unsupervised. Then, when you were five, and you got so sick, your mom couldn’t reach her. The doctors were asking all sorts of questions about medical history and trying to find out why you weren’t responding to several of the treatments, and Ellen called, broke and drunk, and your mom paid for her to take a bus to Austin and got information about your dad and offered to help her pay for rehab, but Ellen refused, and your mom told her she couldn’t keep coming around.”
Tears burn in my eyes, causing me to blink several times. “I found her,” I tell Diane. “Ellen. She’s a professor in Seattle. Teaches acting. I went to one of her classes and met her.”
Her eyes grow wide with shock. “How did it go?”
I shake my head, reliving those few minutes in the parking lot. “She didn’t want to talk to me, but she recognized me.”
“Oh, Olivia.” She shakes her head as she looks toward the sky, tears collecting along her bottom lashes. “I wish I had the right words to tell you—the right way of explaining this all to you. Ellen was blessed with you, and you and your mom were blessed with finding each other. She loved you, not out of obligation or responsibility but pure selfless adoration and love. From the moment Ellen showed up, you mom was worried about you and wanted what was best for you, and when Ellen stayed with her those first few months after you were born and slept through your cries and forgot to change your diaper, it was your mom who picked up the pieces and missed showers and sleep and parties so that she could be with you. And I promise, she never regretted a single day or a single decision. You were more important than anything to her—you always were.”
I grab my napkin, wiping my damp cheeks and runny nose. “I hate that she felt like she couldn’t tell me. I hate that she might have worried I wouldn’t have chosen her, too. Because I would’ve, I would’ve chosen her a thousand times over.”
Diane’s grip on my hand tightens. “I know. There was never a doubt of the love and bond you guys shared. Honestly, I don’t think she knew how to tell you. She was worried about Ellen wanting to be back in your life, and your dad and her both agreed that it was just better not to involve her since she couldn’t be responsible for herself. Ellen loved you in her own way. I don’t doubt that. Your mom continued sending her pictures and letters over the years, struggling with her own guilt because she knew she came out way better than Ellen did—would have even if she’d made it big into Hollywood.”
I lick my lips, which have gone dry from the deep breaths I’ve been taking to try and manage my emotions. “Do you know a woman named Miriam?”
“I’m pretty sure Ellen’s mother was named Miriam. Why?”
Shock hits me like a curveball as the news settles in my thoughts, revealing I’m pretty sure I somehow knew this or at least had a hunch about it after she revealed all the pictures of me. “I met her first. She’s who told me all of this.”
Diane’s brow grows tight. “I’m sorry you found out like you did. How have things gone with Miriam?”
I blow out a shaky laugh, “She’s kind of nuts. It’s a little scary to know that’s in my genetic makeup.”
Diane laughs outright. “Ellen was like a unicorn. People were drawn to her because of her beauty and playful spirit. She had an energy that drew you in—she just forgot how to harness it. You have that same energy and passion, but you have your mom’s heart and kindness, and I’m guessing you got your math skills from your father because that didn’t come from Holly or Ellen.” We both laugh, more tears slipping from the corners of my eyes. “You don’t need to be afraid of being who you are.”
“I’ve missed you.”
Diane smiles, but her eyes are sad. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around enough. It’s selfish, but being around you makes me think of your mom, and I miss her so much. But I’m going to try to be there more because although it hurts, talking about her and remembering her makes it feel better, and seeing you grow into such a beautiful and wonderful woman makes it hurt even less. I see her in you, in