The Doll Garden

Sixteen

Marisol's thirteenth note was nestled in between the crease of Manuel's fingers. Both of his eyebrows were drawn together, an incredulous look sporting his face as if he was asking, What the hell is this?

"Read it," I demanded. My feet were posted on the ground as I stood with my arms crossed, observing their every little body movement. Both he and Mirabelle were sitting on the edge of my bed with their legs dangling over the floor. Their shared gaze didn't go unnoticed.

I knew that look. It was the kind of look a crazy person would receive out on the street, or maybe even someone everyone thought was crazy. I wasn't crazy, though. There was no way in hell I was crazy after reading that.

"Please?" I pestered them.

"Okay, okay," Mirabelle said, her eyes slowly lowering to the paper.

I didn't like the caution in her tone. She was speaking to me as if I was a child, or better yet, a fragile little porcelain doll who'd crack if she didn't handle me with care. Just like my father. I wasn't sensitive. There wasn't a damn sign on my forehead that said proceed with caution; warning people who crossed paths with me. And I wasn't a fucking doll.

"Surprise. It's a girl..." Mirabelle glanced up as if she was making sure that I saw she was reading, just as I wanted. She repeated everything on the note word for word. Only did she trail off when she reached my full name. Her eyes darted up. I took note of the loads of questions that swam in the depths of her pupils. Much like when I'd first theorized all the possibilities.

"Okay. I'm asking. What is this?" Manuel was the first to say something.

"I think she's my mom," I blurted.

"Your mom?" Manuel's mouth was agape.

"Not our mom?" Mirabelle added.

"I-it's a long story... I have a lot to tell you guys. I just." I paused, stroking the pinch of my nose. "Shit. There's so much. Where do I even begin?" I laughed. Not the humorous kind.

I didn't think this through as well as I'd thought I did. I guess I wasn't necessarily thinking when I had run out of my room in the first place. There was only one thought filling my head at that point—to tell them everything. Not the best idea I'd ever had, but it got me somewhere. I was so focused on escaping that I caught myself in a trap.

Manuel chimed in again, "Let's start with this: where did you get these from?"

"Daddy's garden," I said. "I was just... I found them. They were hidden near the pound."

"Marisol..." Mirabelle inhaled through her nose. "Isn't she one of the women?"

"She is," I answered.

"And you're sure these are her notes?" Manuel asked.

"I'm sure."

"So, what? Where does that leave us? Do you think those other two women are our ... our moms?" Mirabelle slowly gestured between her and Manuel. I dropped my arms in front of me, contemplating my next move. Should I say yes? It wasn't like I was 100% sure of that. But I couldn't say no either.

"I-I don't know... But there's a lot in those notes about Marisol and Daddy. I haven't read all of them yet, just the first thirteen. They're all marked by date—trailing back to 1997."

"You're joking, right?" Manuel laughed. His Adam's apple twitched in the middle of his throat. Up, down. Up, down. I followed the movements. My teeth nibbled on the inside of my cheek, as though words would peel off my flesh and pour out of my mouth.