Page 77 of Wait for Him

“You're not.”

He says it quietly, eyes dropping back to his plate.

“I'm not either. But I know we will be. I just...” He clears his throat, and I watch him fight with whatever is trying to climb up it. “I can't lose you too.”

A tear slips down his cheek. He wipes it away immediately, embarrassed before it can become a whole thing, and I'm already moving.

I put down the spoon and cross around the table, gathering this too-tall boy who's still mostly a kid into my arms. He folds into me without hesitation, and I hold him tight, one hand against the back of his head while his arms wrap around my waist.

“You won't, Michael.” I press a kiss into his hair. “I promise you. You won't.”

He holds on harder.

I close my eyes.

He'll never know what it costs me to sound this sure, and if I do this right, he never will.

That's the whole point.

That's the job.

***

Three weeks and two days later, I find myself sitting across from Samson and Lauren Monroe.

I've spent every one of those three weeks and two days going down the adoption rabbit hole, turning the problem over from every angle a sleepless mind can find. Laws. Agencies. Private adoption. Closed adoption. Open adoption. Medical consent. Birth certificates. Parental rights. Revocation periods. By the end of the first week, I'd accumulated enough tabs on my laptop to qualify as a cry for help.

I kept going.

That's what I do when something scares me. I research it until fear becomes paperwork.

Eventually, I came out the other side with what felt like a logical decision, clean enough to survive contact with reality.

Based on the looks on their faces, I may have slightly overestimated the clarity of my thinking.

Lauren has been wiping a steady stream of tears for a solid five minutes, and Samson looks like he wants to murder someone. Neither reaction is particularly useful, but at least Samson's feels actionable.

I didn't pull any punches when I told them. There wasn't any point. If I'm asking these two people to raise a child that I don't think I can raise myself; they deserve the whole ugly inventory.

The night. The assault. The phone call that came while I was driving myself to the hospital. The detour to the airport. Mom and Dad. Michael.

And now this.

The pregnancy.

They're stuck, I think, on the last part. Specifically, the part where I've just asked them to adopt it.

Him.

Adopt him.

“I'll pay you, of course.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I hear exactly how they sound. Samson flinches and Lauren closes her eyes, which is really all the feedback a person needs to know she's chosen poorly.

Still, I keep going, because money is the one lever in this room I understand.

“My parents left us a great deal. Millions, in fact. I can send a monthly stipend, whatever he needs for as long as he needs it. School, medical expenses, clothes, college. You wouldn't be out a cent.”