2.01 – DJ’s Story pt. 1 – “Her”

This story contains slight profanity.

March 18, 2022: Somewhere along the western coast

I’m a bundle of nerves, slumped against the cabin wall, staring out the window. I usually find clouds so beautiful and hypnotic this high up in a plane, but not today. Maybe it’s the dreaded feeling I’ve had since I was hit with the news…

…or maybe it’s the thin air this high up, but today I feel like I’ve been endlessly bobbing in a sea of uncertainty, and I’m wondering how much longer I can function until my body quits and I drown.  

My world, as I knew it, came to a halt and crashed down around me less than 24-hours ago. Funnily enough, it all began with a private message, from an unknown contact, with a subject line that read: “FUCK YOU BITCH.” I remember wondering if I should bother opening the message. 

I think how different life might have been if I had just deleted it or ignored it; how simpler things could have been. I don’t regret opening the message – 

not really anyways – at least not yet, because that’s when she came into my life again. This stranger who I never really met, but would, face-to-face in a few hours, after my plane lands. 

I look over at my daughter Athena who just turned 15. Next year she’ll be sixteen: the age I was when I got pregnant with her. Thankfully, her studies keep her preoccupied, and she is more dedicated to pursuing good grades than hot guys… or hot girls. 

She has no idea why we are suddenly flying from Seattle to Los Angeles. I mean we told her that one of my best friends was having an emergency major surgery, and I wanted to be there for her, and that it would be nice to enjoy some sunshine for a few days afterwards. 

Clearly all lies… well… except for the part about the sunshine. Seattle Gloom is real, and when you’re a native Southern Californian …well let’s just say that going without the sun for too long is borderline criminal.

I realize at that moment that there is so much of my life that I have never told Athena. For so long I’ve looked at her as if she hadn’t aged past five. I only recently told her who her biological father was, and even then I left out major details about the type of guy he was when we were together.  

I’m uncertain if I’d be able to keep those details secret after today, because after today she will find out that she has a twin sister. A sister who I was told was stillborn, after I birthed them.

Obviously, there are lots of secrets, and some may never be unearthed, because the only people that were in the delivery room, other than myself, the doctors and nurses, were my parents and my cousin Annette and her husband, who adopted my daughter, Athena. 

Months after giving birth, my parents were on a flight that had crashed. Their bodies were never recovered, and they were presumed dead. As for my cousin and her husband, they had passed away when Athena was only two-years-old. I gained custody of her, and have raised her since. 

I sideways grin thinking how absolutely insane this whole scenario is, and I turn my attention to the man next to me, my husband of thirteen years, Cato. He’s been holding my hand this entire time. 

He wants me to know that he’s here for me, no matter what. He is my foundation, and I am so grateful to have him in my life, and I love him entirely. I give his hand a squeeze, and his eyes leave his laptop and look over at me. 

He sees my smile and he beams. I snuggle close to him and bring my mouth close to his ear, “I’m stressed. Meet me in the bathroom for a fuck-session?”

He sighs, exasperatedly. “Behave,” is all he says, but I can see the making of a smile tug at the side of his lips.

I look out the window. I feel my body relax and I slowly close my eyes. 

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The Captain announces that we will be landing in a half-hour, and the seatbelt sign lights up. I wipe drool from my chin. I don’t know how I fell asleep, but I am grateful for the mental and physical restfulness. 

As we begin our descent, I feel the dread begin to subside. Sunshine illuminates the sky and the water below. I no longer feel like I’m drowning, instead the sunshine ignites me, and I feel soothed.

Yes, everything has flipped topsy-turvy in my life, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it will be bad. It’s a change, and it’s going to be scary, but it’s going to be exciting, and I feel so very excited. I’m excited to see her. I’m excited to hug her. I’m excited to hear about her life.

I’m excited for the moment I get to introduce her to Cato and Athena. I’m excited to be her biological mom, and… I’m excited knowing she exists. 

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DJ’s Story pt. 2: “Hera”

March 18, 2022 – Burbank, CA

Ah, Southern California. It’s midday in March and it’s hot. It’s hot outside, it’s hot inside. You can’t escape the heat. It’s not sweltering, like a desert, but it’s uncomfortable when you have acclimatized to the wet-cold of Seattle, Washington.

I look around the bakery I chose as a meeting spot. Not all of the seats are occupied, but a good majority have already been taken. Most people are standing near the counter eagerly waiting to  pick up their orders. I scan the faces looking for someone with Athena’s features, either fully or partially, as I’m not entirely sure what she looks like, and the chances of them being fraternal twins outweighs the possibility of them being identical twins. 

My phone immediately buzzes and gyrates, upturned, on the table in front of me. I quickly grab it, flip it over and see the pop-up text notification sent by her. It reads: Just found parking. Be there soon, Hera. 

Holy shit, she told me her name! Hera, like the Queen of the Olympian gods! I beam stupidly at everyone that looks my way. I can’t stop smiling, and even though the intensity of my smile fades, I remain smiling, transfixed as I stare towards the door, my eyes darting to the window, closest to the entrance door, whenever I see a person pass by. 

“ONE-OH-EIGHT” a voice bellows. “Shit, that’s me,” I say, startled, digging for my receipt with the giant “108” printed on the bottom, and hand it to the person at the counter. I pick up two giant pink boxes filled with sweet and savory pastries, and head back over to my table, except I notice that one of the seats is now occupied.

My eyebrows knit together in confusion, and I find myself momentarily biting my lower lip, a bad habit I’ve had as long as I can remember. 

“Hi,” I say to the stranger.

She’s busy staring at her phone, but she momentarily acknowledges me with a brisk “Hi,” without bothering to look up.

Thankfully, there’s enough space for me to settle my pastry boxes onto the table without hindering.

“Uh, I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not but I was at this table and only left to grab my order. I left my purse and belongings here.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” she says, still staring at her phone.

“I don’t mean to make a scene, but I’m meeting someone, and it’s kinda….important. Could I offer you a pastry or two, and you could move… somewhere else?”

This captures her attention. She even places her phone on the table and looks at me, as though she’s trying to dissolve layers of flesh, muscle, and bones from her view and really tap into my soul. A smile cracks on her caramel skin, and I can’t help but stare at how breathtakingly beautiful she is. I take notice of her coiffed ebony hair, the haute couture she wears, and the fine posture she displays, which forces me to sit as well as my back will allow; I’m a slouch, and sitting straight has never been a strongpoint of mine. 

There’s a slyness to her smile as she says, “I’m also meeting someone…important.” 

I put on my poker face. If this bitch wants to play games, then by all means: game on.  

“There are other tables. Unoccupied tables in fact. Why don’t you take this very generous offer and go sit there instead.”

“‘I’m not interested in your very generous offer,” she says, lifting both sets of index and middle fingers in the air and making air-quotations as she spits back the phrase. “Besides,” she continues,  “this chair looked so inviting, so I decided to sit here. Is that a problem?” 

By this point both of our smiles have faded. 

SHIT I think, Hera should be here by now. How the fuck am I supposed to explain this situation and this chair-usurper to her?! This problematic-bitch is really getting on my nerves.

“Another day you would not have gotten the best of me,” I say calmly, and in the most soft-spoken-Mr-Rodgers-Neighborhood-like voice I can muster, as I collect my belongings and pastry boxes, about to head over to an unoccupied table. Except I don’t, because right after I say that I hear her dismissive, “PFFT,” complete with eye roll. 

Really? I’ve had enough. 

I lean down slightly and make eye contact with her, in hopes that this would be my last encounter. “And I mean the best of me, not bested me. This is me being incredibly generous to some entitled brat who’s so bored with her life that she needs to start drama with grownups. I’m not your mama, but maybe you should run home to her so you can give her a headache.”

Without looking back at her, I make my way to an empty table, sit down, check my phone for any missed calls or missed messages. Nothing. 

“Wow, you are a real bitch.”

I ignore her and scroll aimlessly on my phone. I can hear her laughter, but it isn’t condescending, so I steal a glance up at her, and surprisingly enough she’s smiling at me; genuinely smiling.

“Karen always wondered who I got my bitch-ass-attitdue from. She said it had to have been my mom,” she says and her smile slowly fades, “I guess she was right.” 

I shake my head at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I look back down at my phone. Where is Hera? Did she stand me up? Did she come in here and see me with this girl and decide to leave? Did I blow my chance?

“I thought I at least made it a bit clearer.” She begins to tap her cheek with an extremely long and pointed fingernail. “Maybe you’re dense.”

I stare daggers at her. Her eyes widen, betraying her briefly with nervousness. She stumbles over her words, coughs to gain composure, and brushes her right shoulder sleeve momentarily. “It’s me, Hera.” She says her name and proceeds to sit down in the empty chair she knows I’ve reserved.

“Hera?” Her name is barely audible on my lips. “But..” my words begin to crumble all around me. “You can’t be. You’re…you’re…you look nothing like David…you can’t be…” 

And then I realize it: Her face shape, her lips, her dark hair and caramel skin. David fathered Athena, but he didn’t father her. Hera had a different father. A father that had no idea she existed. A father that nobody knew I had been romantically involved with, except myself, him, and kinda-sorta my husband.