Wish I Were Here

Chapter 9

S o that was my dad.” I turn to Luca, who’s staring at me with his eyes wide.

“He’s…” Luca blinks. “Not what I was expecting.”

“Yeah, well…” My mood darkens. “He’s never what anyone is expecting. At least not for the father of uptight Catherine Lipton, anyway.”

Luca’s brow furrows, and he reaches out to touch my arm. “Who said you were uptight?”

Nobody said it, not in a long time, anyway. But for my whole life, I’ve felt it. Why can’t I just loosen up, chill out a little?

Because some people don’t have the luxury to loosen up and chill out. But I don’t want to talk about it with Luca, who—now that I’ve seen them together—is even more like Dad than I realized. Fun, unrestrained, always up for a good time. What people don’t see is that there’s a downside to the guy who’s always the life of the party.

He leaves his empty pizza boxes and crushed-up beer cans all over the lawn for someone else to clean up.

I pull my arm away. “It doesn’t matter. I need to focus or I’m going to lose this job.”

“You said the lunch didn’t go well? You were only in there for about five minutes.”

I shake my head. “Dr. Gupta is really mad. And I can’t blame him. I’m supposed to teach four classes, plus I have three committee assignments and a roster of twenty-eight students to advise. Not to mention the fact that we were going to collaborate on several research papers, the first one due in October. If I can’t do the job, who is going to cover all that?”

“If you can’t do the job, who cares who’s going to write your research papers?” Luca scoffs. “Maybe instead of being mad, this Dr. Gupta could offer a little bit of support.”

It’s not much of a different sentiment than what crossed my mind just a few minutes ago. But Luca doesn’t get it. They chose my application out of hundreds of qualified candidates. I sat through three interviews, conducted a teaching demonstration, and presented my research to select mathematics faculty. It’s not easy to go out and find a replacement. If I don’t locate that birth certificate, if I can’t prove that I exist, I’ll be leaving them in the lurch.

And I’ll be in the lurch, too. But I can’t think about that. I can’t think about how everything I’ve worked for my entire life is about to add up to a big, fat zero. Or the fact that Dad let me down, again. Because if I do, I might just sit down in the grass and cry.

To my great mortification, the tears well up anyway.

“Hey,” Luca says, stepping into my line of sight, his face creased with concern. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.” Once again, he takes my arm, and this time he tugs me over to a bench on the edge of the lawn. “We’ll figure this out. We just need a plan.”

I give a watery laugh at the irony of Luca lecturing me about plans. I always have a plan, a to-do list, charts and graphs and spreadsheets. But right now, I have absolutely nothing.

Luca sinks down next to me. “It sounds like your mom has your birth certificate. So we just need to find your mom.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible.”

“This is. I don’t know anything about her except that she walked away on the day I was born, and she never looked back.” I swipe at my wet cheeks.

Luca leans forward, propping his arms on his knees so he can look me in the eye. “What about your dad? What has he told you about her?”

I shrug. “He’s never talked about her. He’s never said a single thing about who she is, or where she comes from, or why she left. When I ask, he does the same thing you saw him do today. He closes up and walks away.”

“And you have no idea why?”

“No. Over the years, I’ve imagined all sorts of scenarios.” I stare at my hands. “Maybe she left us because she has a top-secret government job and had to move overseas to fight terrorists and save the world. Or maybe she’s an infectious disease doctor, living in a remote jungle, stopping viruses that could wipe out humanity. Or maybe she’s in Antarctica researching the polar ice caps, figuring out how to keep them from melting and turning Kansas into beachfront property.”

I realize what I’ve revealed, and my gaze flies to Luca’s. This missing identity really is messing with my head, because I’ve never told anyone my secret fantasies about my mother.

He’s looking at me with an expression I can’t quite decipher. It’s probably pity.

“But,” I continue. “The truth is, she’s probably nothing more than a deadbeat. Just an ordinary woman who didn’t care enough about her daughter to stick around.”

Luca abruptly sits up. “I guess there’s only one way to find out.”

I look at him sideways. “What are you suggesting?”

“Your dad says she has your birth certificate. You need that birth certificate to save your job. So I’m suggesting we find her.”

“Like I said, that’s impossible. I know literally nothing about her.”

“You know what’s on your birth certificate. You know her name and the city where you were born. That’s not nothing.”

Before I can answer, my stomach growls so loudly I know Luca can hear it. Breakfast was supposed to be served at the orientation this morning, and since I got up so early, I didn’t eat before I went. And then, of course, I wasn’t invited to sit down at the faculty luncheon. So the only thing in my stomach is the cup of coffee I drank from my travel mug while I waited for orientation to begin.

Luca’s eyebrows rise. “Let’s get you a snack.”

There’s a food truck parked next to the lawn that’s selling smoothies and bubble tea. He stands, reaching in his pocket and pulling out his wallet. “How about a smoothie? You strike me as a blueberry acai kind of girl. Lots of antioxidants. But if you want chocolate and peanut butter, just say the word.”

I wave him off. “Let me get it. You’ve been driving me all over town.”

I approach the food truck counter, and when it’s my turn to order, I do request a blueberry acai, because antioxidants are good for me. And then I order a chocolate and peanut butter for Luca because… obviously.

The cashier tells me my total, and I slide my bank card into the machine. After a moment, it beeps and the words on the screen tell me to remove my card. But instead of processing my payment, the screen flashes with one more word.

Declined.

What?

“I’m sorry, I don’t think that card is working,” the girl behind the counter calls down to me.

“Let me just try again.” I slide my card back in the machine and repeat the same process. Once again, the screen flashes with declined .

“This has never happened before.” I’ll admit I’m one of those people who still balances my bank account. I save my receipts throughout the day and input them in a spreadsheet at night. The word declined was such a staple of my childhood, I swore it would never happen once I had control of my own money. So, that’s how I know I have exactly $2,541.68 in my bank account as of last night. Enough to pay my rent at the end of the month and cover my bills, food, and other expenses until my first paycheck from the university comes in. “Let me try it one more time.”

“Do you have another card?” the girl asks. Clearly, she doesn’t have faith in my third attempt.

The bank card should work. I know it should work. I know there’s money in my account. But a line is beginning to form behind me, so I pull out my credit card and slide it into the machine. A second later, my heart drops to my knees.

Declined again.

This isn’t happening. How can this be happening?

“Everything okay?” Luca has come up behind me just in time to catch the girl behind the counter say, “I’m sorry, but that card isn’t working either.”

Hands shaking now, I shove the cards back into my wallet and check for cash. “I’m sure it’s some sort of mistake. I know I have money in my account, and I barely have a balance on my credit card. I don’t know why they’re not working.” I look up hopefully. “Maybe the system is down.” That’s the only explanation.

Before the girl can respond, Luca slides a card into the machine. It beeps and processes, and the next thing I know the word accepted flashes there. I stare at it, my stomach churning.

“Catherine?” calls the college-aged boy making smoothies in the back of the food truck, sliding two cups onto the counter. Luca grabs them, handing me the purple one, and nudges me out of the way of the line.

I shuffle along next to him, one hand clutching the frigid cup, the other digging in my bag for my phone. “I need to call my bank. And my credit card company. Why aren’t my cards working?” My stomach growls again, and I’m suddenly lightheaded. My vision blurs. I come to an abrupt halt and begin to sway. Luca slides an arm around my shoulders and guides me back to the bench. I sink down on the wooden slats and bend forward, breathing hard.

He waves the purple smoothie under my nose. “Drink this.”

I take a sip of the blended yogurt and sour fruit, and luckily my stomach is empty or the contents would be all over my shoes. Luca whisks the purple smoothie out of my hand and replaces it with the chocolate and peanut butter one. “Try this instead.”

I take a long sip, and as soon as the cold, sweet-and-salty flavor hits my tongue, my nausea recedes. “Thanks,” I say, handing it back to him.

“Drink a little more.”

I take a few more sips, and before I know what’s happened, I’ve finished the entire smoothie. “Sorry, that was meant for you.”

“It’s no problem. I love blueberry acai.” Luca takes a gulp of the purple smoothie, gags, and lobs the cup into a nearby trash can with a graceful flick of his wrist.

I dial the number for my credit card company and squirm in my seat as I’m directed through menu after menu of options. Finally, the deep, male voice of a customer service representative comes through the phone. I explain my story, and he reassures me it’s probably some sort of mix-up. He kindly offers to look into it.

I blow out a breath as I listen to his fingers type on the keys. This is going to be fine. It’s only a mix-up.

But when he comes back to the phone, his voice is decidedly colder. “It looks like that account was closed due to fraudulent activity. You should have received a letter several weeks ago.”

“Fraudulent activity?” I sit up straight. “What sort of fraudulent activity? I didn’t get a letter about fraudulent activity. I definitely would remember if I did.”

“Hold please.”

And before I know what’s happening, the low tones of a cello playing Pachelbel’s Canon are piped into my ear. “I’m on hold,” I mutter to Luca. “How can they put me on hold at a time like this?”

The music fades, and with a click, the representative is back. “Hello? Are you there?”

“Yes! I’m here.”

“Well, I’ve looked into your account, and it seems the reason it was closed is due to the fact that the owner does not seem to exist. The Social Security number associated with this account is a fake.”

My shoulders slump. “It’s not a fake,” I say weakly.

“Our fraudulent activities division says that it is.” His voice comes out clipped now. Funny how suddenly everyone’s tone changes when you’ve been accused of faking your own existence.

“Your fraudulent activities division is wrong .”

“You’re welcome to submit a ticket for our team to review.”

“How do I do that?” But a little part of me already knows.

“You’ll need to fill out a form on our website and upload a photo of your Social Security card and an official letter from the Social Security Administration stating that the number is, in fact, legitimate.”

“Right. Okay.” I hang up the phone.

“Same story?” Luca asks. “No evidence that you exist?”

I shake my head. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in calling my bank. I’m sure my account is closed, and my money is…” I wave my hands through the air, fingers splayed. Poof. I bend forward and wrap my arms around my midsection. “What am I going to do? How am I going to pay my rent?”

“Don’t worry about the rent,” Luca says.

Easy for him to say. He has the lobby floor as a backup. But I’ll be homeless. Or back with Dad.

“Do you have any cash to get by?” Luca asks.

“A few hundred dollars for emergencies. That’s not going to last me very long.” I sit up. “I need a legitimate Social Security card to access my accounts. But in order to get that, I need to show my government-issued ID. In order to prove my government-issued ID is real, I need a birth certificate. And I can’t get my birth certificate without my government-issued ID and my Social Security card.”

“I’m getting dizzy.” Luca turns in his seat to look at me. “But I think what you’re saying is that it all comes down to that birth certificate.”

“And the birth certificate comes down to my mother.” I shake my head. “Dad can’t tell me anything. So that’s it. It’s a good thing I can juggle, because it looks like the professor job is toast. It’s clown town for me.”

Luca slides off the bench and crouches down in front of me. “Catherine, take a deep breath.” His hand slides to my cheek. “Look at me. You are not going to end up a clown. We’re going to find your mother and get your birth certificate.”

“How? How are we possibly going to do that?”

Luca stands, reaching out a hand to me. “Buckle up, Kitty Cat. You’re about to meet the Morelli family.”