“You’re scaring me.” I step out of his arms, wrapping my own around me. “What’s going on?”
Eric and I met on a blind date. It was six months after Sonya left. Working as an interior decorator, I was making a reputation for myself. With an eye for detail and a unique ability to bring my clients’ imaginings to life, I became a hot commodity. Papa told everyone it was because I never grew up. I was still playing make-believe house.
We dined at a restaurant in San Francisco, overlooking the bay, and munched on bruschetta and a spinach salad. An expensive bottle of red wine was waiting at the table when we were seated. When I told Eric I didn’t drink, he told the waiter he would have iced tea with me, never questioning why I detested the smell of alcohol. I assumed since Papa didn’t drink I hadn’t acquired the taste for it. That night, on my doorstep, Eric asked to see me again. No kiss, no hug. A decision sealed by a nod. I watched him slip back into his car and knew I had met the man I would marry.
“Adoption.” Eric pulls out some printed papers, jarring me from my memories. Stapled perfectly together. “I started the process a few months back. Before everything happened with your father.” He cups my cheek, his excitement evident. “I wanted to wait to tell you until I had some good news. I know how hard everything has been for you.” He pulls out another sheet, showing it to me. It has the name of a woman on it. “This young woman is six months into her pregnancy. She’s looking for a couple to adopt her child.”
People have children for varied reasons. To make a family whole, to give meaning to their lives, or to re-create themselves, but this time do a better job. I join friends at Little League games or swim meets. Their knuckles clenched, the lines of their face set in worry, they watch for their offspring to validate their existence. But for their child to succeed, the parents have to create a foundation to stand on. To set, by example, what it means to be the best. The children watch your every move, learn how to act by your actions. If you make a misstep, you chance losing their trust forever. I often wonder which of my parents I modeled myself on and which one I trusted.
“I thought we had agreed to keep trying,” I say, refusing to take the papers. I turn toward the den, the darkness beckoning me. Early on, Eric had his sperm count checked at the fertility clinic. Since it was fine, we assumed the problem was mine. Though he wanted to attend every appointment I had with the fertility specialist, I assured him it was routine checks and his time was better spent at work. If there was anything life-changing, I would share it with him. “We don’t even know what the process will entail. And what about the child?” I start to ramble, my voice rising. “Do we want a boy or a girl?”
“Hey.” He reaches out, grabs my shoulders. Turning me to face him, he tips my chin up with his finger. “Slow down. We don’t have to have all the answers right now.”
“Then why did you bring this home?” I smack the papers in his hand, wishing they would disappear like a fog over the bay in the early morning. “Did you think about discussing this with me first?”
“I thought that was what we were doing.”