Anyway, I’m driving Iris to ballet right now. Can you believe her instructor sent out a group text informing all us parents that practice was moving from Wednesday to Thursday nights? Yeah, effective immediately. Like none of us have jobs outside of driving our kids to class.
Oh, that reminds me, Mom and I have a huge closet job coming up. Might need to use your sheep.
Deep
Jeep! I said Jeep!
I hate voice-texting! Let’s talk soon. It’s been forever. Love you.
I squeezed my eyes shut and counted to ten before texting back a response.
Thanks. I’ll text Mom about bringing a dessert for Thanksgiving, and I’ll ask about the closet job.
My finger hovered atop the alphabet pad on my phone, a cloud of guilt descending over me.
Love you. We’ll talk soon.
Soon was right. Because soon I’d know the face of my waiting child. And if Lisa could get fired up over a schedule change on a dance-mom text thread, I didn’t even want to think about the way she’d rage at me for withholding my adoption news.
I needed to make a plan. A real one this time. With people who’d been around the adoption block a time or two and had lived to tell about it.
And luckily, I knew exactly where those people would be tonight: in the basement of Calvary Community Church.
All church basements seem to share a similar vibe, and Calvary Community was no exception: geometric carpet squares, folded chairs along the back wall, a too-low ceiling with fluorescent lighting, and a foosball table waiting to be played during midweek services. But something about the familiar aroma of old hymnals and brewed coffee brought a homey kind of comfort to my anxious spirit. I never regretted making the drive to Calvary.
I noted the small circle of chairs in the center of the room and set my fruit tray beside the coffee pot. In a matter of minutes, the folding table would be filled with shared snacks and the room with animated voices—one in particular.
In the whole of the Boise-Nampa metropolitan area of nearly seven hundred thousand people, there wasn’t a shortage of adoption support groups to attend, yet only one was facilitated by my favorite married couple on the planet.
“Lauren?” Gail rounded the corner, carrying a giant bowl of white cheddar popcorn. “Oh, I’m so glad you could make it tonight.” She set the theater-size bucket down and pulled me into a hug.
“Me too. I would have called first, but tonight was more of a spontaneous decision.” Somewhere between watching an adoption documentary on Netflix and my second pint of Ben and Jerry’s.
“No apologies necessary.” She gave my arm a little squeeze. “Did the agency ever get back to you?”
“Actually, yes, I got an update from them yesterday and that’s actually why—”
“Hey, Gail?” Robert jogged down the staircase, his voice edged with rare urgency. “Oh, Lauren, sorry to interrupt.” He focused his attention on his wife. “That new couple Pastor Todd contacted you about just arrived. They’re walking in with Sara and Sam now.”
The fine lines around Gail’s eyes deepened. “Okay, thanks for letting me know, honey.” She turned back to me and patted my arm, working to compose her face as she said, “Go ahead, Lauren. I would love to hear your news.”
“No, no. I can share it later in group. Please, go and do whatever you need to. Can I help with anything?”
“I wish you could.” She shook her head and gave a weighted sigh. “Truth is, some people just need a little extra grace when life’s challenges fail to meet their expectations.”
I didn’t have time to question her theory, not when three couples entered the room all at once. The newcomers Robert had mentioned were easy to identify. And not just because I’d seen the other two couples in prior meetings, but because the husband, who could have starred in a remake of The Great Gatsby, stood head and shoulders above the crowd, chattering on about current weather patterns as if that were his sole reason for joining us tonight. He wore a charcoal, made-to-look-vintage bowler hat and a pair of sophisticated black glasses, neither of which hid the dark half-moons under his eyes.
When his attention drifted behind him to his wife, mine followed.
Melanie, as her name tag read, was next-door kind of pretty. Her short blond hair, trendy clothing, and matchy-matchy handbag would have warranted a second glance in any other setting, but I couldn’t focus on anything other than the fury spewing from her glare. Obviously, this church basement was the last place she wanted to be tonight. I wavered between greeting her and giving her the ten-foot radius her expression demanded.
With a bravery I admired, Gail approached her, handing her a small snack plate and explaining the evening’s agenda. The first fifteen minutes of group were always reserved for fellowship around the refreshments table, but by the way Melanie chucked her purse to the floor and threw her body into an empty chair, I gathered she’d rather pluck cactus barbs out of her foot than endure fellowship with the likes of us.
On my perusal of the snack table, I received several nice-to-see-you-again hugs, and even a compliment on my dry-shampooed hair, which had to be my favorite invention of the twenty-first century. Thankfully, along with quick-styling my hair, I’d had enough time to swap out my ice-cream-encrusted sweatshirt and sweats combo for a long sweater and boots duo.
Within ten minutes, we were all seated in the circle. I balanced a small plate of popcorn on my knee and offered a smile to the female storm cloud sitting directly across from me. Melanie did not smile back. Instead, her scowl intensified as she crossed her arms over her chest. Message received.
Robert said a quick prayer to get things rolling, and Gail went over the group guidelines, likely for the sake of Great Gatsby and his joyful bride. The rules were all common sense: no cross talking, no oversharing, no interrupting, and no advice-giving without permission. These were followed by the usual “what’s said in support group stays in support group” confidentiality clause.
I was in the middle of an internal speculation of why the new couple had showed up at tonight’s meeting when Gail diverted the group’s attention, her eyes bright and expectant as they settled on me.
“Lauren, since it’s been a few weeks since you’ve been back to group, why don’t you give us an update on all that’s happened in your adoption journey? And if you don’t mind, would you go ahead and tell us a little about yourself, too, since Peter and Melanie are joining us for the first time?”
I was fairly certain there was nothing Melanie would want to hear less, given her venomous glare, but it was clear Gail was hoping for a mood shift. I lifted the plate from my knee, crossed my opposite leg, and made a conscious effort to avoid eye contact with a certain glowering blonde. “Of course, sure.”
The couple closest to me, Sam and Sara, nodded with a level of enthusiasm usually reserved for a rock concert. They were the resident head bobbers. Every group had at least one pair of those. I’d seen my fair share in the parent-teacher meetings at Brighton, too. No matter who was sharing or what was being shared, the head bobbers never stopped bobbing.
“Hey again, everyone. I’m Lauren Bailey, and I’ve taught first grade at Brighton Elementary on the eastside for the last ten years. I’m not married, but I do have a cocker spaniel named Skye who likes to think of herself as my better half.” The head bobbers chuckled, as did Karen and Jack, a foster care couple who routinely shared their home with sick newborns in need of respite. “About six years ago, I had the privilege of teaching a little boy who changed my idea of adoption and planted a seed in my heart that grew until I was able to meet the application requirements when I turned thirty. I partnered with Small Wonders about fourteen months ago and started the process to adopt from China. There’s been a lot of paperwork and appointments, but to be honest, it’s all gone pretty smoothly so far.” I paused. “And as of yesterday morning, I received an email from my agency telling me that I’m at the top of the wait list.” Gail gasped and brought her hands up to her mouth, clapping silently in celebration. I smiled back at her. “My caseworker said my official match email would be coming soon, so of course I’ve been obsessively checking my email, eating ice cream for every meal, and not sleeping a wink. My true motivation in coming tonight was to give my refresh button a break.”