by Nicole Deese
A knock sounded on the bathroom door. Benny. “Miss Lauren, you had a call on your phone. Actually, two calls.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks, bud.” I quickly patted my hands dry on the towel hanging by the mirror, then cracked open the door to take the phone from my favorite twelve-year-old.
I expected to see Jenna’s name on the missed call list since she was likely still out bargain shopping with her mother. Between the two of them, they’d already purchased a complete wardrobe for Noah, including shoes and clip-on ties.
But it wasn’t Jenna’s name in the notification box. It was Small Wonders adoption agency.
I tapped on the voicemail, trying to fight the building anxiety over why they’d be calling me on a Sunday afternoon. Were they even open on the weekends? I didn’t think so.
I closed the bathroom door to block the Jonas Brothers’ rendition of “White Christmas” and cupped the phone to my ear to listen to the message.
“Hi, Lauren, this is Stacey at Small Wonders. I’m sorry to call you on a Sunday, but I just heard from our office staff in China and, well, I need you to call me back as soon as possible. Call me on my personal cell. It’s . . .”
I repeated the number out loud and immediately dialed, telling myself all the while that everything was fine. Nothing to worry about. It was probably just regarding the next stage in the paperwork process. Visa applications could be tricky.
But the instant Stacey answered and spoke my name, all my positive thinking died.
From somewhere outside my body, I heard it. A rhythmic knocking. A doorknob jiggling. A voice calling.
“Lauren, is everything okay?”
Gail’s muffled words waned in and out of focus like a child playing with the volume on a TV remote. Up and down. In and out. On and off.
“Lauren . . . sweetie, can you let me in? Tell me what’s happened.”
A part of me wished I could answer her, wished I could reach up, unlock the door, and let her inside this small space with me.
But I couldn’t do that. Because if I did, it would all be real.
And it couldn’t be real.
Please, God, don’t let it be real.
Another twist of the doorknob, another light knocking sound, and then several hushed voices seeped beneath the hollow door.
“Is Miss Lauren all right, Mom?”
A pause.
“I don’t think so, honey. Why don’t you and your sister go put a movie on in the family room, okay?”
Two metal clicks of a turning lock later, and Gail was inside the bathroom, closing the door behind her and settling down beside me on the ocean-blue rug. Or maybe it was Cadet Blue?
“I have a key,” she said. “As a mom of a herd of teenagers, it’s essential.”
I managed to nod as disjointed thoughts clogged the space between my ears. I stared at the hand still clutching the phone, wondering when my fingers had stopped tingling. They’d gone numb.
Like my heart.
Like me.
Gail remained silent for so long that when she finally did speak, her voice sounded too loud for such a tiny space. Too nice for the nightmare closing in on every side.
“What did they say, Lauren?”
I shook my head. How could I ever say it?
She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close, asking again. My body remained stiff and unyielding. I didn’t want to be hugged. I didn’t want to be anything. Anywhere.
“Did something happen to Noah?”
Reflex had me squeezing my eyes shut as nausea churned in my belly. The overpowering scent of gingerbread and freshly whipped frosting made me want to retch, to strip myself of everything sweet and good and right.
Because that’s exactly what has been done to me.
“He’s not . . . he’s not mine.” The words tasted metallic.
“What? No.” Gail’s shocked reply was more than I’d been able to articulate to Stacey. More than I’d been able to comprehend. “That’s not—no. How can that be?”
“A glitch. In China’s orphan assigning system. He was matched with a different family before I was . . . in Connecticut. He’s not mine.”
He’s not mine. Noah’s not mine.
“Oh, Lauren.” As if I weighed nothing, she pulled my head against her chest and let her tears wet my cheeks while my own eyes remained dry.
For the first time since being matched to Noah, I had no tears left to cry.
I had nothing left at all.
Not even the title of mother.
chapter
eighteen
Monday, December 9. 7:45 a.m. Text from Jenna.
Hey, the office said you’re getting a sub today. Are you sick?
Monday, December 9. 10:04 a.m.
Lauren, I’m getting worried that I haven’t heard from you. Is it the flu? I hope you’re not texting back because you’re sound asleep. Let me know when you wake up.
Monday, December 9. 11:37 a.m. Text from Joshua.
Sure, sleep the day away so you don’t have to deal with the lunch line. I see how it is. J/K. Jenna says you have the flu? Guess we should reschedule the desk moving this afternoon? Unless you need some chicken noodle soup? Ben and Jerry’s? Whiskey?
Monday, December 9. 1:21 p.m. Text from Jenna.
I’m officially freaked out. I checked with the office again and they said you aren’t coming in tomorrow either. What’s going on, Lauren??? I’m headed to your house the minute school is out.
Monday, December 9. 2:06 p.m.
I just spoke with Gail. Oh Lauren . . . I don’t even know what to say. Can I come over? What can I do?
Monday, December 9. 2:08 p.m.
I’m not ready to see anyone yet. Soon though.
Monday, December 9. 2:08 p.m.
Okay. I love you, Lauren. Whatever you need . . . I’m here for you. Always.
Monday, December 9. 2:10 p.m.
I know. <3
Tuesday, December 10. 7:55 a.m. Text from Joshua.
I popped in to your classroom to say good morning to you . . . but unless you’ve aged about thirty years, started wearing bifocals, and changed your ethnicity to Hispanic, it probably wasn’t you.