“Oh,” Natalie said.
Brooke finally managed to look up, and took a moment to catalog her now grown-up baby sister’s face. Her hair was a darker blond, parted on one side with fringed bangs, and fell in a smooth curtain just past her shoulders. She had large, dark brown eyes, arched brows, and bowed lips, similar in shape to Brooke’s. Her skin was pale, but her cheeks glowed pink and the minimal makeup she wore accented her features. She wore jeans and a plum-hued cardigan with simple silver jewelry, including a twinkling diamond band on her left ring finger.
“You’re married,” Brooke said, and Natalie nodded.
“My husband’s name is Kyle. We have two kids.” She reached for her phone and tapped on the screen a few times, until she found what she was looking for. “Here,” she said. “This is Hailey. She’s seven.”
Brooke took the phone and stared at the close-up head shot of Natalie’s daughter. “Oh my god,” she said, taking in the young girl’s brown spiral curls and wide-mouthed grin.
“You two definitely have the same eyes,” Natalie said, using the tips of her fingers to wipe at the tear that slipped down her cheek. “I never knew . . . I always wondered where they came from.”
Brooke stared at the little girl, blown away by seeing her eyes in another person’s face.
Natalie reached over and swiped the screen again, bringing up a different picture, of a little boy with light brown hair and an impish grin. He stood with his arms lifted and held out straight, like an airplane’s wings. “That’s Henry,” Natalie said. “He’s five, and currently obsessed with Buzz Lightyear. Last year, it was dinosaurs.”
“They’re adorable,” Brooke said, sincerely. She had a family, she thought. The sealed door in her heart cracked open—just an inch—just far enough to make it easier for her to breathe.
Their server arrived then, saving her. He asked if either of them would like something to drink. “Mimosas?” Natalie said, giving Brooke an inquiring look.
Brooke almost nodded, then remembered she couldn’t. Not with the baby. “Not for me, thanks,” she said. “Just peppermint tea. And some dry wheat toast, please.” She couldn’t tell if the slight nausea she felt was due to morning sickness or her rocky emotions, but either way, she didn’t want to get ill.
“I’ll take coffee, then,” Natalie said. “And the continental breakfast, with a blueberry muffin.”
After the server left them, Brooke glanced down at the blanket, then tried to hand it back to Natalie. “No,” Natalie said, holding up a single hand, her palm facing Brooke. “You keep it. It was yours.”
Again, a million questions ran through Brooke’s head. She didn’t know where to start, so she decided to return to the subject they’d discussed on the phone. “I can’t believe you never knew about me,” she said. “Though I guess it explains why you didn’t look for me before now.”
“Did you ever try to find me?” Natalie asked.
“Other than putting my profile on that registry, no. I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Natalie said. “You don’t have to explain.”
“But I should,” Brooke said. “I want to.” She fiddled with the satiny edge of the blanket, oddly comforted by this familiar movement. “I guess I thought that if you hadn’t looked for me, you didn’t want me to find you. I figured your life was good with your adopted family, and maybe you didn’t think adding me to it was a good idea.” So much for not opening up. But talking with Natalie felt different; Brooke sensed that no matter what she said, she’d be safe.
Natalie reached out and put her delicately boned hand on top of Brooke’s. “If I had known about you, I would have tried to find you right away.” Natalie’s bottom lip trembled. “I wish . . .” She paused before trying again. “I wish my parents knew better than to let us be separated. I wish we could have been raised together.”
“It wasn’t just them,” Brooke whispered, trying to control her own tears. She was not typically a crier—could it be her pregnancy hormones? “The state didn’t know better. Neither did Gina.”
“Still,” Natalie said. “I know things must have been so hard for you. I’m sorry for that.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Brooke shrugged. “But thank you.”
The server arrived then with their drinks, Brooke’s toast, and Natalie’s breakfast, and after confirming they didn’t need anything else, he left them alone again.
Brooke took a few timid bites of her toast and washed them down with a sip of her tea. She watched Natalie pick at her muffin with her nose scrunched up with distaste. “Something wrong?” Brooke asked her, nodding toward the baked good.
“Not really,” Natalie said; then she gave Brooke what seemed like a guilty look. “Well, actually, yes. It’s dry. And overmixed. Possibly not made from scratch.”