One #2
Of course it didn’t matter to me what name he settled on.
He could have called me Jory for all I cared; he was my kid, and that was all I gave a damn about.
He was legally and completely mine and Sam’s, and that was what mattered.
And we were good, the three of us, until the first agency we had contacted back when we started the whole adoption process called to tell us a little girl from Montevideo was ready for adoption.
I had forgotten about them because they never came through, but that turned out not to be the case.
You heard from them when it was time, and it finally was.
I was surprised, Sam unsure, until the professional but not personable and definitely not warm gentleman slid the picture across the desk to us. He needed to know if we wanted the little girl in the photograph.
Yes, we wanted the angel very much.
Our family went from three to four with the coming of the little sister that Kola wanted nothing to do with until we were all home under one roof.
He resented all of us going to the airport to pick her up, hated her crying in the car, and was really annoyed that Sam was carrying her instead of him.
He was starting to fret; it was all over his face—until Sam knelt and picked him up too.
Kids were so funny. As soon as Kola had figured out that Hannah was planning on sharing us with him, that she wasn’t there to take his spot, that nothing was changing in the love department, just some tweaking in the time area, he had decided he liked her.
And now, after years, their bond was noticeable.
They fought like cats and dogs … but only sometimes.
She cried, he moped, they chased each other and roughhoused, but nine times out of ten, I found her in his room in the morning.
When we were out, he held her hand, he fixed things when she couldn’t, and he was supremely patient when she was trying to impart some tidbit of information.
I was like, Spit it out, kid!, but Kola just nodded and waited until some incident about a bug on a flower was communicated in excruciating detail.
He brushed her off if she fell down, made her remember her mittens and hat, and could be counted on to translate her wishes to others if Sam and I were absent.
Dylan Greer, my best friend, was really surprised because she was certain that, sometimes, Hannah Banana—or B, as we all called her—spoke in tongues.
But Kola would just say that she wanted milk or a crayon or a flashlight.
And he was never wrong. He was an excellent big brother, and she adored him.
Hannah Regina Kage—her middle name after Sam’s mother—had the most adorable little button nose on the planet.
I would lean in to kiss her sometimes and nibble on her nose instead.
It made her squeal with delight. Putting her toes in my mouth was also cause for raucous laughter.
Even at a year old, she’d had a good laugh.
It was not timid or soft. She was small, but how she expressed herself was big.
People heard the deep, throaty sound and were enchanted.
I had been under her spell at first glance.
In our neighborhood in River Park, sometimes, people still looked at us when we were out walking.
And most questioned Kola when they got close since, with his deep-set cobalt-blue eyes, sharp European features, and black hair, he didn’t look like either me or Sam.
But Hannah, who was half-Uruguayan, was obviously adopted.
What was funny though was that people still questioned whether Gentry—born with my brother, Dane’s, charcoal eyes instead of my sister-in-law, Aja’s, honey-brown ones—actually belonged to his own mother.
I always wondered why people cared. If your kid was blue and you were orange, who gave a crap as long as you loved and cherished the blue kid? People still surprised me.
“Pa.” Kola was looking up at me like I was the village idiot.
“What?”
“If Hannah can’t lick Chilly, you can’t lick Daddy.”
I had a terrible image of giving Sam a blow job just then, and he probably knew it, which was why he grabbed me and covered my mouth with his hand.
“Will you two go finish your breakfast, please?” Sam ordered them.
They left then, but not without casting looks back.
Sam moved his hand, but bent and kissed me. I received it happily, and of course, there was more retching.
“Kola Kage!” I admonished him, even as I laughed. “Will you knock that off?”
“Ewww,” Hannah squeaked out.
When I looked over at them, Kola was mixing his oatmeal with butter and brown sugar, making it burp with his spoon before he added milk.
“Just eat it,” I told him.
“I’m making it edible.”
Edible. Damn kid and his damn vocabulary.
“Leave the Petersons alone.” Sam breathed the words, letting out a long-suffering sigh.
“I am.” I bit my bottom lip.
“Jory …” he cautioned me.
I tried for innocent.
“Daddy,” Kola said, back beside us, looking up at Sam.
“Don’t lick the cat,” Sam reiterated, bending down to one knee as his son stepped into his arms and put his hands on his face. “All right?”
“Okay.” Kola nodded.
“Okay,” Sam sighed, pulling Kola close, hugging him tight for a minute.
“What’s homonic?”
“I dunno.” Sam yawned, leaning back so father and son could look at each other. “Where’d you hear it?”
“Pa told Auntie Dyl that Jake’s parents won’t let him come play at my house ’cause they’re homonic.”
Sam nodded. “That’s homophobic, and that means that Jake’s parents don’t want him to come over because you have two fathers.”
Kola squinted at Sam. “Why?”
“Some people just don’t like it.”
“Why?”
“Well, I think some people are afraid of what it means.”
He shook his head. “What does it mean?”
“That if you can have two fathers, maybe things are changing.”
His scowl made his little eyebrows furrow. It was adorable. “I don’t understand.”
“I think you will when you’re older, buddy.”
“It’s dumb.”
“Yes, it is,” Sam agreed, hugging him again. “But I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. I can still see Jake at school.
” He hugged Sam back tight, both arms wrapped around his neck.
“Harper and his mom are coming with me and Pa and Hannah, and Uncle Evan and Bryce and Seth, and Auntie Dyl and Micah and Mabel, and Tess and her dad to the movies next Saturday, so Jake’s the one who’s missing out. ”
“Who’s coming again?” Sam teased him.
“Harper and his mom are coming with—”
“Stop,” I cut Kola off. “Your father heard you the first time.”
Sam grunted and looked up at me. “How come I didn’t get invited to the movies?”
“First”—I smiled at him—“the Chipmunks give you hives, and secondly, won’t you be fishing with Pat and Chaz that Saturday?”
“What Saturday are we talking about?”
“We’re leaving tomorrow for Phoenix, for the reunion, and we’ll come home Monday morning, on Labor Day.”
“Yes, I know this.”
“Okay, so then I’m talking about not this coming Saturday since we’ll be out of town, but the one after that.”
“Oh, so that’s right, then.” He smiled brightly. “I’ll be fishing. Sorry I won’t make the movie, babe.”
“Liar,” I said flatly.
He cackled.
But it was going to be fun. I was going with my two kids; my buddy Evan was bringing his sons, Bryce and Seth; and Dylan was schlepping her two kids—her son, Micah, who was her oldest and a year younger than Kola, and Mabel, her daughter, who was a year older than Hannah.
It was unfortunate that they had made another Alvin and the Chipmunks movie, but all the kids were dying to see it, so we were making a day of it.
I was still waiting to hear from Aja to see if she was coming along as well.
I knew that Robert, who was the same age as Hannah, was just as interested in helium-fueled rodents as the rest of our kids, but Aja wasn’t, and Gentry was too young to take to a movie theater.
Not to mention the fact that my sister-in-law could use a day off.
Aja, who had been in the public school realm when she first married my brother—as first a principal and then assistant superintendent of schools—had found herself unable to enact change at that level.
Aja could not amend policy or allocate funds, but instead of growing bitter about what she saw happening around her—the apathy and deliberate ignorance—she decided to do something about it.
In her present position as the associate dean of education at DePaul University, training and inspiring the next generation of teachers, she was preparing bright minds for the real world as well as toughening skins.
She armed them and motivated them and made sure they knew she would always be a resource for them, even after they graduated.
All that, plus parenting two children, being a wife, attending a myriad of social functions with her husband, and the result was a worn-out Aja Harcourt. I wanted to help lessen her load.
As I was driving back home after dropping off Kola and Hannah—they both went to the same Montessori school close to Oak Park—I called Aja from the car and offered to take her two short people off her hands that Saturday instead of having her join us.
“But Gentry is too little to go to the––”
“I’ll have Regina watch him for a couple of hours. You know she’d love to do it and she’s crazy about him.”
“Yes, she is,” she agreed. She loved my mother-in-law as much as I did.
“Just let me do this for you.”
I was immediately called a saint.
“Jory, I really need some me and Dane time.”
“How ’bout I pick Robbie and Gen up next Friday after school and keep them until Sunday morning? We’ll all meet for brunch, and you can have them back. But that’ll give you Friday night and all day Saturday. Whaddya say?”
I thought she was going to cry; she was so thankful.
“So, is that a yes?”
“Oh my God, yes, that’s a yes!”
“You’re starting to sound like me.”
“Thank you, baby.”
“What is family for?”
“But you’re the only one I trust.”