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Authors: Kendall Ryan
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that?”
He’s quiet for a second. “Of course I would.”
“Why would you do that? Y ou hardly know me.”
“So.”
“So…she probably lives across the country for all I know.”
“Lucky for you I like road trips. Besides , if I’m your life coach, it’s my responsibility to see you to her doorstep safe and sound. It’s practically part of the job description.”
I don’t say anything for several minutes as the meaning of his words sink in. I swallow a wave of emotion. Jase has been nothing short of amazing, and we’ve only known each other a couple of weeks. I still find it odd that he’s appointed himself my life coach, but it’s also totally endearing. His gesture is too much, and it’s in these moments with him that I feel like I could actually be whole again.
I can hear him breathing, so I know he’s still there. “And if she’s horrible, I’ll take you out for ice cream, hold you, let you cry on my shoulder, whatever you need, babe.”
Holy. Crap.
“Let me sleep on it,” I whisper.
“I don’t want to push you to do something you don’t want. I just thought maybe you needed a little shove. And I’ll be there with you. I’ll help however you want me to.”
No one in my life had ever really encouraged me to explore my adoption in this way. Even my best friend in high school, before she jumped on the Avery-is-a-disgusting-whore bandwagon, thought it was a bad idea. My dads were awesome, she argued. I had cooler parents than anyone. My birthmom didn’t want me, so why should I waste my time worrying about her? Yet there wasn’t a single childhood memory that wasn’t soured by the feeling my mom missed out on it. I always thought of her during major life events, birthdays, holidays, graduation, prom, and, of course, the silent nothingness of Mother’s Day. I also thought of her during insignificant moments, like studying myself in the mirror and wondering which of my features I got from her – and to a lesser extent, my birthfather. Since I had the love of two dads, he wasn’t the one I missed, despite never knowing. That hurt was reserved just for her.
I wondered if her nose was tiny, upturned and dotted with freckles like mine . Or if I got my green eyes and reddish hair from her. Did she know how to style this frizzy hair? My dads had always been clueless, though they’d dragged me to several hair stylists, trying to help.
I wondered about my first six weeks of life. Was I a bad baby? Why exactly did she choose what she did? Was it a hard, gut-wrenching decision, wrought with pain, or did she just know it was what she needed to do, and did it, unemotionally? My dads claim I was a perfect baby, that I rarely cried or fussed, but still, I wonder about my life before they got me.
“Okay,” I say softly, surprising myself. “I’ll do it.”
“Yeah?” He’s smiling.
“Yeah. I’ll request the records. As for actually searching for her…maybe…”
“Hey, it’s a start. I like it. What do you need me to do?” I hear his bedsprings creak, like he’s ready to spring into action if needed. That thought makes me smile.
It takes me a second to respond – the image of Jase in bed is a teensy bit distracting. I imagine his long form stretched out against the mattress, and my body warms as desire, unbidden and uninvited, pools between my legs.
“Nothing,” I say finally. “All I have to do is email the agency and fax in a sheet with my signature. I already researched it on their website last year.”
“I’m proud of you, Whistle.”
“Thanks. ” I’m proud of me too. “Night, Jase.”
“Night , doll.”
I fall asleep with a smile on my lips, contentment in my heart and questions in my head.
Chapter 11
Jase
It’s been several days, but I haven’t asked Avery if she’s emailed the adoption agency or faxed in the information release. I am serious about helping her. Why wouldn’t I be? Even if my own parents are messed up most of the time, I love
He’s quiet for a second. “Of course I would.”
“Why would you do that? Y ou hardly know me.”
“So.”
“So…she probably lives across the country for all I know.”
“Lucky for you I like road trips. Besides , if I’m your life coach, it’s my responsibility to see you to her doorstep safe and sound. It’s practically part of the job description.”
I don’t say anything for several minutes as the meaning of his words sink in. I swallow a wave of emotion. Jase has been nothing short of amazing, and we’ve only known each other a couple of weeks. I still find it odd that he’s appointed himself my life coach, but it’s also totally endearing. His gesture is too much, and it’s in these moments with him that I feel like I could actually be whole again.
I can hear him breathing, so I know he’s still there. “And if she’s horrible, I’ll take you out for ice cream, hold you, let you cry on my shoulder, whatever you need, babe.”
Holy. Crap.
“Let me sleep on it,” I whisper.
“I don’t want to push you to do something you don’t want. I just thought maybe you needed a little shove. And I’ll be there with you. I’ll help however you want me to.”
No one in my life had ever really encouraged me to explore my adoption in this way. Even my best friend in high school, before she jumped on the Avery-is-a-disgusting-whore bandwagon, thought it was a bad idea. My dads were awesome, she argued. I had cooler parents than anyone. My birthmom didn’t want me, so why should I waste my time worrying about her? Yet there wasn’t a single childhood memory that wasn’t soured by the feeling my mom missed out on it. I always thought of her during major life events, birthdays, holidays, graduation, prom, and, of course, the silent nothingness of Mother’s Day. I also thought of her during insignificant moments, like studying myself in the mirror and wondering which of my features I got from her – and to a lesser extent, my birthfather. Since I had the love of two dads, he wasn’t the one I missed, despite never knowing. That hurt was reserved just for her.
I wondered if her nose was tiny, upturned and dotted with freckles like mine . Or if I got my green eyes and reddish hair from her. Did she know how to style this frizzy hair? My dads had always been clueless, though they’d dragged me to several hair stylists, trying to help.
I wondered about my first six weeks of life. Was I a bad baby? Why exactly did she choose what she did? Was it a hard, gut-wrenching decision, wrought with pain, or did she just know it was what she needed to do, and did it, unemotionally? My dads claim I was a perfect baby, that I rarely cried or fussed, but still, I wonder about my life before they got me.
“Okay,” I say softly, surprising myself. “I’ll do it.”
“Yeah?” He’s smiling.
“Yeah. I’ll request the records. As for actually searching for her…maybe…”
“Hey, it’s a start. I like it. What do you need me to do?” I hear his bedsprings creak, like he’s ready to spring into action if needed. That thought makes me smile.
It takes me a second to respond – the image of Jase in bed is a teensy bit distracting. I imagine his long form stretched out against the mattress, and my body warms as desire, unbidden and uninvited, pools between my legs.
“Nothing,” I say finally. “All I have to do is email the agency and fax in a sheet with my signature. I already researched it on their website last year.”
“I’m proud of you, Whistle.”
“Thanks. ” I’m proud of me too. “Night, Jase.”
“Night , doll.”
I fall asleep with a smile on my lips, contentment in my heart and questions in my head.
Chapter 11
Jase
It’s been several days, but I haven’t asked Avery if she’s emailed the adoption agency or faxed in the information release. I am serious about helping her. Why wouldn’t I be? Even if my own parents are messed up most of the time, I love
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