Wayside: A Serial Novel - Episode 13
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Episode 13: Too Much
Content warning: violence, suicidal ideation
October 7, 2026
Siado stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Her eyes were bloodshot. The dark circles underneath them seemed to be even deeper than they were the day before. Her lips were dry and chapped. Her thick, dark hair was full of tangles that would take hours to brush out.
She shifted her gaze down to the items on the counter.
Her toothbrush. A new tube of toothpaste.
She hadn’t brushed her teeth in a couple of days. Her breath smelled rotten, she knew. Still, she couldn’t find within herself whatever was needed to lift her arm, pick up the toothbrush, add paste to the bristles, and brush. What was missing? Was it motivation? Strength? Executive function? Self-esteem?
All of it?
Her eyes began to water. She blinked to clear her vision, trying to remain focused on the other items in front of her.
Toothbrush. Toothpaste. A razor. A new makeup collection she'd been sent from a company that had approached her about becoming a brand ambassador.
Her phone.
The screen lit up with yet another notification. Siado hadn’t responded to texts and calls in a couple of days. Most of them were from Josina, who’d been reaching out to her after yesterday’s emergency call with the Founders’ Council. Josina had knocked on her door and left a note as well, both of which she’d ignored.
Toothbrush. Toothpaste. A razor. New makeup collection. Her phone.
And three full pill bottles.
Three names of medications Siado couldn’t pronounce very well, but knew what they were for. One was a mood stabilizer, one was an antidepressant, and last but not least, an antipsychotic.
That last one bothered her.
If she needed an antipsychotic, then it meant she was psychotic.
It seemed like such an ugly, cruel word. It punched at her gut in a way no other term ever had. Siado didn’t want to be psychotic. Surely she wasn’t; the medications must have been prescribed in error. She picked up one of the bottles, traced her finger over the patient name: Maya Martinez.
All the doctors she’d ever seen thought they knew who Maya Martinez was, thought they knew how to fix her.
They were wrong.
The only person who’d ever understood her was her grandmother, and she was long gone.
For as far back into her childhood as Siado could remember, both of her parents had worked. Not just one job, but two or three at a time. Days. Nights. Weekends. Holidays. Sometimes they wouldn’t even have time to come home to shower and change clothes between jobs. As Mexican immigrants with no formal education beyond primary school and a limited ability to speak English, they’d been at the mercy of whatever jobs they could find where neither was required. Cleaning, landscaping, food prep, construction, sanitation, they’d done it all, most often for minimum wage.
For the job of raising their daughter, they had needed helping hands. Friends and neighbors were happy to pitch in from time to time with childcare, but it was Abuela Alma who’d been there for Siado throughout most of her life.
Abuela Alma had made her own diagnosis when Siado was just a toddler. Not only did she understand what ailed her granddaughter; she had a much more holistic view of it than doctors ever would.
“Ay mija,” she would say, “tú eres demasiado.”
My girl, you are too much.
“Siado, Siado!” Little Maya would repeat, always clipping off the first two syllables, thereby earning herself a nickname which would stick with her for life.
“Sí, mi amor. Demasiado. You have more than enough of everything.”
Abuela Alma had been right.
Young Siado would be screaming with delight and bouncing off the walls one minute; the next would find her throwing a tearful tantrum on the floor, then sinking into silence and solitude the next. She’d repeat the cycle again and again without tiring, without any loss of intensity. There was precious little down time in between, precious little of anything that was steady and even about her.
It was too much.
As Siado was growing up and trying to exist in a world that wasn’t built for people who were demasiado, every day was a struggle. Going to school was like heading into war. Sitting still, completing her assignments, and staying out of trouble were battles she lost more often than won. Every hobby and special interest started off with a bang, then quickly became an obsession which led to sleepless nights and the abandonment of other responsibilities. Every friendship and romance blossomed too quickly, then burned out just as swiftly once Siado became too needy, too demanding of the other person.
She understood most people weren’t demasiado like she was. She knew that made it hard for her to fit in, hard for others to accept her. She hated how disruptive it could be for everyone else. She despised how distressing it could be for herself. Still, she couldn’t change if she tried. She didn’t know any other way to be.
Abuela Alma knew that, and helped her see the blessing in it.
When Siado was 14 years old, she auditioned for her high school’s production of West Side Story and landed the role of Maria. Three months after the cast’s first practice, she made her theatrical debut as the play’s female lead. The audience was blown away by her polished acting and punchy dancing, but it was her vocal performance of the song ‘Tonight’ that stole the show.
“There wasn’t a dry eye in the audience,” Abuela Alma had told her. “If anyone didn’t know it before, they know it now. Your voice is your gift from God.”
“You really think so?” Siado had asked her grandmother.
“One of your gifts from God. Like I always say, He made you demasiado. You have too much passion, too much fire in your heart. You feel everything too deeply. God gave you more than enough. I believe it’s because there are people in the world who don’t feel enough. And that’s why you were given your voice. When you sing, you make others feel too. It’s powerful. You are powerful. Never forget that, mija.”
Abuela Alma’s words lingered in Siado’s mind as she took inventory of the items on her bathroom counter once more.
Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Razor. New makeup collection.
Maybe I should brush my teeth, take a shower, shave my legs, comb out my hair, Siado pondered.
Maybe I should use the razor to cut open the packaging and try out the makeup.
Or maybe I should use it to open a vein, end all this misery.
Her phone. Three full pill bottles.
Maybe I should just swallow all the pills at once and send a farewell text to everyone.
Or maybe I should take one of each of the meds, since that’s how they’re prescribed, and see what happens.
Maybe I should call Josina back.
Maybe not.
She looked up once more, stared at her reflection.
Too many decisions. Too much on her mind.
Demasiado.
She reached for the razor.
***
Chris stepped out of the shower, dressed, and patted his hair with a towel. It seemed to be growing quickly. He asked himself yet again if he should shave it off.
He still didn’t have an answer.
In the kitchen, he read the note Cassie had left for him on the dry erase board mounted to their fridge.
Good morning handsome! I saw Tori alone on the playground this morning so I’m stepping outside to check on her. BRB.
Chris glanced out the window to see Cassie and their little neighbor chatting on a bench. He got her attention, blew her a kiss.
Returning to the kitchen, he started a pot of coffee and microwaved a bowl of water. Once the timer chimed, he pulled the bowl out and dumped a packet of instant grits in it. Chris stirred them until they had dissolved to just the right consistency – not too thick, not too soupy. He added salt and a little bit of butter.
He spooned a bit in his mouth.
Not bad.
But not like homecooked grits. Not like the kind he’d been raised on, the kind his mother would make on the weekends for him and his brother when they were little. She’d boil them in equal parts broth and cream of chicken soup instead of water, then top them with real chopped bacon.
Good God, they were amazing.
He and Chase would count out their pieces of bacon topping. If one of them got more than the other, they’d raise hell and demand a fairer distribution. They wore their poor mother out, he knew. Raising two rambunctious boys of color as a single mother in the south couldn’t have been easy.
As Chris got older, he recognized how much their mother did for them, how much she sacrificed to make sure they were healthy and happy and had everything they needed. He tried to help her as best he could, pitching in with housework, making sure Chase got his homework done, mowing grass and running errands for neighbors to bring in a little extra cash. He’d taken it upon himself to be the man of the house since their father wasn’t around much to help.
Chris preferred it that way.
He had kept his distance from his father out of loyalty to his mother. She’d never said much about the man, but Chris knew there was something about him that put her on edge. Every time he’d set foot in the door, she’d switch from her normal state – pleasant, talkative, playful and warm – to a version of herself that was much more reserved, quiet, and guarded.
Chase, on the other hand, had been either too young or too naïve to pick up on the not-so-subtle changes in their mother’s demeanor. He had idolized their father and would cling to him whenever he came around.
Chris remembered the time their father stopped by to invite them to the fast food restaurant around the corner from their home. He flashed a wad of cash and told them he’d just gotten paid, so he wanted to take them out for kids’ meals and ice cream. Chris declined the invitation, but 7-year old Chase had been all too happy to go.
An hour and a half later, their mother received a call from the police. Chase had been left sitting in a booth in the restaurant alone. His father had stepped out into the parking lot to meet someone and a fight had ensued. Someone had fired a gun. Everyone involved got arrested. Chris didn’t know which party had brought the street drugs, but his father was the one charged with the crime of possession with intent to sell.
Chase had witnessed the entire episode. He’d heard the gunshot, the panicked screams of onlookers, the blaring sirens. He’d seen his father throwing punches, then getting punched squarely across the jaw. He’d watched as an officer pinned his father down on the ground, handcuffing him behind his back, then standing him up again to load him in the back of the squad car. Once the car rolled away, Chase was all alone.
Chris had vivid memories of his brother’s return home that day. There’d been a loud knock at the door; Chris opened it to find a kind-faced female officer holding Chase’s hand. His little brother was trembling from head to toe. He’d wet his pants. He wouldn’t speak for the next several days. The experience had changed him.
He’d never be the same kid again.
It had devastated their mother.
And it had devastated Chris. He couldn’t help but feel he should have gone to the restaurant too. He’d known better than to trust their father. He’d let Chase – and their mother – down. He’d failed both of them.
Chris spooned more grits into his mouth, swallowing hard against the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.
He’d felt the same way two years ago when he’d told his mother and brother that he and Cassie would be moving to a new Covid-Conscious gated community in North Carolina. He’d asked them to come along.
They’d laughed at him. They told him he was joining a cult and was stuck in the past; the rest of the world had moved on and had learned to live with Covid. They wouldn’t hear his argument that Cassie couldn’t risk getting infected because of her transplanted lungs.
Their lack of compassion had blindsided him. He would have expected it from Chase, but not his mother. There was a time when she would have been more caring, more understanding.
But she was different now too.
The first time his mother and brother were infected with Covid was in the fall of 2020. It put their mother in the hospital and left Chase seriously ill for several weeks. When vaccines became available in 2021, they both refused them, believing they had completely recovered and had natural immunity to Covid. Shortly after masking mandates were lifted, they were infected again.
And again, and again, and again over the next few years.
Each subsequent infection seemed to hit them harder, made them sick for longer, left them with some new health issue that wouldn’t go away. The cumulative damage Covid was causing to their bodies was impossible to deny.
Nor could Chris ignore that the virus was doing something much more sinister to their minds, their memories, their personalities, their moral compasses. They weren’t the same people he’d known all his life, at least up until 2020 anyway.
They’d never be those same people again.
By 2024, their mother was bedbound; Chase was disabled after fainting behind the wheel of his car and crashing into a building. His injuries required major surgery and a lengthy hospitalization, during which he’d been infected with Covid yet again. He’d lost his license and could no longer work, yet his application for disability kept getting denied.
Just like he’d felt that day when the officer brought his traumatized little brother to the door, Chris felt responsible. As if he’d somehow failed his brother again. As if he’d failed his mother too.
As if he’d abandoned them by moving to a safer place to live.
Chris had tried to pay his penance by assuming financial responsibility for the two of them. He paid off his mother’s mortgage, took on their monthly bills, and sent them money each month for groceries, medications, and whatever else they needed. He had hoped it would be enough to keep them housed, safe, and comfortable while they lived out the rest of their lives.
He’d wanted to be able to see them from time to time, but they’d laughed at his request to mask up for visits. They wouldn’t do videocalls. The distance between Atlanta, Georgia, and Wayside in North Carolina was less than 200 miles, but the distance between himself and his family was infinite now.
The news of his mother’s decline was haunting him. She was too young to be facing death. Before the pandemic had upended their lives, she’d been a good person and a great mother. She didn’t deserve this.
And she didn’t deserve to be ghosted by her son at the end of her life.
Cassie was right. Chris needed to go see her.
The timing just sucked.
He took a deep breath, braced himself, then placed a call to Chase.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Chris was praying it would go to voicemail so he could delay his response a bit longer. He had a bad feeling in his gut all of a sudden.
“What’s up, dickhead?” Chase answered the call.
Chris rolled his eyes. “I see you haven’t changed a bit.”
“I was wondering if you were ever going to get back to me.”
“I’ve been busy,” said Chris. “I’ve got a job, a wife, a baby on the way, I’m on the Founders’ Council here at Wayside—”
“Yeah, I know,” said Chase. “But you’ve also got a mother who’s dying. Doesn’t she still matter to you?”
“Of course she does,” said Chris. “I just called you back, didn’t I?”
“Relax,” Chase sputtered through a coughing fit. “I’m just busting your balls. Glad you finally found the time to call me back.”
“What’s going on with Mom? Is she in the hospital? How much time does she have?”
“She’s always said she doesn’t want to die in the hospital so I haven’t taken her. I don’t know how much time she has. She’s lost a lot of weight and she can’t breathe very well. She looks like a skeleton gasping for air most of the time.”
“My God. I’m so sorry, Chase.” Chris swallowed hard. The knot in his throat was back. “What can I do? Do you want me to try to find a home health service that can come out to the house and manage her pain?”
“No. She doesn’t want any of that. She just wants to see you. And we’re not at home anymore.”
Chris was taken aback. “Why aren’t you at home?”
“The bank took the house and kicked us out.”
“What!?!” Chris was livid. “I paid off the mortgage! They can’t kick you out!”
“The bank sent us a list of repairs we had to do on the house, but we didn’t get them done in time, so they took it.”
“Why is the bank still involved? The house is paid off. Mom got the property title. You’re her power-of-attorney so you should have it.” Chris exhaled loudly. His heart was pounding and his head was throbbing all of a sudden. “What did you do, Chase?”
“We took out a reverse mortgage. We needed money. We can’t work. You know that, Chris.”
“I PAY ALL YOUR BILLS!” Chris couldn’t help but yell. “If you needed more money to get by, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Look, if you want to yell at me, fine. But at least come do it to my face. Come see your mother before she dies.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in North Carolina.” Chase coughed loudly again.
Chris felt his stomach drop. “Where in North Carolina?”
“Pine Tree. We’re in the Lucky Lodge motel, three miles from Wayside. Since you weren’t going to come to Georgia, I brought her here. Now you have no excuse.”
Chris sat in silence for several seconds, desperately trying to collect his thoughts. “There’s a lot of shady stuff that goes on at that hotel. It’s not safe there. How did you get to Pine Tree if you don’t have a vehicle and a driver’s license, anyway?”
“Look, I didn’t have money for the Ritz-Carlton, but it seems safe enough here. And don’t worry about how we got here. We’re here, that’s what matters. Are you going to come see us, or what?”
“Let me get this straight. You’ve been kicked out of the house I paid in full, so you’re now homeless, and apparently out of money too. You probably broke the law a dozen different ways to come to North Carolina, hauling our dying mother across state lines instead of putting her in a hospital where she’d at least be kept comfortable. You’re staying in a hotel that’s in the local news every week because it’s constantly getting raided by the police for illegal activity. I just told you it’s not safe there and you won’t even believe me. And of course, you’re expecting me to drop everything and come running to you.”
“You don’t have to be such a dick about it.”
Chris was at a loss for words. “This is just… too much. It’s too much to dump on me at once, Chase.”
“Too much, huh?” Chase spat his brother’s words back at him. “You bailed on us and left me to take care of Mom all by myself, after I’d had that accident that almost killed me. You have no idea what it’s been like for me these past few years. Don’t you dare lecture me on what’s too much. Get over yourself, Chris. We’ve been living in the real world while you’ve been holed up in a damn amusement park, probably having the time of your life while pretending we didn’t exist anymore.”
“I need to talk to Cassie. I’ll call you back.”
“Don’t take too long, I don’t have the money to stay here indefinitely. You need to cut it out with all this moral superiority shit, acting like you’re better than us. We’re still your family and you need to show up before—”
“I’m hanging up now. Bye.”
Chris disconnected the call before Chase had the chance to say anything else.
***
Josina checked her phone once more. Still no reply to all the calls and texts she’d sent. The note she’d left on the door the last time she’d stopped by was still there.
No one had seen or heard from Siado since she’d bailed on the emergency meeting of the Founders’ Council.
Rightfully worried, Josina pounded on her door. “Oi, Siado!” She shouted. “Come on, open up!”
A minute passed. Nothing happened. Josina knocked loudly again. Still nothing. “I’ve got a master key,” she yelled. “I’m coming in!”
Josina’s hand was shaking as she used the key to open the door. Stepping inside, she noticed the living room was messier than she’d ever seen it. In the kitchen, the refrigerator door was wide open. Plates were stacked in the sink like a Jenga tower nearing collapse. Josina nearly gagged at the stench of the overflowing garbage can.
“Siado!” She called out again.
No reply.
As Josina started down the hallway, she heard music playing. It was a sad-sounding song with a vocalist singing lyrics in Spanish. She followed it to the bathroom.
The door was ajar; the light was on. Josina’s heart thumped wildly in her chest as she pushed it open.
Siado was on the floor, her back against the wall, her face completely white.
Josina screamed and staggered backward, her back colliding against the wall in the hallway.
Then Siado screamed and jumped to her feet.
The two women looked at each other, then screamed again in unison.
“What the hell, Josina?” Siado cried out.
“What do you mean what the hell?” Josina paused to catch her breath. “I thought you were dead! You haven’t responded to my messages and you didn’t answer the door, so I walk in and find you on the floor with your face drained of color? You tell me what the hell!”
Siado dragged her finger across her cheek, clearing away the white coloring. “It’s just makeup,” she said. “I got this calavera makeup kit in the mail, so I just opened it and was putting on the foundation.”
“Calavera?” Josina asked. “What’s that?”
“It’s for the Day of the Dead – the Mexican holiday,” she explained. “It’s a style of face painting that makes you look like a skeleton. It’s how we honor the loved ones we’ve lost.”
“Why were you on the floor?”
“It takes a long time to put the makeup on. My back is really stiff from oversleeping the past couple of days, so I was just sitting down to give it a break.”
With a loud exhale, Josina rested her hand over her heart. “Okay,” she said. “I’m glad you’re alright. But you’ve got a lot of explaining to do! I’ve been worried about you. So has the rest of the council. You can’t just cease all contact with us and expect us to not be concerned!”
“You’re right,” Siado nodded. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You damn near gave me a heart attack!” Josina bemoaned. “Can we sit down? I need to rest until my heart rate comes back down to normal.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
As they made their way into the living room, Siado detoured to the kitchen to slam the refrigerator door shut. She looked around, taking inventory of the mess as if she’d only become aware of just how bad it was in that moment.
“Sorry… about all this,” she apologized as she joined Josina on the sofa. “I’m usually better about picking up. I’ve just kind of been in a funk lately.”
“I know,” Josina said softly. “Would you let me help you out of it?”
Siado frowned. “How?”
“I’m hoping we could figure it out together.” She paused to give Siado a chance to speak, only to be met with silence. “So… do you want to talk about it?” Josina added.
Sinking back into the sofa cushions, Siado crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the floor. “I’m not really sure what to say,” she replied. “It’s nothing I haven’t unloaded on you already. I know it helps to talk, but I worry I’ll sound like a broken record. And you’ll get tired of hearing about my problems and you’ll get burned out. I know I can be a real drama queen sometimes.”
“You’re not a drama queen and your problems aren’t drama,” Josina insisted. “It’s your life and your wellbeing. You need to keep talking about it because you’re still hurting, still struggling. And I haven’t done enough to help you. I’m sorry about that.”
Siado looked up. “What do you mean?”
“I mean your frustration over it being difficult to have visitors here. You have valid concerns and you’re not the only one feeling that way. I see now how much it’s hurting you, Siado, and I know we need to do something about it. Since I have a voice as a leader of this community, I need to make it a priority.”
Siado blinked. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” Josina said. “You’re right. The world outside of our gates made everyone choose between physical safety and social safety, and look at how badly things went. Those of us who came to Wayside chose to stay safe from a virus, but we still have loved ones outside of these gates and we need them in our lives. And we all should have the right to make new friends and build new relationships with people outside of Wayside as well, with the expectation they could come visit us in our own homes. When I think about how difficult our guest policy and the quarantine period makes it for us to host our loved ones, I realize we’re forcing the same choice on everyone here. We shouldn’t have to choose between physical safety and social safety. I realize now we’ll fail if we do. There has to be a better way.”
“Wow… that makes perfect sense.” Siado said with surprise, her voice tightening with emotion. “Thank you, Josina. It means a lot to me, to hear you say this.” A tear slid down her cheek, cutting a streak through the white foundation she had so carefully applied.
“You’re going to ruin your makeup if you keep that up,” said Josina with a smile. “I’m sure it will be beautiful when you finish it. Isn’t it a little early, though? Day of the Dead is in November, right?”
“Yeah,” Siado nodded. “It’s just that I was really missing my grandmother – my Abuela Alma – this morning. She used to paint my face when I was little. I think I needed to feel close to her.”
“I understand,” said Josina. “Tell me about her. What was she like?”
Siado’s eyes drifted upward as she searched for the words to describe Abuela Alma. “She was so sweet. And funny, and really fun to be around. She was a tiny little woman but she had this huge, loud laugh! She was kind and encouraging, and she always made me feel special. We spent a lot of time together when I was little. My parents worked a lot so she was there for me more often than they were. My abuela was more like a second mother to me than a grandparent.”
“She sounds lovely.”
“She was,” Siado smiled. “And up until now, I thought she was the only person in the world who had ever understood me. But I think you do too, Josina.”
“Really?” Josina’s face brightened.
“Yeah. When I woke up this morning, I was severely depressed and didn’t know what to do. I was having some really dark thoughts, so I tried to imagine what Abuela Alma would have said to me. Then I thought about what you would say to me, and the message was exactly the same. That’s how I knew it was the right thing to do.”
“And what was that?”
Siado reached into her pocket and pulled out three pill bottles, lining them up on the coffee table. “I was prescribed these meds a couple of months ago for B.P.D. Do you know what that is?”
“Bipolar disorder?”
“Yeah,” Siado nodded. “I’ve been too scared to take them. I was afraid of what it would mean, what it would say about me, if they actually worked. But when I imagined my abuela this morning, I saw her in my mind with all the different pill bottles she used to have lined up on her kitchen counter. She told me everybody needs medicine sometimes. And then she told me my music is like medicine for others. But if I don’t take my meds, I won’t be well enough to make music. I can’t be a good steward of the gift I’ve been given If I don’t take care of myself. So it’s like I have a responsibility to others. It’s about more than just me.”
“Wow. That’s incredibly wise. And you thought I’d say the same thing?”
“Maybe not in those exact words, but it sounds like something you’d say,” Siado nodded.
“Well then, I’m impressed with myself.” Josina straightened her posture, smoothed her hijab, and batted her eyelashes dramatically. “I had no idea I was so brilliant.”
“Who’s the drama queen now?” Siado laughed. “Seriously though, I’ve had lots of people try to give me pep talks, and they usually end up pissing me off. They all want to talk, but they don’t want to listen. But you’re not like that, Josina. You listen to me and you get me, so I like talking with you. You always have good advice for me, even if I don’t want to hear it. So sometimes when I’m really feeling lost and I need guidance, I try to tune everything else out and listen to my inner voice. Sometimes it sounds like my abuela talking to me. And sometimes it’s your voice I hear.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Josina smiled.
Siado picked up one of the pill bottles and rolled it around in her hands. “Today, for the first time, I took my meds as prescribed. I’m kind of nervous about it, but I’m also feeling hopeful. I can’t keep letting my emotions overwhelm me, so this is my way of taking control of them.”
“That’s amazing,” Josina encouraged her. “I’m really proud of you, Siado. I know it took a lot of courage to make that decision. I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re one of the bravest people I know."
“Also what my abuela would say, except in Spanish.” Siado put the pill bottle back down. “You remind me of her, you know.” She reached for a small framed photo of an older woman holding a chubby toddler, tilting it toward Josina so she could see.
“That’s her? And you?”
“Yes.” Siado swiped another tear away. “I really miss her and I haven’t been the same since she died. But now that you’re here, I don’t feel so alone. I hope it doesn’t sound weird, but you make me feel the way she did. Like I’m safe and I’m loved and I always have someone in my corner. I'm not kidding. You really do remind me of her.”
“Funny you’d mention that,” Josina said. “You remind me of someone too.”
“Really? Who?”
“My daughter.”
Siado’s eyes grew wide. “What? You have a daughter? How am I just now finding out about this?”
“It’s a long story. I haven’t shared it with anyone else here at Wayside. Not even Ben.”
“Well, you can’t just drop a big piece of news like that and not tell me more!” Siado shifted on the sofa to face her.
“I know, I know.” Josina reached for her phone and pulled up the pictures Ola had taken of her holding her baby just after she’d given birth. She showed them to Siado. “I was sixteen and homeless when I got pregnant by an older man who’d been letting me sleep in the place where he was squatting. I opened up to one of my high school teachers about it and she took me in. She’s the one who took these pictures of me. Her name was Ola, and she sort of became my mum. She made me feel safe and loved too. When I gave birth, I knew in my heart the right thing to do was give my baby girl up for adoption. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I knew there was a family out there who could give her the life I wasn’t ready to give her myself. I haven’t seen her since the day she was born. She’s about the same age as you are, so every time I see your face, every time I hear your voice, I think about her and I feel an emptiness in my heart.”
“Oh my God, Josina, that’s so sad. I’m sorry.” Siado cupped her hand over her mouth as fresh tears began to fall.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you made me miss her and yearn for her in my life. I couldn’t be there for her back then, but I can now. My daughter already has a mother, and I’d never try to replace the woman who adopted her and raised her. But if she is open to her birth mother being a part of her life, I’ll love her and support her in whatever way she’ll have me, even if it’s just as a friend. For the longest time, I didn’t believe I was worthy of a relationship with her since I’d given her up for adoption.”
“What changed your mind?”
“You did. A couple of weeks ago when you asked me why Ben and I weren’t together, I told you I didn’t know. The truth is, I love Ben with all my heart. But I’m scared he doesn’t feel the same way about me. If I made myself vulnerable to him and he rejected me, I’m worried I’d never survive the heartbreak. So I’ve never told him. I’ve just avoided it altogether. Do you remember what you asked me?”
“I told you that you should talk to him and find out how he feels about you. I asked you if you thought you were worth it.”
“Yes.”
“I only said that because you’d literally just asked me the same thing – was I worthy of the waiting and the uncertainty and all the hard work it would take for someone to build a relationship with me?”
Chagrinned, Josina cut her eyes away and tried to stifle a smile. “Sometimes people are good at giving advice to others, but are clueless when it comes to following that advice themselves.”
Siado laughed. “You made me say it outloud – that I’m worthy. Then I made you say it outloud. We’re both worthy of being loved.”
“Exactly. I think it hit me in that moment that a big part of the reason why I’ve struggled with feeling worthy is because of that hole that grew in my heart after giving my daughter up. Nothing and no one has ever been able to fill it. I had to do something about that before I could even think about telling Ben how I feel. So I did. I drove to Minnesota and met with someone at the agency who facilitated her adoption. I wrote a letter to her, to let her know I’d like to meet her and be a part of her life.”
Siado inched closer. “And?”
“I haven’t heard back yet, but the agency said that’s typical. They said it’s a big deal for adoptees to hear from a birth parent for the first time, and to be patient. So I’m trying to be. I also have to be prepared for the possibility that I may never hear back from her. But if that’s the case, at least I tried. I decided I was worthy and I took the risk. And I don’t know if I would have been able to do that, had it not been for you. So thank you for that.”
“Oh wow. You’re welcome.” Siado reached for Josina, embracing her tightly.
Josina hugged her back. “As lovely as this is, we both need to get moving. Remember we’ve got a brunch date with the Founders’ Council this morning.”
“Oh! I’d forgotten about it. I need to go get ready.”
They stood up from the sofa, breaking into laughter at the sight of each other. Siado’s makeup was so smeared she looked like a zombie out of a horror movie, while Josina’s hijab was covered in white streaks and fresh tear stains.
“If we show up like this, we’re going to raise some eyebrows,” Josina smirked.
“No kidding. I know I must look completely feral, so I’m going to go take a quick shower. Go ahead and let the rest of the gang know I’ll be just a few minutes behind you.”
“I can do that,” said Josina as she made her way to the door.
“Oh, one more thing,” Siado added, “Your daughter is going to love you. And so will Ben, when you’re ready to tell him. I’m sure of it.”
Josina paused, resting her hand on the doorknob. “What if they don’t?” She turned to Siado once more, her brow furrowed with worry. The pain of doubt was evident in her voice.
“Then you’ll still have me,” said Siado. “And I’ll love you more than enough.”
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