Page 11

DEACON

A nticipating the alarm on my cell to go off soon, I reach for the phone and quickly switch it off. After waking up for a third time, I gave up on trying to sleep and have been lying here, staring at the ceiling ever since.

Just like I asked, Julian waited for the next time my mother reached out, and passed on my message. The only issue was I didn’t think she would call the very next day, and I didn’t expect to have her flying to Seattle the week after that.

We agreed to meet here, with my father and Julian. Victoria was flying in with Mom and she would pick Reese up from Wade and Christie’s. It isn’t ideal, and I know Julian is torn between being there for both of us, but I refuse to risk my mother accidentally meeting Reese. It’s a hard limit, and I love and know him well enough that whether he’s with me or with Reese, our family is his priority.

It feels like an over-the-top secret mission, but protecting our peace is important, and in case this blows up in my face, I need to make sure this meeting does as little damage as possible.

My anxiety is borderline unmanageable, the lack of sleep proof of that. I can’t decide what I want. Do I just really want to lay eyes on the only woman to ever break my heart?

The sound of Julian’s phone vibrating interrupts my thoughts and has my anxiety increasing tenfold. It’s six o’clock on a Friday morning.

Who the hell would be calling now?

When the vibration continues and Julian doesn’t flinch, I stretch my body over his and grab it. I catch a glimpse of an unfamiliar number before it stops.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Juli?—”

Vibration from my phone cuts me off, and now my mind is whirling at who it could be. I launch myself off of Julian and dive for my cell. Noticing the same number, I quickly swipe at my screen and answer.

“Hello.”

“Hello.” A woman’s voice comes through the phone. “Is this Deacon Sutton?”

“Speaking.”

I feel Julian sitting up behind me, his bare skin grazing mine.

“Hello,” she repeats, her tone a little less formal. “I’m so sorry to call this early, my name is Gwen from Family Services.”

At her introduction, I put the phone on speaker and turn to face Julian, our eyes locked, my heart racing.

“We have you and your husband listed as foster parents,” she says, and Julian’s head bobs up and down before the rest of the sentence even leaves her mouth. “Our database says your status is available,” she continues. “And there is a young boy; he’s four and a half. His parents passed away in a car accident and he’s currently recovering from minor injuries at Seattle Presbyterian,” she explains. “He has a grandmother in a nursing home and no other living relatives.”

I quickly catch the tear that threatens to fall down Julian’s cheek, knowing exactly what he’s thinking, knowing exactly what this reminds him of.

“He’ll be staying in the hospital over the weekend,” she says. “But we wanted to touch base and see if you and your husband have the capabilities to take him in.”

My mind drifts back to everything we’ve been through up until this point, the decision to make ourselves available to be parents in whatever way that looked like. But all of that was before Reese, all of that was before a little, beautiful baby girl buried herself into our hearts and lives and became our only priority.

“We have a daughter now,” I inform her. “A three-month-old.”

“Okay,” she drawls. “There isn’t really much tim?—”

“We’re not saying no,” I reassure her, and Julian, whose face has fallen. “We just need a minute to see what that would look like for us now.”

I talk to both of them, because while I know my husband has a bleeding heart, we have to take the time and make this decision based on facts and not on emotions.

“Please,” I say earnestly. “Can you give us the weekend?”

I know it’s a long shot, but I have enough experience to know what will be, will be. Because I married my dead brother’s boyfriend, and nothing screams against all odds more than the improbability of our union. If we were supposed to have this child in our lives, one way or another it would happen, and I genuinely believe that.

“I can,” she says. “But I also do have to check with other families to keep his options open. We can’t put all our eggs in one basket and come Monday morning you say no and we’re back at square one.”

The words aren’t harsh but a reality. Her tone is no nonsense, evidence that the little boy is her priority and she’s going to do everything in her power to make sure he has somewhere soft to land when he leaves that hospital.

I like that. And if we can’t be what he needs, then at least he has her.

“Okay, we’ll call you back either way.”

“Hopefully I’ll be talking to you soon,” Gwen says politely before hanging up.

I stare at the cell as the call disconnects, nothing but silence left behind. My mind nothing but a jumbled mess, filled with dread and dreams and happy ever afters that may or may not be within everyone’s reach.

Finally, I raise my head and am met with Julian’s sad eyes.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” I say. “We have a lot going on right now.”

He lets his body fall back to the mattress, sighing. “You can be right and I can still be sad, both of those things can exist.”

Sliding back beneath the blankets beside him, I pull him into my arms, his head resting on my chest. “We’re only just getting used to having a baby in our lives,” I say. “How would we even juggle two?”

I hate playing bad cop, but every now and then I have to be the voice of reason. Julian is the ever-present optimist in our relationship, and most of the time it’s exactly what we need. What I need.

“I don’t have the answers,” he says. “But filling our house with children doesn’t feel like a bad idea. It would be like any other unexpected pregnancy. They’re still loved.”

I press my mouth to the crown of his head. “I do want what you want. There are just so many variables and so many ways I can fuck it up.”

Julian lifts his head, his chin now resting on my chest, his gaze meeting mine. “Firstly, it wouldn’t be only you who could fuck it up, it would be both of us. We make the decisions together, which means the consequences are ours, together.”

“I don’t want to get it wrong,” I admit. “Not something like this.”

Shuffling up my torso, Julian lays his body on top of mine, propping himself up with his forearms. “Let’s put a pin in this,” he suggests. “Have a shower. I’ll make you breakfast, and after today we can get back to the drawing board and call Gwen on Monday with our answer.”

The sound of our doorbell ringing makes me want to puke almost immediately. Everything seemed like a good idea, when it was just that: an idea. But now, my mother is on the other side of a door she has never been welcome to walk through, and I’m hit with a reminder of me, standing outside my childhood home, equally eager and anxious to tell my mother about Julian and me.

Is that how she feels now?

I feel Julian’s hand land on my shoulder. “Do you want me to open it? Do you want me to leave you here alone? Take your Dad into the kitchen? Should we have thought of a safe word?”

An unexpected laugh bubbles out of my mouth, the tension from my shoulders evaporating almost immediately, the slight smirk on Julian’s face telling me his verbal faux pas was not at all accidental.

“It’ll be fine,” I reassure us both. “You know me well enough to know when I’ve reached my limit.”

I know with my whole entire being that Julian wouldn’t wait for a safe word. If he sees me in distress, he’ll save me, whether I ask for it or not.

Kissing him on the cheek, I take a few steps, closing the distance between me and my parents. Opening the door, I brace myself for an onslaught of emotions that surprisingly never come. I feel almost numb inside as I take in the woman before me.

There is no denying she’s aged, from the salt and pepper roots of her short bob to the lines around her eyes and the sides of her mouth. She’s smaller somehow, almost like my decision to rid myself of the power she had over me made her somehow less intimidating.

“Deacon,” she greets.

If I expected a smile, or some sort of warm, nostalgic meeting, I’m immediately corrected. She’s as rigid and defensive as she’s ever been, and for some reason this eases my nerves.

I know this version of my mother.

I’m prepared to deal with this version of her.

“Mom.” I shift my gaze to the spot beside her, my face softening. “Dad. Come in. How are you?”

“Good,” he responds, leaning in for a hug, his voice as gruff as always. My arms circle his body, grateful to have always had his support.

“Thank you for coming,” I say softly, and he squeezes me tighter.

“Julian.” My mother’s voice catches my attention. “It’s good to see you.”

I can almost hear my own heart sigh at the difference between the two greetings, but I try to move past it and give her the benefit of the doubt. She and I have a history that she and Julian do not.

“Elaine,” he says, his voice flat and void of emotion. “Let’s sit down.”

He guides us into the living room.

Instead of following, my dad wordlessly walks into the kitchen, probably to give us some space and spare us an audience. I don’t doubt how hard this is on him, and I’m certain keeping some distance allows him to remain neutral and not influence my decision of whether or not to forgive my mother.

He’s shown me time and time again that he’s here for me, with or without her, loving me unconditionally like every parent should.

Our living area is big enough that my mother and I don’t have to sit too close, but it also means we’re in the direct line of sight of each other, and there is no hiding in this moment, for either of us.

My hands are clenched into fists on my knees, my chest filled with so much tense air, it hurts to breathe, but I rip that Band-Aid off anyway.

“What is it that you want, Mom?” Julian’s hand covers mine, and I don’t miss the way her eyes settle on the subtle, albeit still public display of affection between us.

If it bothers her, she doesn’t show it, and if she’s happy for us, she doesn’t show that either.

“Elaine,” Julian says, the tone of his voice undeniably impatient. “You texted for months.”

“I know, I know,” she rushes out, her gaze darting between us. “I didn’t think you would agree, and now I’m here.” She shrugs, her lips pursed together. “I realize I didn’t really make a plan of what comes next. You have a beautiful home,” she compliments. “A good size for a family.”

Her words aren’t a question, but they’re enough for us to segue into why she’s really here. But instead of making it easier for her, I sit in silence. If she wants access to her grandchild, she’s going to have to work for it.

Her knee begins to bounce, and I steer my thoughts away from the default, from the inherent need and habit to make excuses for her discomfort and wrongdoings.

“Congratulations on starting a family,” she eventually says, this time her gaze locked on mine. Her defenses have finally fallen, the smile on her face sad yet hopeful. “Your father says your daughter is beautiful.”