‘Does the whole family know?’

My mom looked at my dad and then said, ‘No, not everyone. Your aunts and uncles do, and of course your grandparents. They knew how much we wanted a baby and supported our decision to adopt, but they’ve kept it to themselves by our request. Your cousins don’t know.’

I felt like my heart had been shattered into a million pieces. My entire life a good portion of my family had known the truth about me while I had no clue. I glanced at Andie’s worried face, grateful that at least she hadn’t lied to me all these years.

I took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to calm my anger. ‘What happened to her? My biological mother? And what about my father?’ I had so many questions, I needed to know it all.

‘We don’t know anything else,’ my mom responded, wiping the tears from her own eyes. ‘It was a closed adoption; she didn’t want anyone to contact her once she gave you up. All we know is she went to prison in New York on drug charges and the agency didn’t have any information on who the father was. We just wanted to protect you, Elizabeth,’ my mom said, pleading in her voice. ‘We love you so much.’

There was a long, awkward silence. I sniffled, wiping the tears falling from my eyes. My parents shared a troubled look. My dad whispered under his breath, ‘I knew we shouldn’t have waited so long to tell her. I didn’t want her to find out like this.’ He rubbed his chin, eyes full of uncertainty.

I never thought my parents would have been capable of keeping anything from me, let alone something of this magnitude. We’d always been so close, calling ourselves The Three Amigos, sharing every gory detail of our lives with one another. I’d even told my mom the first time I had sex. My friends had thought I was crazy, but I hadn’t been able to imagine not sharing something so important with my mom, my best friend. How could my parents have kept this from me? My whole, big, loving Italian family that encompassed so much of my identity and was all I’d ever known, was all a lie.

‘Are you still coming to family dinner on Sunday?’ my mom asked hopefully. ‘I know this is a lot to take in but you’re still our baby. We should talk more about this in person.’

‘I don’t know, Mom,’ I said at last. My head was spinning, my heart racing. The phone was hard to grip, my palms were so clammy. I felt nauseated, like when you start to feel hungover from a big day of drinking before you even fall asleep. ‘This is … a lot,’ I finally mustered.