THE EDGE OF THIRST
Chapter 26 : The Day We Became Four
The courtroom was smaller than Julian remembered.
Not the one where Marcus had been sentenced — that room had been vast and cold and full of strangers. This was a family court, warm and intimate, with wooden chairs and soft lighting and a judge who looked like someone’s grandmother. Judge Margaret O’Brien had been presiding over adoptions for thirty years, and her smile was genuine when she looked at the small family standing before her.
“Mr. Ashford, Mr. Cruz,” Judge O’Brien said, “I have reviewed your file. I have read the home studies, the background checks, the letters of recommendation. I have spoken with the social workers, the foster parents, and the child himself.”
Julian’s hand was sweating in Micah’s. Elijah stood between them, his small hands clutching theirs, his dark eyes fixed on the judge.
“And I have to say,” Judge O’Brien continued, “this is one of the easiest decisions I’ve ever made.”
Elijah tugged on Julian’s hand. “What does that mean?”
Julian knelt down. “It means we get to be a family. Forever.”
“Forever forever?”
“Forever forever.”
Elijah’s face broke into a smile — wide and bright and full of the kind of joy that made Julian’s heart ache.
“All rise,” the bailiff said. “The court will now hear the matter of the adoption of Elijah Marcus Webb.”
Webb. Julian flinched at the name. Elijah’s birth father’s name. The man who had hurt him, neglected him, abandoned him. The name that Elijah carried like a burden he didn’t understand.
“Your Honor,” Julian said, “before we proceed, we have a request.”
Judge O’Brien raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“We would like to change Elijah’s last name. To Cruz-Ashford. If that’s permissible.”
The judge looked at Elijah. “And what do you think, young man? Would you like a new name?”
Elijah looked at Julian, then at Micah. “What’s a Cruz-Ashford?”
“It’s us,” Micah said. “It’s our family name. Julian and me and you.”
“And Oliver and Juniper?”
“And Oliver and Juniper.”
Elijah considered this. “Can I still be Elijah?”
“You can still be Elijah.”
“Then okay.” Elijah nodded. “I want to be a Cruz-Ashford.”
Judge O’Brien smiled. “Then it shall be so.”
The ceremony was simple.
Elijah stood on a small stool so he could see over the bench. Judge O’Brien asked him questions — about his favorite color (red), his favorite food (macaroni and cheese), his favorite thing about Julian and Micah (they let him stay up late and read stories).
“Do you want Julian and Micah to be your parents?” Judge O’Brien asked. “Forever and ever?”
Elijah looked at Julian. He looked at Micah. His dark eyes were solemn.
“Will they ever leave me?” Elijah asked.
The courtroom went silent.
Julian knelt down again, so he was at Elijah’s level. “No, baby. We will never leave you. Not ever. Not for one single minute.”
Micah knelt beside him. “You’re stuck with us, kid. For life.”
Elijah’s lip trembled. “Promise?”
“Promise,” Julian and Micah said together.
Elijah nodded. “Then okay. I want them to be my parents.”
Judge O’Brien beamed. “Then by the power vested in me by the state, I hereby declare Elijah Marcus Webb to be Elijah Micah Cruz-Ashford. Adopted. Forever. Loved.”
The courtroom erupted in applause. Eleanor was crying. Thomas was crying. Rebecca was crying and cheering and taking approximately seven thousand photographs. Even Oliver, who had been left at home with a pet sitter, would probably have been moved.
Julian picked Elijah up and held him. Micah wrapped his arms around both of them.
“We’re a family,” Julian whispered.
“We’re a family,” Micah echoed.
“We’re a family,” Elijah shouted, his voice high and bright and full of joy.
The celebration was at the apartment.
Eleanor had outdone herself — there was a cake with blue frosting and plastic dinosaurs, balloons in every color, a mountain of presents that Elijah tore through with gleeful abandon. Thomas stood in the corner, watching his grandson open gifts, his eyes soft.
“Dad,” Julian said, walking over to him.
Thomas turned. “Julian.”
“Thank you for being here.”
“Where else would I be?”
“I don’t know. The golf course? A board meeting? Anywhere but here?”
Thomas was quiet for a moment. “I missed a lot. Your childhood. Your wedding. The first years of your marriage. I’m not going to miss this.”
Julian’s throat tightened. “Dad —”
“I love you, son. I love your husband. I love my grandson.” Thomas’s voice cracked. “I’m not going to waste any more time being afraid.”
Julian hugged him — tight and fierce and full of forgiveness. “I love you too.”
Thomas hugged him back. “Happy Adoption Day.”
“Happy Adoption Day.”
That night, after the guests had left and the dishes were washed and the last balloon had been chased down by Juniper, Julian tucked Elijah into bed.
“Tell me a story,” Elijah said.
“What kind of story?”
“The one about the bar. Where you and Papa met.”
Julian smiled. “You’ve heard that story a hundred times.”
“I want to hear it again.”
Julian sat on the edge of the bed. Micah leaned against the doorframe, listening.
“Once upon a time,” Julian began, “there was a man who was very lost. He had been lost for so long that he didn’t even know he was lost. He thought he was living a life — but really, he was just going through the motions.”
“Like a robot?”
“Exactly like a robot. He went to work. He came home. He ate dinner. He went to sleep. Every day the same, every day gray.”
Elijah snuggled deeper into his blankets.
“But one night, it was raining. And the man was very sad. And he walked into a bar.”
“The Hideaway.”
“The Hideaway. And behind the bar was another man. A man with dark curls and kind eyes and a smile that made the first man feel like he was waking up from a very long sleep.”
“That’s Papa.”
“That’s Papa.” Julian glanced at Micah. Micah’s eyes were bright.
“The first man ordered a drink,” Julian continued. “And the second man made it for him. And they talked. And they laughed. And the first man realized — for the first time in his life — that he wasn’t lost anymore.”
“Because he found Papa?”
“Because he found himself.” Julian touched Elijah’s nose. “And then, much later, they found you.”
Elijah smiled — a sleepy, contented smile. “I’m glad you found me.”
“We’re glad we found you too.”
“Goodnight, Daddy.”
“Goodnight, baby.”
Julian kissed his forehead and stood up. Micah walked over and kissed Elijah’s forehead too.
“Goodnight, Papa.”
“Goodnight, Elijah.”
They turned off the light and walked to the door.
“Daddy? Papa?”
They turned back.
“Yeah, buddy?”
“I love you.”
Julian’s heart swelled. “We love you too. More than anything.”
They closed the door and stood in the hallway, holding hands, listening to the soft sounds of their son falling asleep.
“We did it,” Micah whispered.
“We did it.”
“We’re parents.”
“We’re parents.”
Micah pulled Julian into his arms. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For walking into my bar. In the rain. With a thousand-dollar suit and eyes like a lost dog.”
Julian laughed. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Never.”
They walked to the living room and collapsed on the couch. Juniper jumped up and curled at their feet. Oliver appeared from nowhere and sat on Micah’s lap.
“Our family is weird,” Julian said.
“Our family is perfect.”
“Oliver is hissing at the wall again.”
“Oliver is expressing himself.”
“He’s a cat.”
“He’s our cat.”
Julian leaned his head against Micah’s shoulder. “I love our family.”
“I love our family too.”
They sat in the dark, holding each other, listening to the sounds of their home. Elijah’s soft breathing. Juniper’s gentle snoring. Oliver’s occasional hiss.
And somewhere in the distance — in a cell in a prison across the city — Marcus Webb sat alone, staring at the walls, dreaming of revenge.
But he was far away. And he had no power here.
Here, there was only love.
The first few weeks of parenthood were chaos.
Elijah had nightmares — the kind that left him screaming and thrashing, convinced that he was back in his birth parents’ house, alone and afraid. Julian learned to hold him through the terror, whispering reassurances, rocking him back to sleep. Micah learned to make pancakes in the shape of animals, because animal pancakes were apparently the only thing Elijah would eat when he was sad.
They made mistakes. They burned dinner. They forgot to buy diapers. They argued about bedtime and screen time and whether it was okay to let a five-year-old have ice cream for breakfast (it was not, Julian insisted, and Micah insisted that one time wouldn’t hurt, and Elijah ended up having ice cream for breakfast).
But they learned. Every day, they learned.
“Daddy,” Elijah said one morning, sitting at the kitchen table, his spoon halfway to his mouth.
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Am I going to have to leave?”
Julian’s heart stopped. “Leave?”
“Leave this house. Leave you and Papa. Like I left my other houses.”
Julian set down his coffee and knelt beside Elijah’s chair. “No, baby. You never have to leave. This is your home. Forever.”
“But the other families said that too.”
Julian’s eyes burned. “I know. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that other people broke their promises to you. But we’re not going to break ours. We’re going to keep you forever and ever and ever.”
Elijah’s lip trembled. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
Elijah threw his arms around Julian’s neck and held on tight.
Micah walked into the kitchen and saw them — Julian on his knees, Elijah clinging to him — and his face softened.
“What did I miss?”
“Nothing,” Julian said. “Just a promise.”
“A good promise?”
“The best kind.”
Micah knelt down and wrapped his arms around both of them. “I love you. Both of you. So much.”
“We love you too,” Elijah said.
They stayed like that for a long time — a huddle of Cruz-Ashfords, holding each other in the morning light.