Fear Hope and Bread Pudding Read online

  “There is no hope unmingled with fear, and no fear unmingled with hope.”

  ~Baruch Spinoza

  “Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

  ~Elizabeth Stone

  This one is for Rob.

  Thanks for convincing me to write it.

  And also for Jeff.

  I wish I could make it as easy for you as it is for Cole.

  Part One:

  Fear

  Chapter One

  SOMEBODY once said, “there is no hope unmingled with fear, and no fear unmingled with hope.” I never realized how true it was until I watched Cole struggle with them both in our quiet Phoenix home, where hope and fear had been neatly encapsulated in the simple form of a bedroom.

  It all began on Thanksgiving, only two short months after I’d made my mad flight across the country to surprise him at his home in the Hamptons. It was our first holiday with the two of us plus my father together as a real family. We celebrated by decorating an enormous Christmas tree in our family room. Cole had already bought too many presents, each perfectly wrapped and ribboned at the store. I hated to think how many more would be under the tree by the time Christmas actually arrived. Cole spent most of the day preparing dinner, and then we sat at his too-big dining room table to eat, and through it all, he was a million miles away, his brain wrapped up in something he wasn’t yet ready to share.

  It wasn’t until that night, when we were alone in bed with the lights turned out, that he took a deep breath and said, “Have you ever thought about becoming a father?”

  The question surprised me so much that I sat straight up in bed and turned to face him, although his expression was hidden in the dark.

  “Have you?” I asked.

  There was a moment of silence, a soft inhale of breath, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. Almost reverent. “All the time.”

  No, it hadn’t occurred to me, and yet suddenly I had no idea why not. It was so beautifully simple and so right.

  A child.

  Somebody to wake up for in the morning and tuck into bed at night. Somebody to stack presents around the tree for. Somebody to hold and read to and rock to sleep. A child for Cole to dote on, for me to love, for my father to toss in the air and bounce on his knee. A new, bright, wonderful life to tug on my father’s pant leg while looking up at him hopefully, just as I’d done to my father’s father. He’d always had candy in his pockets for me, despite my mother’s admonitions that he’d ruin my dinner. Now, it could be my child, holding a hand out to Grandpa George. It could be Cole scolding them for eating too much sugar and me turning away, laughing, pretending I didn’t see, because I would never stand in the way of my father spoiling his only grandchild. Families should grow, Jon, not shrink, my father had once said to me. He was right, and now I could make it happen.

  I reached across Cole to turn on the bedside lamp, and he seemed to grow smaller in the light. He wanted to hide these things away, but I leaned over him. I forced him to meet my eyes. I saw how afraid he was now that he’d said the words out loud.

  “Is that what you want?”

  He pulled the covers up to his chin, seeming very much like a child himself, wanting to use the blankets as some kind of shield. “More than anything.”

  I laughed, because it was all I could do. I pulled the blankets away from him, taking away his protection, stripping him bare so I could wrap him in my arms. “Only if you marry me first.”

  IN THE month leading up to the wedding, we talked endlessly of becoming parents. We weighed the pros and cons of adoption versus surrogacy, and by the time we flew off to Paris for a commitment ceremony in front of our friends, we knew what we wanted. We didn’t honeymoon, but came straight back to Phoenix.

  Technically, unmarried same-sex couples couldn’t apply for joint adoption in Arizona, but a single parent could. Married couples were given priority, but we found an attorney named Thomas Goodman who specialized in adoption, and he assured us it wasn’t an impossibility.

  “It’s disheartening, I know, but this isn’t without precedent. I’ve helped other same-sex couples in your exact position. The first thing we do is decide which one of you is technically applying to adopt.”

  “But we have every intention of raising this child together,” Cole said.

  “I know, and as soon as the adoption is final, we can draft documents to close any legal loopholes, making sure you both have parental rights, especially with regard to health-care decisions. We’ll also ensure that in the event of something happening to the adoptive parent, the other of you would receive custody.”

  “But a joint adoption is truly not allowed?”

  “Not in Arizona.”

  “What about foreign adoption?” I asked. “Would that make it easier?”

  Thomas shook his head. “In most cases, you’re going to run into the same biases. One of you would have to apply for the adoption as a single father, and depending on the country we applied in, you’d have to be very careful about what you divulged.”

  “We’d have to lie,” Cole said. “That’s what you’re saying.”

  Thomas made a noncommittal gesture—not quite a shrug, but not denying it either. “An omission of the full truth, at any rate.”

  “No.” Cole was adamant. “Absolutely not.”

  “And you’ve ruled out surrogacy?”

  I glanced over at Cole. This was something we’d discussed in depth. He gave Thomas the same answer he’d given me each time. “I’ve heard too many horror stories. Besides, there are so many unloved babies in the world. It seems selfish to create a new one when we could help somebody else instead.”

  Thomas turned to me for confirmation. “You’re agreed on this?”

  I nodded. I didn’t necessarily understand Cole’s reluctance to pursue surrogacy, but I was willing to respect his decision. “For now at least, we’d like to focus on adoption.”

  “Fair enough. In that case, we have to work with what’s allowed under current Arizona law, whether we think it makes sense or not.”

  “If it has to be one of us,” Cole said, looking down at his lap, “it should be Jonathan.”

  It hurt him to say it, I could tell, and using my actual name was still unusual for him. “Why me?” I asked, although I had a guess.

  “You know why.”

  Because he wasn’t masculine. Because he wasn’t what most people thought of when the term “dad” came to mind. “But you’re the one with the money. Without you, I wouldn’t even have a job.” It still irked me a bit at times, too, but I was getting used to it.

  “Jon’s right,” Thomas said. “Under the current law, your child could only inherit from whichever of you was the adopting parent, at least until a legal will is drawn up stating otherwise. Also, if you get divorced, the other of you wouldn’t even be entitled to custody or visitation rights.”

  “We’re not splitting up,” Cole said.

  “That’s what every couple says.” Thomas leaned forward on his desk to gaze back and forth between us. “Let me put it this way: If you adopted tomorrow and split up the next day, which one of you would be most able to care for the child, both financially and emotionally?”

  There was no question. “Him,” I said. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, I’d have to find work, which would be difficult. I’d have to pay for daycare. He would need neither of those things. “It should be Cole.”

  Cole turned to face me, flipping his hair out of his eyes so he could meet my gaze. “Are you sure, Jonny?”

  “Positive. Like you said, we’re not splitting up. And no matter what, I trust you to do what’s rig
ht. So for now, let’s just do what we have to do.”

  Thomas nodded at us and scribbled a note on the paperwork in front of him. “Now, as unpleasant as it is, I have to ask you: is there anything specific you’re looking for in a child? I know you want an infant. Anything beyond that?”

  Cole and I glanced at each other, unsure how to respond. “I don’t understand,” Cole said at last.

  “Some people are very specific. They only want a child with blond hair and blue eyes, or a child who’s of their same ethnicity. Or for some—”

  “No.” Cole’s firm tone spoke volumes. “Nothing could matter less to us than that.”

  Thomas was obviously relieved by the answer. “Good. Then the next step will be a home study where a social worker will come to your home and ask you a billion questions. They’re tedious and sometimes borderline offensive, but they’re absolutely required.”

  “Will it matter that we’re gay?”

  “I can’t guarantee the person doing the review will be open-minded about it, but they can’t deny you based on that alone. A big part of the review will be to assess your home. To see if you’re able to support a child in a healthy environment. Again, this is where it pays to have money. It sounds unfair to say that a rich parent can do more than a poor one, but the fact of the matter is, your child will have a comfortable home regardless of the economy or the job market. You’re not in debt. You’re not living paycheck to paycheck. You can already guarantee this child will have access to the best schools and the best health care in the world. Right or wrong, that’s going to help you.”

  Cole sighed and smiled sideways at me. “Thank goodness we have something in our favor.”

  “You have a lot in your favor, actually. Outside of being a same-sex couple, your only real disadvantage is your lack of family. I understand you have Jon’s dad here in town, but other than that, you have no support structure in place. No uncles or aunts or cousins.”

  “It’s not like we can change that now,” I said.

  Thomas nodded. “Exactly. I’m only trying to be thorough.” He fiddled with a pen on his desk. “In fact, at this point, I feel it’s important to be completely honest about what we’re up against. It’s easy at the beginning for couples to become overly optimistic.” He looked up again to meet our eyes, giving weight to his words. “I’d advise you to not get your hopes up.”

  “You’re saying we don’t really have a chance?”

  “No. That’s not it at all. And I’m not saying this as your lawyer, but as somebody who’s seen how ugly adoption can get. This journey can be full of heartache. It may be months or even years before we find a child. To make matters worse, there are some people out there who will take advantage of your situation. They’ll say whatever you want to hear in order to have their prenatal care paid for, but in the end, they’ll refuse to sign away their parental rights. People that cruel are rare, but they seem to pop up a lot in this business.”

  “Don’t we have some kind of protection against that kind of thing?”

  He shook his head. “None. Arizona law stipulates that a mother can’t authorize an adoption until seventy-two hours after birth. Anything promised before that isn’t valid in court. I’ve seen couples spend every penny they have, even take out second mortgages on their homes so they can give the birth mother what she wants, only to have the rug ripped out from underneath them once the child is born. Given your unique financial situation, you’d be a prime target for anybody who’s only out to get free maternity care.”

  I was still holding Cole’s hand, and I felt the way he began to shake.

  “Now,” Thomas went on, “like I said, those types of people are rare, and I want you to know, I intend to be very careful about any offers I put through to you. Part of my job is to make sure people like that don’t have a chance to use your own emotions against you. But what I want you to bear in mind is this: no matter what, the birth mother has three days to change her mind. Three days. And most of the time, it’s not even a matter of them trying to manipulate you. They may fully intend to give their child up, but once they hold that baby in their arms, they sometimes change their minds. It’s not about them being selfish or trying to take advantage of you. It’s a maternal instinct.”

  “It’s hard to argue with biology,” I said.

  Thomas nodded. “Exactly. And if that happens, we’re right back to square one. There’s not a damn thing in the world we can do about it.” He leaned back in his chair. “Now, with all of that said, you tell me: is this still something you want to pursue?”

  I turned to Cole. He had a death grip on my fingers, but he didn’t waver. He nodded. “Absolutely.”

  Thomas smiled. “Good. Then we’ll get down to business right away.”

  Chapter Two

  Date: February 10

  To: Jared

  From: Cole

  Sweets, I can’t thank you enough for coming to Paris for the wedding. It meant so much to us both. It was nice to see Matt’s soft side too. I finally understand what you see in him. You’re adorable together, really. I’m happier for you than ever. I’m rather fond of him now, truth be told, even if he is grumpy (but don’t you dare tell him I said so).

  Now, I have news. You asked on top of the Arc de Triomphe why Jon and I were in such a hurry to get married. I suspect you already knew the answer, but given our history together, it’s only fair that I actually say it rather than making you guess. Jon and I hope to adopt a baby. Now that we’ve made the decision, it’s all I can think about. I worry that I’m obsessed with the idea, but I suppose there are worse things. We told George of our plans on Christmas, and he cried and cried.

  Jon is so ploddingly logical about the whole thing. One step at a time, never looking beyond that. He is ever the accountant. Ever the pragmatist. I’m grateful for it though, because on my own, I’d be a nervous wreck. God knows, the last thing I need is to be more unstable than I already am.

  Oh well. You know what they say, sweets. Neurotic is the new black.

  THE home study was, as Thomas had warned, tedious in the extreme, bordering on offensive, but in the end, it wasn’t a problem. Once we’d been approved, we drafted a letter with Thomas’s help, outlining our desire to become parents, and Thomas began distributing it through whatever channels he had. When that was done, Cole turned his attention to our spare bedroom. He got rid of every bit of furniture and had the carpet cleaned and the walls repainted. Then he quietly shut the door on the room and tried to pretend it didn’t exist. The word “nursery” was never uttered.

  Hope had carried us this far, but suddenly we found ourselves with nothing to do but wait. Hope began to feel like something ominous. For two months, I tried to not see the closed door at the end of our hallway. For two months, neither of us mentioned the way our house had become both too big and too small at the same time. Then one morning, as I left our bedroom, I noticed the footstep pattern. Rosa vacuumed religiously, creating perfectly parallel tracks on the floor, but now someone had traversed the hallway between our room and the closed door, leaving barely perceptible dark splotches where the carpet fibers lay flat instead of upright.

  I crept down the hallway, wondering even as I did it why I felt the need to tiptoe. I cracked the door open and peeked in. It was still the same room—white walls, cream-colored carpet. It still smelled of fresh paint. The room had one window, long and low and bowed outward to form a bench. The blinds were open, and the window seat was bathed in sunlight. Cole wasn’t there. Whatever he’d sought in this room, he’d intentionally done it before I was awake.

  I found him in the kitchen, cooking. I sat at the breakfast bar and asked, “Is everything all right?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? I was trying to decide if we wanted mimosas with breakfast, or plain orange juice.”

  “You went in the bedroom.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Should I make bacon?”

  “Do you want to buy a crib?”
>
  “Whatever for, love? I’ll just heat up some ham instead.”

  His tone was light and cheery as always, yet false, and the fragility of it made me ache for him. He was fighting to maintain a sense of normalcy, and if I pushed against that, he’d become defensive. I weighed my answer as I watched him bustle around the kitchen, taking eggs, milk, and fresh green chilies out of the refrigerator and lining them up neatly on the counter. He kept his body angled away from me, his head down so the fall of his bangs hid his expression. “We could call Thomas and see if he’s heard anything.”

  “Honey, the man knows his job. If there was anything to tell us, we’d have heard from him already.”

  He was right, of course. Still, when I came home from my jog that night, I found him again in the empty room, sitting on the window seat. Behind him, our backyard and pool were lost to the night. Inside the room, the lights felt too stark.

  “Talk to me,” I said.

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  He could never discuss anything important with me unless he could hide, so I reached over and turned off the light, leaving the room in darkness. With no furniture, it was easy for me to cross the room and sit next to him. “Now talk to me.”

  He laughed quietly. “You know me too well.”

  “It goes both ways.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” He stopped and looked down at his hands, clasped between his knees. I waited in silence for him to work his way around to what needed to be said. “Nobody’s ever slept in this room.”

  “Never?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t have any family to visit. The few guests I had… well, they weren’t sleeping in here.”

  I winced at the casual mention of the other lovers who’d been in his home before me, and he reached out to take my hand, as if sensing my thoughts. “There were far fewer of them than you probably think, Jonny. I made it a habit not to invite them to my home.”