—Willa Cather

The thought of Julian's mom was weighing heavily on my mind as we leisurely walked the streets of Haringey on the late afternoon of New Year's Eve.

Lots of shops were already closed for the holiday, but we both were in need of some fresh air, after being so spoiled by it in the Maldives. Julian looked thoughtful and content as we strolled along the chilled, dark gray cobblestones. London was especially beautiful that day, but something in the air was making me feel uneasy. Desperately, I wanted to tell Julian that I may have found his mother, and that she could've been nearby, but my tongue got caught in my cheek each time a quiet moment found us.

Julian stopped on his heels when we came across an open tattoo shop, and he looked at me momentarily, then focused back on the blue, blinking sign.

"Let's go and have a look inside?" he asked and reached for my hand.

A small bell rang as we entered, alerting the tattoo artist to emerge from a back room. He was heavyset, wore a black t-shirt, and sported a long, frizzy, red beard. Julian gazed around the walls at various designs plastered about, and gripped my palm tighter.

"Would you like to see some examples?" The artist skipped over any formal greetings.

"Yeah, sure." Julian nodded once.

"What are you doing?" I whispered in his ear.

"Looking," he replied with a cheeky smile.

The artist placed a large binder on the counter in front of Julian, and opened it to the first page. Each laminated folio featured examples of tattoo sketches in different sizes and shades. Julian flipped through the first few pages slowly, as the artist turned to walk into the back room again.

"Give me a shout if you find something you like," he said.

"Actually..." Julian slammed the binder shut and spoke up, unintimidated by the burly man. "I already know what I want."

"Alright, come in the back with me. I'll do a sketch and we can get started." The artist motioned for Julian to follow him. I started to walk behind them, but Julian stopped me.

"Wait here, baby." He pointed to a chair situated next to a stack of magazines. "It won't take long."

"I want to be in there with you," I argued. "What are you getting? Don't you want to think about this?"

"I have thought about it," he countered.

"What is it then?" My patience was starting to run thin. The last thing I wanted was for him to rush into getting something permanently marked on his warm skin that I loved so much. Hadn't he just told me days earlier that he wanted a tattoo to mean something, if he ever got one? At the time, he didn't know what he wanted yet. That conversation had only occurred the week before, but it suddenly felt so long ago.

"You'll see in a few minutes." He kissed my cold cheek, diffusing my irritation. "Just relax. Sit down."

"Okay." I waited until he disappeared to plop down into a chair, then picked up a two month old copy of Cosmopolitan.

The main article mocked me as I skimmed past colorful pages and ads. "Is he really into you?" the title read, with ten signs to be sure. Those articles always seemed so silly and irrelevant to me, but at the same time, it was hard to pass over them without so much as a glance. Editors knew that, of course, which was why they always ran those types of articles. I stopped reading once I got to clue number six, "He brags about you nonstop and introduces you as his girlfriend to everyone he knows."

While I had a minute alone, I checked my phone. Out of pure curiosity, I used the navigator to find out how far we were from the Regal Inn. According to my phone, we were a little more than half a mile away, or about fifteen minutes by foot.

Thoughts swarmed my head and I knew I had to do something. We were just too close, and if fate were real, this was our blatant, imminent invitation to find his mother.

When an hour had passed and I was starting to wonder if the artist had mauled my man, Julian came into my line of vision, shirtless. My eyes rapidly scanned his chest, stomach, and arms for any markings but I couldn't find any.

"All done." His eyes gleamed.

"Where is it?" I stood up quickly and walked a circle around him, inspecting his back. Nothing except his faint scars were there.

Julian lifted his left arm in the air, exposing his side. There, over his ribs, and closest to his heart, was an all-black anchor tattoo. Around it, his skin was red and tender, with small smears of excess ink bleeding across.

I estimated the design to be four or five inches vertically, and it would have been perfectly hidden by his bicep once his arm was at his side again. As I inspected it further, studying the thick rope that swirled through the ring, along the shank and past the crown, I decided that while the tattooist was not exactly an overly friendly man, he was a talented artist.

"What do you think?" Julian asked, lowering his muscled arm again.

"I think you're insane for getting a tattoo for me," I said with red coloring my cheeks.

"What makes you think it's for you, huh?" Julian teased with my favorite smile, his tongue playing behind his teeth.

"I love you, Jules." I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him into me and effectively hiding the tears that were threatening to well behind my closed eyelids.

"I love you, too," he said, while playing with my hair.

By the time Julian was bandaged, dressed back in his shirt and jacket, and had paid for his tattoo, it was getting dark outside.

"So, what shall we do tonight?" Julian asked. He had told me earlier that we would stay in, at his place. While he said it was to simply avoid the rowdy crowds, I knew it was his way of eliminating any possible temptation of alcohol for me. "Tea and board games, like the party animals we are?"

I spotted my opportunity and grabbed it by the horns.

"I have an idea, actually. There was something I wanted to talk to you about." It felt as if my teeth were chattering, though it was well above freezing and my red coat was keeping me plenty warm.

"Anything," Julian said, focusing on my eyes.

"You know how you said in the pool of the villa, that you might want to find your parents?" I tried to sound casual, but he froze into place at my mention of it.

"Yeah?" he finally said, after an uncomfortable span of silence.

"Well, I asked Laina to help with something. Actually, it was her boyfriend Wes. Wes helped with something." I was stumbling over my words.

"Helped with what?" I could tell he was growing bothered.

"Finding your parents. Wes is great with computers, and I think he may have found your mom. He couldn't find anything on your dad, but your mom—" I was cut off.

"What?" he said with an unfamiliar animosity. "You told them about my life? Brooke, that is fucking private information. I trusted you not to say anything about it; that's the only reason I ever told you."

I stood there, stunned into silence, and felt the ache of fresh pain.

"I'm sorry," I tried to explain after a torturous moment. "It's just that... I offered to help and you said okay. Then I remembered about Wes's expertise and thought I could use it to our advantage. I didn't tell them anything about your life, Julian. I only asked if he could find your parents' names and where they are. I knew Laina and Wes wouldn't say anything to anyone, anyway."

"And how do you know that?" he spat back.

"I know that, Julian. I trust them."

"Not good enough." He shifted his weight away from me. "You trust people that you shouldn't."

"I'm really sorry." Regret and humiliation crumbled me.

Julian sighed a long breath and surprised me with his next words. "What did he find then?"

For a moment, confusion held my tongue, until I recovered.

"He didn't find anything on your dad," I admitted sorrowfully. "But he found your mom's name, and an address where she might be, right now. In London."

"Is her name actually Eileen?" His eyes were glossy. "Like the files said?"

"Yes." I took a step to close the miserable distance between us. "Eileen Miles."

He nodded in understanding. "Where is she then?"

"She's at a hotel, fifteen minutes away on foot." I surveyed his face carefully.

"How do you know that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Laina gave me the name of the hotel that Wes found, and I called it. The man at the desk tried to connect us, but I didn't get to talk to her," I explained. "While you were getting your tattoo, I just checked the distance on my phone out of curiosity. It's so close. I think it might be a sign, Jules."

"A sign?" he asked with a snicker. "Like what? It's meant to be that we've found her?"

"Maybe." The heat of his unintentional insult left my cheeks red.

"Well, it won't change anything." He anxiously kicked his feet on the cobblestone. "Nothing will change. What's done is done."

"But you said you had questions." I shoved my cold fingers into the pockets of my coat. It was clear he didn't want to hold them at that moment. "Questions that have haunted you for years."

"And what if it's not actually her?" He looked away from me. "What if she doesn't want to see me?"

"It has to be her, and she will." I didn't know if that were true, but I couldn't imagine a mother not wanting to meet her son. Especially when her son was him.

"I don't know." He paced around on the quiet corner.

"I'm here. Let's do this while I'm here, and can support you," I begged at the opportunity of his walls crumbling. If this was the push he needed, I would give it to him, I thought. "I will be right next to you, every moment, and we'll get through it together."

Julian's grim silence left me feeling positive that he was done discussing the matter.

"Okay, Brooke. I'm ready to feel some sense of peace within myself." He surprised me by wrapping his arms around me. "Let's go and find my mum."

By a train station off Dunbar Road was a grimy hotel, with the ironic title dimly illuminated in red, above a vacancy sign. The way the letters were lit made me feel like we were about to enter the pits of hell. The feeling wasn't entirely unfounded.

"Are you sure this is what he said?" Julian asked, looking back and forth between me and the hotel. The side of it was tagged with graffiti, and browned with years of undisturbed dirt and rust.

"Yeah, this is it," I said warily.

"I don't want you going inside this fucking place." He ran his fingers through his golden brown hair in consternation.

"I'm with you." I held his arm. "We'll both be fine. It's just a hotel. Come on."

I walked forward, trying to pull him with me.

"Will the receptionist even tell us which room she's in?" he asked before we entered the disorderly lobby.

"They don't need to," I said quietly. "When I called to try and speak with her, this computerized voice kept repeating her room number."

We walked the dingy, carpeted hallways, unnoticed by staff. It smelled like smoke and urine as we continued, and the sound of a glass breaking in a nearby room made me jump.

"I don't like this." He shook his head. "Not at all. Not one bit."

"We'll just make it quick then," I pleaded, before he could change his mind and haul me out of there, leaving his unanswered questions behind in the musky hallway.

Finally, towards the end of the long hall, we found room 312.

"Are you ready?" I turned to look at his face, but he was focused completely on the door.

"I don't know." He was shaking slightly. "Yeah. I don't know. Yes."

"Should I knock?" I offered.

"Please."

I took one of his hands into mine and felt it trembling. With my other hand, I knocked three times softly.

Seconds passed with no answer or sounds of stirring. I knocked again, much louder, five times.

"Who is it?" I recognized the feminine rasp right away.

"Eileen?" I asked through the closed door. "Eileen Miles?"

She opened the door just a crack, and it was dark inside. She must have been sleeping already.

"Yes?" she asked. I could barely see her face, and she hid her body behind the door frame.

"My name is Brooke." I decided to do the talking, since I could feel Julian's hand quivering harder in my own. "I have someone here with me that would like to meet you."

"Are you them?" she asked in a scratchy voice.

I didn't know what she meant by that, but I noticed our chance to enter. "Yes."

She opened the door and flipped on a light. "Good, I'm going fucking mad, so hand it over."

When we stepped into the space and the door closed behind us, I nearly tripped over an empty beer bottle. There were several more like it scattered around the stained carpet, couch, and table in the seedy room. Julian caught me before I fell, with his rough fingers still shaking.

"Well?" The woman turned around, giving us a good look at her for the first time. What I saw alarmed me into speechlessness.

Her bony body was clad in just a black tank top and white underwear, making her skeletal frame more abruptly visible. The caramel hair atop her head was fried, and her reddish-brown irises were accentuated by dilated pupils. I took a step back upon noticing the black rings around her eyes. What scared me most of all, though, were the blemishes and red, open sores littering her ashen face.

I tried to imagine her without all the ragged, dirty imperfections, and was able to see a strong resemblance to Julian, but it had to be a coincidence. I was sure she was too old to be his mother.

Too old and too sick.

"I think we may have made a mistake," I said, while gripping Julian's hand tighter and turning for the door. "Sorry to bother you."

"Hey, wait a minute." It was only then that I noticed her speech was slightly slurred. "I know you. I saw you on the telly."

I glanced at Julian's face, as beads of sweat made their way down his temples.

"You're my son, aren't you?" She took a swig from the closest bottle of beer. "Julian?"

"I'm Julian," he spoke for the first time since we got inside. His silky voice had turned low and gruff.

"Wow, you found me." She let the last droplets of booze drip onto her tongue before starting to sing. "Hey Jude, don't make it bad, take a sad song and make it better..."

In mere seconds, she tarnished the melody, forever destroying the timeless tune in her choking, shrill voice.

"I didn't come here to listen to you sing like a drunk, junkie slob," Julian interrupted her and took a step forward, letting go of my hand. I stepped forward with him to grab it again, interlocking my fingers with his. He needed me more than ever, and I wouldn't let him forget that I was right next to him.

"You don't like that song?" Eileen stumbled and caught herself on the corner of a table. "That song was playing in the hospital whilst I had you. Look at you now. I'm pleased. You are doing good, Jude, really good."

"Don't fucking call me that!" Julian barked. The noise sounded foreign from his soft, full lips. "I just want to know why. Tell me fucking why, so I can leave."

"It's really a classic song, I don't know why you don't like it." She sat on the edge of the bed to steady herself.

"For once in your pathetic, useless, worthless life, would you do the right thing and give me the answers I need, so that I may move on?" he hissed.

"You want to know why I gave you up?" Her messy tongue scrambled the words.

Julian stood there, waiting, with a fire in his eyes that I'd never seen before.

"I didn't. Well, I didn't exactly want a kid, but the nurse at the hospital found me to be an 'unfit' mother." She used air quotes, with cackles turning into coughs. "So, they took you away and sent me off to rehab. It was better that way, see? My son is famous. You were even on the telly! You turned out great without me, Jude."

"I turned out great?" he stammered. "I was born with a dead fucking kidney because of you! You couldn't quit using for nine simple fucking months? Thank fuck the bad kidney is all I'm left with, because it should have been a lot worse."

My heart stopped and started, stopped and started. I couldn't breathe.

"But that's where my luck ran out, you see, because then I'd spend sixteen years on piss-covered sheets, being beaten and violated. 'Have you wet the bed again?! HAVE A LASHING!'"

Julian's free fist slammed the table beside him, cracking the wood.

"'You little maggot! Who said you could touch that bread?! HAVE ANOTHER!'"

Julian's forearm collided with several empty bottles on the table, sending them to the ground with a loud clash.

"'Stop your weeping! Get up. Stand up straight. Straight, I said! Now, why aren't the toilets scrubbed? Tuck in your shirt, you worthless little wanker, before I come 'round again! It's no wonder you're here, is it? Who could ever want a slob like you?'"

My eyes were tightly closed, but I still heard the lamp meet the floor.

"They starved us for days. Do you hear me?! DAYS! And when I finally got the fuck out of that hellhole you sent me to, after losing the only friend I'd ever known, I lived in a concrete storage shed that wouldn't be fit to shelter rats! Is that what you call great?!"

Julian stared at Eileen, his eyes aflame, awaiting her words. A quiet moment passed before she spoke.

"That's a really rough go." Eileen ran her fingers over the cigarette-burned bed comforter, and pulled at a frayed seam. "I'm sorry about all of that. At least it's all better now. You've got a good life now, haven't you? Plenty of cash. A pretty girl on your arm. Brianna?"

"If you even so much as look at her again, I will—" Julian stopped abruptly, cutting himself off. His eyes were tightly closed and his lips were pursed with years of suppressed anguish begging to erupt through his skin. "Where is my father?"

"How should I know?" Eileen leered at her son.

"Do you even know who my fucking father is?" He implied the worst.

"Yes, you disrespectful little twit." The woman tried to stand up, but quickly fell back onto the bed.

"Then why was he never named on my birth certificate?" Julian spat the words like they were fire, sitting on his tongue and burning him from the inside.

Eileen began humming to herself and laughing. The abhorrent noise made my skin crawl, and I couldn't figure out how the repulsive woman before me could make someone so beautiful as the man next to me.

"Fucking ANSWER me!" Julian screamed through clenched teeth. Every inch of his face and neck was a deep, crimson red. My heart thrummed with worry, grief, and regret.

"Your dad is a twat." Eileen itched her cheek.

"That much is for certain, if he allowed me to be given up," he surmised. "But that doesn't answer why he was never named. Give me his fucking name so I can be gone from this filthy room."

"He had no choice in the matter," she slurred. "He didn't know about you. Well, now he does, but he didn't then."

"What?" Though Julian's voice was softer, it was more intimidating than when he was yelling. "What did you say?"

"You heard me, boy." Eileen's teeth were misshapen and yellow, with several missing in the front.