Chapter 26 Samantha #2
The same thing’s true for Vanessa. I didn’t know her kids very well before, and I was guilty of judging Trace a bit before he came.
It’s easy to let one thing color your view of people, who are all so complex.
Sure, when he was hurting, he might have let things he shouldn’t in to feel better.
But since coming to Ireland, he has really started to blossom.
I’m sure he’d hate that phrase.
But he has grown. Stronger. Taller. Bolder.
Natalie’s quietly freaking out that Trace and Clara are ‘dating,’ which is really code for sneaking around and kissing whenever no one is paying attention, but they also text each other constantly.
I know, because they’re always looking at their phones, and then glancing across the room at each other with knowing smiles.
It’s really stinking cute.
And when Clara’s around, Trace is brighter.
He tries more. He makes more jokes, and he stands taller.
I’ve really enjoyed watching them date, not that I would admit it around Natalie.
Even if Trace is more like his father than his mother, I can see her in his quiet kindness.
I can see her in his little gestures, too.
Handing his mother a pot before she asks.
Opening doors for Natalie, Clara, and me.
Picking up toys and putting them away before someone can trip.
Bryce is a mini-Vanessa. He’s kind. He’s responsible. He’s serious, and sometimes, too serious. He worries about people, and he spends a lot of time trying to mother, or maybe it’s father, them instead of focusing on his own stuff. But it’s all very well intentioned.
Trina’s a hilarious little mess who reminds me almost painfully of Vanessa when she was young. She was full of energy, and without direction, it just spilled out all over the place in exuberant joyfulness.
I can’t help wondering what my little boy or little girl would be like, if I ever had one.
If I ever could have one.
But whenever I reconsider dumping Richard, whenever I wonder if his money might bring me the solution I could never find before, I think again about the deep and soul-rending pain that I felt every time I found out I was no longer pregnant.
Every time my body wasn’t enough. Every time I couldn’t keep my own child safe, and they weren’t even out in the real world yet.
Then I think about how some of the kids look like their parents, and some just don’t.
Trace only really looks like Jason. Paul looks exactly like Mason, other than his hair.
Neither of those boys look at all like their mother.
Without their fathers around, they could be adopted for all anyone knows.
Adoption.
I’ve considered it a million times over the years, but as soon as it comes to mind this time, I realize that for the first time, nothing’s standing in my way.
I couldn’t adopt when I was with Brent. He hated the idea. He shut me down over and over. I couldn’t adopt with Richard. It would fix none of his problems. He has to have a physical child of his body in order to inherit, and really he needs a son.
While I was actively dating, I really couldn’t adopt, because my future and plans were somewhat uncertain.
But now that we’ve broken up, and I’m single. . .I wonder what I’m waiting for. I’m capable. I’m strong. I’m fiscally sound. I have a job I love. I have people to support me.
And I desperately want a child, even if it looks nothing like me.
There are more ways to resemble your parent than physically, as all the kids clearly showcase.
Before I have time to second guess myself, I comb through adoption agency websites, and I find one that says it can help Americans who live abroad with international adoptions.
Their website describes exactly my situation.
Well, it doesn’t say it’s fine if you’re single and international, but it says single is fine, and it says international is fine. That might mean that placing a baby with me would be a long shot, but everything in my life has been a long shot. Why should this be any different?
I’m frantically filling out the application, with just forty minutes until I have to report for Christmas Eve dinner, when I hit a snag.
I need to include three non-family references.
Natalie, Vanessa, and. . . Who else? I could include Trish, but if they ask how I know her, she’ll have to reference Vanessa, and they’re not supposed to be related.
They aren’t technically, but they kind of are.
I decide to call my best friend from the hospital I left when I moved here.
She’s known me a long time, and I listed healthcare as a backup vocation in which I had more than twenty years of work history.
It was required, since I’m in the first year of self-employment.
Without two years of a profitable income history, I had to say what I did before.
I didn’t realize that adopting had so much in common with interviewing for a job.
I just don’t want to list her without even giving her a heads up. It’s almost four in the afternoon here, which makes it late morning in Florida. It’s Christmas Eve, but I take a gamble and call Jan.
“Hey, Samantha!” She sounds delighted to hear me, so that’s good. “Happy Christmas. Isn’t that what they say there?”
I laugh. “Yes, most people, though they know we say ‘merry,’ so some of them say that to the Americans.”
“How are things? Are you loving it?”
“I am, actually,” I say. “The divorce was hard, but I’m settling into my new life.”
“I heard you were dating a duke, actually.”
“You heard that?”
She laughs. “About ten coworkers sent me articles about it. Is it true? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to be a ghoul.”
I don’t cry. I feel surprisingly calm. “We broke up, because I can’t have kids.”
She swears. “Sam, that’s horrible. I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t his call,” I say. “It was mine, and that has helped.”
“Well, I’m still sorry.”
“This is going to sound a little insane, but I just filled out an application for adoption.”
“You—Sam! Yas!” She shouts. Loudly. “Sorry, yeah, sorry. I’m fine.
It’s just. . .” She laughs. “Yeah, no, it’s fine.
It’s just such good news for my friend.” She whispers into the phone.
“Sorry, my mom was worried.” She laughs.
“What amazing news. I have wanted you to do that for a decade. You will be the best mother.” Jan has two of the cutest boys in the world, but she tries not to gush about them around me.
She knew about my miscarriages, too, since she was stuck covering for me at work whenever I had another one.
“Well, I’m not sure whether anyone will even want to offer a child to a single American mother who lives in Ireland.”
“Are you kidding?” She scoffs. “A talented horse girl who can give them an international experience and teach them to ride? Every little kid wants a pony, right?” She whoops.
“Plus, you’re a medical provider, so this little bitty baby will be kept safe all the time.
You could handle a baby with minor complications, too. ”
“I thought you might be willing to be a referral for me.” I wince. I hate asking for favors. “On the application, I mean.”
“Of course I will. Sam, I mean it. You really will be the best mom, with or without a man by your side. I’ll tell them exactly that.”
When I drive down to Natalie’s for our Christmas Eve celebration, I feel surprisingly peaceful and calm.
I’m alone right now, and I have no mini-mes trailing after me, but I won’t always be alone.
I feel, for the first time in a very long time, like the bright future I always wanted may be just ahead.
It’s going to be a very Merry Christmas indeed.