Page 33 of The Facilitator, Part 3

Both Lauren and I were on tenterhooks for five full days.

We sniped at each other unnecessarily, we laughed and hugged not understanding why the pressure of waiting was grating on us so much, considering we both dealt with higher pressure in our work.

It was when Lauren rushed into my office that we finally settled down.

“I’ve had a call,” she said, waving her cell in her hand as soon as she left the elevator.

“Well, that’s nice, dear,” Mary said, rolling her eyes.

“No, I’ve had the call,” Lauren replied and I stood from my desk.

“ The call?” Mary and I both said at the same time. Mary frowned at me, turned her nose up with disgust that I could have thought to say the same as her.

“Yes. The social worker, her name is May, is coming tomorrow. Oh my bloody Lord, she’s coming tomorrow!” Lauren could hardly contain her excitement. She bounced on her high heels and I worried for them, sure they’d snap and she’d tumble over.

“Calm down, you’ll twist an ankle,” I said, smiling broadly and walking around my desk to her.

“I can’t believe it,” Lauren said. She wrapped her arms around me.

“Neither can I,” Mary said, and she wrapped her arms around the pair of us. Mary sniffed and I worried she’d wiped her nose on my shirt sleeve. “You two are going to be amazing parents. Well, you more than him, Lauren,” she said. She chuckled and we knew she was joking.

Lauren insisted on cleaning the house from top to bottom, vacuuming under the chairs and sofas, taking every book of the shelves to dust, and filling all the plug sockets with covers so small people couldn’t stick their fingers in.

“Lauren, I think the house will pass inspection,” I said, chuckling at her as she weaved around with the vacuum in one hand and a feather duster in another.

“It doesn’t hurt to go over it again,” she said.

We had a cleaner who came three times a week, one that was fastidious and would be mortified that Lauren was cleaning. She’d take it as an insult, or a sign we thought she hadn’t cleaned well enough, I was sure.

By the time she started to rearrange the cans in the food cupboard in height order, I was tearing my hair out.

“Sit. I mean it,” I commanded. Thankfully, she did. “Now eat your damn food and forget about the cupboards.”

“I’m nervous, I just want something to occupy my time,” she said.

I sat next to her. “I know, I am, too. But lining up tin cans is probably a waste of that time. Work, fuck me, let’s go for a walk, there are plenty of things we can do.” I smiled, hoping she’d choose the middle option.

By the time the day arrived for our meeting, I had no idea where half my things were and every cupboard in the house had been rearranged. Oh, she had fucked me, multiple times, so I wasn’t complaining.

May wasn’t what we expected at all, not that we had any idea what to expect, of course.

She was short, even shorter than Lauren, a Glaswegian with a strong enough accent that I had to concentrate to understand her, and was probably the nicest and friendliest person I’d ever encountered.

She was so helpful with all the documentation needed, our financial assessment, health assessment, and even called us after the obligatory workshops we had to attend.

Neither Lauren nor I had any idea just how involved the process was and we are only at stage one! We had e-learning and met some amazing adoptive parents to chat with. I began to realize the system in the US was so fundamentally flawed in my state, it was no wonder some kids ended up worse off.

Stage two was more assessments, and these were, for me, uncomfortably in-depth. Although I answered every question, talking about my parents and my vehicle accident was hard. Lauren sat holding my hand the whole way through. And in turn, I did the same for her when she spoke about the IVF failures.

The hardest question we were asked was, “Why do you want to adopt a child?”

I took a deep breath in before I answered.

“I don’t want to be the last one, the last Mackenzie Miller, and that might sound selfish, but it’s not the only reason.

” I started to stumble, not knowing if what I was saying was the correct answer.

“I had resigned myself to never being a parent, but when I met Lauren, that started to change. It became important to me that we complete our family. We are very fortunate, we have wealth and stability, and I know we can offer a child, or children, an environment that…Jesus, I’m rambling, aren’t I? ”

“Mackenzie, there’s no real right or wrong answer to this. Well, if you said you wanted the child to sell for body parts, I guess that would be wrong,” May said.

I stared, openmouthed at her, and her eyes shone with mirth.

“Bloody hell,” Lauren said, then burst into laughter.

“We want a family. We can’t have one naturally, and we have the environment, the money, the passion, and desire to give a child an amazing upbringing,” I said, finally just saying as it was.

“I can’t add anything more to that,” Lauren said, squeezing my hand.

We had another two workshops to attend before we were then presenting our case to the adoption panel.

“That’s it. We’ve done all we can,” May said, as we left the panel meeting.

“Did we do enough?” Lauren asked, her nerves had gotten to her in the meeting and she’d shed a tear or two.

“I’ve seen adoption granted to couples who have presented way less than you guys did today.” May smiled kindly at us. She certainly championed our cause.

It was three or so weeks later that, with a scream of delight, Lauren read the decision letter out loud. We’d been approved. However, if we thought the hard part was over, we were very mistaken.

Sitting and meeting children, or learning a little about them and the circumstances that led to them needing adoption had Lauren in tears and my heart wretched.

May held our hand all through the tears when we lost out to another family for one child and the joy when we were approved for a one-year-old girl. Before the process would be completed, however, Lauren and I had to attend more ‘school.’

“Come on, got your notepad?” I shouted up the stairs.

Her mumbled reply came before she charged down the stairs. “How do I look?” she asked.

“Fine, professional,” I replied.

“Professional? Not like a mum?” she said, and the pitch of her voice rose.

“Lauren, we are going to learn about Down’s Syndrome, we are not being assessed on our parenting skills…yet.”

Rebecca was a baby up for adoption and as soon as both Lauren and I had stared into the most amazing blue eyes, we knew we had to have her.

It sounded so crass, picking a child from a range of photographs on a laptop, but that was how it happened.

We were cautioned, advised, and nothing could change our mind.

Not that May was trying to, she was simply giving us all the information we needed before making a decision.

We never waivered. That night we were heading to a ‘ class,’ as I’d affectionally called it.

We had contacted a charity for help. We wanted to know everything we could.

I called my sister constantly; we spoke to her care team and the facility that she lived in.

We flew back to the States and, among cuddles with Dominic, we learned as much as we could there.

We worked hard to have as much knowledge as we could, impressing both May and the adoption agency.

‘School’ was interesting, more so when we realized how different the research and funding was in the UK compared to the US.

It didn’t matter to us, we knew we’d always be back and forth between the two countries, we were extremely fortunate to be able to take the best from both. That had us thinking.

“So, did you speak to the lawyers?” Lauren asked. We were in the car on our way to our last class.

“I did, it’s a simple process and we’ll work with the charity on it.”

Lauren and I had decided, regardless of the adoption outcome with Rebecca, we wanted Down Syndrome charities to benefit from our charitable trust. My sister was well cared for, she had funds available for her care, but many others were not as fortunate.

Aging parents with full-time care-needing children required our help and that’s where we wanted to be.

It was important to us that we could offer something back.

We had more money that we needed in our lifetime and that had to be distributed to worthy causes on our deaths, should we stay childless.

So why not spend some of it now, we’d thought.

When class was over and another notebook was filled with medical knowledge, we climbed back into the car.

“Are you hungry?” I asked. Class was exhausting, learning something new at my age was never easy, but I was starving.

“I am, you?”

“Yep.” I gave the driver an address, a pub I had shares in that we hadn’t been to in a while and I sent a quick text message as I did. I smiled.

“You look like you’re up to something,” Lauren said. She frowned and her brow wrinkled as she looked at me with suspicion.

I smiled and just shrugged my shoulders.

Lauren and Jerry’s relationship had waned and I found that upsetting.

He had been, and probably still was, in love with Lauren and when I came on the scene, of course, he backed off.

It upset her, yet she understood, and although they spoke frequently, they didn’t meet up as often.

I’d texted him and invited him to join us.

The car dropped us off and I climbed out. Lauren waited until I opened her door and held out my hand. She slid from the seat and stood. As she did, I kissed the tip of her nose .

“What’s that for?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m pretty sure I don’t need a reason to kiss my wife, do I?”