I stared at the photo of my mother for a long time, unsure what to do next. I was still wrapped in my towel, but I didn’t make any move to get dressed or do my hair either. I just sat on the edge of the bed, zoomed in on my mother’s face in the photo and ran my finger slowly across it. It was almost surreal, seeing her so young, and in this most unexpected of ways.
Gloria must’ve known my mother. Otherwise, it made no sense how this photograph would’ve ended up in a box in Marge’s attic amongst what Marge said were Gloria’s things. But if Gloria had known her, why hadn’t she mentioned it to me? And was my being cast in this role a coincidence, or had Gloria somehow orchestrated bringing me here because of my mother?
I had so many questions, and absolutely no answers. All this past week I’d thought I’d needed to know the real Gloria Diamond so I could understand how to do my job. Now I suddenly wanted to know her to understand how this all related back to my mother.
I thought about texting Will, but my finger hovered over my phone for a moment, unsure what to write. Certainly, he didn’t know about my mother and Gloria having some connection, or he would’ve mentioned it. At least, I was fairly sure he would’ve.
Instead, I scrolled through my contacts until I hit Gaitlin. I hadn’t talked to my dad in weeks—I couldn’t even remember if I told him about this new role. He’d been checking in every few days after my mother first died, saying he was worried about me. But once I’d acted well enough a few conversations in a row, we’d gone back to our once-a-month text exchange.
I hit the icon to call him now, and then almost immediately regretted it as he picked up right away.
“Hey, honey. Why are you calling? Everything okay?”
Gaitlin, as usual, cut right to the chase. Not even bothering to hide his surprise about me calling him out of the blue on Sunday afternoon. And I nodded, forgetting for a moment he couldn’t see me. “I’m good,” I finally said.
“You used to see your mom every Sunday, right?” Gaitlin said softly, and I was surprised he both knew that and thought that was why I was calling him now. “You must be missing her.”
I was, but that wasn’t why I was calling him. I cleared my throat. “Did I tell you I’m out in Washington state right now, about to start shooting a biopic tomorrow?”
“Oh gosh, a biopic, honey. That’s great.”
I vaguely wondered if Gaitlin even knew what a biopic was, but that was altogether besides the point now. “I’m playing Gloria Diamond. It’s based on her memoir—Diamond in the Rough. Do you know it?”
“Sounds familiar,” he said unconvincingly.
“You don’t know who Gloria is?” He was silent on the other end of the line. “So I guess you wouldn’t have any idea if Mom knew her?” I sighed.
“Hold on a second, honey. I’ll walk to my computer and google her.”
It was almost ridiculous to think he would know anything about my mother, except for the fact that my mother was clearly pregnant in this photograph. She had only been with Gaitlin for a few short years, and this would’ve definitely been one of them. And Gloria had said something about how I looked like my father yesterday. They must’ve all known each other.
Then I remembered—Gloria wasn’t yet Gloria back then. “Actually, she would’ve been Mary Forrester then,” I said. “She didn’t go by Gloria until later.”
Gaitlin still didn’t say anything, and I imagined him inside his cluttered office, searching for his reading glasses on his desk so he could read Gloria’s Wikipedia page.
“Queen of Romance,” he said. “Sold over a billion copies worldwide.” He whistled lightly under his breath. “This is gonna be a pretty big role for you, isn’t it?”
In a different situation, I might’ve appreciated that Gaitlin was genuinely trying hard to be a dad to me right now. But I felt more impatient than grateful. “Mary Forrester,” I repeated. “Do you remember how Mom might’ve known her?”
He was silent for another moment. “I’m sorry, honey. You know we weren’t together very long. I didn’t really get to know her friends.” He paused and then he added, “There was someone from college I think she stayed in touch with.”
“College? Mom didn’t go to college.” It was one of the reasons why I’d thought she was so keen on law school for me. As an artist, she used to say she wished she’d had the backup of a degree. She was somewhat successful as a freelancer, but even I knew from a very young age that there was nothing steady about her chosen career and income. And she was grateful Gaitlin always sent the child support on time. She was prone to overusing the words safety net whenever I used to try and talk to her about wanting to be an actress.
“No.” Gaitlin sounded adamant now. “She went to college a few years. She just didn’t ever graduate.”
I frowned, uncertain how Gaitlin could be so sure when he could barely remember anything else about her. It felt unfair that he knew this one detail about her that I never had. And more unfair that she was no longer here for me to ask her—about any of it. College. Gloria. Where she was in that picture, why she was laughing and how it ended up in Gloria’s sister’s attic to begin with?
A fresh wave of grief crested in my chest, and tears stung in my eyes. I blinked hard, not wanting Gaitlin to hear me cry and start worrying about me all over again. I breathed slowly in and out and regained my composure. “Where did she go to college?” I asked him, now wanting all the details he had.
He was silent again on the other end of the line.
I sighed. “You don’t remember, do you?” If Gaitlin was my best remaining source of information about my mother, I was pretty screwed.
“We dated for a very short time. You were born, and then we were married for all of three years.” I already knew all this, of course. Now he said it more as an apology than anything. But I couldn’t blame him. He and my mother just weren’t meant to be together, and as a result I’d grown up across the country from him. I doubted he knew much more about me than he knew about my mother. Which was, to be fair, by my age at least half my fault.
My phone buzzed with a text, and I suddenly remembered I was supposed to meet Cam. Certainly by now, I was late. He was probably looking for me. And here I was still in a towel—I’d never even combed my hair after the shower.
“I really have to go,” I said. “But thanks for trying to help.”
Gaitlin sighed, and then I felt bad for calling him in the first place. “Good luck on the movie. Do you need me to send you any money?”
My heart softened toward him. He was trying so hard. “The studio is paying for my accommodations. And I’m really good. But thank you for offering.”
He was quiet for another moment and then he added, “I’m real proud of you, you know, honey.”
And even if I knew next to nothing else about Gaitlin, this much I did know.