“Permanent?”
“Then we’d deal with whatever you messed up.”
“That’s generally how adoption works.”
He looked away.
“What if I mess it up?”
“Then we’d deal with whatever you messed up.”
“What if you regretted it?”
“No. I make commitment sound simple.”
“Then I’d be an adult having a feeling. You’d still be my kid.”
His eyes stayed on the table.
“You make everything sound simple.”
“No. I make commitment sound simple.”
That was different.
He made his bed before breakfast. Washed his plate immediately after eating.
When Luke finally moved into my house, he treated everything as though he were borrowing it.
He made his bed before breakfast. Washed his plate immediately after eating. Folded towels without being asked.
The first Saturday, I nearly tripped over a loose porch step.
Luke appeared with a screwdriver.
“How long has this been like this?”
“You’ve been walking on this?”
“Couple years.”
He stared at me.
“You’ve been walking on this?”
“I enjoy danger.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
A month later, he called me Mom by accident.
He fixed it right away.
A month later, he called me Mom by accident.
“Mom, have you seen my charger?”
We both froze.
Luke turned bright red.
Neither of us mentioned it.
I pretended to search a drawer while hiding a tear.
“Kitchen counter.”
“Right.”
Neither of us mentioned it.
But he kept saying it.
Then, exactly two weeks later, Luke came to dinner and barely touched his meatloaf.
By the time the adoption was finalized, I had stopped waiting for him to become somebody else.
Then, exactly two weeks later, Luke came to dinner and barely touched his meatloaf.
That scared me more than it should have.
He loved meatloaf.
“Sweetheart?”
I reached across and touched his hand.
“I’m fine.”
“Terrible lie.”
His fork scraped his plate.
I reached across and touched his hand.
He was trembling.
“And you’ll probably wish you hadn’t adopted me.”
“Luke.”
He pulled away.
His eyes filled with tears.
“Mom, I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
My fork slipped from my fingers.
“And you’ll probably wish you hadn’t adopted me.”
My stomach dropped.
“Luke, what happened?”
He looked terrified.
Then he whispered, “I have a sister.”
“Your file said you didn’t have siblings placed with you.”
My fork slipped from my fingers.
“A sister?”
“Half-sister.”
“Your file said you didn’t have siblings placed with you.”
