He stopped me when I got to the waistband of his boxers. He kissed my forehead and said, “You want the first shower?”
It didn’t hurt my feelings as much as it made me sad. Looking back, I think I sensed that we’d turned a corner and we’d never find our way back to where we started. I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time. All I knew was that once we decided on adoption, sex felt redundant. Irrelevant. We’d come to hate sex by that time. Because of all the fertility visits. Bob disappearing into a stuffy room to “make a deposit,” they called it. Into a plastic cup. He said they had old Playboy magazines he wouldn’t touch because he said they looked sticky. They had lotion from a pump dispenser on the wall and a box of tissues and a Magic Marker to write your name on a sticker on the cup. There were the bruises on my belly from all the shots I had to give myself to boost my egg count. The ovulation kits. Having sex during surges like it was all one big science experiment, which of course it was.
We were half an hour early for the appointment at the adoption agency. The receptionist smiled and said a lot of people do that on picture day and then she said that’s a good sign it’s the right decision for you. Bob squeezed my hand.
When our adoption counselor told us there were “alternatives” to waiting on the list, however short it was thanks to our shady lawyer, Bob mumbled “alternatives are never good,” and I guess I should’ve paid more attention to that but I was single-minded. I elbowed him and he smiled across the desk like he knew I wanted him to. They look at everything, those agencies. Any hesitation could set you back. I don’t know why I was in such a hurry, but I remember it felt like time was flying by and we’d be passed over and never have children and a childless couple was something I didn’t want us to be. Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t pushed and pushed us to have a family. Actually I wonder that all the time.
I was convinced we’d find her that day. Picture day. I’d gotten Bob a key chain engraved with the date so I could give it to him over dinner. The date we had our first child. I remember happily paying double for the engraver to rush the job. We’d only just gotten the call to come into the agency. Two weeks after submitting our application.
I stopped turning the pages in the photo album when I saw her. She was scowling at the camera and the downturn of her mouth looked like my mother concentrating on something. My mother made this same Charlie Brown face when she was cooking and checking a recipe or when I stayed out past curfew or if my father was late and missed dinner without calling from work.
There she was. This beautiful head of wavy light brown hair on the verge of being blond.
“That’s her,” I said. I thought when the time came I’d feel a rush of … something. I don’t know. Some kind of lightning bolt. Instead, it was as natural as looking at the sky. It was as if I’d known her all my life. Like I’d willed her to us.
Bob put his hand on my shoulder and leaned in closer to see. I slid the album over so he could get a better look. I traced the line of her face and looked at him and caught a flicker of something I’d rarely seen in him. He hid it when he felt me turn to him, but there was no mistaking it. He looked defeated. Resigned. I opened my mouth to say something but closed it because I couldn’t think of what to say. He’d folded into himself like a bat. His hands tucked into his armpits. Feeling the heaviness of the silence the adoption counselor said:
“I’ll give you two some privacy.”
She closed the door quietly behind her.
“What?” I asked him.
“Nothing,” he said. He didn’t look at me. He pulled the book over and smiled at her picture and then turned his face up like he was trying to make up for the grimace.
“You made a face,” I said.
“No, I didn’t.”
“You made a face. If you’ve got something to say just say it,” I said.
“No. Yeah. I mean, she’s beautiful. Clearly. But—”
Maybe I was too quick with the defensive/offensive “but what?” but I was upset. How could he be backing off? We’d come this far. We’d talked about adopting a child with special needs. He seemed to think it was a good idea before picture day. He told me that if it would make me happy then fine. Okay, so he was doing it for me, but is there anything wrong with that?
I think it was because he saw that I wanted it. He knew I wanted to be extraordinary. Not ordinary … extraordinary. Making a difference in a child’s life is one thing … making a difference to a child with special needs—that felt right to me. Lynn kept asking me if there was any rhyme or reason to it. Had my mom worked with retarded kids? she asked. What the hell did I think was going to happen? she’d asked. Did I think I’d win some award or have a street named after me? she’d asked. I couldn’t explain it. Not to her and I suppose not to Bob. Not well enough anyway.
So there we were staring at Cammy in a three-ring binder.
“But what? Finish your sentence,” I said.
“Nothing.”
Then he cleared his throat the way he does when he has something to say.
“It’s just—” more throat clearing “—I mean, are we sure we can take on a crack baby?”
“I hate that term.”
“You know what I mean. A child born addicted. Whatever. It’s a huge thing.”
“We talked about this,” I said. “We’ve been over this. I thought you were good with it. We were on the same page. I can’t believe you’re changing your mind.”
“Sam, we only started talking about it when we heard there was a long wait.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So … it’s only been a few weeks, four, tops. It’s a big thing. Maybe we should take a little more time …”
“But here she is! She’s the one. She’s our girl. I don’t care what she’s got in her system. And up until now you didn’t care either. At least that’s what you said. Were you lying?”
“Jesus no. It’s just that it’s … real.”
“Yeah, well, having children is real, Bob. We’ve spent how many thousands of dollars trying to make one of our own. That was real, right?”
“You know what I mean. This is a child with addictions …”
“… and they said it wouldn’t be long until it’s out of her system altogether. They said the lasting effects are minimal. So she’ll have trouble concentrating in school. We’ll hire tutors.”
“You really want this,” he said. Like it was a Christmas present that cost a little too much but that he’d be willing to buy to make me happy.
“I really want this.”
He looked at her picture, smiled up at me and touched her photo like I had.
“Welcome home, Cameron Friedman,” he said.
I threw myself into hugging him. I hadn’t asked him if he really wanted this. I figured me wanting it was enough
