Wish I Were Here

Chapter 30

T he next morning, I’m the first person in line at the DMV, but I guess that’s how it goes when you arrive at seven and the office opens at nine. I pace in front of the locked glass door, checking over and over to make sure all my paperwork is tucked into the file in my bag. I know it’s there—I checked a dozen times last night—but it reassures me to run my hand over the embossed seal on my birth certificate.

This one is the real thing.

I finally know who I am, and I’m about to get my life back.

My heart squeezes, not quite believing it. There are still so many ways this could go wrong. What if I go in there, and they still can’t find me in the records? What if I’m gone forever? I spent so much time focusing on finding my birth certificate—finding my mother—that I never really let the possibility cross my mind that this wild adventure I’ve been on this past week could all be for nothing.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my pant legs, pacing back and forth again. This has to work. It just has to. I don’t have a plan B, and not even the Morellis can rescue me if my identity is gone for good. My breath hitches, and all of a sudden, I’m unable to suck air into my lungs. Bending forward, I clutch the red file folder against my chest, panting hard. Is this a panic attack? Do I need to call 911?

A middle-aged white man with a mustache comes to the door, clicking open the lock. His hair is thick and dark, waving over the crown of his head, secured with hair gel. He reminds me a little of Luca’s uncles, and that calms me enough to stand up straight and take a gasp of air.

The mustache man squints at me. “You okay, miss?”

I give him a nod. For a moment, I consider asking him if he’s a Morelli. But though my heartbeat is slowing, I’m not sure I can squeak out the words just yet. And besides, I don’t really want to talk about Luca.

When I slipped out the door of the building earlier, Luca was still sleeping on the floor. On the bus to the DMV, I searched my mind for all the other times I’d seen him lying there. Do those times correlate with the elevator being broken? Does he sleep there to intercept the older people and give them a ride on the freight elevator? I remember Sal slipping on the stairs last night after stubbornly insisting on walking. I know Luca would do whatever he could to keep anyone from falling.

But something about that realization nags at me. I’d automatically jumped to the conclusion that Luca had set up camp on the floor because he was too lazy to go upstairs. Or because his apartment was too much of a mess. Or—

something that proves he’s irresponsible and unreliable. If I was wrong about that, was I wrong about anything else?

“How can I help you, miss?” Mustache Man waves me into an office and settles behind a desk. I sink down into the chair on the other side.

With sweating palms, I pull out my driver’s license. “It appears that there’s a problem with my ID.” I wave my red file. “I brought my birth certificate and other paperwork. Can you please add me to your system and issue a new photo ID?”

“Let me see what you have.” He holds out a thick palm.

I slide my license across the desk, and he flips it over, checking the back before he starts typing on his computer. A moment later, he mutters, “Hmmmm.”

Oh God, not “Hmmmm” again. I’ve heard that sound too many times this week, and it only means one thing: not good.

“What?” I clutch the red file in my sweaty hands. “Just break it to me gently.”

Mustache Man types a few more things in his computer, looks up at me, and then flips the card over and back. “Well.” He slides the driver’s license back in my direction. “I won’t be needing your birth certificate.”

My mouth drops open. “What do you mean, you won’t be needing my birth certificate?”

He shrugs. “Don’t need it.”

My heart pounds in my ears. “Can you please check your records again?”

“Don’t need to do that, either.” The chair emits a loud creak as he leans back.

I flinch at the sound. Is this really happening? Are my worst fears really coming true?

“Please take it,” I insist, my voice shaking. “Please check again.”

The man looks at his watch and sighs. “There’s already a line forming outside. I’d like to move this along.”

My entire body goes cold. “ You’re worried about a line? ” I slap the red file on his desk. “Do you know what I went through to get this birth certificate?” When I flip the file open, the birth certificate stares up at me from its embossed seal like a one-eyed monster. “I nearly got arrested. Not once.” I hold up a finger for emphasis. “But twice.” I flick up another finger. “I realize we just met, and you don’t really know me. But if you did, you’d know I don’t get arrested.” I slide the paper across the desk. “I impersonated a doctor, I committed several felonies, and I conspired with a mob boss named Vito.”

Mustache Man’s face lights up. “Vito Morelli?”

“Yes, Vito Morelli.” And then, I don’t know where this comes from, it’s probably a combination of exhaustion and desperation, but the next thing I say is, “And if you want to wake up tomorrow with both your hands, you will take the birth certificate and check your records again .”

Mustache Man stares wide-eyed, and then he slowly pulls his elbows off the desk and tucks his hands under his legs. “Um. Miss?”

“What.”

“What I’m trying to tell you is that I don’t need to check again, because you’re in the system, and this ID is legit. Everything seems to be in order.”

I open my mouth to keep arguing with him, but then his words register. “I’m—what?”

He hitches his chin at the computer. “I see you right there. Catherine Moonstone Lipton.” His mustache twitches. “Moonstone? Really?”

I stare back.

“Anyway…” he mutters awkwardly. “It’s all right here.” Mustache Man waves at the computer, and then his gaze flies to his hand, and he quickly tucks it back under him. “We—uh—we issued your license back in March of last year. It’s valid for another three. I don’t know who told you it’s not, but I think they were yanking your chain.”

“But—” As impossible as it was that my identity disappeared from the system, it seems even more farfetched that it’s back . Both Tonya and Officer Bill checked their records. Not to mention Helen over in HR. All of them couldn’t have been yanking my chain .

But it doesn’t make a lot of sense to sit here arguing with him. I still need to get to the Social Security office. “Well, thank you so much for your time.” I stand and gather my things.

“Uh,” Mustache Man mumbles. “Are we good? You know. With the…” With one hand, he makes a chopping motion over his wrist.

“Yes. Of course.” I bite my lip. “Sorry about that. It’s been a hard week.”

He lets out a sigh and sinks back into his chair, which emits another creak, and I make a run for the door.

When I arrive at the Social Security office, Uncle Marco is waiting by the door. For a moment, I wonder if he’s there to finally arrest me. But instead, he raises a beefy hand to give me a friendly wave. “Catherine.”

I stop in front of him.

“Luca called and told me you were coming.”

“He did?”

“He wanted to make sure Tonya saw you right away. She’s waiting over here.”

I follow Uncle Marco across the Social Security office, my heart in my throat. I insulted Luca, called him irresponsible, and stomped off. And yet he’s still rallying the troops to help me?

We approach Tonya’s desk, and she gives me a cold stare before turning to Uncle Marco with a wide smile. “Well, hello, Marco.”

“Hiya, Tonya. I was wondering if you might help out my friend Catherine.”

I hold up my red file again. “I have everything you asked for.” I set my driver’s license on the counter with a loud slap . “Valid government-issued ID, confirmed by the DMV.” Slap. “Valid original birth certificate, complete with embossed seal.” Slap. “Original Social Security card. I’d like you to make sure I’m back in the system.”

“Hmmmm,” Tonya says, gathering my papers together. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

Tonya turns to her computer and begins typing, occasionally glancing down at my paperwork and then back to her screen. I wipe my sweaty hands on my pant legs. Her brows knit together. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. She mumbles, “Hmmmm,” a few more times. I chew on my thumbnail. And then she looks up, her expression softer than I’ve ever seen it, aside from the times she was mooning at Uncle Marco.

“Well, it seems it’s all there.”

I freeze. Did she say—“What?” I ask, just to be sure.

Tonya nods at her computer. “You’re back in the system.”

Uncle Marco lets out a triumphant whoop and pumps his fist in the air.

“Really?” My body sags with relief. “It’s really there?”

Tonya nods.

“Thank you so much,” I say breathlessly. “I don’t know how you made this happen, but I’m grateful.”

She shrugs and hands my paperwork back. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t?”

“Nope. I just typed in your information, and it appeared.” She holds up her hands like, Don’t look at me.

At that moment, my phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, but I swipe to answer.

“Dr. Lipton?” comes a feminine voice through the phone. “This is Helen Hardy from human resources. Funny story.” She gives a high-pitched laugh. “It turns out that there must have been a computer glitch last week, but it’s all been resolved.”

“You don’t say.”

“I’m calling to apologize. When I ran your information just now, everything cleared. We’d love to have you come tomorrow for orientation.” Her tone oozes congeniality now that I’m no longer suspected of having faked my identity and plagiarized my dissertation.

For a moment, I consider gloating. But at this point, I’ll take the win. “Thank you very much. I’ll be there.”

We hang up, and dazed, I take my papers and shove them back into my file folder. Uncle Marco gives me a hug, and from somewhere far away, I hear myself thank him and then Tonya again. I wander out of the building and sink down on a bench to wait for the bus.

How is it possible that a week ago, I didn’t exist? My driver’s license, my Social Security information… all gone. And now here I am: not just in the flesh, but in the system, too? I’ll call my bank and my credit card company later, but I have a feeling that everything will be restored.

Could it be—

Some days, I’d simply like to be… nobody.

Was it as simple as wishing to be me again?

But then I shake my head to dislodge that thought. This isn’t the mystical meditation tent at Burning Man. This is my life. It’s far more likely that this mix-up can be blamed on a failure of technology—a computer glitch, like Helen said—than on meddling from the universe.

I pull out my phone and send a text to Melanie: Everything worked out. It’s fixed!

A moment later, she replies, Sorry, what’s fixed?

I stare at the message. Surely she knows what I’m talking about. My missing identity and the birth certificate were the reason that I reached out to her to begin with. I probably wasn’t clear in my message. I try again. My identity! I’m back in the system, I spoke to HR, and it’s all going to be fine.

A minute goes by, and finally she replies, Glad to hear it.

To be honest, it’s a little anticlimactic. I guess I didn’t expect yelling and fist pumping like Uncle Marco back there. But…

I try again: Maybe we could meet for dinner to celebrate?

Another minute goes by, and then: Okay.

I guess she’s waiting for me to pick a date. Wednesday? The café by the university? 6 p.m.?

The bus pulls up, and I pay the fare and make my way to a seat in the back. I check my phone. No answer from Melanie.

I flip over to Mrs. Goodwin’s number and send her a text: Everything worked out. It’s fixed!

Ten seconds later comes her reply: Yay!

And then: Yay! Yay! Yay!

And one more: Luca is here, and we’re doing the jitterbug!

I smile, picturing Luca holding out a tattooed arm, offering his hand to Mrs. Goodwin, and the two of them doing an elaborate kick step across the lobby’s scuffed tile floor. Thanks , I reply.

The bus travels down a block, and then another, and finally Melanie replies to my earlier text. She sends a thumbs-up emoji.