Something Like Spring

Her husband did too. Mr. Hubbard’s dark hair was gray at the temples, his mustache already salt and pepper. He had the successful air of a businessman, despite not wearing a suit. The golf clothes suggested his deals took place at a country club rather than a stuffy office.

  Michelle introduced them as Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard, but they immediately corrected her and reintroduced themselves as Mom and Dad. This made Jason’s mouth go dry. The three kids seated on the side couch were reintroduced as his brother and two sisters. They had names too, but Jason missed them completely. A young girl of about seven or eight beamed at him, while next to her, a boy on the verge of puberty sized him up. At the end of the couch, an older girl in her late teens seemed bored, like she’d seen one too many of these meetings. This told Jason that not everyone made the cut. Being here didn’t mean he would automatically be adopted.

  “Ah!” Mrs. Hubbard said, eyes lighting up as she looked toward the front door. “There’s your oldest brother!”

  Jason followed her gaze. A guy his age, maybe a little older, had a cell phone pressed against his cheek. The device was almost lost in the waves of chestnut hair that spilled over his ears and ended just above his neck. His skin was dark with sun, his eyes almost golden. A loose V-neck shirt made his frame appear lanky at first, but the chest was toned, the exposed skin revealing fine black hair not so different from that on his chin. Jason dared to let his attention dart down to the narrow waist, where the shirt was partially tucked into a white belt—either by accident or design.

  “Caesar,” Mr. Hubbard said. “Would you like to meet your new brother?”

  Disinterested eyes grazed Jason, not even focusing, before the phone moved away. “No.” The answer was firm. Final. Caesar returned the phone to his ear, continuing his conversation as he crossed the room and bounded up the stairs to the upper floor.

  Jason turned to his new foster parents. They didn’t seem fazed by this behavior. Quite the opposite, in fact. Mrs. Hubbard’s eyes continued to shine, Jason noticing how they were the same golden hue. Mr. Hubbard’s strong chin—the exact shape and size as Caesar’s—didn’t clench in frustration. Instead he winced in amused embarrassment as his son disappeared, causing Jason to realize the truth. Caesar was their child. The real deal. Flesh and blood.

  Jason glanced back at his would-be siblings. The oldest girl was of Asian descent, the youngest much too blonde and fair. He thought the boy in the middle might belong to them too, until Jason saw him glare bitterly after Caesar.

  Jason had experienced mixed families before. Biological children were always treated differently. Not that he cared. Power struggles didn’t interest him. He didn’t compete for the attention of strangers, so he’d gladly stay out of Caesar’s way.

  “I believe that’s everything,” Michelle said as she stood.

  Jason shot to his feet, nearly reaching out to stop her. Funny, because Michelle had reached toward him, a hand extended for him to shake. He ignored it and hugged her, feeling embarrassed by his own actions, but desperation had won out. When she hugged him back, he had to steel himself. No tears. No weakness in front of this new family. No more than he’d already shown, at least.

  “Try to be good,” Michelle whispered. “For your own sake. And if that’s not enough, then do it for me.”

  He nodded once she pulled away. He would try. But only for her. Michelle dug in her pocket and handed him a business card, which struck him as cold. He knew the address of the children’s home by heart, as well as the number of the front desk. Then he noticed handwriting on the back and quickly pocketed the card.

  “Okay,” she said, cheeks slightly flushed. Michelle returned her attention to Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard, a pleasant smile on her face. They walked her to the door, leaving Jason standing there. He decided to make eye contact with each of his “siblings” to show he wasn’t afraid. Or intimidated. Each met his gaze. Of course. They came from the same world as he did.

  “Can you really play that?” the little girl asked, pointing at his guitar.

  “Yeah,” Jason answered.

  “Do you know any hymns?”

  Before he could answer, the Hubbards returned to the room.

  “So,” Mrs. Hubbard said, clapping her hands together. “I’ve always found a nice board game is the best way to get acquainted. How about a round of Scrabble?”

  Jason thought of all the naughty words he could spell. Then he remembered the promise he’d made to Michelle. He’d be good. Forcing a smile, he nodded eagerly. “Sounds fun!”

  * * * * *

  Two hours of mind-numbing games. Not just Scrabble, but also Trouble followed by Chutes and Ladders. That last one had been for Amy’s benefit—the youngest girl. At least the board game marathon had taught Jason everyone’s name, except for his would-be parents. Mercifully, they then showed him to his room. After a brief tour, they suggested he get unpacked and enjoy some privacy, although they left his bedroom door open on the way out. He figured it was meant to stay that way.

  Jason hadn’t felt this antsy since his first few foster families. Back then he had still wanted to please, working hard to live up to expectations both real and imagined. Now, after all these years, he was supposed to try again. If it wasn’t for Michelle…

  Remembering the business card, he pulled it out of his jeans pocket, flipped it over, and read the handwritten note. If you need anything, you can call me. Even at home. Below this a number was scribbled. Jason smiled at the way the word “anything” had been underlined. Another guy might make this into something it wasn’t, show it off at school and brag about the hot older woman who had slipped him her digits. But of course Jason wasn’t like other guys, and Michelle wasn’t that sort of person. Instinct told him to hide the card somewhere safe, so he examined his new room.

  Bedrooms in foster homes came in two flavors. The good ones were neutral, the foster parents trusting their wards to fill the space with their own personalities. The other kind, like the one Jason stood in now, reeked of expectation. A baseball mitt, a bat, and a catcher’s mask nestled casually together in one corner. On the wall hung framed posters of sports cars, the makes and models of which Jason couldn’t even guess at. The queen-sized bed was generously neutral, but the desk next to it was lined with a crisp collection of Hardy Boys books.

  So basically, after having met Jason last month, the Hubbards had decided he was a baseball playing jock who fantasized about zooming around in sports cars while solving petty crimes. He shook his head, gathered up the baseball equipment, and tossed it in the closet. In the liberated corner he placed his guitar. After a moment’s thought, he slid Michelle’s card between the strings, dropping it in the sound hole where he felt it would be safe.

  After swinging his suitcase onto the bed, Jason started moving his clothes into the dresser drawers. That’s when Amy padded into the room. Smiling, she sat on the mattress edge and looked around. Nothing had changed except the guitar, which she stared at. Then she cocked her head, blonde bangs swinging to the side as she considered him seriously.

  “Do you want to pray?” she asked.

  At first Jason wondered if she had a speech impediment. Surely she meant ‘play’ instead of ‘pray,’ but he gave her the benefit of the doubt. “You mean to Jesus?”

  Amy nodded. “Mm-hm.”

  “No. Sorry, but God stopped taking my calls a long time ago.”

  Amy scrunched up her nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That I don’t want to pray.” Jason grabbed the last two pairs of socks from his suitcase and closed the lid. “How old are you?”

  “Seven and a half.”

  “What does a seven-and-a-half-year-old need to pray for? A Barbie Dreamhouse?”

  “I’ve got one of those,” Amy said matter-of-factly. “I pray for things to stay the same. I don’t want everything to change again.”

  Jason understood. She was young, but obviously she still remembered the life she had before. Whatever had put her into foster care, she worri
ed it could happen again. He wouldn’t ask her what that was. Instead, he steered her toward more pleasant topics. “You really have a Barbie Dreamhouse?”

  Amy nodded eagerly, flashing him a smile that was missing a few teeth.

  Jason pretended to be impressed. “The kind with an elevator and everything?”

  “Yup! And lights that turn on and off and a hot tub. And a toilet.” She giggled. “Do you want to come play?”

  “With dolls? Uh, no.”

  Amy went from gleeful to pouty in the blink of the eye. “Nobody ever plays with me!”

  “Nobody ever?” Jason asked.

  “Nobody ever,” Amy confirmed.

  Jason glanced around his room. Unless he planned on losing himself in the innocuous adventures of the Hardy Boys, he didn’t have many options. “All right,” he said. “But I get to play with the boy dolls. You do have boy dolls, don’t you?”

  Amy’s eyes lit up. She hopped off the bed and grabbed his hand, leading him down the hallway. Jason allowed himself to peek into the rooms they passed. In one dark bedroom—the blinds pulled shut—his new ‘brother’ Peter sat in front of a computer, wearing a headset while he hammered at a keyboard. The door to the next room was only cracked, but he could see Carrie, the oldest Hubbard girl, pacing the room while lost in a phone conversation. The room across from Peter’s was obviously their destination, since it was a pink paradise, but Jason’s attention was focused down the hall. Unlike the others, the door there was closed. The dull thump of music could be heard from beyond.

  “Whose room is that?” he asked, even though Amy was tugging at his arm to get him to follow. “Is that where your parents sleep?”

  “No,” Amy said, rolling her eyes. “That’s Caesar’s room. He never comes out. Mom and Dad sleep downstairs.”

  “Oh,” he said as if disinterested, but he strained to hear what song was playing, even as they entered Amy’s room and sat on the plush carpet.

  “Here it is!” she declared.

  The plastic three-story monument was just as princess-powered as their surroundings. Jason tried to imagine living in a real home with so much eye-bleeding pink everywhere and decided it would drive anyone insane. Perhaps that was why all the dolls wore such manic grins. He listened patiently as Amy gave him a tour of the different Dreamhouse rooms and then showed off the accompanying car and horse stable. Afterwards she presented him with the dolls they would be playing with.

  “This one is me,” she said, holding up the blondest, “and this one is you.”

  Jason was handed a doll with black hair sculpted in plastic. Nothing like him in real life. He couldn’t imagine wearing the Hawaiian shirt and white shorts either. Despite all of this, he pretended to be impressed. “Looks just like me!” he declared.

  “This one is Caesar,” Amy continued. Caesar’s doll had slick-backed hair—synthetic fibers this time— and a tiny pair of sunglasses on his forehead. Jason accepted possession of the doll, feeling oddly intrigued. “And this one is Carrie. They’re a couple.”

  “Caesar and Carrie?” Jason asked.

  “Mm-hm.” As if to demonstrate, Amy thunked Carrie’s doll-head against Caesar’s in one of the most brain rattling kisses ever.

  Jason glanced back toward the hallway, imagining Carrie sneaking down it at night to Caesar’s room. Was that who she was talking to on the phone? Was the music in Caesar’s room being played so loud to drown out his responses?

  “And you and I are a couple,” Amy said, smacking her doll into his with a smooching sound.

  “Oh!” Jason breathed a sigh of relief. “Caesar and Carrie aren’t really a couple.”

  “No!” Amy giggled. “They’re only dolls!”

  “I forgot,” Jason said, acting silly for her benefit.

  “Well, they do look real,” Amy said, excusing his confusion. “I always make sure my dolls have someone. Mom says I’m a natural matchmaker.”

  “And have you found that special someone yet?”

  Amy raised her eyebrows as she fiddled with her doll’s hair. “There’s a boy at school, but I don’t like him anymore because he won’t marry me.”

  “He won’t?”

  “Nope. I asked him last week.”

  “Aren’t you a little young to settle down?”

  “Settle down?” Amy asked.

  “To get married.”

  “Oh. I’m not too young.” Amy said this in all seriousness. “I thought about it carefully. Weren’t you lonely before you came to live with us?”

  Jason swallowed. Lonely was one way of describing it. Sometimes when out shopping or whatever, he’d see people who seemed to have so much more than him. More friends, more family, and when it came to romance, more love.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “I was lonely.”

  Amy glanced over at him. “Me too. I don’t want to feel lonely ever again. Do you?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Getting married means you never have to be. That’s why I’m ready. Hey, should we have a wedding for Caesar and Carrie?”

  “Maybe tomorrow,” Jason said, half-distracted. “The dolls look tired. I think we should put them to bed.”

  “Oh, you’re right!” Amy said, shoving her doll into the elevator.

  “I’ll be there in a second,” Jason said. “I have to brush my teeth.”

  He stood his doll in the bathroom, moving it around vaguely, when really he was lost in thought. He remembered one lonely night. The worst, in fact. Foster home number nineteen. Jason had been in bed, unwilling to sleep. He was waiting until the clock said three in the morning, when he was sure everyone would not only be asleep, but deeply so. When that time came, Jason had crept down the hall, opened the door to Shawn’s room, and carefully approached his bed. He only wanted to see Shawn sleeping, wondering if he did so shirtless, or if he lay on his back or maybe curled up into a ball. Jason had spent countless nights trying to imagine something so simple, his curiosity slowly driving him mad. So he had given in, deciding to see for himself. As it turned out, Shawn wore a muscle shirt and slept lying on his side. The curtain-filtered street light outside allowed Jason to see this, along with the buzzed red hair he always wanted to run the palm of his hand along. Shawn seemed like a deep sleeper. Surely one little caress wouldn’t wake him.

  He was right. Touching Shawn’s hair didn’t cause a reaction, but when Jason brushed the tips of his fingers along that freckled arm… Whatever deluded hope he had been running on expired the moment Shawn flinched and swung out of bed. Confusion turned to a look of such anger that Jason stumbled backward until he was up against the wall. He mumbled incoherently, desperate to find an excuse. When Shawn raised his hands and clenched his fists, Jason gave up and ran from the room.

  At the breakfast table the next morning, Shawn glared but didn’t seem intent on telling their foster parents what had happened. Regardless, Jason set fire to the shower curtain that day. Not one of his most creative stunts, but enough to ensure he was sent back to the group home. And away from Shawn.

  “You’re supposed to make me a midnight snack!” Amy complained.

  “Sorry!” Jason said, snapping back to the present. “How about pancakes and ice cream?”

  Amy licked her lips and rubbed her belly as Jason made his doll prance around the kitchen, knocking tiny plastic plates and pans around.

  “Now you’ve woken up Carrie!” Amy said. “And Caesar. You know how grumpy they get.”

  “I don’t care,” Jason said. “I’ll make them pancakes and ice cream too. Then they’ll forgive me.”

  “They love pancakes!” Amy enthused. “Almost as much as they love each other.”

  “Oh no! We’re out of ice cream!” Jason cried, his doll trembling with fear in front of the refrigerator. “We have ice cubes. That’s close enough, right? We can mix them with hand lotion to make our own ice cream. They’ll never know the difference!”

  He noticed then, that the music in the hallway had grown louder. From the corner
of his eye, he spotted a figure in the doorway, one wearing a cyan T-shirt the same color as the one Caesar had—

  Jason hopped to his feet, as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. Caesar looked him over, face puzzled. Did the other guy even recognize him? Maybe his arrival here hadn’t registered in Caesar’s world. Jason felt like introducing himself, but instead he said, “I was just playing.”

  “With dolls,” Caesar responded.

  Jason nodded, deciding maybe he could make this into something funny. “Yeah. Can’t get enough of them. Don’t tell your parents, but I’m a dollaholic.”

  Caesar raised his right eyebrow.

  Okay, so maybe it was a little early for the weirdo banter. Jason grasped for something to say and came up empty. Behind him, Amy continued playing unabashed. “Oh, Caesar,” she was saying. “I love you, Caesar. Kiss me. Kiss me!”

  Caesar’s left eyebrow joined the other, his attention darting between the two of them.

  “You’re very popular with the ladies,” Jason explained. “Or at least, your doll is. He’s quite the little player.”

  Salvation came in the form of a smile. “What’s your name?”

  “Jason.”

  “Jason,” Caesar repeated, as if trying it on for size. “Well, Jason, next time you want to toy with my life, be sure to let me know first. I like to decide who I kiss.” Then he nodded at the dolls that Amy was still smacking together. “Or headbutt.”

  Then he disappeared down the hall, the music becoming muted again a few seconds later. Jason considered the way those amber eyes had shone when Caesar smiled. He felt lightheaded.

  Maybe it was time to set fire to the shower curtain again.

  Chapter Two

  When Jason woke up the next morning, the first thing he did was check his bedroom door. This was important. He’d shut it before going to sleep, noticing it had no lock in the knob. Now it was open again. He raised his head, surveying the room. His guitar was still in the corner. Nothing seemed to have been touched. If this was some form of initiation… But no, more likely this meant—