“I wasn’t implying anything.”
“You absolutely were.”
That got a real smile.
“One good conversation doesn’t guarantee a placement.”
We discussed the book in his hands for nearly an hour.
When I left, Denise said, “One good conversation doesn’t guarantee a placement.”
“I know.”
So I came back.
Again and again.
Luke was guarded, but kind. He had a dry sense of humor and remembered everything I told him.
For four months, Luke and I met at the agency, then at libraries, diners, parks, and supervised outings.
I kept waiting for the difficult teenager everyone had warned me about.
He never appeared.
Luke was guarded, but kind. He had a dry sense of humor and remembered everything I told him.
Once, I mentioned that Grace used to hate raisins.
“Don’t worry. I checked. No raisins.”
Three weeks later, Luke pushed a cookie across a café table.
“Don’t worry. I checked. No raisins.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Eventually, we began talking about adoption.
I had learned grief could make small kindnesses dangerous.
Eventually, we began talking about adoption.
“You’d really want that?” Luke asked.
“Yes.”
“Permanent?”
“Then we’d deal with whatever you messed up.”
“That’s generally how adoption works.”
He looked away.
“What if I mess it up?”
“Then we’d deal with whatever you messed up.”
“What if you regretted it?”
“No. I make commitment sound simple.”
“Then I’d be an adult having a feeling. You’d still be my kid.”
His eyes stayed on the table.
“You make everything sound simple.”
“No. I make commitment sound simple.”
That was different.
He made his bed before breakfast. Washed his plate immediately after eating.
When Luke finally moved into my house, he treated everything as though he were borrowing it.
He made his bed before breakfast. Washed his plate immediately after eating. Folded towels without being asked.
The first Saturday, I nearly tripped over a loose porch step.
Luke appeared with a screwdriver.
“How long has this been like this?”
“You’ve been walking on this?”
“Couple years.”
He stared at me.
“You’ve been walking on this?”
“I enjoy danger.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
A month later, he called me Mom by accident.
He fixed it right away.
A month later, he called me Mom by accident.
“Mom, have you seen my charger?”
We both froze.
Luke turned bright red.
Neither of us mentioned it.
I pretended to search a drawer while hiding a tear.
“Kitchen counter.”
