by Amelia Grace
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Mrs Adam’s had prepared an extravagant meal, one that reminded me of cosy, relaxing family dinners when I was young and the snow fell outside and blanketed the Earth in pureness. I sat next to Ben and reached under the table to hold his hand. It was hidden, and felt kind of forbidden, unseen, and insanely intimate. I took a deep breath to bury my red rose heart of desire.
During the meal I observed Ben’s family in more detail than I had ever done before. Ben didn’t have any of the Adam’s family physical characteristics in any way, shape or form. So I decided to manipulate the conversation to dig for details about him.
‘Mrs. Adams, I’d love to know about the day Ben was born. Like … was he born in the morning, or evening? And what was he like as a baby?’ I asked, knowing that all mothers love to retell the day of their child’s birth.
Ben’s mum smiled at Ben first, and then me. I could tell that she had such great memories of Ben’s childhood.
‘Are you sure you want to know stuff like that. It might make you change your mind about my son,’ she said with a smile, and raised her eyebrows at Ben.
‘That’s exactly why I’m asking, Mrs. Adams,’ I said. I smiled at Ben and squeezed his hand under the table at the same time.
Ben leaned back in his chair. He took his hand away from mine and crossed his arms over his chest.
‘Ben was born at 5.24 in the morning of the 24th of May, according to his birth certificate. I wasn’t there for his birth, though. When he was four he was found wondering around in the snow. No mother of father. He was extremely cold and upset. He was taken to the hospital where they checked him over. The nurses found a note in his pocket from his mother and father, saying that they were poor and sickly, and could not care for their son anymore, and that they had faith they would find a caring and loving family for him. The note also had his birth information. That’s how we know when his birth date was.
‘We were exceptionally lucky, because we had only applied for adoption one month beforehand, and then we got the message about Ben. When we saw him, he was so adorable. I took his tiny hands in mine and asked what his name was. I heard him say “Jamin” in an exceptionally quiet voice. I asked “Benjamin?”, not quite sure of what he had said, and he nodded. We were ecstatic to welcome him to our family and call him our son.’
‘Oh, I didn’t realise that “Jamin” was adopted. That’s why he has different features to yours. But it’s good that you have a birth certificate. I was starting to think he’d arrived on piece of space rock, like Clark Kent!’ I said to tease Ben.
Mrs. Adams laughed, ‘I can see where you are coming from. Yes—he is different to his brothers and sisters. We found that, after adopting Ben, we could conceive naturally. That’s why they all have the Adam’s family characteristics.
‘But, Ben’s behaviours were quite different to his siblings. He was an unusually touchy feely little boy, far more than was the norm. He would touch and feel everything. He especially liked to touch people and look at their eyes and faces. When he started going to school we had to tell him to stop touching everyone, because some children didn’t like it. I know he found it difficult, because, at school he would either walk around with his hands in his pockets, or be constantly carrying things like books, or a ball, you know, stuff like that to keep his hands busy. Eventually, he did learn to stop touching people … why do you ask? Are you and Ben expecting?’ asked Mrs. Adams with a wide smile.
Ben shifted in his chair, his eyes twinkled when he looked at me and he gave me a glorious smile. My lavender rose heart opened wide for its sun and infused me with a strong fruity scent. I smiled back at him, lost in the fantasy of having his baby one day.
I turned back to Ben’s mother and noticed that everyone had stopped mid-mouthful of food, mid-cutting of meat, and mid-drink and were looking at me.
Oh … the question … are we expecting? ‘No—only because he won’t brea—’ Ben’s lips were on mine. His kiss was short, but stole my words so that I couldn’t finish my sentence about him not breaking his promise of purity before marriage.
When he pulled away he said in a low tone, ‘When we are, I will announce it with fireworks!’ He grabbed my hand under the table and traced my fingers, distracting me.
I picked up my glass of wine, ‘To the mighty sound and sight of fireworks in the future!’ I said, gazing into Ben’s eyes.
He nodded slightly, then kissed my forehead.
We returned home late that night and I entered the house with a new secret ... Ben was not who he thinks he is ... and it unsettled me.