hesitance about moving forward with the open adoption. I expected him to get pissed or refuse to speak to me after that. But, once again, he surprised me with how much he’s grown.
“I’ve been feeling the same way,” he said as he adjusted the pillows behind his back to get more comfortable. “I didn’t want to say anything. I don’t want you to think that I’m giving up on the agreement because I don’t love her. It’s the opposite. I keep thinking of what will happen to her if she grows up with two sets of parents who would both do anything for her.”
“She’ll always wonder why I gave her up. She might even resent me for it. Or worse… she may think I gave her up because I didn’t want her. And any time something gets rough at home, she’ll wish she were with us instead of them.”
“I feel like a terrible person for even thinking of giving up. But I’ll feel even worse for not putting Abigail first.” We look each other in the eye and I can tell he’s trying to hold it together. “I never told you this, but the day we met, when you were complaining about not having slept and I convinced you to come downstairs to listen to us play… I’ve always regretted that.”
“Why?”
“After I found out what you had been through with your mom and all the other foster homes, I felt like I should have let you sleep that day instead of asking you to come downstairs so I could put on a show for you.”
“It’s not like I didn’t have a choice. I could have gone to sleep. I wanted to go downstairs.”
“I know, but you also probably didn’t want to say no because you were in yet another new home. Anyway, I’ve thought about that day a lot and how I should have let you sleep. I should have, from the day you moved in, showed you that you would always come first. That’s what you needed. And I know that’s what Abigail needs, too.”
We held each other for what must have been four or five hours, until the tears that soaked through my pillowcase had dried. It was at that moment that I realized the most important lesson Abigail taught me.
Though she won’t grow up knowing us, Abigail will still be happy. She will never know the sacrifice we made for her, but she will be happy. We feel the love of strangers every day in the beautiful things they do that affect our lives without our knowledge. That is how we will love Abigail. And that is how she will feel our love.
Jackie’s voice jolts me out of this memory and my nerves are once again zinging beneath my skin. I smile at her as she walks in carrying a serving platter with a beautiful roast chicken. She sets the platter down and sits at the head of the table. I sit in the chair next to her and Chris kisses the top of my head before he sits on my other side.
Jackie smiles at me as she begins carving the chicken. She cuts off a leg and motions for me to pass her my plate. She still remembers my favorite part of the chicken. She lays the meat gently on my plate and looks to Chris.
“Pass me your plate, honey.”
When everyone’s food is served, Chris glances at me and I try not to make it obvious that we’re silently communicating, but Jackie quickly catches on.
“All right, what kind of secret are you two keeping from me now? Is it some kind of Christmas surprise? ‘Cause you know I hate surprises.”
Chris sighs as he sets down his fork. “We want to talk to you about Abigail. We’ve decided not to pursue the open adoption.”
Jackie’s face falls, and just when I think she’s going to say something, she throws her napkin on the table and gets up to leave.
“Mom, come on. Please sit down so we can talk.”
“I forgot the wine,” she says as she heads for the wine chiller. She pulls out a bottle of white wine and begins loudly rummaging through the drawer. “Where’s the corkscrew?”
I can feel Chris looking at me, but I can’t bear to look at him right now. Covering my face with my hands, I manage to keep the tears from flowing by the time Jackie joins us at the table again. She only brought herself a glass, but neither Chris nor I drink wine, so it doesn’t bother me. It’s the way her lips are pressed together and trembling, as if she’s trying to keep from crying, that makes me want to hide under the table.
“Jackie, we’re only trying to do what’s best for Abby,” I begin. “Please look at me. I need you to understand.”
Jackie tears her gaze away from the glass of wine she hasn’t touched yet and glares at me. She appears more hurt than angry, which only makes this more difficult.
“I don’t know if I can listen to any more of this. I go to bed every night thinking of that little girl.”
“So do we,” Chris says, his voice thick with emotion. “I want to be selfish. I want to have her all to myself, but she’s not ours anymore. And trying to change that now would take months or years of suffering and a miracle.”
“And she’s so happy,” I whisper these words that are both dirty and true and precious at the same time; a paradox too painful to carry inside me. “I want her to be happy, but I want her to be happy with me. But if she can’t be happy with me, then I just want her to be happy.”
Chris takes my hand in both of his and I close my eyes as I try to imagine what the next few months or years will be like, trying to forget the joy I felt for that brief moment when I held her in my arms. I’ll have to just keep reminding myself of all the joy and love both Abby and I feel every day.
“This was not an easy decision, but it’s the right decision,” Chris says as he squeezes my hand, and when I look up he’s looking straight at me. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned recently, it’s that sometimes letting someone go is the ultimate act of love.”
I throw my arms around his neck and squeeze him as tight as I can. He returns my embrace with just as much vigor.
“I won’t ever let you go again,” I whisper in his ear.
“What about me?” Jackie says, and I reluctantly release my grip on Chris so I can look at her.
“What about you?” Chris asks.
“Do I get a hug?” she replies, and I bolt up from my chair. She stands up and I can wrap my arms tightly around her middle. “Oh, Claire. I can see the fear in your eyes. I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
“I’m just so afraid that you’ll always resent me for what I did, but I really just did what I thought was best for Chris and Abby. I’m sorry.” She strokes my hair as I hold her tightly. “I’m so sorry.”
She lets go of me and grabs both my hands as she looks me in the eye. “I know the pain will become less sharp as the years go by. I also know that whatever pain I’m feeling, you two are feeling it tenfold, so I’m just happy to see you two haven’t given up on each other. I know a little about losing a child and I know you two will need each other more than anyone else in the coming months and years. Just promise me you’ll never leave us again.”
“You’ll have to change your name and move out of the country to get rid of me.”
She smiles and kisses my forehead. “I love you. Don’t you ever doubt that.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Chris
Christmas Day: I’ve been waiting for this day for over four months, since the day I ran into Claire at the Home Sweet Home concert in Raleigh. Today, I’m giving Claire a gift I’ve been working on for years.
I already gave the gift to my mom for her to wrap it. She cried like a baby when she realized what it was. I hope Claire loves it and finally understands how I never stopped loving her.
Claire and I take our time showering together, both of us wearing mischievous grins that hide the secrets of the gifts we have planned for each other.
I sweep her hair over her shoulder and rub body wash over her back. “I’ll tell you what I’m giving you if you tell me what you’re giving me?”
She shakes her head adamantly. “Nope. If I tell you, it will completely ruin the gift. I want to see a genuine reaction when I hand it to you.”
I kiss the back of her neck, which tastes clean and a little sweet. My hands glide over the wet skin on her belly and under her breasts.
She tilts her head to the side, opening her neck to me as I cup her breasts in my hands.
“You can’t give me a little hint?” I trace my tongue down the length of her neck and she gasps as I bite her shoulder. “I promise I’ll act surprised.”
I slide my hand down between her legs and she moans as I stroke her gently.
“No, I’m not telling you,” she says breathlessly.
I caress her steadily and she lets out a soft whine as she bends over, priming herself to receive me. I slide into her from behind and she whimpers as she presses her hands against the wall for support. No matter how many times I make love to Claire, it never feels the same. Wrapped up inside of her, I feel as if I’m the man I always wanted to be; the man who was lucky enough to get and keep a girl as beautiful as Claire.
“Harder,” she begs. I grasp her hips to thrust deeper and she gasps. “Don’t. Stop.”
She whimpers every time I hit her core, but this position always gets me and soon I have to slow down so I don’t explode. Moving firmly in and out of her, I roll my hips slowly as I stretch her, savoring the way I fit so tightly inside of her. I reach around to stroke her clit as I dip in and out, diving into the depths of her. With every movement of my finger, her cries come sharper and the muscles in her stomach contract under my hand. She releases a piercing cry of pleasure, but I continue stroking her lightly as I move inside of her. Finally, she screams my name, begging me to stop.
“Tell me what you got me for Christmas.”
She laughs as she squirms in my arms. “No! Oh, my God. Please stop!”
I keep my arm locked tightly around her waist as I come. It takes a moment for both our bodies to stop convulsing, then we sit back on the shower floor together to catch our breath.
“Merry Christmas, babe,” I whisper in her ear.
“That better not be your Christmas gift.”
“Oh, God. Please stop,” I tease her and she elbows me in the ribs. “Ow! Of course, that’s not my Christmas gift. My gift won’t be quite so wet.”
When we pull into the driveway at my mom’s house, the house that we all once shared together as a family, I grab Claire’s knee to stop her from getting out of the car.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her teeth chattering from the freezing temperatures.
It’s supposed to snow tonight. I’m not looking forward to driving home through that, but it will be our first snow together since we’ve been back together. I miss watching the snowfall outside my window with Claire.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just need to say something before we go in there.”
She squints her eyes as she looks at me. “What?”
I take a deep breath before I begin. “I’ve been waiting a long time for today, to give you what I’m about to give you. And it’s not an engagement ring, but it means a lot to me. I just want you to know how much love and pain went into this gift. This is me baring my soul to you.”
She smiles and reaches across to lay her hand on my cheek. “You didn’t have to tell me that. I would never scoff at a gift from you. You could give me a piece of thread and I’d put it in a frame and treasure it for the rest of my life.”
“You’re full of shit, but I promise I’ll never give you a piece of thread.”
“Good, because I’d just set it on fire and change the locks.”
I shake my head as I climb out of the Porsche and wait for Claire to round the front of the car. I grab her hand and we walk to the front door together. She opens the door and the warm aromas of homemade roast turkey and pumpkin pie are thick in the air.
“God, I swear your mom is trying to fatten me up for the kill.”
I pinch her side and she giggles as she slaps my arm away. “You’ll make a tender stew.”
“Are you calling me fat?”
“What? First I’m calling you the cleaning lady and now I’m calling you fat?” She tries to punch my arm, but I swerve out of the way. “Your aim sucks as much as your cleaning skills.”
She rolls her eyes as we enter the kitchen and find my mom hovering over the stove as usual, but there’s someone standing next to her. I’m both surprised and a little pissed. My mom never said she would be inviting someone else to celebrate Christmas with us.
“Mom?”
She turns around and smiles broadly as she sets down the wooden spoon on the stove and greets me with a bone-crushing hug.
“Merry Christmas, honey,” she says as she lets me go and takes Claire in her arms. “Merry Christmas. I’m so happy you guys came early. You can help me with the sweet potatoes.”
She releases Claire and heads straight back to the stove.
Claire looks just as confused as I feel. “What do you need help with?” she asks as she follows my mom.
“Honey, this is Joel,” my mom says, motioning to the guy with the grayish beard and thick brown hair as if he’s just an oversight. “He’s a friend of the bakery. I invited him to share some turkey with us.”
He’s wearing a burgundy sweater that screams Christmas. With the gray beard and the brown hair, he looks like a young Santa Claus. I guess I should be civil to my mom’s guest.
I hold out my hand to him. “Nice to meet you, Joel.”
He nods as he shakes my hand. “Merry Christmas. Your mom has told me so much about you.” He turns to Claire and she smiles. “And you, too. You must be Claire?”
“That’s me. Nice to meet you.”
I don’t like the idea of my mom forcing us to share our Christmas with a stranger, but I don’t want to be that guy—the son who keeps his mom from dating and ends up looking like a creepy mama’s boy. If this is how she wants to spend Christmas, then so be it. Anyway, all I need tonight is Claire.
Joel and I sit in the living room, having been banished from the kitchen. I flip on the news because I have no idea what Joel wants to watch and I really don’t feel like asking.
“Your mom talks about you a lot. She’s very proud of you,” Joel says from where he sits in the armchair I normally sit in while I practice.
I nod as I change the channel. “Yeah, she tells everyone she meets. I told her she needs to stop doing that or she’s going to get some crazy stalker following her home one of these days.”
Joel is silent. I don’t know if he thinks I’m calling him a stalker, and I really don’t care. I’ve warned my mom about being so free with that kind of information, but she doesn’t seem to care. She thinks that if nothing bad has happened yet that nothing bad ever will happen.
I sit through another twenty minutes of painful silence before Claire comes in to call us.
She smiles at the scowl I’m wearing as she grabs the front of my shirt. “No pouting on Christmas,” she says, and I can’t help but smile as she pulls me up from the sofa.
“If you say so. I know better than to argue with the cleaning lady.”
“If you didn’t already have a bad leg, I’d kick you in the shin,” she replies as she grabs my hand and pulls me toward the dining area. “By the way, I’m going with you to your physical therapy appointment tomorrow.”
“I don’t need you to go. In fact, I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to see me getting groped by my physical therapist.”
“Why not? I might learn a thing or two.” She growls and I smack her ass as she takes a seat at the table.
“Not at the table, please,” my mom says as she sets a dish of mashed potatoes next to the turkey.
Joel smiles uncomfortably as he moves around my mom to the opposite side of the table. Claire takes her seat and I quickly grab her hand under the table. She looks at me and I smile as I bring her hand to my lips. The back of her hand is soft and smells like the coconut hand lotion my mom keeps in the kitchen. She tilts her head as she smiles at me and I know this will be the best Christmas, no matter how many strangers my mom invites.
My mom clears her throat from the head of the table and we all turn to her. She folds her hands on the table, but she keeps her eyes focused on the food
.
“I know that we have all had a rough year. And we’ve never been the kind of family to say grace before a meal. But I want to take the time to give thanks right now.” She looks at Joel and he smiles. “Thank you, Joel, for joining us today. I know this must feel awkward to you, but I want you to know that your presence is both appreciated and welcomed.” She turns to me and her smile fades. “Christopher, thank you for being the most supportive son a mother could ask for and the kind of man I am proud to have raised.” She turns to Claire and her eyes instantly well up. “My dearest, Claire. My girl. Thank you for making me a proud mother and for making my son stronger and more focused.”
Claire bites her lip for a moment before she takes a deep breath and turns to Joel. “Thank you for being here with us today, Joel.” He nods at her as she turns to my mom and the long pause worries me since I can’t see her face from this angle. “Mom, thank you for being the mother I always wished for.” My mom grabs her hand and I rub Claire’s back as she wipes her face with her napkin then turns to me. “Chris…. There’s really nothing I could say to fully express the gratitude I feel for having met you six years ago. To call you my soul mate would be like calling Romeo and Juliet soul mates. It means nothing in the context of real life and it’s easily dismissible. You are more than my soul mate. You are me.”
I reach up and wipe the tears from her eyes and she closes her eyes in an expression of relief. Taking her hand in mine, I grip it tightly as I turn to Joel. “Thank you, Joel, for having dinner with us today. I hope you join us again… some other time.” My mom eyes me warily at this awkward delivery, but I shrug off her glare. “Mom, thank you for knowing and being exactly what Claire and I have always needed.” I turn to Claire and she casts her gaze downward, as if she’s almost afraid to hear what I’m about to say. I reach across and lift up her chin so she can look me in the eye. “Claire, the love of my life and mother of my child. The owner of my heart and soul and the inspiration for every song I write. If you ever doubt how much I love you, I’ll always be there to remind you. And if I should leave this Earth before you, I’ll haunt the fuck out of you.”
“Christopher!” my mom cries.
Claire smiles as I kiss her temple and let go of her hand. Everyone looks to Joel and he smiles sheepishly.
“Thank you all for this wonderful Christmas dinner and for welcoming me into your home.” He turns to my mom and she smiles as he grabs her hand. “Jackie and I are moving in together.”
My vision goes a little blurry. “What the fuck?”
My mom shrugs as if this information is a small oversight. “It’s not a big deal. You moved out and Joel and I have been seeing each other for a few months.”
“A few months! Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Chris, your mom is allowed to have her own life,” Claire says as she takes my hand in both of her hands. “Calm down.”
I take a deep breath as I try to figure out what’s going on here. My mom must have thought introducing Joel at Christmas, when all the warm emotions were flowing freely, would make everything go smoothly. I know my mom has put off getting remarried for a long time. Part of me always suspected she did it because she didn’t want anyone to try to be my father. I guess I just got so used to her being alone, I never stopped to think that she might not want to be alone.
I let out a deep sigh. “Congratulations,” I mutter.
One of my mom’s eyebrows shoots up skeptically. “Fine. I guess I’ll accept that for now.”
We finish the rest of our dinner without any more surprises. After Claire and I finish washing the dishes, we join my mom and Joel in the living room to open gifts. My mom sits on her knees on the rug in front of the Christmas tree as she hands out gifts from Joel and her to all of us. Claire and I apologize for not getting Joel a gift, though we had no idea he existed before today. My mom loves the new laptop I got her and the sign Claire made for her office that reads: Moms make the sun and stars shine brighter. When my mom hands Claire my gift, I freeze.
She looks at me as she holds the red box in her hands. “It’s kind of heavy. Is it a photo album?”
I shake my head. “Open it and you’ll find out.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Claire
I untie the white ribbon first then lift the lid on the shiny, red box. My stomach flips when I see the red, leather-bound book the size of a photo album. Lifting the book out of the box, I lay it on my lap and set the box on the coffee table. I’m almost afraid to open the book for fear that there are pictures of Abigail in here, but I gather my courage and slowly lift the front cover.
My chest fills with a warm sensation as I read the dedication written in Chris’s handwriting:
For Claire, the love of my life and the melody of my soul.
I turn the page and find a sheet of lined paper tucked safely beneath a thin plastic film. Scrawled in Chris’s handwriting, the way he used to write when we were in high school, is the song “Sleepyhead”—the first song he ever wrote for me.
“It’s a songbook, with every song I’ve ever written for you,” he explains. “I tried to put the original sheet of paper I wrote the song on whenever I had it available. Some of them I had to type up—well, Farrah typed them.”