Before i called you mine, p.16
Before I Called You Mine, page 16
A text alert snapped my attention away from the scenery and back to my phone. I pulled it out and nearly dropped it into an open paint can.
Can’t say I’m known for my decor advice, but I’m rooting that Noah will love it.
My entire body prickled with goose bumps as I swiped up on my screen, trying to make sense of why Joshua was replying to a text I’d sent to—oh. I’d sent him the picture, not Jenna. How had I never noticed they were neighbors in my contact list?
Heat crept up my neck, radiating from my cheeks and ears. What do I even say to him? Sorry, I’m an idiot? Sorry, I just sent you a picture of my future nursery? Sorry that my subconscious mind doesn’t quite understand the new rules of engagement between us?
Another text chimed.
If you’re freaking out that you accidentally texted me a picture of your wall . . . don’t. I’ve been trying to find a reason to text you for days. So can I?
I bit my bottom lip, letting the soggy paintbrush slip back into the pan, drowning a slow death of thick blue paint.
Can you what?
Text you.
The soft sound that escaped me was almost a laugh, yet like all things Joshua, the unexpected message had tugged a little too close to my heart to be met with any kind of flippancy. Because there was nothing flippant about whatever we’d become to each other in such a short period of time.
Yes, of course.
Hi.
Hi.
I slid down the wall opposite my Cadet Blue handiwork and held my breath as I waited for Joshua’s thinking dots to materialize into words. I was certain that whatever he was typing deserved my undivided attention. It had been nearly a week since we’d spoken, nearly a week since those heartbreaking eyes of his had arrested my ability to breathe.
After I told him what was really going on, I’d half expected him to ignore me, to withdraw the way . . . well, the way other men in my life had withdrawn when disappointment knocked. But Joshua hadn’t dismissed me. In fact, yesterday I’d been almost certain he was waiting around to say something to me after the all-staff meeting, but then I got caught in a discussion with Mrs. Pendleton, and the next thing I knew he was gone.
And maybe that was the most noticeable change between us. Though Joshua still smiled at me in the hallways and had even winked at me from across the lunchroom two days ago while we directed kids to the correct food lines, there was an unspoken tension between us now that I simply didn’t know how to navigate.
I’d witnessed Joshua’s ability to create common ground in a dozen different social situations. He never lacked for conversation and was well versed in how to put the other party at ease. It was his gift.
In only a matter of a few weeks, he’d shifted the equilibrium in our entire school. And yet, between us, the familiar rhythm we’d once found now felt disjointed. Achingly so. The truth was, I simply didn’t know how to be uncomfortable with Joshua.
I need to apologize. And before you tell me not to, please hear me out. Deal?
I skimmed my index finger over his text box before typing a single okay in reply.
I haven’t known what to say since you told me. It’s not often I’m at a loss for words, either. 😊 But while your news came as a surprise, I need you to know I’m happy for you. Noah couldn’t ask for a better mother.
Despite my resolution to stop tearing up every time somebody mentioned my son’s name, there was no chance I could blink the moisture away now. I typed four different responses, all working to embody what his support meant to me. But it proved an impossible task. Thank you was my reply, and I hoped it would be enough.
Jenna texted again, asking if I wanted baby shower games or if I’d rather have something more sophisticated like champagne and appetizers. I dismissed her questions for now, focusing all my energy on Joshua’s incoming message.
My last day at Brighton will be December 20th.
In theory I knew this, yet disappointment flooded me to see it typed out in stark reality. I knew he couldn’t remain there forever, but my heart grieved for his absence just the same. How could one man have made such an impact on so many people in such a short time?
Brighton will miss you.
I sent it before I could edit the most obvious omission in the world—that I would miss him, too.
And I’ll miss Brighton.
Can I ask you something?
My stomach clenched tight, anticipating the next ding.
I’m not exactly sure how to phrase this, since this is brand-new territory for me, but if there’s ever anything I can do to help in bringing Noah home, would you tell me? Please?
The question pushed into my diaphragm, cutting off my air supply as I held in a sob. Sending in my Letter of Intent for Noah had made me the weepiest person on the planet.
Yes, I will. And thank you. That means so much to me.
More than I could even express. God had given me Gail and Robert, and Jenna and Brian, and though my heart knew that keeping Joshua in my life at any capacity was a risk, kindness was a commodity I couldn’t easily turn away. I didn’t know when—or if—my family would choose to be involved in Noah’s life, so support mattered now more than ever. Of the many stories I’d heard in the Cartwrights’ weekly adoption meetings, the topic almost always circled back to strong support systems.
Bottom line—the adoption families with an invested community of friends and family struggled far less than the families who went at it alone. I may be single, but I had no desire to be an island. Not after I’d heard what Melanie and her husband had been going through—were still going through, from what Gail had told me. No, I wouldn’t turn down help. Especially not from a man like Joshua Avery.
I know things have to be different now, but I hope you know I’m still your friend.
Are you trying to make me cry? Because if so, you’re doing a really good job.
Sorry. 🤪 Oh, before I forget, I left something for you in your mailbox in the office.
Okay, thanks. I always forget to check that box.
I tapped the toe of my Converse on the carpet. Five, ten, twenty times. And then I asked.
Would you like to see his picture?
Is that a trick question?
Less than thirty seconds later, I sent him every photo I had of my precious boy across the world.
Anxiety clutched at my insides as I waited for his response.
He’s perfect.
😊 I think so, too.
Also, the blue you picked for his wall is definitely the right choice.
I laughed this time, for real, ease and comfort slowly inflating the space between our communication once again.
You think so?
Yeah, look at his pic again. I can practically hear him saying, “I prefer Cadet Blue to all others.”
Ha. Yes, silly me. I’ve been agonizing over it for hours, but all along the answer was right there. In his eyes.
They are the window to the soul. Or at least, that’s what I’ve read. Send me a picture when it’s all finished, okay?
I will.
One last thing.
I doubt that.
I suddenly felt elated by this new equilibrium we seemed to have found tonight.
Why is there a computer desk in his nursery? He seems a little young to be gaming. But then again . . .
This room used to be my office. I’ll move it down the hall at some point.
When I had a friend here to help me, is what I didn’t add, but Joshua filled in the gap anyway.
Let me know when you need it out of there, and I’ll move it for you.
Thanks, that’d be awesome. I’ll let you know.
I’m counting on that.
I stared at his last text, and for only an instant, I allowed myself to imagine what life would have been like if I’d met Joshua two years from now. Noah, of course, would be running—possibly streaking—through the house like a toddler with something to prove, and I’d be . . . well, I’d be somewhat of an expert on middle-of-the-night diaper changes and a master at hiding peas and spinach in every finger food possible. And Joshua would be . . . Joshua would be himself. And then upon meeting my little family of two, he’d fall desperately in love with us both, putting all the warnings about the stresses of insta-families to shame because love would be enough to fill every need and hole.
A ridiculous fantasy that would never—could never—be a reality.
Joshua would be my friend, for however long it made sense, and maybe someday far down the road, he’d become Noah’s friend, too. And that would be a gift I’d never take for granted.
chapter
seventeen
The second Sunday in December was Baking Day at the Cartwright house, an event I’d been participating in since Benny’s first Christmas season at home. Each year after attending the early service at church, we’d dedicate an entire afternoon to baking holiday treats for different organizations and foster/adoption families in our community. Trading in a week’s worth of paint fumes for the delectable aroma of Gail’s homemade gingerbread had been a major upgrade to my routine.
With a holiday basket filled with a variety of yummy treats on my lap, I navigated us to Melanie and Peter Garrett’s house for a special delivery from the front seat of Gail’s van. Though there were piles of treats back in Gail’s kitchen waiting to be packaged for delivery, she’d heard the Garretts were leaving on an emergency road trip later this evening with their two children, and she didn’t want to miss a chance to bless them, even in the smallest of ways.
I’d muted Siri’s voice on my phone’s map and simply gave directions as needed so we could still have a conversation without the constant interruption of a robot. “Once we get off Thirty-Second Street, you’ll take a right on Spruce and then a left at Black Briar Estates.”
“Got it. Thanks,” she said, setting her cruise control on the two-lane highway. “I just love seeing all the lights and holiday decorations up, don’t you?”
“Absolutely.” Everything about this year’s holiday season felt more intense somehow, like each of my five senses had heightened to a new level. The pine trees were more fragrant, the twinkle lights glowed brighter, and everything from melt-in-your-mouth sugar cookies to my late-night hot cocoa ritual, while finishing the trim in Noah’s nursery, tasted richer than I’d remembered in years past.
Thankfully, my to-do list in the nursery was nearing the finish line. Joshua had agreed to move the clunky work desk out of the room tomorrow after school, and I couldn’t be more grateful for his help. Things weren’t completely back to normal yet with him, but there had been a concerted effort on both our parts to funnel whatever romantic feelings had developed between us into Noah-oriented feelings. My son had become the subject of approximately ninety percent of our communication—a safe, platonic topic for us to discuss at school or via text threads in the evenings. And Joshua had no shortage of questions, either. How did you decide on international adoption? What made you choose China? Have you always wanted to adopt? What are you most excited for? What are your fears?
Our discussions had been lengthy at times, ending well after Cinderella’s curfew, but his questions never failed to make me dig deep. For a man like Joshua, a man who’d grown up with a church family and with parents much like the Cartwrights, these kinds of exchanges came easily to him. But in many ways, when I spoke on matters of faith, I felt like a child playing dress-up in a closet made for mature believers only. Though Joshua was always quick to swap my timidity out for truth.
As Gail turned onto Spruce, my insides fluttered with nerves. I hadn’t seen the Garretts since their first night at group, though I’d wondered about them often.
“How are they doing—Melanie and Peter?”
Gail’s pitying smile was answer enough. “A little better. They say they’re committed to staying in the group, though, and they’ve recently started working with an attachment therapist. Our hope is that with time they might let us help.” She flicked on her left blinker. “People have to want to be helped. And while I’m proud of them for taking the first steps, there’s a long path ahead of them. True attachment is rarely easy or convenient. It can be exhausting work, but it’s also the most rewarding work I’ve ever done.”
“Did you struggle with attachment?”
Gail’s laugh was light, kind even. “Yes. Every one of our children required something a little different when it came to bonding with us as parents. Even the babies. Some of our kids needed a more hands-on approach, and some needed a bit more space to process, but all of them needed to be shown we were trustworthy. That we would meet their needs. That we were theirs forever.”
Forever. The word rang bright in my ears. I’d done a lot of research on attachment, even taken some online classes by the renowned Trust-Based Parenting Institute of Texas. But hearing it from Gail was far more impactful. She’d told me stories of the early days, of course, but the difficult days she spoke of seemed light-years away from the family she had now. I tucked that nugget of wisdom in my heart and studied the newer subdivision of single-family homes in Black Briar Estates, searching for the Garretts’ address.
“They’re just up there on the left. Three-nine-one.”
Gail parked in their driveway, and in a matter of moments, we were ringing their doorbell, both our faces holding an extra dollop of holiday cheer as the door swung open to reveal a worn-looking Melanie with a chubby, near-naked toddler on her hip.
“Oh . . . um, hello.” Melanie took us in with equal parts shock and surprise.
“Merry Christmas!” we replied in unison.
Gail stepped forward. “Lauren and I made you some special treats to take on your road trip.”
“You’ll love Gail’s gingerbread—it’s everybody’s favorite,” I added. “And the peanut butter balls are better than any you could buy at a bakery.”
“Uh . . . thank you?” Melanie took the outstretched basket and gave the now-whining toddler a bounce on her hip. Another nearly naked child raced through the house in the background while Peter’s voice rang out from somewhere out of sight for them to come and get in the bathtub.
Immediately a tiny voice yelled back, “But I hate taking baths!”
Melanie closed her eyes, her cheeks flushing as she breathed slowly through her nose. “Sorry, it takes both of us to do bath time with these two. But I’ll let Peter know you stopped by. We . . . we really appreciate this. Peter’s grandpa is in hospice, and we’re hoping we can say good-bye before he passes. . . . He’s over in Missoula. I’ve been trying to pack up, but as you can see . . .”
“Lauren and I would love to help you get ready, Melanie,” Gail interjected in a most unlike-Gail tone as she peered around Melanie’s slight figure and pointed to the leather sofa overburdened with three full laundry baskets. “Why don’t you and Peter tackle bath time with the kids, and we will tackle your clean laundry so it will be easier for you to pack up.”
I worked to rein in my surprise at Gail’s assertive suggestion, then quickly nodded my head in agreement. “Absolutely. You won’t even notice we’re here. We are certified laundry ninjas.”
“Oh no, that’s—I could never ask anybody to—”
“Mel? Do you have Aubrey out there? I could really use a hand!”
“It sounds like Peter needs you,” Gail prodded in that therapist-like way of hers. “You wouldn’t have to worry about us at all. We’ll be quick and quiet, and we can leave as soon as we’re finished folding. It would certainly make your packing easier.” She smiled, paused. “Just say the word and we’ll get started.”
I wondered if Melanie was aware of the test she’d just been given by Gail. Her answer determined so many things about their future . . . and yet, we couldn’t force the help on her. She had to choose it. To want it.
A brisk wind blew past us, causing Aubrey to wail.
Melanie rubbed the sweet girl’s plump leg, her moment of indecisiveness suddenly cleared. “Okay,” she said. “Yes, but I don’t understand why you’d even want to do this for us.”
“It’s simple,” Gail said, taking a step inside the modern home and wrapping her arms around Melanie and the baby. “Because folding your laundry is how we can love you best today.”
Later, after leaving the Garretts’ house on a cloud of euphoria, we returned to Gail’s kitchen to assemble another dozen or so baskets. I couldn’t wait to bless other families. Melanie was shocked when she’d come out of the bathroom to find piles of folded clothing sorted by age group and ready to be tucked inside a suitcase. Her once-hardened exterior had begun to crack . . . and all it had taken was a few extra minutes on our part and a willingness to meet a need.
Kindness wasn’t overrated.
I stretched my back from side to side as Benny and his older sister fought over whose turn it was to find a new holiday playlist on my phone for our last few basket assembles.
“Miss B, can you tell Allie it’s my turn now?”
“No way. I only got to choose two songs so far because you played the entire Avengers soundtrack—which isn’t even Christmas music!”
“Kids,” Gail practically sang. “If we can’t figure it out without fighting, then I’ll gladly choose the next songs. There’s a new hymns instrumental album I’ve been waiting to hear for some time.”
Both children groaned, and I took that moment to head to the restroom.
The hallway bathroom had a beach theme to it—handpicked seashells and dried starfish resting on the shelf above the toilet. A sand bucket filled with fresh washcloths and a framed picture of a young Benny and Allie building a sandcastle sat on the counter near the faucet. Benny’s cheeky expression, like his personality, was big and bright. Would Noah’s be like that, too? Or would he be more reserved like Allie?
I turned on the tap, washing the chocolate down the drain and taking in the hot mess that now adorned my apron.
