No one says a word, not even Owen. I guess he’s busy measuring the chocolate and marshmallows, but still. He’s typically the life of the party. Shouldn’t he say something by now? Maybe I should say something.
“Do either of you have lice?” I ask.
Owen cringes and places a palm over his face.
What? That’s what we’re supposed to do, isn’t it? What does he want from me?
Edmund and Luke give each other worried glances.
“Do we look like we have lice?” Luke asks as he runs a hand through his sandy blond hair. “I take a shower every day….”
“I don’t have lice,” Edmund declares. “I’m a no-lice zone.”
I give a curt nod. “That’s good.”
More strained silence.
Luke continues to comb his hair with his hand, his gaze glued to the table, and Edmund stares at me like he expects something. He smiles without showing his teeth, like he’s forcing it, and I’m half tempted to tell him to cut it out.
Owen must hate the tension, because he bounds over and smiles. “Okay. While the milk starts to boil, let me show you our schedule calendar. It’s this whiteboard here on the wall.”
He motions to our foster-class-suggested calendar of activities. Apparently giving the kids a defined schedule has been proven to reduce stress through transition periods, but to me it makes us out to be more of a school or facility, rather than a family. I let Owen do what he feels is best, however. He gets along with kids better than I do, that’s for sure.
“See. Here is today, December first.” Owen taps on the board and then moves his finger over to the fourth of December, a Monday. “And here’s your first day of school, where we introduce you to your class.” A little drawing of a schoolhouse represents the occasion. “Oh, and this here, on December tenth, we’ll go caroling. Don’t worry, it’s loads of fun.” A pair of bells marks the “fun” event.
“Why are there so many Christmas trees on the calendar?” Luke asks.
Sure enough, every damn box on that calendar has a Christmas tree. All the way to Christmas Day, where it ends in a Christmas tree explosion that covers half the board in crude green squiggles of trees.
“Because this is the month of Christmas,” Owen says, motioning to the whole whiteboard. “The Christmas spirit is all around us. Joy and cheer for everyone! Every day we’re going to do some sort of Christmas-themed event to get us pumped for the holiday.”
“I can feel the hype,” Edmund says as he claps his hands.
Owen loves Christmas to a disturbing degree. If Christmas were a person, Owen would have an affair with it, there’s no doubt in my mind.
Luke gives the calendar a thorough examination. “We have a court appointment on the nineteenth,” he intones.
“You do?” Owen asks.
I give him a nod and motion to the paperwork.
“Oh,” he says. He grabs a dry-erase marker, erases the Christmas tree, redraws it a hair smaller, and then adds a scale to represent the court date. “There. Now we know we’ve got to go.”
Owen rushes back to the milk on the stove and takes it off.
“Hot chocolate is ready!”
He pours four cups and mixes everything together. As the final touch, he sprinkles marshmallows over the top with the finesse of a master chef. He passes out the mugs, one by one, and then takes a seat at the table.
“Thank you,” Edmund says.
“Yeah,” Luke adds. “Thank you.”
I swirl the contents of my mug and frown. I don’t like hot chocolate, but Owen makes it so often I’ve come to associate the sweet scent with him—which means I’ve started to like it, but I hate even admitting that fact to myself. Owen just has that effect over me.
I sigh and take a drink. What’s the use of fighting it?
Much to my chagrin, no one says a word. The slurp of hot chocolate fills the otherwise awkward atmosphere. Nothing screams family like not having anything to talk about. I suppose if we were all on smartphones we’d be normal, but I can’t help but feel like I’m failing at some level.
Edmund and Owen finish their drinks first.
“Are you guys tired?” Owen asks.
“Yes,” Luke says. “Very tired.”
“Really? Already?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, well, let’s get you guys off to bed, then. Tomorrow we can all visit the park. I have a picnic planned and everything. It’ll be our first family outing.”
“We’re a family?” Edmund asks with a gasp. “Really?”
Owen nods. “That’s the plan. Didn’t your caseworker tell you?”
“I thought you guys hadn’t said yes yet?”
“They have to go through a waiting period,” Luke says in a hushed tone, his hand on Edmund’s shoulder as though trying to contain the young boy’s enthusiasm. “It’s not official yet.”
“But they said—”
“Shh. Calm down.”
Edmund frowns and sinks into his seat.
“It’s official in my book,” Owen says. “So I’m going to count tomorrow as our first family outing.”
Like a spring, Edmund leaps up in his seat. “Yes! A family outing!”
“All right, now it’s bedtime.”
We all stand and head to the back of the house. Owen and I have the master bedroom at the back of the hallway, but my office, now converted into a bedroom, is at the opposite end, nearest the guest bathroom. It’s “the boys’ room,” and we furnished it with two beds, some Legos, a dresser, and a desk. It’s a little crowded for two kids, but our house doesn’t have much in the way of excess space. Even the master bedroom is considered small by modern house standards.
Luke and Edmund walk to their bags propped up by the wall. They each withdraw a toothbrush and commence with their nightly routine. Owen and I stand nearby, and I feel like I’m hovering, if only for the simple fact that brushing one’s teeth doesn’t require supervision.
Once the boys finish, they return to their room and take beds as though they have an unspoken rule of who gets what. Owen strikes a fist into the palm of his hand.
“Okay. Do you guys need anything? Temperature okay? Need me to up the heater?”
“We’re fine,” Luke says.
“Fine,” Edmund echoes.
They say nothing else.
“Well, good night, then,” Owen says as he steps back out into the hallway.
“Good night,” both boys say in unison.
After the door clicks shut, Owen and I wait in the hall. I can hear the muffled creaks of the beds, the crinkle of their bags, but after a minute or two, nothing else sounds from their room. Maybe they were super tired.
Owen and I retreat to our bedroom. He closes the door behind us, still quiet, which bothers me. Owen is never this quiet. Especially not during the month of December. It’s Christmas this, and fun times that. I keep an eye on him as he walks over to the closet, takes off his belt, and hangs it up with the rest.
Too quiet.
“Say something,” I command, probably gruffer than I should be.
“You think they’re okay?” he asks, searching through his T-shirts. “They seem off.”
“It’s awkward.”
“Us?”
“The situation. I’m sure they’ll be fine in a few days.”
“Are you being optimistic?” Owen turns around and faces me, his jovial mood returning in full force. “Carter, I rely on you to tell me the harsh, jaded truth of the world. You can’t go switching roles with me.”
“It’s the truth,” I say with a huff. “The kids aren’t used to us, or this house, and they got here late. I’m sure they’ll be happier tomorrow.”
Owen steps up close to me and wraps his arms around my torso, his breath on my neck. “I’ve got a surprise for you. Something amazing.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“It’s your Christmas gift. I’ve found the perfect thing.”
My chest tightens, and I grit my teeth.
>
I’m not a fan of Christmas. I don’t give it the time and thought Owen does. I hate it when he goes out of his way to get some fancy gift or do something special for me. The pressure to equal his enthusiasm can be frustrating, and I’ve never been able to give him a gift that’s matched his.
“You should focus on the kids,” I say. “Christmas should be more about them than me.”
“I got them the perfect gift too.”
I cock an eyebrow. “You never told me what you got them.”
“Because it’s a secret. You’ll see.”
Damn. Now I have to think of something to get Owen. This is our first Christmas as a family, and it would be awkward for me to open a gift from him—a special, all-important gift—and for me to get him nothing.
“It’s our first Christmas together,” Owen says, parroting my inner thoughts. “I want everything to be perfect. You’ll try, right, Carter? To enjoy yourself?”
I let out a long exhale. “Yes.”
“You should get something for the kids as well. Something that shows you care.”
“I will.”
“Thank you.”
Owen kisses my jaw and trails his lips to my ear. I tilt my head to the side to give him better access, but I snap back to reality when I remember we have two kids in the house.
“Stop,” I say, pushing him away. “Tonight isn’t the night for this.”
With a smile and a laugh, Owen closes the distance between us again, this time gripping my shirt with a needy strength. “I’m excited,” he whispers in a husky tone. “And I’ve got a lot of pent-up energy. We should celebrate.”
“This isn’t appropriate,” I say, fighting the heat that pulses through my blood. “What if they hear something?”
“Are you saying we’re never supposed to do this ever again? I know TV shows joke about the romantic life of parents, but contrary to popular belief, they have sex too.”
“My parents had separate beds,” I say. “My siblings and I never heard anything.”
“Your dad was one step away from becoming Amish,” Owen replies with a laugh. “You told me you never celebrated any holidays as a kid, or even owned a TV. That’s not the standard childhood, trust me.”
“And listening to your parents ravage each other is?”
“We’ll take our time,” he whispers into my ear. “It’ll be quiet, I swear. Nice and relaxing.”
Owen unfastens my belt. I don’t stop him as he pulls it from my jean loops.
“You’re so tense,” he says as he runs his lips over mine. “This’ll be good for you.”
I can’t help but smile as I slide a hand up into his hair and pull him close, deepening our kiss. Owen knows just what to say to break my resolve. I hate it when he talks sexy to me.
Owen pushes me back, and I play along as he shoves me onto the bed. He pulls off his shirt, crawls on top of me, and stares down with a hungry expression, his hair dangling and framing his face.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am tense.
I let him yank off my shirt, and I relax against the bed as he drags his hands down my chest, over my stomach, and to the edge of my pants. His hands are rough and warm, sliding along the natural groove of my muscles. The man knows everything I like.
He leans down, drags his lips across my neck, and says, “I love you.”
The door to our room opens, and my body floods with icy dread and hot embarrassment. Owen and I jump to opposite sides of the bed, and I take a few deep breaths to steady myself to the reality of the situation.
Edmund stands in the doorway, tilting his head from side to side, wearing long johns for pajamas.
For a strained moment, no one says anything. Then Edmund’s eyebrows knit together.
“Were you two making love?” he asks.
“Never,” I say, an irrational piece of me trying to deny the existence of sex, just to save his innocent mind from the realities of adulthood.
Owen steps forward. “What Carter means to say is, uh, when two people love each other very much, they—”
“No,” I shout. “Nope. We’re not having this discussion!”
Edmund frowns. “I’m sorry.” He turns and runs off down the hall, his bedroom door opening and shutting in quick succession.
“We need separate beds,” I say as I snatch my shirt off the floor. “This never happened with my parents.”
Owen replies with a chuckle. “You can’t be serious. Wait here. I’ll go talk to them.”
He heads for the door, but I walk around the bed and grab his arm.
“Put on a shirt. We’re supposed to be role models.”
Owen laughs. “C’mon, really? They’ll understand if we tell them the truth.”
“Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to give them the sex talk on the first night of them staying with us.”
“All right, all right! I’ll put on a shirt, I’ll tell them I was practicing my CPR, and it’ll be fine.”
“Don’t lie to them either,” I say, knowing full well I sound hypocritical.
“I was joking, Carter. I’m just going to apologize and make sure they’re okay.”
“Good.”
Owen grabs his shirt and heads out of our room, leaving me to stew by myself.
What a great way to introduce them to the household. Getting caught in the sack and half yelling at a kid until he ran to his room. Father of the year material.
I let out a long sigh.
Get ahold of yourself, Carter. You can handle this. Tomorrow will be better.
VOYAGEURS NATIONAL Park.
It’s a home away from home. The vast forests, pristine rivers, and sapphire lakes make this place a little piece of heaven on earth. Over 200,000 acres and I’ve nearly traveled it all. I count myself lucky that I get to do something I love for a living—becoming a park ranger was one of the best decisions of my life.
Snow blankets everything, adding a mystical aura to the environment. Technically, most roads and trails are closed when it gets this cold, but Rodriguez and Dilluca—mine and Owen’s replacements while we enjoy our vacation time—are looking the other way while we enjoy our lunch.
“We have snowshoes for rent at the visitor center,” Owen says as he steps out of the car. Luke and Edmund nod along with his statements. “And we have snowmobile trails. Oh! And ice fishing. Did I mention the sledding hill? We have a sledding hill.”
“I love sledding,” Edmund says as he jumps from the car and crunches into the snow. “I did that once when I was, uh, four. I think.”
Luke exits the truck and nods. “Mom took us for your fourth birthday.”
“Yeah! I think it was here too.”
“It was.”
I give Owen a concerned glance, but the man never misses a beat. He smiles, lowers the tailgate, and motions Edmund over. “Hey, I need someone to help me carry the picnic basket. Are you strong enough to do that?”
Edmund flexes, despite the fact that his whole body is swaddled in a thick jacket. “Yeah. I’m pretty strong, actually. That’s what everyone says.”
“Good. You’ll need all those muscles to carry the sandwiches. It’s an important job.”
“I can handle it!”
Edmund takes the basket—an honest to God wicker picnic basket straight from the 1950s—and jogs over to his brother. Luke gives his younger brother an approving pat on the head, and the two share a smile.
I walk over to Owen and help him grab the table blanket and fire kit. The cloud-free sky allows the sun to add a bit of heat, but it’s still chilly. I like it, though. The crisp air washes away all doubt in my mind. Today will be a good day.
Please, let it be a good day.
“Ya know,” Owen says, keeping his voice low, “we never spoke to them about what they should call us.”
“The adoption isn’t finalized. Maybe it’s best we don’t.”
“Still. It feels like they’re avoiding calling us by our names.”
“How would you want them to ad
dress us? Our first names would be fine by me.”
“Really?” Owen asks. “You wouldn’t want them to call you Dad?”
“Father, maybe. Not Dad.”
“Father? What is this, church? You need to loosen up, Carter.”
I heft the blanket over my shoulder and glare. “I’m fine.”
Owen smiles and laughs as he grabs the last of the gear. “Remember when we went to that bar? You know the one. Where that guy bought you a drink and called you Daddy? You got so red I thought you were choking!”
“Never mention that again,” I state as I slam the tailgate and walk around the side of the truck. I can already feel my face heating up just remembering the event.
The two boys perk up as Owen and I approach. Together we crunch through the snow, following the simple trail that leads to a picnic area overlooking Kabetogama Lake. Owen and I visited the place a few times when we were dating—the sunsets over the park highlight everything in red, and the cool black of the shadows laces everything in a mysterious aura. I think, if I could have my way, I’d want to be buried in this park after I die.
My mind wanders as my gaze scans the trees and the snow and the peaks of mountains. Beauty bold and untamed. The lives of a million plants and animals living through a delicate dance of life. It surprises me more people don’t flock to this place. Maybe they just don’t know what they’re missing.
“What’re you looking at?” Luke asks.
I glance over and motion to the trees. “Appreciating the majesty of nature.”
“You like this place?”
“Yes.”
Luke opens his jacket and withdraws a notebook. He scribbles something inside, and I’m half tempted to ask what it’s all about, but Owen jumps ahead and motions to a sign.
“This is the fork in the trail,” he says. “We could go the low route or the high route. Which do you guys prefer?”
“The low route!” Edmund says the same instant Luke replies with, “High route.”
The two brothers snap their attention to each other and, again in the same breath, both reverse their opinions, ironically contradicting each other a second time.
Owen wags his finger. “I know. Let’s have a race. Luke and I will take the high route. Carter and Edmund will take the low route. We’ll see who gets there first.”
Thirty-One Days and Legos Page 2