Epilogue Oops
ROSIE
MAY
“Do
you think she’ll like it?”
I step back, my bare feet warm on the hardwood planks, the early morning west coast sun streaming through the windows in our living room, bathing the scene before me in light.
Pink foiled balloons, spelling out her name and what this day means to us.
Her favorite breakfast laid out on a blanket on the floor, because picnics are our favorite way to eat as a family. Up
ready to go on the TV, because there isn’t a movie she loves more.
Warm hands land on my arms, coasting up to my shoulders where his fingers slip beneath the straps of my tank top. Adam guides me back against his chest, broad arms coming around me as he drops kisses along my shoulder, up my neck.
“She’s going to love it. She’d love it without all this, Rosie, because she loves you.”
I smile, swaying against Adam as he kisses my cheek.
“I love her so much. It feels like we were made for each other.” I turn into him, draping my arms over his shoulder as he grips my hips.
“That’s how I knew she was it for us, the same way I knew you were it for me.
Your mom told me people are like puzzle pieces, and when you find the pieces that fit with yours, you don’t let go. ”
“She’s our puzzle piece.”
“The perfect fit.”
He threads his fingers through mine, tugging me toward the staircase. “C’mon. Let’s go get the kids up.”
Adam pauses outside of Connor’s room, his ear at the door. Small voices drift through to us, and he smiles as our gazes collide. When we open the door, everyone is exactly where we expect them to be.
Connor is tucked beneath his blankets still, huddled up by the pillows, his thumb in his mouth.
Bear and Piglet are curled up together at the foot of the bed, and Dinosaur—who is a bit of an asshole, by the way—is draped over the edge of the mattress, belly up, his head on the floor, paws stretched out overtop.
And Lily sits cross-legged atop the pillows, a book in her hands as she reads to Connor and the animals, the same as she does every morning before breakfast.
Lily’s been living with us for six weeks now. The day after Christmas, Adam contacted her social worker and asked about becoming foster parents. On January second, we began our twelve-week PRIDE pre-service training, and as soon as we were qualified, Lily moved in with us.
It hasn’t always been easy. There have been tears and so many fears, long nights and even longer days.
Exhaustion ran rampant as I finished up my rotations before graduating, and everything feels harder when Adam isn’t here, but he checks in on us every night.
And despite all the tough days, every single one has been worth it.
Because beyond it all, there’s been the bravest leaps and bounds, breathtaking smiles, so damn much laughter, and more love than I ever thought possible.
And now, after nearly six months, Adam and I are officially adopt ready.
“Good morning, sweethearts,” I greet the kids, taking a seat on the floor beside the bed.
Connor and Lily rush over, climbing into my lap for a squeeze before they run to Adam.
“Did you sleep in here with Connor last night?” I ask Lily as Adam scoops them into his strong arms, setting a kid on each hip.
Lily lays her head on Adam’s shoulder, nodding. “I don’t like sleeping alone. Me and Connor, we make each other feel safe.”
My heart warms at the love she has for Connor, so deep and endless, and I’m happy she’s found another way to help herself feel more at home here, safer.
We’ve heard her bedroom door creak open every night this week, stuck our heads out, and watched her pad across the hall with at least one animal on her heels, creep quietly into Connor’s room.
And five minutes later, we’ve cracked his door, found the two of them fast asleep beneath the glow of the moons and the stars stuck all over his ceiling.
Lily wiggles down Adam’s body, rushing over to me and taking my hand. “Can you help me get ready, Rosie?”
Adam tosses Connor onto his shoulders. “I’ve got this one.”
Like clockwork, my throat grows tight at the sight of Lily’s room, neat and tidy, barely lived in, her bag in the corner of the room like she’s only visiting.
She unzips it, pulls out the clean laundry I washed yesterday, the clothes she put right back in there.
And I ask her the same question I do every morning.
“Would you like to unpack your bag today?”
She shakes her head, spreading out a few options on the bed. “It’s better this way. In case you want me to go, I can leave fast.”
Her pain wraps around my heart like an angry fist, squeezing. The same old feelings resurface, the reminder of years spent feeling unwanted, unworthy of love, slapping me in the face. It’s not better this way, and I would do anything for her to believe that.
For now, I crouch beside her, laying my hand over hers, staring into those innocent, wide eyes. “We love you very much, Lily. Whenever you’re ready to unpack your bag, you let me know, and we’ll put everything away together. Our house wouldn’t be a home without you.”
That little nose crinkles when she sniffles. She twirls the dusty pink ends of her chestnut hair around her fingers, the temporary dye we put in last weekend when she said she wanted hair like mine. “Could you put braids in my hair this morning? I want to match you.”
Fifteen minutes later, with matching French braids and in her favorite dress—the one she was wearing when we asked her if she wanted to come live with us—we head downstairs.
My heart gallops, growing more anxious the closer we get.
When we see the boys in the living room, waiting beneath the balloons and among our mini-zoo, Lily stops.
“Lily Day?” she whispers, curious chocolate eyes moving between us and the pink foil balloons. She cocks her head. “I thought my birthday wasn’t until June.”
“It is. But today we want to show you how grateful we are to have you in our family. We have loved watching you grow, Lily. You are fierce and brave and gentle, and you are such a caring and spectacular sister to Connor.”
Her eyes flash at that s-word, and when Connor runs over, wrapping himself around her, she closes her eyes, sinking into his love.
“I lub you, sista,” my sweet two-year-old tells her.
Adam kneels in front of her, taking her tiny hands in his big ones.
“We love you, Lily. We love dance recitals on Saturday mornings, picnics on the living room floor, playing Dr. Lily, veterinarian, with the dogs and cat. We love snuggling up and reading your favorite books over and over, rainy days spent watching movies, and your art on the fridge.”
As Lily’s chin trembles and tears flood her eyes, Adam reaches into his pocket and pulls out the pink and purple bracelet he made last night, after she was fast asleep. He slips it on her wrist, running the tip of his fingers over the small addition, the dangling silver letters. A, R, L, C.
“One for each of us,” he tells her, and when that first tear slips free, he catches it on his thumb. “You’re our puzzle piece, Lily. Our family isn’t complete without you.”
I run my hand down her braid, smiling through my own tears. “We want you to stay, sweetheart. Forever.”
“You-you-you…” She sniffles, chin quivering. “You want to adopt me?”
I nod. “You’ve been part of our family for a while now. But if it’s okay with you, we’d like to make it official.”
She takes the skirt of her dress in her fists, looking to Adam. “Does that mean I get a jersey like Connor’s to wear to your games? One that says Daddy
on the back?”
Adam grins, walking over to the coffee table, returning with a small blue and green jersey. He unfolds it, showing the back to Lily, his number set below that very word, the one Adam feels so lucky to be called by Connor, the one he’s been hoping Lily would someday feel comfortable calling him too.
Tears cascade down Lily’s cheeks as she rubs her eyes with her shaking fists. “Does that mean I can call you Mommy?”
My heart shatters, and I pull her into my chest. “If you want to, sweetheart. I would be so honored to be your mommy, and I’m going to love you forever, just like your mommy in heaven.”
A sob cracks from her throat, and she clings to me as we cry.
Connor wraps his little arms around us, and Adam takes all three of us in his.
Somewhere, there’s a cat meowing his disapproval that he’s not in the middle of this hug, and two dogs dance around us, sticking their tongues in our ears, licking away our tears.
When we break away, Lily looks at me, scrubs the tears from her eyes. Red-rimmed and tired, it’s the renewed hope in them that paints over the fissures in my heart like glue, mending pieces of me I didn’t think could ever be fixed again.
And then she takes my hand and says, “I think I’m ready to unpack my bag today.”
* * *
She wears her jersey to Adam’s play-off game that night. Proudly displays that five-letter name on the back, a devastating smile and so much color in her cheeks as she points at him stretching on the ice and tells everyone, “That’s my daddy.”
“Holy fuck,” Cara mutters under her breath.
“Yeah,” Olivia says on a sigh.
“We all knew it,” Jennie hums.
“What?” I ask, my eyes on Adam as he sinks farther into his stretch, his legs straight out at his sides as he does the splits and somehow manages to wink at me and wave at the kids at the same time.
“Adam,” Olivia says simply. “He’s a bigger DILF than Carter.”
Carter tosses his leg up on the bench, stretching and glaring. “How dare you! I’m standing right here. No one out-DILFs me, Olivia.
”
Cara points at Adam, fixing his brand-new goalie mask over his face as he skates over. “Adam just did, babe.”
“ Dada
!”
“ Daddy
!”
Connor and Lily jump at the glass, smacking their hands against it as Adam stops in front of them.