Chapter 5

C H A P T E R  5  :  M R  F I C T I O N 

Human memory is a marvelous but fallacious instrument. The memories which lie within us are not carved in stone; not only do they tend to become erased as the years go by, but often they change, or even increase, by incorporating extraneous features.

— Primo Levi

~

No matter how hard I tried, I could not find it. The frame is still empty, and the picture is gone. I bring the cup of tea close to my lips and take a sip.

What happened lately is beyond explanation. I cannot tell whether someone is trying to prank me or I simply am unlucky.

I pick up the phone and force myself to call my mom. I know that I’m not adopted, but I just want to make sure. I want to have no doubt in my mind that I’m truly my parents’ child. It takes quite a while before she finally picks it up.

“Hey, honey,” my mom’s voice greets me with warmth and joy. It almost makes me feel bad wanting to ask the question. I don’t want to hurt her, but I need to know once in for all.

I take a deep breath and brace myself. “Mom, I want to ask you something. Please do not take it the wrong way.”

Her voice mixed with worry when she replies, “Honey, what is wrong? Are you okay?”

Honestly, I am not okay. I live for twenty-seven years knowing that I’m the daughter of Adam and Katherine St. Matthews, and now I’m about to question that to my mom. Hell, I’m so nervous that I can feel my heart pounding in my rib cage. Yet, what’s the best way to find out than to ask and get it over with? “Am I adopted?”

There’s a long pause before I can hear my mom’s voice again. “Honey, have you been drinking? Of course, you are not adopted. Why would you think so?” Her voice does not sound hurt, which is a good sign. The last thing I want is for my mom to feel hurt because I let some strangers make me doubt who I am.

“No, I have not. I am not drunk, Mom. There is just this nurse at the orphanage who thought I was someone else,” I explain.

My mom let out a chuckle. “Well, I am sure especially after knowing how far you have achieved. I mean, who doesn’t want to be your parents? I’m very proud of you, Honey. You have always loved to write since you were nothing but a little child and now you’re living your dream. I honestly can’t be prouder.”

“Stop making my head grow bigger, Mom.” I laugh. “You know I’m not that good. You just say all these wonderful things cos you’re my mom.”

“That might be true. But because I’m your mom, I know how far you’ve gone in order to get where you are now. I mean every word, Honey. I am so proud of you and I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Mom.” I glance at the clock nearby. “Hey, Mom, I have to work. Can I call you later? E-news as usual?” I smile when I say the last part.

“Okay. I can’t believe Taylor Swift dumped Calvin Harris for that guy who played Loki in Thor movie.” Mom starts talking about the latest gossip so I have to stop her and tell her to keep it until later when we watch the E-news together.

I put the phone down and sigh. I feel relief that just as I expected, I am not adopted. It is just a case of mistaken identity and I am sure I will find the photo soon enough. I have no idea how the orphanage has a copy of that photo, but I’m going to find out soon. Whatever it is, I still need to work on Toby’s story. As I put the cup down on the table, I power up my computer and start making concepts.

Two hours later, I find myself writing page fifty-four. It is not much, and it is far from finished but it’s progress. Even though I am writing a non-fiction book, where you do not have to use your imagination as much, you still have to be creative about how your story takes shape in the way you assemble the words. Writing is an art and it shouldn’t feel like a chore, so it’s enough for the day. I save the file and shut down my computer.

Maybe some mundane screen time will help clear my mind. Supernatural is on rerun. It has been some time since I last watched the Winchester boys save the world. Watching their antics always helped me simplify my own problems.

I let myself be driven by the story until the episode ends. Without looking, I reach for the remote control. My hand catches something that feels like paper.

My brows furrow. I turn and see that the remote is no longer on the sofa, instead, it’s on the table in front of me. But what scares me the most is what is in my hand. It’s the blue envelope from all those a year ago in the attic. One that I was sure I had placed in the drawer in my office.

* * *

The letter presented itself to me twice, in the most uncanny ways. First, I found it in the attic while rummaging through old boxes. Now it reappears in my hand, practically like magic. I’m not a fan of mystical or magical things, so I am sure there must be an explanation for all this. Perhaps I can find the answer in this letter, as I bring myself to open the envelope and take out a piece of folded paper.

Dear Jules,

I have been waiting for this moment to present itself. When you are finally able to notice my work and come to me willingly. I know what I am about to tell you doesn’t make sense right now, but in time, it will.

I loved you then, and I love you now. When all of this comes down and you feel like your world is changing upside down, know that my love will be the only thing that won’t change.

Until we meet again.

Love,

Mr. Fiction.

I blink. Once. Twice. Then I reread the letter, word by word until the words were engraved in my mind, and yet I still have no idea what is it about. Who on Earth is Mr. Fiction? And what is this letter about? Why did he call me Jules? My name is Julie and though Jules can make a cute nickname, no one has ever called me Jules, not even my parents or family. Is this letter even for me?

So many questions run through my mind.

I take a deep, calming breath and put the letter aside. Maybe it is another case of mistaken identity. I have watched a lot of news and movies about that.

Mom always says a cup of tea will help to clear our heads, so I head to the kitchen with the empty cup in my hand. I take out the kettle and brew another batch of tea. While waiting for the water to boil, I pull out my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and go through the contacts. I find my sister’s name, Stella, and dial the number.

After what seemed like the longest wait of my life, she answered the phone with a cherry, “Julie!!! What is up, my best sister?”

“Yeah, right, I’m your only sister, remember?” I lean on the counter, closing my eyes. I imagine my sister’s cheerful demeanor as she sits chatting on the phone. “Anyway, how are you? How is school?”

“I miss you so much! I’m doing good, just crazy with mid-terms coming up. How’re you? Oh, I’ve read your last book, Black Hole. I finally had the time to do it. I binge-read just FYI,” Stella is still Stella, just as cheerful as always. Her joyful voice helps calm down my nerves and even manages to bring a smile to my lips.

The water is boiled, so I reach and turn off the heater. “I miss you too, baby sister.” I pour myself a cup of tea, then add a package of creamer from the drawer. I have a weird habit of drinking tea with creamer instead of a splash of milk. “Hey, Stella, do you remember a photo of us in front of our parent’s home?”

“Which photo? We have lots of them from when we were kids,” answers Stella.

She’s right. We used to have lots, sadly I left them all in our parents’ home because photos only make me miss them more and I can’t bear that. “The one in Ardmore, we stood in the front door.”

“Sorry, sis, I can’t remember it specifically. By the way, I have to go. I have a study group in fifteen minutes and I haven’t taken a shower yet.”

I hold the phone in between my cheek and shoulder while opening the package and dump the content inside my cup. “One more thing, Stella,” I stir the tea, trying to calm my nerves. I can’t believe what I’m going to ask, but my mind won’t leave me alone if I don’t. “Am I adopted?”

There is dead silence for a few heartbeats. I feel that my heart stops, and the motion in my hand stops. Then I hear Stella’s laughter. “Have you been drinking? Of course, you are not adopted. Your mother is Katherine, your father is Jeremy St. Matthews. Now get yourself some coffee before you forget about me, too.”

An immense weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I can feel the relief washed over me. “Hilarious, Stella, I’m not drunk.” I take a sip of my tea. “Have fun studying. I love you.”

“I love you too, sis.”

I put my phone back in my pocket and gather my tea back in the living room.

No matter how I try to shake it off, the letter still bugs me. I tell myself I’m not a very curious person, yet I can’t help but feel like a hypocrite. Who am I kidding? Of course, I’m a very curious person, that’s how I become a fine writer. I gather facts more than a reporter, search more than a detective.

I take out my phone and open the browser. The internet is full of information. I am sure I can find one about this mysterious Mr. Fiction; I tell myself as I type on the g****e search bar. I feel the hesitation linger with doubt starts clouding my mind. What if I am not ready to find out about him? What if it is not something I am prepared for?

I brush those fears aside and press Enter. I sag on my couch. “Of course, it’s just a silly romance movie,” I read the article about the 2014 movie about a man who bets the owner of a bookstore that she will lose interest in her new beau after one month. It is cliché. I don’t need to watch the movie to know that the man will end up with the bookstore owner.

I press the home button and put my phone down. It doesn’t stay for a long time as, in seconds, it rings. I look at the screen. A number I do not recognize. Usually, I always send them to voicemail, but I do not know what’s driven me today to answer the call. “Hello?”

A deep, rough voice caresses my ear.

“Dearest Juliet. Miss me?”