Before I Called You Mine

by Nicole Deese

  Likely not what I’d been thinking about all night. Not trusting myself to speak, I shook my head.

  “That none of this would have happened without you.” He pressed a warm kiss to the sensitive spot below my right ear. “Somehow, in just a couple of months, you’ve managed to make every aspect of my life better.”

  Too much. It was all too, too much. The egg slipped from my grasp and broke against the glass rim of the bowl, the shell and yolk mixing into an inseparable mess. Much like my entire life.

  “I’m sorry,” I barely choked out before I rushed to the sink, bowl in hand.

  “Hey, it’s fine. It’s just one egg. We have eleven more.”

  Despite my best efforts to shield my face from him as I rinsed the contents down the drain, Joshua placed a hand on my back and steered me toward him. “Are you all right this morning?”

  Not even a little bit. “Honestly, no.” The only full truth I could offer at the moment. “I feel bad to admit this, but I lost track of time when I was out this morning, and I was hoping I might take a shower before . . . before we have breakfast together. I’m feeling a bit self-conscious.” And if I don’t leave this instant, the last fraying thread holding my sanity together will snap. “Would you mind if I ran upstairs for a few minutes? I won’t be long.”

  “Self-conscious?” His thoughtful, tender gaze roved my face. “Lauren, I’ve never once looked at you and found you lacking in any way. This morning included.”

  Stop, please just stop. He moved in close, leaned down, and pressed a soft, distracting kiss to my lips, and I silently begged him not to ask anything more, not to force his way inside my scattered mind. I needed time to figure out how to defuse the ticking clock that had become the background noise to my every thought.

  I broke away, our lips a mere breath from touching again when I offered, “Ten minutes, okay?” Though not even my most optimistic self believed it would be nearly enough time.

  Before I could walk away, he caught my hand and tugged me back to him. “My manners really want to tell you to take your time getting ready, but I’m afraid my stomach isn’t going to survive much longer without food.” He patted his flat belly as if to prove a point. “Mind if I eat a bowl of cereal before we make our omelets?”

  I bobbed my head once and slipped my hand out of his warm grasp. “Help yourself.”

  The instant I ducked around the corner, nausea brewed in the base of my abdomen. I took the stairs quickly, the feeling intensifying as the distance between Joshua and me grew.

  As if on their own volition, my steps slowed just one stair away from the landing, and the hard knock against my rib cage increased to a staccato-like thud. A pull I couldn’t explain drew my gaze from the entrance to my bedroom to a new target: the closed door I’d avoided for nearly a month.

  No! my mind screamed. Do not open that door.

  Yet the insistent prompt inside me would not be convinced.

  My chest heaved as I took a step toward the nursery and lowered my hand to grip the cold metal doorknob.

  As if to prove that whatever lay inside this space couldn’t hurt me any worse than my current heartache, I cranked the knob hard and shot inside the room like the snap of a rubber band. But the acrid odor of freshly painted walls that had been trapped behind a closed door for weeks smacked against my senses and silenced whatever mental mantra I’d so foolishly believed would keep me strong.

  My focus sharpened on the mini baby sanctuary I’d created months ago for a child I’d hoped would be in my arms by the turn of spring, and slowly but surely, all the air squeezed from my lungs. Searching for warmth, I wrapped those same baby-less arms around my chest as my gaze found the only piece of art I’d purchased before that devastating phone call.

  “For this child I have prayed.”—1 Samuel 1:27

  The verse sparked a rush of hot indignation through my blood.

  Because prayed I had—every single day and over every piece of paperwork and payment. Only where had God been when I’d begged Him to guide my path during all those months—years? Where had He been when I’d scrimped and saved and sent off the bulk of my retirement account in a single check? Or when I’d taken Gail’s recommendation and attended those three-day attachment seminars, using my personal days? Or when I’d driven forty minutes to the adoption group nearly weekly for the past eight months?

  And where had He been when Noah’s file had been mistakenly sent to me when he clearly belonged to someone else?

  But perhaps my biggest question, the one nipping at my spirit since I’d left Gail’s house was simply this: If God wanted me to adopt as a single woman, then why did He allow me to meet Joshua when I did?

  I lifted my eyes to the unmoving ceiling fan and spewed the raw and indignant prayer churning inside me. “I was willing, God. I was open to whatever you asked of me, ready to bring that baby boy home and make him my son and never look back. But you took him away. And now you want me to just . . . to what?” I flung my arms away from my body. “To pretend like Joshua never existed, either? I can’t do that!” I won’t do that. “He’s . . .” A dry sob broke my rant. “I love him. I love him.”

  From somewhere deep inside me, a response surfaced, an impression so intense I pressed the heel of my hand to the left side of my chest.

  Trust me.

  But how? How do I even do that now? There were too many variables, too many hearts at stake. Pressure built behind my eyes again. Why wasn’t there a snooze button I could press on my life? I needed more time!

  I shook my head, over and over, unable to imagine facing a single day without Joshua, much less an unknown future. Because if I did this, if I said yes to the little girl with a broken heart and a bed full of books, I couldn’t possibly ask Joshua to wait for me. I couldn’t possibly expect him to step aside while I devoted every waking moment of my time, energy, and affection to a child—my child.

  Needing space from the framed verse, I took a step back, my heel colliding with the paw of the overstuffed panda I’d taken from my mom’s job site a month ago—the last time I’d seen my mother face-to-face. One more relationship casualty at the hand of my adoption journey. And the tally wasn’t even in yet.

  I scowled at the black-and-white stuffed animal, and then at the children’s book resting against its paw. The book George Avery had read aloud to my college class more than a decade ago, a book that had steered me in the direction of children and education and to the start of my teaching career. The book I could quote by heart as I turned the illustrated pages for my first graders at the beginning of every new school year.

  And it was the same book I saw stacked on the tiny mattress of Ting Fei’s bed a million miles away.

  I’d once deemed Horton Hatches the Egg a providential God whisper, a divine tool He’d used to point me in the next right direction and onto the next right path. But today, instead of this representing the beauty of faithfulness and unconditional love, it felt like a cruel, heart-stopping joke. Swiping the classic piece of literature away from the pudgy panda, I spun around, ready to bury it in the bottom of my desk when Joshua’s voice startled it out of my hand.

  “Lauren?”

  The book arched across the carpet, a flurry of colorful pages and typed narrative landing in a heap at his feet.

  “I thought I heard a . . .” The statement fell away as his gaze roamed the inside of a room I’d never once invited him into. “Cadet Blue,” he muttered while taking in the walls.

  Panic seized me at the sight of him standing at the threshold of the place where my confusion and doubt mingled.

  I wasn’t ready for this. We weren’t ready for this.

  But again, the words ribboned through the hollows of my soul, a whisper that caused the tightness in my chest to momentarily subside.

  Trust me.

  Joshua bent and reached for the book at his feet, turning it over in his palm and reciting Horton’s motto with a reverence that caused my throat to constrict. “‘I meant what I said, a
nd I said what I meant. An elephant’s faithful one hundred percent.’ This is one of my dad’s favorites.” When his eyes met mine, his smile sobered. “But something tells me you already knew that.”

  “Yes,” I said on the end of a shallow exhale. “It was the first children’s book I heard him read aloud, actually, as a freshman in college. It’s the story that got me into teaching, into believing that reading to a child could shape their future. And it’s . . . it’s followed me ever since.” In more ways than one.

  As if respecting a boundary line I’d never actually verbalized, he seemed to hesitate before asking, “May I come in?”

  Every cell in my body wanted to reject his request, yet somehow my mouth said, “Yes.”

  With a contemplative perusal, Joshua explored the nursery, pausing every so often, as if he could hear all the secrets my heart had spoken in this space. Though there wasn’t much to see in way of decor—blue painted walls, an unhung picture, a crib still waiting to be fully assembled—his gaze locked on the glittery party invitation sitting on the rocking chair by the window.

  I barely refrained from crying out when he lifted it to read. His back was to me as he skimmed the words Jenna had so perfectly inked with her calligraphy pen.

  You’re Invited to a New Year’s Adoption Shower

  For: Lauren Bailey and her baby boy, Noah Yong!

  Where: 4459 Carriage Trail Loop, Boise ID

  When: January 1st at 1:00 p.m.

  Note: Please see insert for Lauren’s registry needs

  Today was certainly not the New Year’s Day I’d planned on.

  Joshua set the card down as gently as if he were handling a newborn babe, then rotated to face me. In a matter of seconds, the ten-foot gap between us had stretched to ten thousand. “What’s going on, Lauren? Something’s changed, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes.” The word burst from my mouth, as if to relieve the pressing ache behind my ribs. But I couldn’t hold back for another second. Joshua deserved better than a cat-and-mouse game from me. He deserved the truth and all the messy details that came along with it. “Small Wonders called with a new match for me. Last night, while we were at Jenna’s house.” I took a breath. “She’s a five-year-old girl in need of a heart surgery, and she’s been living in a sponsored children’s home in China for the majority of her life. They sent her file to me this morning.”

  His shoulders stiffened. “Wait—but I thought you were on hold? I thought that meant you weren’t receiving matches until . . . until you told them you were ready to again.”

  “I was on hold, but . . .” The dryness in my throat made swallowing impossible. “Stacey—my social worker at the agency—asked me to take a look at this file because . . . because she thinks I’d be a good fit for this little girl.”

  The three seconds it took for him to speak could have been a year. A century, even.

  “And what do you think?”

  I pushed away my conflicting emotions. “My mind’s been all over the place since I left Gail’s house this morning.”

  A flicker of hurt flashed across Joshua’s face, and stupidly, I attempted to explain it away—the hiding, the avoiding, the deceiving. “Gail’s been a part of my journey from the start—from before the start, actually. I needed to talk to her first, to get her insight and advice because she knows this world so well.” I rushed on. “I was planning on asking you to come over after I got back home and had some time to sort out my thoughts a bit more, but when I arrived, you were already here. I’d completely forgotten about the omelets.”

  “Okay.” Only, it was obvious it wasn’t. Nothing was okay.

  “I’m really sorry.”

  He raised his eyes to mine again, and the impact was enough to force me off center. “For not telling me about this last night? Or for putting me off yet again this morning when I got here?”

  The hungry hand of shame groped for a hold on me. “Both.”

  Though his tone quieted, the accusation in his voice was far from tender. “Why is it so difficult to tell me things—important things, no less? Have I given you some reason not to trust me?”

  An emphatic “No, of course not!” rushed from my lips as I moved toward him, yet despite being close enough to touch, neither of us reached for the other.

  “Then why? Why do you insist on keeping everything to yourself when I’m right here—when I’m asking for you to let me in and give me a chance?”

  “Because . . .” The sensation of oncoming tears tingled the tip of my nose.

  “Because?”

  “Because telling you everything means I’ll lose you.”

  He grabbed hold of me then and pulled me close. “No, you won’t. I told you, I’m not going anywhere, Lauren.”

  But you have to. I closed my eyes, clinging to Joshua’s embrace as if my desire to keep him near could change the conviction now rooted deep in my soul.

  “Tell me about her,” he whispered into my hair. “I want to know everything you read in her file.”

  Everything I knew about Ting Fei could be summed up in a matter of minutes, yet I stretched it out, hoping to paint the fullest picture I could for him. And for myself.

  I told him about her abandonment at four months old, how she was left in a laundry basket outside of a grocery store, how she was placed in an orphanage just south of Beijing, how her first heart surgery was a success at sixteen months, and then finally, I told him what I knew about her transfer to The Heart House around eighteen months old.

  “She’s waiting on another surgery, hopefully her last, but the cardiologists there say she’ll have a better chance here, in America. She needs . . . she needs a family.”

  I slid my phone from my pocket and read the last paragraph to him, the description of her “imaginative and thoughtful” personality and the side note about her love of music and singing.

  And then . . . and then I showed him her picture, the one I couldn’t blind my eyes or my heart to.

  His curious expression morphed into confusion, and then confusion into disbelief. I knew that look well. I’d worn a similar this-can’t-be-real expression at exactly 8:44 this morning.

  “Is that . . . wait.” He took the phone from my hand and pinched the screen to zoom in on the picture. “Lauren.” He glanced from me to the phone as if to double check whether the image of Horton Hatches the Egg was a figment of his imagination. That it was still there, still lying on top of a red knit blanket in a country far, far away.

  Emotion edged my voice as I answered a question he hadn’t yet asked. “Jenna is the only person I’ve ever told about what that children’s book has meant to me, to my life’s journey.”

  “That’s . . . it’s . . .” He scratched his head before a brief, impossible-sounding laugh pushed from his throat. “I mean, of all the books in the world . . . it’s that one on her bed?”

  “I know.” My voice faltered. “I think God’s trying to make a point.”

  “I’d say so, too.” His eyes steadied on mine. “You’re meant to be her mother, Lauren.”

  A bittersweet battle of celebration and sorrow waged war inside me. “I have less than forty-eight hours to give my agency an answer.”

  “But you already know your answer.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Why not? You’ve been waiting for months—years, even. And it would appear that she’s been waiting, too, for you.” A sudden enlightenment split his stoic timbre into a hearty laugh. “It’s pretty incredible, actually. She’s in your age group, the age you know best and have taught for what—ten years now?”

  I bobbed my head once, my earlier nausea returning.

  “So why aren’t you . . .”

  At his trailing question, my palms grew damp. “If I say yes to her . . .” I rubbed my lips together. “It means that . . . you and I can’t . . . we won’t be able to continue this.” I gestured between the two of us, every part of me wanting to reject the statement I’d just spoken.

  The instant com
prehension dawned, Joshua the Problem Solver took over. “Lauren, those pre-adoption rules don’t have to change anything between us. You can still abide by everything you signed and adopt her as a single woman, but they shouldn’t have much bearing on what happens after you’re back home with her. We’ll take it slow, of course, but we can still be together.”

  “Joshua.” I silenced him with a touch of my hand on his arm. “This little girl will require everything I have to give for at least the first year we’re home. I won’t have the extra emotional capacity for much else besides meeting her needs and helping her adjust to her new world, her new family.” Her new mommy.

  “But what about your needs?” He broke away from me, pacing the room much the way I’d done at Gail’s. “What about the help you’ll require during that first year? You won’t be able to do everything by yourself. That’s not how family is designed to work.”

  Oh, how I’d wrestled with that very argument on multiple occasions. “You’re right, it’s not. I can’t do it alone, and I won’t have to. God’s provided me a network of support here, a community of extended family.”

  “And you don’t want me to be a part of it?”

  “Of course I do!” An unfiltered response.

  “Then let me.” He advanced again, taking my face in his hands, forcing my eyes to watch him speak the words my heart had yearned to hear. “Let me be a part of this with you.”

  “It’s not that simple.” Tears trickled out the corners of my eyes as I locked my lashes closed. “No part of me wants to give you up, but—”

  “Then marry me.”

  My eyes flew open. “What?”

  “Marry me, Lauren,” he repeated, his thumbs wiping away my tears. “We’ll do this together. You and me and this little girl. We’ll be her family. I’ll work out the details here, reserve the license and the judge, and we’ll do it immediately after you get home from China.”

  His earnestness caused me to weep. “Joshua . . .”

  “I’m in love with you.” A frantic, imploring declaration. “I fell for you that very first day at school when I stumbled all over myself, trying to figure out how to get you to say yes to a date with me. Because I knew, even then, that you were someone special, someone worth being a fool for.” He wiped another tear from my cheek. “Someone I knew I’d regret walking away from.”