“There,” I say pointing to the screen.
He focuses on it, so long that I start to worry he hates the idea. Then he turns to me, and I see the same hope on his face that I feel in my heart. “Adoption,” he says. “You want to adopt a baby from China?”
“A toddler, actually,” I say. “And yes. I’ve been thinking about it for a while.” I take his hand. “I want this. I want a family, Damien. I want us to have a family.”
Even as I say the words, I can’t deny the irony. For so long, I’d wanted to build my business and then worry about children. Now, it’s the thought of a family that weighs so heavily on my mind. It’s a sad truth that the odds are good I’ll never feel a baby growing inside me again. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be a mom.
He turns to look at the screen again. “They all have some sort of special need,” he says, reading the information.
“Yes,” I agree. “Most are relatively minor. But all the babies in the system are considered special needs. They call them waiting children. They need our help, just like the kids here.”
I stand behind him so that I can see the screen, too, my hands on his shoulders. “I thought first about adopting one of the foundation kids, actually. I mean, so many of them need permanent homes. But I thought it looked too much like singling one of them out, and I didn’t want hurt feelings in the rest of them.”
“Yes,” Damien says, “that makes sense.”
I move around beside him and press my hand over his on the desk. “So you’re really into the idea?” I’d thought I might have to ease him toward it. Give it time to settle. But he looks ready. Hell, he looks eager.
“I am. To be honest, I’ve been thinking a bit about adoption lately.”
“Really?” The fact that we’d been on the same path makes me feel warm inside. “And it doesn’t bother you that the child won’t be ours biologically?”
“Are you kidding?” he scoffs. “Blood is biology. It’s not family.”
My smile blooms so wide it’s almost painful. “Let me show you something else,” I say, scooting in front of him so that I can sit at the keyboard. “I know this is fast,” I say as I move the mouse, clicking on links until I find the image I’m looking for—a little girl of almost a year with a sad face and eyes that captured me the moment I saw her.
“I saw her picture, and she just pulled me in. She needs a family, Damien,” I say. “I think she needs us.”
I look up at him and see his chin tremble just slightly as he reaches out and presses his fingertips to the computer screen. “Yes,” he says softly. “I think she does.”
Over the next few days, we go on a series of dinner and cocktails dates with friends so that we can share our news. They’re all enthusiastic, but I think Sylvia’s squeal is the loudest. I figure that makes sense—after all, she adopted Ronnie right after she married Jackson.
Jamie almost crushed my ribs with the force of her hug, then promised to be the best aunt ever. “Seriously,” she’d said. “Best. Aunt. I mean, I’ll even sign up for the Learning Annex class if I need to. In case there are rules and shit.” And Ryan slapped Damien on the back in a manly sort of way, and then said they needed to go have a celebratory cigar on the back patio.
Evelyn got choked up, but managed to hold it together. Sofia clapped like a little girl and started to throw her arms around Damien in a hug. She stopped herself, then looked at me, and only finished the embrace after I’d given her a nod.
Frank was the one who truly surprised me. I actually saw tears in his eyes, and when he hugged me and said he was proud of me, I started to cry myself.
But those are the people I knew would support us. I’m meeting my mother in an hour, and I really don’t expect the same kind of warm reception.
“You don’t have to tell her anything,” Damien says. We’re in the Tower apartment, and I’m pacing in front of the wall of windows that overlooks the city.
“I do,” I say, though I can’t explain why I’m so insistent. Maybe I’m hoping to give her one last chance. Maybe I’m kicking my own ass, pushing the issue so I’ll have the impetus to finally and truly cut the strings.
Either way, I’m about to head downstairs to the plaza. I’ve told her I want to meet her for coffee at the Java B’s outside.
“Do you want me to come?” he asks.
“Want, yes. But I think I need to do this alone. If I need you, you’re only fifty-seven stories away.”
He bends to kiss me. “I’m never that far away.”
I nod, then cling to him for a moment. “Wish me luck.”
“Luck,” he says, walking me to the elevator. The car is already there, but he takes my arm to hold me back before I step on. “I poked around a bit,” he says. “Your mom’s house in Dallas was going into foreclosure.”
“What?”
“She’s broke,” he says. “I don’t know why she really came to Los Angeles, but I have a feeling she thinks there’s a payday at the end of the line somehow.”
I nod, not surprised, but still a little numb.
“I wanted you to know before you talked to her.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I lift myself up on my toes to kiss him. “I guess we’ll find out,” I say, and then step into the car. Soon enough, I’m off the elevator and across the lobby to the plaza. She’s already there, standing with perfect posture by the fountain.
“They have tables over there,” I say. “Grab a seat and I’ll get us both a latte.”
She does, and I use the few moments while I’m ordering and waiting for the drinks to get my act together. Then I join her at the table and decide to cut straight to the chase. “I wanted to meet you so that I could give you my news. Damien and I have decided to adopt.”
“Have you?” Her brows lift almost imperceptibly.
“From China,” I continue. “We’ve submitted the initial paperwork for a little girl. We’re meeting with the agency tomorrow, and then we start the home study process. And the wait.”
“Home study,” she says. “Where a stranger comes in to evaluate you?”
I put on a cheery smile. “Yup. Pretty much.”
“Hmm,” she says, then sips her coffee. “And you’re adopting from China? My friend Angelica’s daughter just adopted from China. She was infertile, too.” Her voice is like fingernails on a chalkboard. “I understand all the children have something wrong with them.”
A knot of anger forms in my stomach, and I tell myself to just ignore it. “I wouldn’t put it that way, but all the children in the program do have special needs.”
“And this child you’re interested in? What’s the matter with her?”
I mentally bang my head on the table. “She has an extra toe on each foot. It’s really no big deal. We’ve already spoken with a surgeon about what’s involved to correct it.”
“I see,” she says, though I sincerely doubt she does.