Page 163 of Run
“Maybe we should sit?”
“Yeah, OK. Let’s sit.”
We pick some chairs and I throw an arm around her shoulder, pulling her toward my side, with the armrests between us. I rest my head on top of hers as she does her best to nestle into me.
“Red?”
“Yeah?”
“Remember what the agency told us. They could still change their minds.” I feel Ari nod against me. “And if they do, we will be fine. It just means we weren’t meant to be this baby’s parents, and we’ll sign up again. OK? And we still want to make babies, too, remember?” I rub my hand up and down her arm.
“OK,” she answers.
The truth is, we won’t be OK if these parents change their minds. We’ve talked about all the possibilities of disappointment when it comes to adoption, and even though we both decided the risk is worth the reward, I know without a doubt Ari will be crushed if we don’t take this baby home today. So will I.
“If they decide to keep the baby,” Ari speaks up, “it will be sad, but it will also be happy, because it means the baby will stay with their birth parents, and they will stay a family. And that’s wonderful.”
I run my nose along Ari’s temple. “Blood isn’t the only thing that makes a family.”
“Don’t I know it.”
We sit silently for a while as I hope and pray the universe doesn’t break Ari’s heart. Or mine. The couple we are adopting from is young. The mom and dad are freshmen in college and barely know each other. I have to give it to them for choosing adoption, seeing as they had other options. And the fact that they chose to give the life they created to us is something I will forever be grateful for.
After a while, we stand and stretch our legs. And then we drink coffee. And pace up and down the hallway. And we watch reruns ofThe Golden Girlson the TV hanging in the corner.
And we wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Various nurses and doctors come and go from the room. And the father even emerges at one point—the poor bastard looking like he may faint. And then we start to hear moaning and yelling coming from inside the room.
Ari and I are both on our feet, too anxious to sit.
A team of doctors and nurses rush into the room, and we hear panting and swearing as the door swings open and close. “Do you think something’s wrong?” Ari asks, fear in her eyes.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
She turns and paces away and I come up behind her, wrapping my arms around her and burying my face in her neck. We stay that way for only a moment, and then we hear a baby cry. Ari gasps, and I freeze. We continue to hear the cry before Ari slowly turns her head, looking at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are wide.
I want to say something, but I am at a loss.
Our baby is here. He or she is crying.
More time passes, and the crying stops and starts, stops and starts. Ari and I eventually start pacing again, as many people exit the room, some looking at us and smiling.
“What do you think is going on in there?”
Ari shakes her head nervously. “Maybe they’re just, like, recovering. The mother did say she wanted to hold the baby.”
I nod. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Which is a good thing,” Ari adds quickly. “Bonnie said that was such an important moment for her when I was born.”
I nod again. But we both know this could be it. The parents could be looking at their baby and changing their minds, deciding they can’t give him or her up. Which would be a beautiful, wonderful thing.
And it would destroy us.
