Three: Revelations

   "Lovely dinner, wasn't it?" My mother mused, as my father handed her her glass of water.

   "Indeed." My father agreed. Charles, Chuck, and Jolenne Mumsy, married thirty years, both in their mid-fifties, were polite people, doting parents, who lived in a three bedroom, one story suburban home in a Philadelphia suburb that they'd moved to after my mother had hurt her hip and stairs became too strenuous. My dad- prying people occasionally found it peculiar that I called him dad, since I was adopted, however I didn't, if wasn't as if I remembered who my biological father was- was plump, a vice principal at the Pittsburgh Public Junior Secondary School, where the students from the school I taught at, as well as two other primary schools, would go to for grades six through eight, with blonde hair streaked with white, a pasty complexion, near sightedness that required glasses, and a patchy mustache. When I was a child, I'd thought that he looked like a mall Santa Claus, when I was eight I found out that he had been one, as a teenager.
   "Thank you." I smiled, piling the barren dishes, so they were easier to take to the kitchen. I stood up, as my father insisted that he clean up the plates and silverware, they were guests in my house, it was a simple formality that was tradition. He walked away, as my mother reached a hand out, touching my shoulder.

   "Lavender, dear."
   "Yes, mom?" I sighed, prepared for what she was going to say next.

   "Did you drink any today?"
   "Not what you're referring to."
   "You sound curt, don't be curt with me, young lady. Are you rolling your eyes? Chuck! Come in here, is Lavender rolling her eyes?"
   "I'm not, mom; I apologize, I didn't mean to sound rude."
   "I'm just worried." Loving, constantly worried about me, and blind. The three things that were most apparent to me. The second was caused by the third; after the thing, the accident, as she referred to it as, even though it was much more, she couldn't see, didn't know if everything looked fine, so instead she had to vocalize her worries. She was a teacher at the school I taught at, the reason that, after having no idea what I wanted to do with my life, I decided to become a kindergarten teacher, for she was a kindergarten teacher, who, when I was thirteen, was forced into early retirement, two years after going blind. The school board didn't care to admit that it was a burden, having a teacher with an impairment and they also didn't want us to bring fourth a lawsuit, therefore they promoted my father from an English teacher to a vice principal, gave him a decent bonus, and doubled his salary.
   Between the school's unscrupulous payoff and the money we received in the lawsuit that was filed against the man who caused mother's blindness, we were living a comfortable life and with my parent's well planned saving, my college was paid for completely and they were still able to spoil me with surprise gifts.

   "I'm fine." I lied. I had gone to the police station Monday, six days ago, had the DNA test done, I knew the results.
   "Last Saturday, we came to visit you, your father said that he saw your face on the news... That strange man was leaving your apartment and then the alcohol. You know that you can talk to us, if you need to, don't you? It has to have been a huge shock, seeing your face on television, anyone might do a few reckless things spurred by confusion, anger, perhaps you were having an identity crisis, we just want you to not get hurt."
   "Thank you, but I've told you, that man was a police officer, we didn't do any... Promiscuous things together, nor do I plan on doing any promiscuous things with a man." My mind had been playing with the idea of going to over to Quinn's, begging her to forgive me, she'd been avoiding me in the teacher's lounge, maybe we would have a nice chat, maybe we would get emotional, pull out the bottle of wine I'd bring her, have a bit too much, then there would be kissing, passion, as we sunk into each other... I yearned for something comfortable, something familiar. "And I can drink."
   "At eleven am?" She raised an eyebrow, as my father walked back into the room, helping guide my mother from the dining room chair she was sitting in to the sofa.
   "It wasn't eleven."
   "It was before noon!" She rebutted. "I'm not deaf, darling, I can hear what you say underneath your breath."
   "You said you had news?" My father changed the subject, sitting next to my mother.

   "I... The DNA test results came back, yesterday." Yesterday, one week since the news report. One week. Seven days and so little, yet so much, had changed. "I..." I inhaled, tapping the arm of the loveseat. "I'm her daughter."
   "You are?" My mother gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.
   "We... I'm, I suspected, but what do I say?" Dad looked at me, then to my mother, bewildered. I'd seen the books they kept in their room, about adoption, about what to say if your child wanted to know who their biological parents were, yet their was no book, no tips on how to handle the situation when your child's biological mother was dead, was schizophrenic, was someone who had passed on her own accord.
   "I don't know. I don't supposed anyone wants a beverage or to talk about the weather?" I chuckled slightly, as my father looked at me, concern filling his eyes.

   I pet Skedaddles, who was purring on the cushion next to me, mentally cursing the letters I had yet to read. Why did she have to leave a photo of me, write to me? I had an answer, yet with that answer more questions arose. "We could listen to the television." I avoided saying the word watch too much around her, I always felt guilty, that she'd gone blind  because of me, yet I'd only broken my wrist. I flipped the television on, before either one of them could reply. The logo of a national news company flashed on the screen, then it subsided, to reveal a graying news anchor, who began speaking instantaneously.

   "Ehem, I'm Phil Campbell and tonight, an interesting story; investigators have made a break through in the Jane Doe suicide case, the missing woman who was thought to have original been from Philidelphia fled to Hidden Springs, West Virginia, then wrote eight letters before she committed suicide in Elkins, West Virgina and then her body floated to Philly. Jane Doe has been identified, not by dental records, not by facial recognition software, but by a DNA test preformed on her daughter who, has been identified as Lavender Mumsy, a Philadelphia resident. The test revealed that both Ms. Mumsy's mother and father, who was the notorious-" I grabbed the remote, pressing the buttons frantically, changing the channel to a Spanish soap opera.
   "Both my parent's were in the police's data archive." My father's eyes were about to bulge out of their sockets, as my mother's jaw dropped. They began questioning me, who was she, who was he, what were their names? "Elaine Chiffon. Elaine Willow Chiffon was my mother."
   "Elaine Willow Chiffon... Who was, is, your biological..." My father trailed off, not willing to complete the sentence, not willing to say father.
   "I don't know."
   "But, the news person just said that-"
   "They do." I cut my mother off. "The police know, I don't."
   "Did they not tell you? If those bastards didn't tell you but told the goddamn media-"
   "Dad!?" I exclaimed. He didn't curse, my mother didn't curse, they didn't say crap, it was too improper, too distasteful, yet he'd just called the police bastards and and stated that the media were damned.
   "I'm sorry, honey, I just, you deserve to know."
   "They offered to tell me; I declined... If their names are in there, that means that they had to have done something that warranted the police putting their DNA on file. I don't want to know if they were criminals, I couldn't avoid finding out who Ms. Chiffon was, but I don't want to know who the man is. You two are my parents, my mommy and father, I love you, I don't want, I don't need to know."
   "Lavender." My mother sniffled. I could tell a tear was leaking from the corner of her eye, it slipped from beneath her sunglasses. "I love you."

   "And I love you." My father stated. "But we don't want you to feel as if you don't have to know because of us." He completed her sentence for her.
   "I know, I'm not... I'm, part of me, a teeny tiny part, wants to know, but right now; enough has changed, I'm content, not knowing... Maybe, maybe after this has washed away, the media's put the story to rest, I'll find out, but right now, I don't want publicity. I've already been contacted by multiple local papers, been begged for a quote, I declined... I need normal."
   "We understand." My mother replied, opening her arms. "Please come here so I can hug you." I moved forward, her arms engulfing me in a warm hug, the ancient necklaces, the necklaces she used to make, used to sell and display so pridefully at craft fairs before the thing, pressed into my chest.
   She was my mother, I loved her, I was her daughter; it didn't matter who gave birth to me, who raised me for the first three years of my life, she and dad had raised me for the next fifteen, had bandaged by boo-boos, had taught me how to read, how to ride a bike, had been there to console me when my junior prom date, my first official date, had canceled two days before, had been there to celebrate when the boy I liked, a studious blonde, asked me the day of- he'd been my first kiss. They had allowed me to have a sleepover on graduation night with my three closet friends, Lizzie, Ashley, Sandra, the sleepover where, after Sandra and Ashley had both fallen asleep, Lizzie and I made out, she was the second person I kissed and the person who made me started questioning things, made me realize that not every girl thought other girls were attractive and also thought boys were attractive and enjoyed making out with both. They were my parents.

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