Chapter Thirty-Six
Midnight Rain
''It's a lot easier to be angry at someone
Than it is to tell them you're hurt.''
''Have you ladies decided yet?''
''I'll have sliced tomatoes with your home sauce and chopped steak, please.'' Blair stiffly declared, arms crossed over her chest. ''This is your treat, by the way - for dragging me in here.''
As if not quite hearing, Emilia gnawed at her lower lip, staring at the menu with an intensity that would have X-men's Cyclops worried. Blair figured the annoying bounce of her feet and sweat on her upper lip had something to do with the 6'5 piece of hot blond waiter, his tight white shirt, and pecs that rippled under the fabric when he perked his hips to take the order.
Teenagers.
Blair sighed impatiently, tapping the table with her index finger to gain her attention. The mission was successful, and the blushing girl looked up. ''Have you made up your mind? I haven't got all day.''
''I'll - uh, can you get me a mixed salad?'' She blew on her bangs, the rosy hue on her cheeks intensifying the more waiter stared at her with a puzzled amusement. The menu card was promptly snapped shut with clearing of the throat. ''Top it all off with two glasses of your best red wine, please.''
''What?'' The girl's petite shoulders shrugged airily as Blair gave her a dismayed look. ''Wine is made out of grapes. It's practically a salad.''
''That would be one glass of red wine for me,'' Blair declared with a quirked brow. ''And a bottle of Coke for you. You're underage.''
''Would that be all?'' the handsome waiter inquired politely, his lip twitching at up at the corners as Emilia rolled her head back and groaned loudly in annoyance.
''Yes, thank you.'' Blair dismissed him with a tight nod.
She shifted in her seat, had been sitting on the edge of the chair ever since they sat down, ready to flee. Looking around the busy Peter Luger, the most famous steak house in Manhattan, she noticed it was actually warm inside, almost homely. The sudden surge of comfort was readily shoved away. Outside, leaning on a red brick wall had been a half-an-hour queue for dinner, but one wave - which accidentally hit a nearby person in the face - from this overly loud girl and they were in, seated at the best table, served by the most handsome waiter.
''We could have just gone for a drink if you aren't hungry.''
''I'm not,'' Her companion's voice was muffled by the absurd amount of breadsticks in her mouth, shoveling them in as if someone might come in and snatch them away. ''But your stomach was growling so loudly I thought it was speaking Klingon. It was hard to pretend to ignore it. Besides, my godfather owns this restaurant. I wouldn't hear the end of it at the next Thanksgiving dinner if he found out I didn't at least stop by.''
Godfather, the word echoed in Blair's mind and the green snake of jealousy slithered out of the darkness and, just like it did to Cleopatra once, bit her heart.
Godfather was someone chosen by parents to protect and to act as a sanctuary. A warm friend. An earthly angel keeper. Someone to lean on. Someone to embrace when times got rough. Someone who would be there during holidays, someone who would laugh with you during obnoxious adult dinner parties, someone who would randomly pop by and take you out to get an ice cream - whether it was humid afternoon in April or freezing Sunday in December.
Blair didn't have a godfather. There was, and would always be a feeling of loneliness in her, a coldness of stifling absence. Blair shook away the gloomy thoughts and sharply looked up, adamant in tearing this stranger down to bits and pieces.
''Why did you pay my family's debt?'' Blair demanded, voice unforgiving, like a freshly molted lead bracing against the current. ''Did she tell you to do it? Did she send you here?''
Emilia covered her mouth with a hand, choking on the food. She snatched the glass of Coke and chugged it down. After the eye-watering torture was over, she pulled a hand at her throat and looked up gravely. ''How do you know about me? About her? I've been so careful not to give away anything. I didn't want to - I didn't want you to find out like this.''
Blair mulled over the girl's frantic thoughts as she picked uncomfortably at the red tomatoes, inspected juicy steak and what was an overall impressive dish. Inhaling deeply the rich scent of the perfectly cooked meat, she carefully stabbed a piece and put it into her mouth, savoring it as she let the juices flow freely. ''Mmm, this is divine.''
''Blair,'' Emilia whined, beating with her utensils against the table. ''Nobody knows I'm here. So tell me, please, please, please. Oh, pretty please with a flower on top? I'm going to kill myself if it's my fault. You're scaring the filling out of my donut.''
''I couldn't help myself, I know I shouldn't have come. I know it could have been done without us meeting, but I wanted to see you-''
''Okay, stop,'' Blair clipped, pulling up a palm to effectively shut her up. Emilia's last words caused a whirlwind of emotions and she shoved the opulent feelings aside. Compared to Emilia, she felt like an outcast, a dusty unfinished puzzled, stashed away like an unused and forgotten pastel color. It sourly reminded her of all the people that she loved and lost in her life.
''I know I'm adopted.''
Emilia's mouth opened and her lips were left gaping, like a fish gasping for breath out on land. ''Did they tell you?''
Staring up at the shiny golden chandelier on the ceiling in thought, Blair finally unleashed the feelings of wretchedness that had settled in the corner of her soul ever since the day she found out. The hanging crystals reflected the light, throwing it across the room in enchanting rays and she let them daze her, let herself be lost in it. ''First time I saw you, you were barely eleven. Hiding behind your father's thigh, dressed up in that perfect school uniform, your hair neatly braided.''
''But,'' Emilia paused to count, eyebrows knotted. ''That was five years ago.''
She confirmed with a bitter, sardonic smile, taking a large sip of the wine. ''I was fifteen when I accidentally found adoption papers in my father's locked drawer. I had been always intrigued by that drawer. My parents never had anything worthy to keep under the lock. There was no spare money, no jewelry, no bonds... But secrets are something I'm good with.''
They are also what nearly ruined her, more times than she could count. Blair sighed, remembering the barren waste of rotten lies and hidden truths that lay in the cage of her ribs.
''One day I came home early from school and picked the lock with a bobby pin.''
''Oh,'' Emilia admired, chewing thoughtfully on the salad. ''Impressive. Did someone teach you how to do it? A renegade boy who had a crush on you so you could sneak into classrooms and make out?''
''Hardly,'' A snort escaped her, for a strange reason, her solemn thoughts seemed to revert to Chuck. Thinking of herself then, she quickly shook them away - ashamed. ''My high school days were devoid of anything close to resembling a romance. I taught myself after I realized that my parents decided that they only had enough lunch money to give it to my brother.''
Dan was anything but the sharing type. He nearly knocked her teeth out when she asked to split the cash. Hungry, she stole from other kids.
Blair inhaled deeply, never forgetting that merciless hunger that seized your whole body in a painful cramp. She would never forget the way her sunken cheeks confronted her in the mirror, the way her clothes hung too loosely for anyone to find her remotely attractive. The way boys mocked her, the way girls sneered at her.
They all knew she was poor and they all found her too smart not to make fun of her. Loneliness and lack of social life are the perfect equation for a perfect report card. And she had done it. She managed to push through it, to score a scholarship for Constance University.
''Imagine my surprise when I opened the drawer.'' She paused as the pain that had been sleeping inside of herself stirred and moved. ''Can you imagine what an already moody, mad at the world teen could feel at such revelation?''
Drunk on the story, Emilia vehemently shook her head.
''Did you know I was given up as a newborn? It was all there, black on white - my story, the one I never had a choice in, written on a sheet of paper. It said it was a closed adoption, no contact with the child and no updates of their life - all signed by my biological mother. How formal it all seemed, as if they were dealing with bonds, not a human life.''
She dazedly stared at the light, noise of the restaurant drowned away. ''How could anyone sign such a cruel deal? I wasn't even given a chance.''
''But Blair, she-''
''Shh,'' Blair sharply hissed, trying to suppress the gnawing feeling in her throat. Rumbling sounded deep in her chest, an avalanche. Inhaling deeply, she suppressed the urge to break down. She would most certainly not cry in front of Emilia. She would not make herself look weak in front of this West Coast version of TFB.
''As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me,'' She continued with forcedly collected voice, ''After shuffling through papers and finding out the name of my biological mother - Eleanor Waldorf - I packed up my bag and took a trip to L.A. I wanted to see her. I wanted to meet her. The good thing about being a famous celebrity designer is that almost your entire life is open to the public. Using the Internet at school, since my parents couldn't and wouldn't afford it, I found out the address of her stores. I hitchhiked to L.A., slept the first night at bus station, scared out of my mind.''
Blair laughed weakly, remembering that hot sticky day and the stifling fumes of the city of angels, sweat dripping down her temple, heart beating wildly as she freshened up in public toilet. Looking at herself in the cracked mirror, she had tried to tame the long curls, back then they had reached to her waist, raking fingers through them. She put on her fanciest headband and borrowed red lipstick from a girl in a nearby stall, who she figured now was probably a crack whore. Backpack on her shoulders, Blair set off to the Waldorf headquarters.
''I was kicked out of her office by the assistants when I said I was her daughter. One look at my worn out, crumpled clothes and they were laughing, escorting me out. I remember tall, beautiful models, turning their heads to see what was going on, grinning over their skinny lattes in amusing pity. Sometimes, I can still hear their laughter.''
It had been following her around like a plague. It was there, on the first day of college. It was there when she met Chuck. It had been there every time she would enter a shop with Serena. Even now, it is dimmed in the background of the bustling steakhouse.
''Don't worry,'' Emilia offered, effectively killing the echo of that laughter. ''She only ever hired stuck up Regina George beotches. I would be super grossed out if you told me they liked you.''
''They said she already had a daughter,'' Blair's eyes flashed and Emilia went quiet, looking down. ''And so I went to internet café and found out what school you went to. I wanted to see you. I wanted to see what you had that I didn't. And then I saw her getting out of the limo, beautiful and regal, dressed in one of her own creations, kissing your forehead and strapping your bag.''
''She isn't my real mom, though,'' Emilia muttered gloomily, shuffling uneasily through remains of her salad. ''My real mom died giving birth to me.''
''Eleanor Waldorf adopted you,'' That ugly green snake had once again struck viciously, digging it's poisonous fangs painfully into her tender flesh. A flicker of remorse shadowed through her scaly skin, but Blair ignored it, looking away so as not to stare at Emilia's fallen face. ''A month after marriage ceremony with your father - a prestigious entertainment lawyer - she adopted you. Why not me? What was so wrong with me?'' Her voice broke and this time she couldn't stop the tears that welled up in her eyes. ''Why couldn't she love me too?''
''I - she - I don't know the details,'' Emilia gently said as she passed her a napkin. Her hand lingered over Blair's, but Blair immediately pulled back as if burned. ''But my father told me how Eleanor was persuaded to give you up.''
''What?'' Blair's breath hitched as the words spilled over her. ''He knows?''
''I may not have been the biggest fan of Eleanor, but she loved my dad. And my dad loved her. I could never forgive him for betraying my mother, but I soon realized that his happiness was more important to me than anything else. And that accepting his new wife wouldn't mean I would ever forget my mommy. Anyway, so the story goes that Eleanor got pregnant with someone who apparently didn't suit her family.''
''You mean someone poor,'' She gritted through her teeth, for the first time learning something about her father. Her heart tightened as her chest filled with the agony of someone else's memories, and pain flooded her mind. Her father? Where was he now? Did he know about his daughter? Would he have been the hero and put a stop to adoption if he knew about pregnancy? ''Someone without great reputation?''
''No, I don't think so,'' Emilia answered queasily, biting her lower lip. ''There was something else involved, maybe someone else, I'm not sure.''
''Did he know about me?'' Her voice trembled as hope kindled in her chest. Maybe her father would have wanted her. Maybe he would have loved her.
''No, he didn't. By the time Eleanor learned she was pregnant, they were broken up and he was on the other end of the world. France, I believe. Blair, she was young, barely eighteen. She put you up for adoption because, from what I managed to get out of my dad, there were a lot of threats and blackmails involved. She was cornered.''
''Does she regret it?'' Blair whispered, staring down at their empty plates, her face devoid of color. The question just flew out of her mouth, as if some stranger spoke the words. She heard them distinctly, but the feeling of the letters forming between her teeth was gone. ''Did she ever try to seek me out?''
''I honestly don't know.''
''Ladies, all good here?'' The hot waiter approached, grinning down at them, picking up their empty plates. ''How 'bout round of the drinks, on the house?'' When nobody said anything, and he tasted the crackling tensity in the air, his smile dropped and he awkwardly muttered something about coming back later.
''I need to visit the ladies room,'' Blair hurriedly said, pushing her chair back. ''If you'll excuse me.''
Panting, she entered the empty restroom. Roll of nausea took over her and she leaned over the porcelain bowl, emptying dinner in a single lurch. She squeezed her eyes shut, looking away from the mess, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Flushing down water, she sank down on the refreshingly cold floor, an acidic taste in her mouth.
Blair Waldorf.
She used to think there was a nice ring to the name.
No, there was no Blair Waldorf. She was a mistake. Her life was a mistake. Everything about her was not meant to exist. Oxygen seemed to disappear from air, leaving her suffocating.
Her own mother didn't want her, Eleanor had been too cowardly to find the courage to fight for her. Instead, she settled for a rich marriage and somebody else's daughter. Her own father lived somewhere in this world, unaware of her existence, unaware that there was somewhere a piece of him, drifting through life bathed in tears and blood.
Ache overflowed, ripping at her skin and she sobbed, burying her head between knees.
They are not your family, a small voice in her said, the same voice that kept her sane for last five years.
''Where is it then?'' She whispered hoarsely, angrily, every letter burning through her throat. Where was her family? Where was her mother? Her father?
With shaky knees, she got up and before leaving, rinsed her face.
''Let's go,'' Emilia's head peeked through the taxi window in front of the steakhouse. The bill was paid, the table already occupied by new guests. ''It's frickin' freezing in New York! I know this really great venue in Lower East Side where they serve Kool-Aid cocktails-''
''I'm not going,'' Blair declared, buttoning up the coat, mist coming from her mouth as she spoke. ''This is where our acquaintance ends. You should just go home. You parents must be worried.''
Was Eleanor motherly type, like Evelyn? Or was she reckless and impulsive like Lilly Van Der Woodsen, Serena's mom? Did she even notice her step-daughter missing?
No, it wasn't her place to wonder. She had nothing to do with the woman.
''No!'' Emilia jumped out of the cab, startled, and pulled Blair's hand back as she started to walk away. ''Don't go! Please.''
''Did you have brain tumor for breakfast?'' Blair lashed out, her brown eyes blazing fire. ''Did you think I would enjoy this little get-together, listening how my own parents didn't want me? How I was never supposed to be born? How perfect your precious little family is?''
''I never said that. That's not why I came here-''
''Then why? Why the hell did you fly all the way across the continent? To see me?'' Cars sped past them and taxi driver drove away with another customer, too impatient to wait. Tires ran across the dark puddles on the road, splashing the pavement. ''Go home. I better not see you in Manhattan again. If I do, you'll regret ever coming in here.''
''I did want to see you,'' Emilia's lower lip dangerously trembled. ''I wanted you to be my family. I thought - I thought we could get along-''
''I already have a family!'' Blair hissed, clutching fists by her side. ''I already have a mother and her name is Jane. Remember? That's what the papers say!''
The girl seemed to hold onto her Chanel bag tightly, looking up like a kicked puppy and something in Blair dipped down, something in her said she shouldn't be so cruel. But like the rest of the evening, she pushed those sentiments away.
''Why did Eleanor pay off my debt if she had no intentions of getting involved in my life?'' She berated, towering over the frightened Emilia, nails digging into her shoulders. ''Why not leave us alone, like she had been doing for past twenty years? Did she have a sudden change of heart because I sure as hell don't want it! What's going on here? What are you keeping away from me?!''
''Your mother is dead!'' Emilia cried out, her face twisted. Several passer-byers turned around at the dramatic exclamation, but soon shuffled along awkwardly.
''What?'' Blair whispered, all the turmoil and chaos within her abruptly diminishing, dissipating, as if someone came and turned off the light, and all that had been left was a loud, vast emptiness.
''Eleanor died a year ago,'' Emilia tersely explained, wiping her own tear-stained cheek. ''Breast cancer. I thought you knew, it was all over the news.''
''I didn't,'' Blair shook her head, her vision blurring for a brief moment. It was a year ago when she was only just started at Constance, too immersed in the experience to acknowledge the rest of the world. It was during that September haze, a haze that started the grand fire, it was then that someone who might have been a major part of her life in some alternate universe - died. She had felt the loss of a mother when Jane left, a sharp pain that left scars all over her soul.
This was different. This was distant. Numb. Like when someone says your name for the last time. Tears were kept at bay for it was the death of a stranger, of someone she never met, but someone that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Thousand different what-ifs, possibilities and dreams that never, and would never, have the chance to play out.
All of a sudden, she felt a pair warm of arms embrace her, the soft scent of Versace enveloped her that moment, and Blair realized one thing; Emilia Rose-Waldorf had lost her mother too, twice. So she hugged her back with wide eyes, understanding of the pain.
It was then that she finally heard the rest of the story. Of Eleanor's bankruptcy. Of her downward spiral and antidepressants. Of the way, Cyrus bought her company and all the shares that almost went to waste. How she died without a penny to pass on to anyone, but surrounded with love and care.
Ultimately, she told her of her father, world-renown hugger, who secretly hired PI to investigate his late wife's child. She told her of Cyrus Rose who heard of the debt and wanted to set things right. Of Cyrus Rose who, without telling anyone, wanted to be someone's hero.
''Blair, I want to be your family,'' Emilia sniffled after few minutes, breaking out of the hug to look her in the eyes. ''I want to be in your life. Daddy warned me against coming here, telling me not to disturb your life, but I couldn't be alone anymore, living with the knowledge that there is someone, somewhere, who might come into my life and stay there forever.''
She pressed a card with her address and contact details into Blair's palm.
''Call me whenever. I'll wait for you. Our lawyers will let your father know about the debt. I think my dad decided to keep us out of the story. It will be said that charity led by one of your previous residents will have covered the debt.''
''Thank you,'' Blair smiled weakly, fondly, pushing hair behind Emilia's ear. This girl seemed much more mature for her age and the silliness she exuberated seemed nothing but a show now. She had underrated this brilliant young girl whose pain she shared. Finally, her heart seemed to continue to beat, this time with certain steadiness.
''Sorry I was such a bitch to you earlier.'' She added.
''I know things are hard,'' Emilia stuttered and she took hold of Blair's hand. ''And I know that you'll need some time to think things through, but please - don't forget me. You will always have a home with me.''
And just like that, Emilia Rose-Waldorf was gone. Despite all that, deep down inside, Blair knew it would be years before she would knock at Emilia's doors.
Front doors were wide open when Blair got home. Uncomfortable smell of staleness greeted her, smell that sprang up from the moldy nooks since Jane left. While mom was here, house always had an aroma of cooked food, spices and rosy perfume of her hand cream.
Nobody was home and Blair marveled at the solitude. Finally, she'd be free to go straight to bed and sleep off everything that had happened today. Emilia's voice reverberated like a ghostly echo; Your mother is dead! Your mother is dead! Your mother is dead!
Shivering, she clutched the calling card in her pocket tightly. She thought about going to Morelli, an urge to tell him everything itched in the back of her head, but she quickly dismissed the notion. Blair was too tired to go anywhere, exhausted and mentally drained.
They could talk tomorrow after class. She hurried to bed because if someone came back, there would be no rest tonight.
Every night it was the same story, except for this one.
Because as she opened the creaky doors to bedroom, there was Chuck Bass - clutching her tattered pillow - sitting on her small, rickety bed.