We pass one of our posters as Mom drives me to the Family Center where the meeting with Jodi has been arranged. I had imagined we’d meet in a café or something like that, but Mom says this will be more private, and Jodi will have a social worker there to support her if she needs someone to talk to afterward. Whatever I feel after this meeting will have to stay inside me. I can’t share it. I hope it will go okay.
I am starting to feel sick as we go over bumps in the road. I’m relieved that it’s not a long drive, and I am soon out of the car and being pushed by Mom up the ramp of a modern building that looks like a preschool.
Mom speaks to someone at the reception desk, and we are directed to the back of the building. Is Jodi here already?
We’ve arrived first and have to sit in a room similar to a doctor’s waiting room. It’s all making this feel so formal. Mom pulls me near her and squeezes my hand. I am grateful. I know she is nervous too. Then, after a few minutes, a woman with an ID on a lanyard comes bustling up to us, smiling.
“I’m Donna,” she tells us. “I’m a social worker. Jodi is on her way. Would you like to come through to the room we’ve set up for you?”
Mom nods.
“Can I get you a coffee while you’re waiting?”
“Thanks, that would be great,” says Mom.
“Would you like anything, Jemma?”
“No, she’s fine,” says Mom. Fine? I’m not sure about that!
The room is cozy with armchairs and a striped rug, but the pale lime-green walls and shiny plastic floor make it still look like a doctor’s exam room. There is a landscape picture on the wall of fields and farm buildings and a scarecrow. It looks like a beautiful day—the sky is so blue, and there are lots of shadows on the ground. I stare at the picture. It is calming.
“I hope she won’t be long,” says Mom, looking at her watch and bringing me back to now. I wish I could have stayed with the picture. I’ve been excited so far, but I’m suddenly feeling really shaky inside.
It is a few minutes before Donna brings the coffee.
She goes out, leaving Mom clutching the mug as if for warmth, though it’s not cold in here. She’s anxious too—wondering if she’s done the right thing, whether this is a good idea. She couldn’t change her mind now, could she?
Donna is back, smiling. “She’s here! She’s just stopped in the restroom. A little nervous, I think!”
“I’m sure Jemma must be nervous too,” says Mom.
“You shouldn’t worry, though,” Donna tells me. “We won’t get in the way, but we’ll both be here, on hand if needed.” She winks. It reminds me of Dan winking, though it is a very different wink. I’m sure this wink is saying “good luck” rather than “I’ll be back to kill you sometime.” It makes me slightly uneasy, though. Mom and Donna move their chairs toward the far wall so Jodi and I will have some space. I can’t see them now because I’m facing the door.
Then the door opens slowly, and a girl comes in. She glances past me toward Mom, and I hear Donna say warmly, “Come on in, Jodi. This is Jemma.”
Jodi walks toward me and stands still. We stare at each other. She is a prettier than her photo, with dark hair and a fluffy black sweater. The shock is—she looks far more like me than I’d realized. Our hair, dark eyes, small noses, and pale, thin lips are so similar. My face looks as if it has been squashed in sideways. It is distorted, my features out of alignment. Yet I can see myself in her. We are so alike! She is shocked too. I can see it. Her mouth has dropped slightly open.
I wish she’d speak, and I wish she’d sit down. She’s standing too still for too long. I think she’s frozen.
“Oh…Jemma,” she says at last.
I love it. I love hearing her say my name.
My sister saying my name! I wait for more.
Her face creases up. She bursts into tears.
“I’m so sorry, Jemma. I can’t do this!” she sobs.
Her hands cover her tearstained face. I hadn’t noticed the makeup until now when I see it smearing down her cheeks.
I want to reassure her, to tell her to sit down, not to worry. I realize my delight in seeing the likeness between us has had the opposite effect on her. She is horrified to be so like someone so deformed. I’d normally be angry, but I can’t be. I’ll forgive her anything if she’ll just talk to me. She’s my sister. My sister.
Donna rushes over. “Jodi, why don’t you sit down for a minute? I can understand this being a little overwhelming. I’ll get you a tissue.”
But Jodi doesn’t sit.
“Jodi?” Mom tries.
“Stop crying, stop crying, please!” I want to beg her. But suddenly the door has opened and shut, and in a blur, she is gone.