Two days.
Two days of not sleeping. Two days of obsessive Googling. Two days of eating cookie dough ice cream smothered in hot fudge for dinner and pretending not to think about my name sitting atop my agency’s wait list.
Skye dragged her wet nose across my bare calf, and I reached down to scratch the white patch of fur behind her ears. “I know, I know. I’m pathetic.”
She whined as if in confirmation. She could always tell when something was emotionally off with me. Maybe she could sense the changes in my mood, but then again, maybe she just wanted to lick the splatters of ice cream off my college sweatshirt. Either way, we were both stress eaters.
“Ugh.” I set the bowl on the coffee table and watched the spoon sink low into the soupy mess. “I need to do something, Skye. Something productive. Something that . . . I don’t know, feels like a step forward and doesn’t add ten inches to my waistline before Thanksgiving break.”
I padded across the living room in my blue-and-white striped fuzzy socks. My matching pj bottoms slipped from my hips just enough to require a cinch and tie. Skye dashed to the front door, as if I was suiting up for a run. Hardly. “It’s raining outside, silly girl. I can’t take you for a walk right now.” Even if I could, no amount of walking would settle the adrenaline spikes Stacey’s not-so-helpful email response had awakened in me.
I mean, seriously, how could that email have produced anything but anxiety in a waiting parent? It was like saying, “Hey, you over there—you who’s been on the path of adoption for more than a year, you who’s been trying to keep your mind occupied while still being an active member of society—well, guess what? Your wait’s about to be over! Only in the meantime, you get to wait some more!”
Skye slumped onto her dog bed under the corner living room window, laying her head on her front paws. Her heavy-lidded eyes closed mere seconds before her snoring kicked in. At least one of us was able to get some good rest this week.
My text alert chimed. Four times. No, five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
My sister.
I hesitated before retrieving my phone off the arm of the sofa.
Between Lisa asking me what I was bringing for Thanksgiving meal and Jenna asking what happened with Joshua at the coffee shop, I was seriously considering throwing my phone into the garbage disposal. Only I couldn’t. Because that would mean not being able to refresh my inbox every thirty seconds.
And that might literally kill me.
With a little too much force, I tapped the phone screen and opened up my sister’s text thread. By the rapid-succession alerts, I knew she was voice-texting in her car. Lisa’s favorite form of communication.
So what are you bringing to Thanksgiving?
I told Mom I’m not eating that greasy casserole thing she makes for one more holiday. If a heart attack had a face, that would be it.
I’m bringing walled-off salad.
No. Stupid voice-to-text. Not walled-off. Waldorf!
Anyway, I’m driving Iris to ballet right now. Can you believe her instructor sent out a group text informing all us parents that practice was moving from Wednesday to Thursday nights? Yeah, effective immediately. Like none of us have jobs outside of driving our kids to class.
Oh, that reminds me, Mom and I have a huge closet job coming up. Might need to use your sheep.
Deep
Jeep! I said Jeep!
I hate voice-texting! Let’s talk soon. It’s been forever. Love you.
I squeezed my eyes shut and counted to ten before texting back a response.
Thanks. I’ll text Mom about bringing a dessert for Thanksgiving, and I’ll ask about the closet job.
My finger hovered atop the alphabet pad on my phone, a cloud of guilt descending over me.
Love you. We’ll talk soon.
Soon was right. Because soon I’d know the face of my waiting child. And if Lisa could get fired up over a schedule change on a dance-mom text thread, I didn’t even want to think about the way she’d rage at me for withholding my adoption news.
I needed to make a plan. A real one this time. With people who’d been around the adoption block a time or two and had lived to tell about it.
And luckily, I knew exactly where those people would be tonight: in the basement of Calvary Community Church.
All church basements seem to share a similar vibe, and Calvary Community was no exception: geometric carpet squares, folded chairs along the back wall, a too-low ceiling with fluorescent lighting, and a foosball table waiting to be played during midweek services. But something about the familiar aroma of old hymnals and brewed coffee brought a homey kind of comfort to my anxious spirit. I never regretted making the drive to Calvary.
I noted the small circle of chairs in the center of the room and set my fruit tray beside the coffee pot. In a matter of minutes, the folding table would be filled with shared snacks and the room with animated voices—one in particular.
In the whole of the Boise-Nampa metropolitan area of nearly seven hundred thousand people, there wasn’t a shortage of adoption support groups to attend, yet only one was facilitated by my favorite married couple on the planet.
“Lauren?” Gail rounded the corner, carrying a giant bowl of white cheddar popcorn. “Oh, I’m so glad you could make it tonight.” She set the theater-size bucket down and pulled me into a hug.
“Me too. I would have called first, but tonight was more of a spontaneous decision.” Somewhere between watching an adoption documentary on Netflix and my second pint of Ben and Jerry’s.
“No apologies necessary.” She gave my arm a little squeeze. “Did the agency ever get back to you?”
“Actually, yes, I got an update from them yesterday and that’s actually why—”
“Hey, Gail?” Robert jogged down the staircase, his voice edged with rare urgency. “Oh, Lauren, sorry to interrupt.” He focused his attention on his wife. “That new couple Pastor Todd contacted you about just arrived. They’re walking in with Sara and Sam now.”
The fine lines around Gail’s eyes deepened. “Okay, thanks for letting me know, honey.” She turned back to me and patted my arm, working to compose her face as she said, “Go ahead, Lauren. I would love to hear your news.”
“No, no. I can share it later in group. Please, go and do whatever you need to. Can I help with anything?”
“I wish you could.” She shook her head and gave a weighted sigh. “Truth is, some people just need a little extra grace when life’s challenges fail to meet their expectations.”
I didn’t have time to question her theory, not when three couples entered the room all at once. The newcomers Robert had mentioned were easy to identify. And not just because I’d seen the other two couples in prior meetings, but because the husband, who could have starred in a remake of The Great Gatsby, stood head and shoulders above the crowd, chattering on about current weather patterns as if that were his sole reason for joining us tonight. He wore a charcoal, made-to-look-vintage bowler hat and a pair of sophisticated black glasses, neither of which hid the dark half-moons under his eyes.
When his attention drifted behind him to his wife, mine followed.
Melanie, as her name tag read, was next-door kind of pretty. Her short blond hair, trendy clothing, and matchy-matchy handbag would have warranted a second glance in any other setting, but I couldn’t focus on anything other than the fury spewing from her glare. Obviously, this church basement was the last place she wanted to be tonight. I wavered between greeting her and giving her the ten-foot radius her expression demanded.
With a bravery I admired, Gail approached her, handing her a small snack plate and explaining the evening’s agenda. The first fifteen minutes of group were always reserved for fellowship around the refreshments table, but by the way Melanie chucked her purse to the floor and threw her body into an empty chair, I gathered she’d rather pluck cactus barbs out of her foot than endure fellowship with the likes of us.
On my perusal of the snack table, I received several nice-to-see-you-again hugs, and even a compliment on my dry-shampooed hair, which had to be my favorite invention of the twenty-first century. Thankfully, along with quick-styling my hair, I’d had enough time to swap out my ice-cream-encrusted sweatshirt and sweats combo for a long sweater and boots duo.
Within ten minutes, we were all seated in the circle. I balanced a small plate of popcorn on my knee and offered a smile to the female storm cloud sitting directly across from me. Melanie did not smile back. Instead, her scowl intensified as she crossed her arms over her chest. Message received.
Robert said a quick prayer to get things rolling, and Gail went over the group guidelines, likely for the sake of Great Gatsby and his joyful bride. The rules were all common sense: no cross talking, no oversharing, no interrupting, and no advice-giving without permission. These were followed by the usual “what’s said in support group stays in support group” confidentiality clause.
I was in the middle of an internal speculation of why the new couple had showed up at tonight’s meeting when Gail diverted the group’s attention, her eyes bright and expectant as they settled on me.
“Lauren, since it’s been a few weeks since you’ve been back to group, why don’t you give us an update on all that’s happened in your adoption journey? And if you don’t mind, would you go ahead and tell us a little about yourself, too, since Peter and Melanie are joining us for the first time?”
I was fairly certain there was nothing Melanie would want to hear less, given her venomous glare, but it was clear Gail was hoping for a mood shift. I lifted the plate from my knee, crossed my opposite leg, and made a conscious effort to avoid eye contact with a certain glowering blonde. “Of course, sure.”
The couple closest to me, Sam and Sara, nodded with a level of enthusiasm usually reserved for a rock concert. They were the resident head bobbers. Every group had at least one pair of those. I’d seen my fair share in the parent-teacher meetings at Brighton, too. No matter who was sharing or what was being shared, the head bobbers never stopped bobbing.
“Hey again, everyone. I’m Lauren Bailey, and I’ve taught first grade at Brighton Elementary on the eastside for the last ten years. I’m not married, but I do have a cocker spaniel named Skye who likes to think of herself as my better half.” The head bobbers chuckled, as did Karen and Jack, a foster care couple who routinely shared their home with sick newborns in need of respite. “About six years ago, I had the privilege of teaching a little boy who changed my idea of adoption and planted a seed in my heart that grew until I was able to meet the application requirements when I turned thirty. I partnered with Small Wonders about fourteen months ago and started the process to adopt from China. There’s been a lot of paperwork and appointments, but to be honest, it’s all gone pretty smoothly so far.” I paused. “And as of yesterday morning, I received an email from my agency telling me that I’m at the top of the wait list.” Gail gasped and brought her hands up to her mouth, clapping silently in celebration. I smiled back at her. “My caseworker said my official match email would be coming soon, so of course I’ve been obsessively checking my email, eating ice cream for every meal, and not sleeping a wink. My true motivation in coming tonight was to give my refresh button a break.”
The group laughed. Most of them, anyway.
“Oh, don’t we all know that feeling!” Karen exclaimed, reaching into a plaid car seat.
“Well, it’s nice to know I’m not the only one.” I flicked the edge of my plate with my thumbnail. “To be honest, though, now that the big email could be sent out at any moment, time seems to be moving so much slower, and my patience feels much thinner.”
“I’m sure many of us can relate to that feeling, too,” Gail added sympathetically. “But this is wonderful news, Lauren. We’ll all be ready to celebrate with you whenever that special email does show up in your inbox.” She paused then, her gaze scanning the circle before coming back to me. “You made the right decision in coming tonight, no matter your motivation. The season of waiting that you’re in is just one example of why we need to lean into our support systems. When life feels hard, it’s imperative we reach out to our loved ones and communities and share our burdens. And in due time, those same support systems will be the people who will get to share in our blessings, too.”
Even as several verbal agreements rang out around the circle, a familiar heaviness pushed against my chest. Karen patted the back of her newest pink baby bundle, and I forced my next words out before I could second-guess the level of my vulnerability. “I don’t want to take up too much more group time, but I was actually hoping I could ask a few questions about all that. Is that all right, Gail?”
“Certainly, ask anything you need to, darlin’. That’s why we’re here.” I didn’t miss the way her gaze floated over to the new couple again.
“As far as support systems go, I have my best friend, Jenna, and a few women at my church, Gail and Robert, this group, as well as a few social media pages specific to China adoptions. But . . .” I hesitated, and the head bobber closest to me, Sara, picked up speed, as if to spur me on. It worked. “But I haven’t told my family yet.”
“About the latest news from your agency?” Karen kindly tried to clarify as shame ignited my cheeks.
“No, um, I mean, I haven’t told them I’m adopting at all.” Even as I said the words aloud, I knew how bad they sounded—how bad I must sound for admitting such a heartless truth. What kind of a woman didn’t tell her own family about an adoption she’d been planning for over a year?
Every one of the well-meaning lectures Jenna had given me since last winter recycled in my mind. “I know how that sounds. It’s just that things are a bit complicated with my family. They’re not bad people or anything, I just . . . I don’t think my decision will make sense to them.”
Robert leaned forward, his salt-and-pepper eyebrows crumpling at the arch. “Lauren, what part of your decision to adopt do you think they’ll struggle with the most?”
“That I’m single.” Those three words hung in the silence like a dead weight, exposing me in a way I rarely allowed. Perhaps it had something to do with finding my unattached marital status at the top of my sister’s New Year’s Resolution list. Or how my mother constantly obsessed over my financial security like it was her part-time job. Though my father’s workman’s comp had run dry twenty years ago, my mother never let us forget how she’d been thrust into the workforce so her family of four could survive. She wasn’t the type who called to chat or to check on me. No, her questions usually surrounded my retirement plan and low-risk stocks. I certainly wasn’t looking forward to the day she found out I’d cashed in my nest egg of savings to take on a dependent.
“I think what you’re doing as a single woman is really admirable, Lauren,” Sara said. “It may not be the most traditional pathway in adoption, but the world has way more orphans than it does loving parents who are willing to step up to the task.”
“Exactly,” Karen added with a tearful smile. “Jack and I are unlikely candidates, as well. We’re in our late fifties, and while most of our friends are retiring and taking fancy vacations, we’re feeding sick babies through the night. But you know, God has always provided for our needs. Saying yes to this calling has been our greatest blessing.”
At this, Melanie huffed. And not the could-be-considered-a-cough kind of huff, either. It was definitely a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me huff.
“Melanie,” Gail said in the same voice I used to calm an emotionally charged first grader, “do you have something you’d like to add to this discussion?”
“Yeah, I do.” The hard rasp of her tone had me sliding to the back of my chair. Whatever was coming, it wasn’t going to be frosted in sugary optimism.
“Mel, honey, please,” her husband chided as he reached for her hand.
She jerked hers away quicker than he could make contact. “No. Don’t you dare honey me, Peter. You were the one who dragged me here after your little chat with Pastor what’s-his-name. Well, here I am. And I have something to say to uh . . .” Her eyes flashed as she read the name tag on my knit sweater. “Lauren.” She bent toward the middle of the circle, targeting me directly. “Some people will tell you that adoption is a great idea, and some people will say the opposite. But I’m going to tell you the truth: None of those opinionated people are gonna be there for you when you wake up to the screams of night terrors at three in the morning. Just like none of them will be there to pick up the half-chewed food off your kitchen floor because your toddler refuses to swallow it due to his sensory issues. And not a single one of them is going to know how to stop your baby girl from banging her head against the wall because it’s the only form of self-soothing she knows. You’ll question your sanity a hundred times a day, asking what’s real and what’s just in your head. But I’ll tell you what’s real, Lauren. Trauma is real. And it’s all-consuming. And before you know it, everyone in your life—even those Positive Pollys who patted you on the back for making such a selfless sacrifice—they’ll be gone. And you’ll be all alone.” Her voice cracked on that last word. “Married or single, you’ll be all alone.” She stood, snatched her purse off the floor, and sprinted for the stairs.
Gail gave a brief yet decisive glance back at Robert before she, too, disappeared up the stairs.
Peter got to his feet, his face distorted with indecision. For a moment, I imagined him bolting after her, but instead, he looked to Robert. The helpless plea in his eyes sucked the air from the room and left a hollowness in my chest.
“I won’t tell you not to go after her, Peter. But I can assure you she’s in expert hands,” Robert said calmly.
After a full five seconds, Peter gave a stiff nod and sat back in his chair. “I, uh, I’m really sorry about all this. We’ve . . . it’s been a hard year for Mel and me.”
“We understand trying times,” Jack said. “We really do.”
Peter slid his hat off his head and ran a hand through his dark wavy hair. “My youngest sister’s been missing for years—living on the streets, selling her body for drugs. You name it, she’s done it. None of us had any contact with her at all until a caseworker called us last summer.” He took a steadying breath. “One phone call turned our whole lives upside down. Melanie was on her third round of infertility treatments while working as a sous chef at Barlow’s Table downtown, so when we heard we had a niece and a nephew out there who needed a home—a family—we said yes.” He chuckled sardonically. “We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. Overnight, we became a family of four.” This time, Peter let the silence linger, as if he wasn’t sure how to continue. Maybe because he wasn’t sure if they would continue.
“How old are your kids?” Even as she asked it, Sara was already nodding.
“Four and two.”
“Those ages can be tough, especially because they can’t verbalize their needs as well as an older child can,” Robert said with an authority that brought some much-needed peace to the room. “It’s a myth that babies don’t remember trauma. They do—and so do the parents who care for them. Where’s your head at right now, Peter?”
At that one carefully asked question, Peter broke, his words choked on a sob. “I don’t know how to fix it. The kids, my marriage, any of it.”
Tears gathered in my eyes and slipped down my cheeks as Sara’s husband, Sam, moved to sit next to our newest member. He placed a firm hand on Peter’s shoulder. “We’re here for you, man. For all four of you. You don’t have to walk this road alone anymore.”
“I’d love to help you and Melanie,” Karen said.
“Us too,” Sara added.
My heart thudded in my chest. “Me too. Any way I can.”
As I watched this grown man grieve for his hurting family, a sudden and convicting clarity washed over me. Whether I was single or not, my child would have needs beyond what my limited life experience could offer him or her. There would be moments I wouldn’t know what to do, moments I’d need to reach past my comfort zone for help, moments that would stretch me as a mother and as a human being.
Because in the end, that’s what all of us were. Human.
Just like my family.
The Bailey clan may not be known for saying all the right things at all the right times, but they were mine. Complicated as they were, they were mine. And even more important, they were my child’s. If tonight was any indication, the two of us were going to need all the help we could get.
No more excuses. I would tell my family everything at Thanksgiving dinner.