“What’s wrong?” David asked in a panic when I answered my cell phone on the drive home. “I just got your text.”
Oh, shit…what was I thinking? I never text him—he must’ve been frantic with worry.
“I’m sorry, David. I didn’t mean to scare you. Nothing’s wrong. I should’ve left a voice message explaining: Miriam and Antonio changed their minds about meeting Lily and want us to adopt their baby. And I couldn’t give Julie Wutherspoon an answer without talking to you.”
Just then, the young kid driving in the next lane swerved to avoid a shredded truck tire and came within inches of my car. Jerking the wheel in a reflexive move, I dropped my phone and had to yell to David, “I’ll call you back in a minute when I can pull over.”
I hastily took the next exit off the beltline and pulled into a parking lot. My limbs felt like Jell-O as the rush of adrenaline subsided. Small wonder driving contributes to my panic attacks—it’s a minefield out there.
I dialed David again. “Sorry. Traffic was a bitch, and a kid almost ran into me.”
“Thank heaven everything’s okay,” he said. “I’m in my car, too, so let’s talk when we get home. I’ll pick up Lily.” He hung up.
I knew David hated to talk while driving, but I would’ve liked a quick “Yes!” to the adoption question. What’s he thinking?
The suspense was short-lived. Five minutes after I got home and before I even got through the day’s mail, I heard the garage door open and David drove in.
“Hi, Pumpkin,” I said, tousling Lily’s hair as she trudged past me through the kitchen. “How was your day?”
“It was okay. Dad said you guys have something to talk about, so I’m gonna go to my room and do my homework.” She looked as apprehensive as I felt.
David walked in, dropped his briefcase on the counter, gave me a quick hug, and reached into the fridge for a beer. “Want one?”
“Oh, yeah.”
We headed for the family room, put our feet up on the coffee table and looked at each other. “Do you want to tell me about your day?” I asked.
“Later. First tell me about Miriam and Antonio.”
So I did.
“Ah. The roller coaster ride continues,” he said when I finished. “Did you get the sense they’re really set on us now?”
“I did. The most encouraging thing for me was Antonio speaking up, first to apologize for ‘being out of line’ and then to say we could give them an answer tomorrow. I felt like he heard me when I described our emotional excursion in search of parenthood.”
“Shall we go for it?” he asked, then laughed. “This really feels like déjà vu all over again.”
“Yes, it does. And yes, I think we should.”
“That’s my vote too.”
“I think it’s time to tell Lily what’s going on,” I said.
I returned to the family room with two more beers, this time in mugs so frosty the handles bit my skin, just as David led a tearful Lily to the couch.
She sat between us hugging her knees.
“Why are you crying, honey?” I asked.
“I think those are tears of relief,” David said, putting his arm around her shoulder.
Lily nodded. “When Dad said you needed to talk, I got worried. I thought you were gonna get a divorce. Then, when he said to come down for good news, I just started crying.”
The good news was instantly banished from my mind. “Divorce? What would make you think that?” I asked.
“You and Dad yell at each other a lot. And so do Anna’s mom and dad—and they’re getting a divorce. She might have to move to an apartment or go to a different school.”
“We don’t yell—”
“Caroline,” David said, “I think our conversations, especially when we disagree, might sound pretty loud to seven-year-old ears. Huh, Lily?”
She nodded again.
“You don’t have to be afraid when people speak their minds. Your mom and I love each other very much and always will. We don’t ever plan to get a divorce. But to keep our marriage healthy, we vowed to always say what we feel, even if the other person doesn’t like hearing it. Do you understand?”
“I guess so,” she said without conviction.
“The good news we have to tell you just might convince you we’re not getting divorced,” he said, shaking her gently by the elbow. “And if you say ‘pretty please,’ we just might tell you.”
Lily couldn’t help herself: the corners of her mouth slid into a reasonable facsimile of a smile. “Pretty please.”
“Okay. Since you asked nicely—”
“Dad—”
“Your mom and I heard about a young woman who’s pregnant and isn’t able to raise the baby herself. It looks like we may be able to adopt it. What do you think?”
“A baby?” she asked tentatively.
Not exactly the reaction I’d expected—or hoped for.
“Yes. Due in about seven months,” I said, ever the cheerer-upper, grinning like an idiot in an effort to lift her mood.
But Lily was miles away, lost in her own thoughts. And neither David nor I could read them. We exchanged a questioning look, and I nodded toward him as if to say, “You try.”
“Honey, look at me.”
She hung her head.
He leaned forward, lifted her chin and faced her straight on. “Lily, a few minutes ago we talked about how important it is in a family to say what you feel. Mom and I just told you something we thought you’d be very happy about. You’ve always said you wanted a brother or sister. But we can see you’re not happy. Please tell us what you’re thinking.”
More tears.
“C’mon. Out with it.”
“I thought I wanted a little sister or brother,” she said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “But I’m scared.”
“Scared? Of what?” I asked, puzzled and aching with her obvious distress.
“I don’t know. Maybe that you won’t love me as much. Maybe that the baby will look like you. Things will be so different.”
I choked back a sob.
“Yes, Lily,” David said, “things will be very different. Babies demand a lot of attention, and we’ll need your help to care for him or her. But I promise you we have more than enough love to go around, for you and twelve more kids.”
I waited for him to tackle Lily’s other concern—namely the baby might physically resemble David and me, while she did not. But he just hugged her.
What to say? I can’t ignore this, and I have to do it just right.
“Honey,” I forged ahead with weighted words, “you said you were worried, too, that the baby might look like us?”
“Yeah,” she said tentatively, pulling away from her dad’s embrace.
“We can’t predict for sure what it’ll look like. The mom is white—she has blonde hair and blue eyes—and looks a bit like me. The dad is Mexican. His skin is about the same color as yours. He’s very handsome and has a wonderful dimple in his cheek. So the baby will probably have darker skin than your dad and me and may look a lot like you. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“You met them? The real parents?”
“Yes, we did,” I said.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” she said.
“Sometimes,” David replied. “There’s lots of ways to do adoptions these days.”
“So will this kid get to see its real parents, too?”
I cringed inside at the “real parents” thing—for oh so many reasons. But this wasn’t the time to tackle that issue.
“No. They don’t plan to keep in contact with us or the child,” I said. “That’s often too difficult for everyone.”
Lily got up and headed toward the kitchen. “I wish I could’ve met my real mom.”
I bit my lip to stop it from trembling and stared after her, unable to reply.