“Sara’s a darling.”
“I’m sure she is. It’s just the things I read in the papers. It’s a wonder anyone adopts at all. The courts just always seem to favor the biological parents.”
“Now wait a minute,” interrupted Christine. “Lane Prager has two adorable adopted kids! And the birth mother is just great. Newspapers love those horror stories.”
“You know the father?”
“He’s out of the picture,” Eva said. “All they have to do is serve him with papers.”
“I’d be nervous,” Nora said. “The stories I hear—”
“Nora,” Christine warned.
“It will all work out,” Eva said firmly.
Eva could smile now, but for a long time she hadn’t been so sure adoption would work out for them. Eva had always yearned for a child, but she had married late, when she was forty, and to her surprise, George, her sweet, tender, loving George, absolutely did not care if he had kids. Eva was the one smiling at babies in restaurants, while George reached for the menu. Eva had to stand close to little ones so she could practically inhale them, while George smiled and cracked silly knock-knock jokes at a distance, and after a few minutes of contact, he had had enough. And while George came to her classroom, dressed up as Mr. Tooth, talking to the kids about brushing, while he laughed and let them climb on his lap, it was Eva his eyes were glued on. He had thought he was so lucky to have found her, that for him, trying for a child too was just greedy. “You’re my everything,” he told Eva when she first expressed her wish for a child. And too, what about their age? “Do we have the energy?” George had asked her. “When our kid is in college, we’ll be doddering old fools. When our grandkid is in diapers, we will be, too.”
Eva refused to listen. She pointed out all the people who had kids later in life. Men in their sixties. Women in their late forties! All you had to do was go to the park and see the older mothers and dads to know how common it was. When she started to cry, George sat beside her and held her hand. “All right,” George said slowly. “Why not?”
Her yearnings though were the only thing that grew inside of her. She bought ovulation kits, tried IVF and embryo transplants, and still, nothing happened, and each time, she grew more and more heartsick. “Well, we tried,” George said, but Eva shook her head. “I think we should adopt,” she told him.
She knew he was ambivalent. He came with her to the adoption lawyer, but the first few meetings, he didn’t ask any questions, even though she touched his sleeve expectantly. “What do you think, George?” she blurted and he patted her knee. “Do adoptive parents ever change their minds about adopting?” he asked, and she started.
“No, no, that’s an excellent question,” the lawyer told them. “Ofcourse they do. A child can be born with problems you didn’t foresee. Finances can change.”
“You wouldn’t really change your mind, would you, after we brought a baby home?” Eva asked George in the car.
“I was just asking a question,” he said. “Nothing’s even happened yet.” He leaned across the seat and kissed her. “Come on,” he said. “I didn’t mean to get you upset.”
It was Eva’s idea to go with open adoption. It seemed like the best for the child, the best for everyone. She hadn’t been teaching for so many years not to know how important identity issues were with kids. “Sure, that makes sense,” George agreed.
They made up their adoption scrapbook together, pasting in colored photographs of the two of them holding hands in the country, and then in the city and at the beach. Photos of their home and the bright, sunny room that would be the baby’s. They wrote the letter, and got the 800 number, and placed their ad in twenty different little papers: LOVING COUPLE WANTS TO ADORE YOUR BABY, CALL 1—800—555—7799. But to her surprise, no one called, not even a wrong number. “Why
“I’m sure she is. It’s just the things I read in the papers. It’s a wonder anyone adopts at all. The courts just always seem to favor the biological parents.”
“Now wait a minute,” interrupted Christine. “Lane Prager has two adorable adopted kids! And the birth mother is just great. Newspapers love those horror stories.”
“You know the father?”
“He’s out of the picture,” Eva said. “All they have to do is serve him with papers.”
“I’d be nervous,” Nora said. “The stories I hear—”
“Nora,” Christine warned.
“It will all work out,” Eva said firmly.
Eva could smile now, but for a long time she hadn’t been so sure adoption would work out for them. Eva had always yearned for a child, but she had married late, when she was forty, and to her surprise, George, her sweet, tender, loving George, absolutely did not care if he had kids. Eva was the one smiling at babies in restaurants, while George reached for the menu. Eva had to stand close to little ones so she could practically inhale them, while George smiled and cracked silly knock-knock jokes at a distance, and after a few minutes of contact, he had had enough. And while George came to her classroom, dressed up as Mr. Tooth, talking to the kids about brushing, while he laughed and let them climb on his lap, it was Eva his eyes were glued on. He had thought he was so lucky to have found her, that for him, trying for a child too was just greedy. “You’re my everything,” he told Eva when she first expressed her wish for a child. And too, what about their age? “Do we have the energy?” George had asked her. “When our kid is in college, we’ll be doddering old fools. When our grandkid is in diapers, we will be, too.”
Eva refused to listen. She pointed out all the people who had kids later in life. Men in their sixties. Women in their late forties! All you had to do was go to the park and see the older mothers and dads to know how common it was. When she started to cry, George sat beside her and held her hand. “All right,” George said slowly. “Why not?”
Her yearnings though were the only thing that grew inside of her. She bought ovulation kits, tried IVF and embryo transplants, and still, nothing happened, and each time, she grew more and more heartsick. “Well, we tried,” George said, but Eva shook her head. “I think we should adopt,” she told him.
She knew he was ambivalent. He came with her to the adoption lawyer, but the first few meetings, he didn’t ask any questions, even though she touched his sleeve expectantly. “What do you think, George?” she blurted and he patted her knee. “Do adoptive parents ever change their minds about adopting?” he asked, and she started.
“No, no, that’s an excellent question,” the lawyer told them. “Ofcourse they do. A child can be born with problems you didn’t foresee. Finances can change.”
“You wouldn’t really change your mind, would you, after we brought a baby home?” Eva asked George in the car.
“I was just asking a question,” he said. “Nothing’s even happened yet.” He leaned across the seat and kissed her. “Come on,” he said. “I didn’t mean to get you upset.”
It was Eva’s idea to go with open adoption. It seemed like the best for the child, the best for everyone. She hadn’t been teaching for so many years not to know how important identity issues were with kids. “Sure, that makes sense,” George agreed.
They made up their adoption scrapbook together, pasting in colored photographs of the two of them holding hands in the country, and then in the city and at the beach. Photos of their home and the bright, sunny room that would be the baby’s. They wrote the letter, and got the 800 number, and placed their ad in twenty different little papers: LOVING COUPLE WANTS TO ADORE YOUR BABY, CALL 1—800—555—7799. But to her surprise, no one called, not even a wrong number. “Why
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