Even as I say the words, I can't deny the irony. For so long, I'd wanted to build my business and then worry about children. Now, it's the thought of a family that weighs so heavily on my mind. It's a sad truth that the odds are good I'll never feel a baby growing inside me again. But that doesn't mean I can't be a mom.
He turns to look at the screen again. "They all have some sort of special need," he says, reading the information.
"Yes," I agree. "Most are relatively minor. But all the babies in the system are considered special needs. They call them waiting children. They need our help, just like the kids here."
I stand behind him so that I can see the screen, too, my hands on his shoulders. "I thought first about adopting one of the foundation kids, actually. I mean, so many of them need permanent homes. But I thought it looked too much like singling one of them out, and I didn't want hurt feelings in the rest of them."
"Yes," Damien says, "that makes sense."
I move around beside him and press my hand over his on the desk. "So you're really into the idea?" I'd thought I might have to ease him toward it. Give it time to settle. But he looks ready. Hell, he looks eager.
"I am. To be honest, I've been thinking a bit about adoption lately."
"Really?" The fact that we'd been on the same path makes me feel warm inside. "And it doesn't bother you that the child won't be ours biologically?"
"Are you kidding?" he scoffs. "Blood is biology. It's not family."
My smile blooms so wide it's almost painful. "Let me show you something else," I say, scooting in front of him so that I can sit at the keyboard. "I know this is fast," I say as I move the mouse, clicking on links until I find the image I'm looking for--a little girl of almost a year with a sad face and eyes that captured me the moment I saw her.
"I saw her picture, and she just pulled me in. She needs a family, Damien," I say. "I think she needs us."
I look up at him and see his chin tremble just slightly as he reaches out and presses his fingertips to the computer screen. "Yes," he says softly. "I think she does."
Over the next few days, we go on a series of dinner and cocktails dates with friends so that we can share our news. They're all enthusiastic, but I think Sylvia's squeal is the loudest. I figure that makes sense--after all, she adopted Ronnie right after she married Jackson.
Jamie almost crushed my ribs with the force of her hug, then promised to be the best aunt ever. "Seriously," she'd said. "Best. Aunt. I mean, I'll even sign up for the Learning Annex class if I need to. In case there are rules and shit." And Ryan slapped Damien on the back in a manly sort of way, and then said they needed to go have a celebratory cigar on the back patio.
Evelyn got choked up, but managed to hold it together. Sofia clapped like a little girl and started to throw her arms around Damien in a hug. She stopped herself, then looked at me, and only finished the embrace after I'd given her a nod.
Frank was the one who truly surprised me. I actually saw tears in his eyes, and when he hugged me and said he was proud of me, I started to cry myself.
But those are the people I knew would support us. I'm meeting my mother in an hour, and I really don't expect the same kind of warm reception.
"You don't have to tell her anything," Damien says. We're in the Tower apartment, and I'm pacing in front of the wall of windows that overlooks the city.
"I do," I say, though I can't explain why I'm so insistent. Maybe I'm hoping to give her one last chance. Maybe I'm kicking my own ass, pushing the issue so I'll have the impetus to finally and truly cut the strings.
Either way, I'm about to head downstairs to the plaza. I've told her I want to meet her for coffee at the Java B's outside.
"Do you want me to come?" he asks.
"Want, yes. But I think I need to do this alone. If I need you, you're only fifty-seven stories away."
He bends to kiss me. "I'm never that far away."
I nod, then cling to him for a moment. "Wish me luck."
"Luck," he says, walking me to the elevator. The car is already there, but he takes my arm to hold me back before I step on. "I poked around a bit," he says. "Your mom's house in Dallas was going into foreclosure."
"What?"
"She's broke," he says. "I don't know why she really came to Los Angeles, but I have a feeling she thinks there's a payday at the end of the line somehow."
I nod, not surprised, but still a little numb.
"I wanted you to know before you talked to her."
"Okay. Thanks." I lift myself up on my toes to kiss him. "I guess we'll find out," I say, and then step into the car. Soon enough, I'm off the elevator and across the lobby to the plaza. She's already there, standing with perfect posture by the fountain.
"They have tables over there," I say. "Grab a seat and I'll get us both a latte."
She does, and I use the few moments while I'm ordering and waiting for the drinks to get my act together. Then I join her at the table and decide to cut straight to the chase. "I wanted to meet you so that I could give you my news. Damien and I have decided to adopt."
"Have you?" Her brows lift almost imperceptibly.
"From China," I continue. "We've submitted the initial paperwork for a little girl. We're meeting with the agency tomorrow, and then we start the home study process. And the wait."
"Home study," she says. "Where a stranger comes in to evaluate you?"
I put on a cheery smile. "Yup. Pretty much."
"Hmm," she says, then sips her coffee. "And you're adopting from China? My friend Angelica's daughter just adopted from China. She was infertile, too." Her voice is like fingernails on a chalkboard. "I understand all the children have something wrong with them."
A knot of anger forms in my stomach, and I tell myself to just ignore it. "I wouldn't put it that way, but all the children in the program do have special needs."
"And this child you're interested in? What's the matter with her?"
I mentally bang my head on the table. "She has an extra toe on each foot. It's really no big deal. We've already spoken with a surgeon about what's involved to correct it."
"I see," she says, though I sincerely doubt she does.
"Well," I say. "That's really all I wanted to tell you. I'm sure you have a busy day and all that . . ."
She makes no move to leave. "I can't say that I ever considered adoption, but I do think that a woman should want children so long as she can keep her figure and her husband happy." She looks appraisingly at me. "At least this way you don't have to worry about baby weight. But do you think Damien will be happy with a child who's not his own blood?"
"I know he will be."
Her mouth pinches together, and she inhales loudly through her nose. "You're blind, Nichole. You always have been where that man is concerned. Do you really think a man like Damien Stark wants a child who isn't his flesh and blood? He won't. I've seen it before, you know. You can't hold a man like that without the tie of blood."
"What are you talking about?"
"My father--your grandfather--he was my mother's second husband and my stepfather. Do you think he cared a whit about me? I was never enough. Never polished enough or pretty enough. I was an irritation until I grew up, and then I was simply his heir by virtue of the fact that he had no other."
I've never heard my mother talk about my grandfather that way. "I didn't know that," I say. "But that's not what Damien's like."
"So you say now. Men don't stay. Your sister learned that the hard way. I don't want you to suffer the same. But you will. He'll leave you. You give that man a child that's not his blood and he'll walk away."
"No, he won't." I lean back. "The thing is, I've been thinking a lot about families. Family isn't about blood. Blood is an accident. Blood is biology. Family is love and respect and caring and commitment."
"Commitment! Is that why he's been tooling around with that crazy bitch from London?"
"Sofia?" I tilt my head, examining her face. "What do you know about Sofia?"
Her eyes dart away, and I have the impression that she's kicking herself for saying too much. "I saw it online," she says vaguely.
"Since when have you hung out on social media? Christ, Mother," I say, pushing my chair back to stand. "You're the one who sent that email?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. But if you're suggesting that someone told you about your husband and that trollop, then I think you should thank them."
"Go," I say.
"What?"
"You heard me. I want you to go. We're done."
"But what . . . I don't . . ."
"You understand me just fine," I say. "And it's time for you to leave."
"Fine." She pushes back her chair and stands up. "You always were an impossible child." She hitches her purse up on her shoulder. "Do you really think they'll allow you to adopt? With your . . . issues?"
There's something cold in her tone. Something that makes me reach for the back of my chair to steady myself. "You mean the fact that I used to cut?"
"I would think an agency would be very disturbed by that fact. If they were to find out. If they were to see photos. Hear the stories. And of course, it would be terribly embarrassing if your history went public."
"Are you threatening me?"
She sits back down. "I'm concerned about your welfare. I don't want you taking on more than you can handle. And, of course, I'm looking out for the best interest of the child."
Fury pounds in my ears, and I grip the back of the chair so hard I'm afraid I'm going to break it. But then I take a breath, because the bigger picture is coming into focus. Because this isn't about me or Damien or my child. Where my mother is concerned, it never is.