Any invitation to the Wright's was one to look forward to. Susan Wright had been the top  chef at an upscale restaurant before she married. She resigned after the wedding and her culinary skills were the envy of every woman in their group. Once a chef always a chef. Whether it was an outdoor BBQ or a sit-down dinner, the food Susan served was always scrumptious, plentiful and served with a flair that was hers alone.

Susan loved to entertain and she always threw a party when anyone new moved into the neighborhood. These parties followed ones for the people who were moving out. This evening's event was a buffet-style dinner for “newbies,” the Pattersons, and their two kids, both in their teens.

It was an unusually large group. I'd estimate perhaps 30 or so people. You could barely move in the room where the buffet was set up. Thankfully it wasn't too cold outside and some people took their plates and glasses and wandered out onto the patio. From there you could admire the gardens that Susan dutifully tended. Her talents didn't stop at cooking and entertaining. She was an expert at domesticity. I'd dare anyone to find a speck of dust in the house. I'd always imagined that she even ironed her bed linens. She was the only hostess I knew of who still used charger plates for formal dinners.

With my plate filled to the point of spilling over (there was so much to select from) I too went outside. Mark, Susan's husband, introduced me to the Pattersons and their son and daughter; beautiful children. The young boy was especially handsome. A heart breaker for sure. His eyes reminded me of my father's, so blue they looked like the sky. With his blonde hair it made him a knockout. He held himself with the confidence of a much older and wise man even though he couldn't have been more than 16 or maybe 17. My own daughter, Kirsten, walked up to me and whispered, "Who's that to die for hunk, Mom?" I introduced her to the group and could tell she was enthralled to say the least by what she called the “to die for hunk," but she was too young to date so I just let her dream away.

The Pattersons quickly became part of our "in" group. Whenever the occasion allowed their children accompanied them. Each time I saw the son, James (not Jim or Jimmy he told me in no uncertain terms), I couldn't help but think about how his eyes were like my father's. Even to the way he arched one eyebrow when in a devilish mood.

The following summer we had a pool party and BBQ. The Peterson family was invited. I had just finished a long swim and was sitting on the edge of the pool drying my hair with a towel when James came and sat beside me. "Great party. Thanks for inviting us."

"Our pleasure James. We're glad you could come."

"My folks are gonna have a pool put in. I'm on the swim team at school so they're gonna make part of it a lap pool so I can practice at home on weekends and holidays. Good thing we’ve got a big back yard."

"Your folks are nice people to do that, and you're a nice young man. They’re lucky they had you."

"Oh, they didn't have me. My sister and I were adopted. It’s no secret. Both my sister and I are happy they chose us. They adopted her first and then 16 years ago they adopted me. I was only a couple of days old.”

“Do you ever wonder about your birth mother? Who she is? Where she is? Maybe she’s looking for you.”

James looked off into the distance for a few moments then replied, “They’ve told me many times that if I wanted to find her they’d help me, but what’s the use. It’s obvious that she didn’t want me then so why would she want me now? I doubt that she’s looking for me.”

My heart was beginning to hammer in my chest. “You never know. Maybe there were good reasons why she couldn’t keep you. Where did you move from James?"

"Philadelphia. My folks had lived there all their lives but then Dad got promoted and we had to move here."

16 years ago my parents and I lived in Philadelphia. I was a 15 year-old unwed mother. Because my parents insisted, and threatened to kick me and “that bastard” out, and because I had no other means of support, I gave my newborn son up for adoption. I've regretted that decision every day since. And, I haven’t spoken to either of my parents since I left school, got a job and moved out.

As soon as I was employed I saved all the money I could and then tried to find my son. All I was able to find out was that the adoption agency my parents selected destroyed all records after a year and the adoption became final. There was no hope of my ever finding him.

My legs would barely hold me up. "Please excuse me James, but I need to go in and change."

I had a lot of thinking to do.

© Marcia Miller-Twiford