THE EDGE OF THIRST
Chapter 25 : The Beginning of Something New
The adoption process was overwhelming.
Julian had expected paperwork — he was a lawyer, after all, and paperwork was his native language. But he hadn’t expected the home studies, the background checks, the interviews, the endless waiting. He hadn’t expected the way strangers would poke through their lives, asking questions about their marriage, their finances, their childhoods, their deepest fears.
“You’re nervous,” the social worker said. Her name was Patricia, and she had kind eyes and a no-nonsense manner that Julian appreciated. “That’s normal.”
“I’m not nervous,” Julian lied.
Patricia smiled. “Mr. Ashford, I’ve been doing this for twenty years. I can tell when someone’s nervous.”
Julian glanced at Micah. Micah was sitting on the couch, his hands folded in his lap, his expression carefully neutral. He looked like he was trying not to throw up.
“Okay,” Julian admitted. “Maybe I’m a little nervous.”
“A little?”
“A lot.”
Patricia nodded. “Tell me why.”
Julian was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. The living room was warm, filled with the afternoon sun. Oliver was curled up on the windowsill, indifferent. Juniper was lying at Micah’s feet, her head on her paws.
“I’m afraid we’re not ready,” Julian said. “I’m afraid we’re going to mess this up. I’m afraid we’re going to hurt a child because we haven’t healed enough ourselves.”
Patricia’s expression softened. “Those are honest fears.”
“I don’t know how to be a father. My own father —” He stopped. Swallowed. “My own father wasn’t a good role model. He pushed me away when I needed him most. I’m afraid I’ll do the same thing.”
“Mr. Ashford, the fact that you’re afraid of repeating your father’s mistakes is a sign that you won’t. People who don’t care about their parenting don’t worry about being bad parents.”
Julian looked at Micah. Micah’s eyes were wet, but he was smiling.
“What about you, Mr. Cruz?” Patricia asked. “What are you afraid of?”
Micah was quiet for a long moment. The clock ticked. Juniper sighed in her sleep.
“I’m afraid of not being enough,” Micah said finally. “I didn’t have a father. He left when I was two. I don’t know what a good father looks like. I don’t know how to be one.”
Patricia nodded. “What do you know?”
Micah frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You know what you didn’t have. You know what you needed as a child — safety, stability, love. You know what you would have wanted from your own father.” Patricia leaned forward. “That’s a starting point. That’s more than many parents have.”
Micah’s throat worked. “You think we can do this?”
“I think you’re the right kind of scared. The kind that makes you careful. The kind that makes you thoughtful. The kind that makes you try harder.” Patricia smiled. “Yes, Mr. Cruz. I think you can do this.”
The home study took three months.
Three months of inspections and interviews and intrusive questions about their sex life (did they really need to know that? Patricia assured them it was standard). Three months of waiting and worrying and second-guessing every decision they had ever made.
But finally — finally — the approval came.
Julian opened the letter with shaking hands. Micah stood behind him, reading over his shoulder.
Dear Mr. Ashford and Mr. Cruz,
We are pleased to inform you that your home study has been approved. You are now eligible to begin the process of matching with a child.
Julian let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “We’re approved.”
“We’re approved.”
“We’re going to be parents.”
Micah pulled him into a hug. “We’re going to be parents.”
They stood in the kitchen, holding each other, laughing and crying and not caring who saw.
The matching process was harder.
They filled out forms — pages and pages of forms — describing the kind of child they wanted to parent. Age. Gender. Race. Medical history. Trauma history. Sibling groups.
“I feel like I’m shopping,” Julian said, staring at the forms.
“It’s not shopping. It’s being honest about what we can handle.”
“I don’t know what we can handle.”
“Neither do I.” Micah took his hand. “But we’re going to figure it out together.”
They checked boxes. They wrote essays. They prayed — neither of them was religious, but they prayed anyway — that they would find the right child, the one who needed them, the one who would complete their family.
And then, one Tuesday afternoon, the phone rang.
“Mr. Ashford? Mr. Cruz?”
Julian’s heart stopped. “This is Julian.”
“This is Patricia. I have a potential match for you.”
Micah was in the shower. Julian grabbed his phone and ran to the bathroom, bursting through the door.
“Micah! Micah, it’s Patricia!”
Micah turned off the water, his hair dripping, his eyes wide. “What?”
“Potential match. She has a potential match.”
They stood in the bathroom, soaking wet, listening to Patricia describe a five-year-old boy named Elijah.
“He was removed from his birth parents six months ago,” Patricia said. “They had substance abuse issues. He’s been in two foster homes since then. He’s healthy, he’s bright, and he’s been waiting for a forever family.”
“A five-year-old,” Julian said.
“He’s five. He’ll be six in March.”
Micah’s eyes were shining. “Tell us more.”
They met Elijah two weeks later.
The foster agency had arranged a visit — a “play date,” they called it — at a neutral location. Julian and Micah arrived early, their hands clammy, their hearts pounding. They had brought toys — a stuffed bear, a picture book, a small car that Micah had picked out because it was red and shiny and reminded him of something he had wanted as a child.
The social worker brought Elijah into the room.
He was small — smaller than Julian had expected. Thin arms, thin legs, a cloud of dark curls that fell over his eyes. He was holding a tattered blanket, the kind that had been washed so many times it was almost threadbare.
“Elijah,” the social worker said, “these are Julian and Micah. They’re going to play with you for a little while.”
Elijah looked at them. His eyes were big and brown and wary.
“Hi, Elijah,” Julian said. His voice was soft, gentle. “We brought you some toys.”
Elijah didn’t move.
Micah knelt down so he was at Elijah’s level. “I like your blanket.”
Elijah clutched the blanket tighter.
“My friend Oliver has a blanket like that,” Micah continued. “He carries it everywhere. He sleeps with it. He even tries to eat it sometimes.”
Elijah’s eyes flickered. “Oliver?”
“My cat. He’s very fluffy and very grumpy. He would probably hiss at you if he met you. But he would also let you pet him. Eventually.”
Elijah took a step forward. Just one.
Micah held out the red car. “I brought this for you. I thought we could race it on the floor.”
Elijah looked at the car. Then he looked at Micah. Then he looked at Julian.
“You’re both dads?” Elijah asked.
Julian’s heart cracked. “We want to be. If you’ll let us.”
Elijah was quiet for a long moment. Then he took the car from Micah’s hand and sat down on the floor.
“Let’s race,” Elijah said.
The visit lasted an hour.
They raced cars. They read the picture book. They built a tower out of blocks and watched Elijah knock it down, giggling, his small face transformed by joy.
When the social worker said it was time to go, Elijah clung to Micah’s leg.
“I don’t want to leave,” Elijah said.
Micah knelt down and looked at him. “You have to go. But we’ll be back. We’ll come back tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that.”
Elijah’s eyes were wet. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
Elijah hugged Micah — a quick, fierce hug — and then he was gone, led away by the social worker, the tattered blanket dragging behind him.
Julian and Micah stood in the empty room, holding hands.
“He’s perfect,” Julian said.
“He’s perfect.”
“He’s ours.”
“Not yet.” Micah’s voice cracked. “But soon.”
The visits continued.
Every day for two weeks, Julian and Micah met Elijah at the agency. They played with cars and blocks and puzzles. They read books and drew pictures and ate snacks that Julian packed in a small cooler. They learned about Elijah — his favorite color (red), his favorite food (macaroni and cheese, which Julian took as a personal sign), his favorite animal (giraffes, because their necks were so long).
And Elijah learned about them. He learned that Julian was a lawyer who didn’t practice law anymore, and that Micah was a bartender who was going to school to be a psychologist. He learned that they had a cat named Oliver who hissed at everyone and a dog named Juniper who chewed shoes. He learned that they loved each other very much, and that they had enough love left over for him.
On the fourteenth day, the social worker called.
“The birth parents have signed the termination papers,” Patricia said. “Elijah is legally free for adoption.”
Julian’s hands were shaking. “When can he come home?”
“We’re recommending a gradual transition. A few hours at first, then a full day, then an overnight. We want to make sure Elijah is comfortable before we move him permanently.”
“How long will that take?”
“It depends on Elijah. It could be a few weeks. It could be a few months.”
Julian looked at Micah. Micah’s eyes were shining.
“We’ll wait,” Julian said. “However long it takes.”
The first overnight was a disaster.
Elijah cried for hours — not the quiet tears of sadness, but the loud, wailing sobs of a child who had been moved too many times and didn’t believe that this time would be different.
Julian held him. Micah held him. They took turns walking him around the apartment, singing lullabies, offering snacks and toys and the red car that had been his favorite during the visits.
Nothing worked.
“I want to go home,” Elijah sobbed. “I want to go home.”
Julian’s heart broke. “This is your home now.”
“No, it’s not. It’s not my home. My home is with —” He stopped. Swallowed. He didn’t have a home. He hadn’t had a home in six months.
Micah knelt down in front of him. “Elijah, look at me.”
Elijah looked. His face was red, his eyes swollen, his nose running.
“I know you’re scared,” Micah said. “I know you’ve been hurt. I know you don’t trust us yet. And that’s okay. You don’t have to trust us yet. You just have to stay. One night. That’s all we’re asking. One night.”
Elijah’s lip trembled. “And then?”
“And then tomorrow, you can decide if you want to stay again.”
“What if I don’t?”
“Then we’ll try again the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.” Micah wiped Elijah’s tears with his thumb. “We’re not going anywhere, Elijah. We’re going to keep showing up. Every day. For as long as it takes.”
Elijah stared at him. Slowly, the sobs subsided. His breathing steadied.
“Okay,” Elijah whispered.
“Okay?”
“Okay. I’ll stay.”
Micah picked him up and carried him to the bedroom. Julian followed, his heart full to bursting.
They tucked Elijah into the big bed — between them, where he could feel safe — and lay on either side of him, their hands touching over his small body.
“Tell me a story,” Elijah said.
“What kind of story?” Julian asked.
“A story about a boy who found a family.”
Julian looked at Micah. Micah nodded.
“Once upon a time,” Julian began, “there was a boy who was very lost. He had been lost for a very long time. He didn’t think anyone would ever find him.”
Elijah snuggled closer.
“But one day, a man walked into a bar —”
“A bar?” Elijah interrupted. “That’s not a kid story.”
“It’s a love story,” Micah said. “All the best stories are love stories.”
Elijah considered this. “Okay. Go on.”
“A man walked into a bar,” Julian continued, “and he met another man. And they fell in love. And they got married. And they decided that they wanted to share their love with a child.”
“A child like me?”
“A child exactly like you.”
Elijah was quiet for a moment. “Did they find him?”
“They found him,” Micah said. “And he was the best thing that ever happened to them.”
Elijah smiled — a small, sleepy smile. “I like that story.”
“It’s a true story,” Julian said.
“Mostly true,” Micah added.
“The truest kind.”
Elijah closed his eyes. His breathing slowed. His small hand curled around Julian’s finger.
And for the first time in six months, Elijah slept through the night.