got to get back to work, holler if you need anything."

And I will quite literally holler if I do. Mom's a yeller and I picked up that trait too.

For the time being though, I'm set and as I make my way to my room I fish my phone from my pocket and call Laurel. Again. For the millionth time.

My room is a mess, clothes discarded everywhere, a Led Zepplin poster peeling from the wall. One of Lizzie's barbies half naked on my floor and I step over it and fling myself on my bed, listening to my phone ring in my ear.

I'm already certain Laurel's just going to let me go to voicemail. Maybe any other person would just hang up before that point, deeming it a lost cause. But not me.

I'm a firm believer in the fact that people don't say enough. Actual, viable words. Words can be so effective and yet we've become a world of short handed phrases and emojis. So I leave long, lengthy voicemails. Especially in times like these.

Because even though I'm not sure what's going on with Laurel, I'd have to be Savannah to not realize that something is going on with Laurel.

But just before the automated voice of her voicemail clicks on she answers, breathing out a quiet "hey Ellie" into my ear.