The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline

by Jane Harvey-Berrick

  “Atash has a cousin—some sort of second cousin 37 times removed,” he began.

  I had to smile. Working out Atash’s family relations was an impossible task.

  “He’s arrived in the US and landed on Atash. They’re kind of cramped there already … and he has this kid with him … another distant cousin, or something; I don’t think he even knows how they’re related. Anyway, her parents were killed during an IED explosion in the market at Now Zad. Caro, she doesn’t have anyone really, and she’s only three. Her name is Sofia.”

  “Sebastian, what are you trying to tell me?”

  He opened his eyes and gazed down at me.

  “We have room here,” he said, softly.

  “What? You didn’t! You didn’t make any promises, did you?” I said, pulling away from him.

  “Not exactly…” he muttered.

  “Then exactly what, Hunter?” I snapped.

  “I just thought … well, it would be good for Marco to have a big sister, wouldn’t it? I mean, I know that you could still … but she needs a home now, Caro. You should see her: she’s so cute, with all this long, brown hair and big brown eyes. She kinda reminds me of you.”

  His smile was wistful and I felt my heart miss a beat.

  “So … what does that mean? What do you think is going to happen? That’d she’ll come and live with us for a while? What happens when Marco becomes attached to her and then she just leaves? There are laws in this country, Sebastian. You can’t just go around taking children from their families!”

  “I know that, Caro,” he said calmly as my voice began to rise. “We could … help … maybe … adopt her? She needs someone, baby. Sure, she’s got Atash’s family, but they’re busting at the seams there, and she needs something secure. Fuck knows what she’s been through already. She lost her parents … she saw them die.”

  My heart went out to that lost little girl, but I had to be practical here, because God knows Sebastian wasn’t going to be.

  “Do you even know if they’ve entered the country legally? And Child Services need to be informed so…”

  “Fuck that! I have no idea and I don’t care. Rules aren’t for us, baby. They never were —not when it really matters, not when the law is shit and makes no fucking sense.”

  His words stung me. I wanted to cry out and yell and say, No! There are consequences. Look what happened last time—we lost 10 years! But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

  “She needs us now,” he stressed, gripping my shoulders. “Baby, you’ve got so much love to give. You’re an awesome mom. You’re amazing with Marco, so fucking patient. We can do this, Caro. We can give her the home she needs.”

  “Does she even understand English?”

  “No, but that won’t be a problem. She’s Pashtun—I can talk to her.”

  “There are rules! We’d have to apply to be her adoptive parents and that could take a couple of years and…”

  His eyes sparkled. “So that’s a yes?”

  “It’s a maybe,” I said tentatively, feeling angry at being bulldozed and guilty about being the sensible one. “This isn’t something we can go into without really thinking it through.”

  “So we’ll go see her tomorrow,” he said, pulling me into another hug.

  “I said maybe!”

  But I knew I was losing the battle. The truth was, I didn’t want to win it, but I had to be sensible. Taking on another woman’s child—I didn’t know if I could do it.

  That night, Sebastian made slow, sweet love to me, whispering hot, dirty, passionate words in my ear, worshipping me with his body. At times like this, it felt like life had a greater meaning than the two of us, than our small family. It was hard to explain, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to try and see how the magic worked.

  Sebastian fell asleep quickly that night, but I lay awake for hours, thinking, wondering. I tried hard to keep the practical problems in front of me: lack of space in our little bungalow for one, adoption procedures for another. Maybe I was too old to be approved as an adoptive mother. I just didn’t know. And there was a good chance that Child Services would think Sofia would be better off with another Afghan family, people who shared her culture and religion. But if we did go ahead, it would undoubtedly help that Sebastian spoke Pashto, but still … were we the right family for her? And how would Marco react? The only child, suddenly presented with a ready-made sister?

  My eyes widened as I realized that I’d already thought of Sofia as his sister.

  I watched Sebastian sleeping for a long time.

  Moving as quietly as I could, I rolled out of bed.

  “Where’re you going?” he murmured, sleepily.

  Darn Marine! He slept like a cat.

  “Bathroom,” I whispered.

  He grunted something inaudible and rolled onto his side.

  Instead, I headed for my laptop, stopping briefly to look in on Marco.

  He looked like a tiny angel, a cherub, his face flushed from sleep, one arm flung over his head. My heart skittered, and I pulled the door to, but not closed.

  I flipped up the laptop’s lid, and switched it on.

  I was journalist and I needed facts: they were my bread and butter.

  The bottom line was that in order to even have a child see a doctor it would need to be under our insurance or else pay out of pocket. If we wanted to add Sofia to our insurance, we would need a birth certificate or court documents. The same held true for going to school. We would need to have proof of custody or guardianship or a birth certificate in order to register her. So technically, Sofia could live with us for months, but not long term. We would need to make arrangements to adopt her and start the process immediately.

  I batted the idea back and forwards for hours, unsure what to do, finally crawling back to bed and falling asleep a couple of hours before dawn.

  I was woken too early by some small person yanking on my arm, wanting pancakes and a glass of milk.

  Sebastian sat up yawning, and exhausted as I was, I couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of his hard body, tousled hair, face sleep-softened.

  “Let mommy rest, buddy. She’s real tired.”

  He pulled on his running shorts and a t-shirt, discreetly tucking his morning wood away, before taking Marco by the hand, their voices disappearing in a quiet murmur.

  Of course, I couldn’t get back to sleep, and in the end I got up and showered, my body still half asleep, my mind whirring.

  When I staggered into the kitchen, Sebastian was halfway through burning a batch of pancakes. Okay, they weren’t completely burned, but perhaps just a little darker than I would have made them. His cooking skills had only improved slightly. Very slightly.

  I took over while he poured milk into a sippy cup for Marco, and made us coffee. I felt his warm hands circle my waist as I stacked the pancakes.

  “So, any thoughts?”

  “Lots of them, and all confused.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  There was a world of disappointment in those two words.

  “But I think we should go and see her—see Sofia—as a family.”

  “Really?”

  I turned to face him and his eyes were lit up with surprise and pleasure.

  “Really? You’ll go see her?”

  “Yes, but it’s just to say hello. Nothing more.”

  I said the words, but inside it felt like that once we’d seen her, there’d be no going back.

  Marco picked up on Sebastian’s excitement, and went running around the kitchen yelling and shrieking at a piercing level. He laughed even louder when Sebastian pretended to chase him, and I left them playing hide and seek with the kitchen furniture.

  Dear God! If Sofia did join our family, I was in danger of having two toddlers, and one grown-up kid who was more work than the rest of them combined. I couldn’t help smiling at the thought.

  A sister for Marco. Our daughter.

  I gave myself a good talking to for jumping the gun, but the nervous excitement wa
s bubbling up inside me, too, as we reached Atash’s house.

  Two men I didn’t recognize were sitting on the steps, but they seemed to know Sebastian, calling out a greeting. He replied, “As-salaamu’ alaykum,” and I smiled and nodded as we walked inside.

  As usual, organized chaos flowed through the small house. Children ran screaming happily, and the babble of voices filled every room. Sebastian hadn’t been joking when he said the house was splitting at the seams. Atash’s house had become an informal community center for the local Afghan population. A good number of them seemed to use it as a staging post to start their journey to other family members spread across the country.

  Atash came to greet us, offering the ubiquitous sweet tea. We both accepted, even though I couldn’t stand the stuff, my teeth aching just from looking at it. Sebastian tolerated it better, but had perfected the practice of making one small cup last as long as his visit entailed.

  Marco ran out into the tiny backyard, completely at home, mingling happily with the other children, uncaring that they spoke a different language. Maybe when you’re a child, that’s the only language you need.

  Sebastian nudged me.

  “That’s her. The one sitting by the fence.”

  A small girl in a dowdy brown shalwar kameez was pushing her hands in the sandy soil and making a dusty pile in front of her. Her hair was long and loose and her feet were bare, a pair of tattered flip-flops lying next to her. Even though she was a year older than Marco, she didn’t appear much bigger.

  She glanced up suddenly, and her huge brown eyes made me catch my breath. She looked so lost and alone, such an adult expression of suffering on her small face.

  I could help myself. I went over and sat next to her, kicking off my sandals and making my own mud pie next to hers. She watched me seriously, then continued to make her pile grow, her hands and nails filthy, like mine.

  “Sofia,” I said quietly, not looking at her. “That’s a pretty name.”

  There was the tiniest pause, when she heard her own name.

  I talked quietly, chattering about nothing in particular, until Marco came and plopped himself in my lap.

  Sofia’s eyes widened, and after a moment’s thought, she reached out to touch his gold-colored hair.

  Marco squirmed and blinked with one eye scrunched up. Without warning, he launched himself at her, squashing her mud pie completely flat then laughing like a small hyena.

  And that was it. They were up and running around the garden together, squawking and chattering, each with their own childish babble.

  Sebastian came and sat down in the dirt next to me.

  “What do you think?”

  I shook my head slowly. “I think I’m in a lot of trouble.”

  He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me in for a hug.

  “Guess we’ll be in trouble together then.”

  “Guess we will.”

  Of course, it wasn’t as simple as that, no matter how much we might have wished it. For one thing, Child Services were horrified by the informal way everything had happened, and threatened to take Sofia away. But by then, she’d been living with us for six weeks and had settled incredibly well. And yes, I admit it; we’d deliberately dragged our feet informing them.

  They continued to be quite threatening for a while, but I played the journalism card, and then the refugee card on Sofia’s behalf. Sebastian threw in the vet card as well as the work he’d done in the local refugee community, and in the end, they had to admit that they didn’t have any better alternatives to offer her. A fact that we already knew.

  Her formal adoption would take much longer, but to us that was merely a thin strip of red-tape.

  Marco loved his new ready-made sister and she seemed happy, as well, although there were times when she was too quiet and we wondered what heavy thoughts and memories troubled her.

  She had night terrors sometimes, but that was something we understood, having lived through Sebastian’s PTSD as well as my own grim, clouded souvenirs of war.

  We’d decided that it was important for Sofia to know as much about her own culture as possible, so we spent even more time with Atash and his extensive family. Not only that, but Sebastian spoke to her in Pashto, so she wouldn’t lose her language. I spoke to her in English, and she seemed to grasp that distinction very easily.

  Soon, she was chattering away in both languages. Marco took it all in his stride, but surprised us one day by calling Sebastian ‘baba’—the Pashto version of ‘daddy’. It seemed likely that we’d have two bi-lingual children on our hands.

  Sofia had been with us for three months and I couldn’t have been happier, but then something else happened that sent my well ordered world spinning on a different axis. Again.

  And I blamed Sebastian.

  That man had always been trouble. God, I loved that about him. One of the many things.

  Marco and Sofia were safely corralled, playing in the backyard. Sebastian was in the living room doing sit-ups, a sight that very nearly distracted me from what I had to say.

  I sat down on the edge of the couch, more than a little anxious.

  He grinned at me as he caught me checking out his abs. Alright, I was counting them—and possibly imaging running my tongue over them.

  He winked and did another ten crunches before I finally got up the nerve to speak.

  “Sebastian, we need to talk about your … about your disability money.”

  He stopped immediately and scowled.

  The money he’d been given for his injuries had been gathering dust in a bank account, untouched for three years.

  “For fuck’s sake, Caro! You know I don’t want anything to do with that shit. It feels … I just can’t.”

  “I know, but we’re going to need it. Now we have Sofia.”

  He sighed.

  “They’re just kids, Caro. They can share a room for a few years.”

  “Yes, but I think we’ll need somewhere bigger than the bungalow before that.”

  “You need an office, baby. I know. Maybe I could build something in the yard and…”

  “No, Sebastian. We’ll need another bedroom.”

  His eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Why? What did you do?”

  I took his hands in mine and smiled at him. “It’s more what you did.” Nope, the penny wasn’t dropping. He continued to look at me blankly; I was going to have to spell it out. “I’m pregnant.”

  His eyes widened. “Holy fuck!”

  “Quite. And if I remember correctly, that’s what I said at the time.”

  He gave a happy shout of laughter and picked me up in his arms, whirling me around. Then he put me down as carefully as if he were handling glass.

  “Fuck me, you’re amazing!”

  “You’re pretty amazing yourself, Sebastian. You’re so great with Marco and Sofia. You think you can handle another one?” I laughed a little anxiously. “Three kids under the age of five.”

  “Yeah, that’s really something.”

  He shook his head disbelievingly. “Everything’s changing so fast.”

  My heart clenched painfully.

  “Too fast?”

  “Fuck, no! It’s just more … more than I ever dared dream of. You, Marco, and then Sofia. Now this. It’s so fucking amazing, it scares me. I feel like I don’t deserve to be such a lucky bastard.”

  That was so typical of him, and I was going to spend the rest of my life proving that he deserved every good thing that happened to him—to us.

  “You’re everything I ever wanted, Sebastian. Thank you for giving me this wonderful life.”

  His eyes became glassy, and his arms tightened around me.

  “I love you, Caro.”

  “And I love you, Sebastian. Sempre e per sempre.”

  It was time to begin the next chapter in our lives.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading Sebastian & Caroline’s story.

  I hope you enjoyed the ride.

&nbs
p; JHB

  BONUS CHapters

  First time

  The first four chapters of The Education of Sebastian, told from Sebastian’s point of view

  Long Time Living

  Caroline has left San Diego. The story continues…

  Twenty-One

  Sebastian’s twenty-first birthday

  The Best Man

  Ches’s bachelor party and wedding

  In Geneva

  The first two chapters of The Education of Caroline, told from Sebastian’s point of view.

  first time

  I was bored out of my brain, idly wondering if Ches had any weed left from the weekend. Studying was so damn tedious. Yeah, I knew I needed to get good grades and that my AP courses were important, but I’d much rather have been at the beach—or with Caroline.

  Caroline.

  God, seeing her again—it was like a dream.

  When dad casually mentioned that the Wilsons were moving back to San Diego, I thought I was going to freak out. So many times, so many times, I’d thought about her over the years: wondering what she was doing, where she was living. Remembering all the stuff we’d talked about when I was a kid. She used to just talk to me, I mean really talk to me. And she was beautiful, so goddamn beautiful. At least, she was in my memory. I’d never had a picture of her, and I hadn’t seen her in nine years.

  I was going crazy wanting to ask dad more questions: when would she (they) be coming back? Where would she (they) live?

  Most of all I wondered: would she remember me?

  I’d had a thing for brunettes ever since, which was kind of funny because Brenda, my ex-girlfriend, was a blonde. I’d dated a couple of times in high school, but Brenda and I had gone out for nearly nine months. I’d sort of thought I was in love with her, until Ches told me that she’d been screwing Jack fucking Sullivan behind my back. Turned out I wasn’t as much in love with her as I’d thought. Turned out I didn’t give a shit when we broke up. Not really, but still fucking humiliating.

  Afterwards, I hadn’t had much interest in dating anyone else.