Year of Mistaken Discoveries by Eileen Cook

I’d been through the entire scrapbook many times, but I was hesitant to open it now, in case there might be something new there.
Hello Baby Girl,
I’m afraid of screwing this letter up. It feels like it should be really important, meaningful. I’m not good at this type of stuff. Having a baby is the scariest thing I’ve ever done. Way scarier than the first time I did a high dive and I thought I would die. Scarier than any monster or slasher movie. I’m not sure I’ve ever been more scared than I have been the last nine months. And the weird thing is that I’m still terrified. I thought once you were born it would be a relief, that it would be over. Now I realize it isn’t over at all, it’s the start of something new. You’re not something that happened to me—you’re a person. That kinda freaks me out, and it’s also amazing.
The social worker told me to write down what I want for you, so here it goes. I hope your life is full of good things. I wish that you could be safe from stuff like lies and broken hearts, but I guess that’s part of living. I want you to know that the reason I’m giving you up for adoption is so that you have the best chance at having a great life.
Right after you were born they let me hold you. I looked at you and I swear to God you looked back. It was like you could see into my soul. I know it’s pretty much impossible, but I sort of hope you can remember it. I hope you turn into a cool person. I am giving you up so you can have a good life and so I can move on with mine. I won’t be in your life, but I’ll never forget you.
Love,
Lisa
    My birth mom was sixteen, almost seventeen, when I was born. No wonder she’d been unsure of what to say. Her letter was nice, but it didn’t really tell me the things I wanted to know, like what did she think of my birth dad? Did she ever even consider keeping me? Was she sorry she gave me up? I didn’t need a letter from her; I needed something like a twelve-volume encyclopedia set of information.
    The scrapbook had copies of the letters my mom had sent to my birth mom. My adoption had been open, which meant they had exchanged information, although they nevermet face-to-face. My birth mom had picked my parents out of a binder of potential parents, like a catalog of families. The letters my mom sent her after the birth sounded fake and overly cheerful, like those cheesy notes people put in their Christmas cards. Avery is walking already! She’s such a busy little girl who loves her stuffed bunny and music. If the radio is left on, she bops up and down like she’s dancing! There were entirely too many exclamation points. The letters almost sounded like one of those infomercials you see on late night TV. Check out the new and improved Avery! She slices! She dices! She makes egg salad with no mess! Buy one now, and we’ll throw in a Chia Pet at no extra cost!!!
    I pulled Nora’s notebook over and flipped to the back, where there were blank pages. I started to list the things I knew based on the scrapbook, even if I wasn’t sure it would be helpful. My birth date, the lawyer who did the adoption, that my birth mom’s first name was Lisa.
    “What are you doing?”
    My head shot up, and my first instinct was to shove the scrapbook under my duvet cover. My mom was standing in the doorway, her suit jacket unbuttoned and her shoes already off and in her hand.
    “I didn’t hear you come in,” I said, stating the obvious. “I was looking through my baby scrapbook.”
    “What made you pull that old thing out after all this time?” She was trying to act casual, but I could see her hands twisting the ring around her finger.
    “Just curious, I guess.” I laid my hand on top of the book as if I were swearing a vow. “Why did my birth mom stop writing? She wrote back and forth with you for a couple of years and then nothing.” I flipped to the back of the book. By the end my mom hadn’t made color-coordinated pages with stickers and captions.