She's ready. Brittany is ready to start a family, and you're so excited, you actually feel like you might throw up. It's one of those things, those silly little thoughts that crossed your mind after your first date, those thoughts that made you know right away that she was your one. And now, now those thoughts, each and every one of them, the dreams, really, of white dresses, of a cozy house, of the potential to have a little one that's both of yours, they're all coming true. They're all real, or, almost real. They're all real, with this girl who's so much better in reality than she was when you imagined her before you'd ever met.
You know she's nervous, and you really are too, but you know her anxiety comes from a different place. While yours comes from the thought of the unknown, hers, it's her fear of inadequacy, the fear that you've been trying to coax out of her for years now. But you get it, you get it so much. When you've been told your whole life that you're not good enough, not worthy enough, those fears, they don't just disappear. She's trying though, you know she is. Because she wants this, she wants to be a mom, just like you do, and you think, you think, once she is, maybe she'll see how lucky your child is to have her, how absolutely incredible she truly is.
So you research, you go to orientations at a few different agencies before you choose one, you fill out an application, baring your innermost parts on paper for someone to review, for someone to help you find a child, a baby. You've discussed it at length, and that's your final conclusion, that a child under a year would be what's best for your family. She'd confessed her insecurities about a child older than that, a child used to being exclusively around hearing people, she'd confessed that she feared that even as their mother, they'd get frustrated with her, because she wasn't able to do all of the things they were used to, she feared that she would be less loved. You understand that, you do, though you're not entirely sure that would be the case, you think any child would adore your wife, her reservations are valid, and so you check the appropriate boxes on the forms.
Brittany's hands tremble, when she signs the forms, the z in her Lopez dipping just a little lower than usual, and you realize, you realize, when you go to steady them, that maybe yours are shaking just a little bit, too. They're shaking with trepidation, with excitement. This moment, it's huge, it's the first step to growing the family that you've hoped for, for longer than you can remember, really, and, once you put the pen down, you press your palm to her cheek, you look into her eyes. Those universe eyes, they're full, so full with every emotion imaginable, but greater than all the others, a hopefulness. And you kiss her, you murmur that you love her against her lips, because she knows, she always knows what you're saying when you speak there. There's nothing else that would ever feel appropriate.
The wet winter, it turns into an even wetter spring, but even in the rain, you and Brittany start on the outside work that you want to get done. That third bedroom, it's empty, it's waiting, painted in the palest shade of blue, blue that you know Brittany will cover, someday, with some sort of mural. And you peek in sometimes, while you're waiting for your application to be processed, you peek in sometimes, and you picture it, you picture the new little addition to your family that exists only in your imagination. But it's all done, the room, for now, so you put on raincoats and rubber boots, and you work with Brittany behind the house. You pull weeds, you turn up the soil, you get tomato plants in the ground, while Brittany waits for the ground to be dry enough to plant seeds. You search online for outdoor furniture, for a grill, for a wooden porch swing that you and Brittany spend a whole day fastening up to the overhang you have. You measure the space left, in your mind at least, on your little plot of grass, beside the stone patio, and you wonder, if maybe you could get a little slide there, or a baby swing, or…
Looks good. Brittany signs to you, on an early April Saturday, when the rain seems to have taken a little break, and the sky just hangs grey above you. You smile at her, her sweatshirt hood pulled up over her head, and you nod. Every day, your home feels more and more like yours, every day, you feel this new sense of wonderment at how perfect it all is. "Swing with me?"
Of course. You sign back. You've been practicing, more than ever. You're nearly fluent, but, you want to be the best you can possibly be. You want to be able to sign just as well as Brittany does. You want your hopefully-sometime-in-the-not-so-distant-future child to learn it while they learn spoken English, and you want them to learn it from both of their moms. You want to be the best at it in case…
Sitting down on the swing, the one you haven't been able to use even once, Brittany opens her arm, and you find your place in it. You rest your head on her shoulder, and she trails her fingers up and down your arm. Together, you swing, you take in the tranquility of your little yard, you look at the little tomato plants, the new furniture, the space for dinners, for laugher, for this incredible life, and you breathe in all of Brittany. You breathe her in, and you feel her looking down at you. You feel her, feeling exactly the same thing that you do.
"We're pretty handy. Aren't we?" She asks you, and looking at those universe eyes, sparkling, sparkling, you smile, you smile so wide.
"We really are. The house was pretty when we bought it, but now, it's really beautiful, and it's really home."
"Do you. Do you think when. We have a home visit, it'll be. Okay for them?"
"I think." You take her hands in yours, because you feel her anxiety, pouring off of her in waves, the way it always does when she talks about the process you're going through. You see Otis perk his head up from where he lies by the door, checking on her as well. "I think, Britt, that they're just going to see that our house looks safe, and talk to us, see that we're capable of taking care of a child. But, if they do want to see how nice our house is, I think we've got that covered, too. You, my artist, have done some pretty amazing things."
"Santana." She blushes, bright red. Taking compliments, it's still tough, even when they come from you, but they genuinely affecther, they genuinely make her feel good about herself, and you'll never stop giving them to her. "You. You have a nice eye too. For furniture, and paint colors."
"We've done a nice job, together." On the inside of her hand, you draw a heart. It's become a habit really, for you, drawing things there. It's a way, a secret way, for the two of you to communicate, and you love that.
"I hope they call soon. I. I hope they approve the application."
Her voice is soft, hesitant, and you know, you know that despite her hesitations about whether or not she's good enough, that she wants this, she wants this as much as you, she wants this maybe even more. She was the one who'd brought it up first, the second time, because she feels that urge, to be a mother. And you want it for her, too. You want a child for you as a couple, of course for you, personally, but you also want one for your wife, in a different kind of way. You want her to have this opportunity to see, herself, how incredible she is. You want her to see that she's just as amazing as you know she is. And you know, you know that it won't be all smiles and snuggles, you know being a parent will be challenging, that it'll be harder than anything you've ever done before, but still, still you can't wait for every moment of it, you can't wait to embark on this journey with the woman you love more than anything.
"Me too, Sweetheart. Me too."
You're on your way home from work when it happens. It's May, and it finally feels like spring. You have the windows down and the radio turned up in the car, the way you have it when you're alone, singing along, and you miss the call. You're not even thinking about it, really, both you and Brittany have tried to put the waiting out of your head, so you don't make yourselves crazy. So when you get out of the car and see that you have a new voicemail, you nearly trip over your own two feet as you listen. You feel like you can't breathe, really. It's just a message, from a social worker at the adoption agency, asking you to call her back, but still, you're overcome with a lot of emotion, all at once.
Getting the door unlocked, you fumble with your keys, and your hands shake. When you see Otis' silhouette through the back door, you suck as much air as you can into your lungs. Really, you're entirely sure you wouldn't be able to get yourself up the stairs, had Brittany been up there, so you're grateful, so grateful that the weather is nice, and that she uses the patio to paint. When you go outside, you're still clutching your phone in your hand, and Otis alerts Brittany of your arrival before he comes you greet you. The evidence of the voicemail, it's written all over your face, and you barely finish telling Brittany what it said, before she blurts out to call her back, call her back right now.
Though Brittany has an arm around your waist, you feel like you need to sit down, and maybe she does too. It's just a phone call, but, it makes everything start to seem very real. The application, it was just a piece of paper, but somehow, with a real, human person attached to it, you feel the butterflies push up from the pit of your stomach and explode with uncontainable energy. So you sit, you sit across from Brittany at the table, so she has the best view of your lips while you speak. You dig through your purse, you lay a notebook and a pen on the table, and you smooth the page down, crisp, ready for your notes. When you're finished, Brittany, she reaches for your hand, and she laces her fingers through yours. She's anchoring herself to you, and you to her, and you take a few breaths, you center yourself, so you don't sound crazed when you make the call.
Okay. Okay, I'm going to do it.
"Don't sign for me. While you're on the phone." She tells you, looking into your eyes, dampness catching on her lashes, sparkling in the sunlight. Otis has his head in her lap, like he wants to be part of this, too, and you just, look at your little family, and you smile, you smile thinking, hoping. "You can tell me it all. When you get off. But I don't want you to. To be distracted."
"Okay. Yeah." You nod, because she's right, you do distract yourself when you get caught up in translating. You're getting better, but that, it's harder than just signing your own thoughts, and you do need to give this your full attention. "I love you, Britt."
"I love you too, Santana." She says, so soft with her words. You think, you think that you both just really needed to say it now. Because this journey you want to embark on, this might really be your jumping point, and you know, more than anything, the way you love each other is what's most important.
Her eyes never leave your face, once you press the phone to your ear. They stay trained on you, flickering, bright, so full of hope, so full of love. And she grounds you, her watchful eyes, her thumb, stroking your wrist, while you speak to the woman on the other end of the phone. They don't even trail down to the paper, where, with a shaky left hand, you're scrawling notes, notes about an appointment for your first meeting with her, notes about paperwork to bring. Notes, notes, notes, all about the start of this process that makes you feel a little dizzy inside. The social worker, Dina, she's sweet, she answers your questions, the ones you and Brittany have talked about, lying on your sides, face to face in bed at night, and she tells you that it will be a long process, but she'll try to make it as easy as possible for you.
Your heart leaps into your throat, when Dina tells you that they've accepted your application, that she wants to set up an appointment, to begin your home study. It clogs up your speech, you think, and Brittany, because she's Brittany, because she feels it, somehow, squeezes your hand. She calms you, and you nod. You nod to her, and then, you remember to speak back into the phone. You remember that you're talking to the person who will essentially make the decision about whether or not you're fit to adopt a child, to the person who will hopefully find a match for you, be it a pregnant woman, or a little one who's already been born, who's waiting, waiting for their moms to come and take them home. So you breathe. You breathe, and you hold Brittany tight, and you watch your wife smile, because you're smiling too, and she's reading the words on your lips. She's reading the we can't wait to come in for our first interview. She's reading the our schedule is pretty flexible, but after eleven is better for us. She's reading the what do we need to bring with us? What you scrawl down on the paper, about references and physical examination records and tax returns, she'll see later. But she's reading the most important things on your mouth. That it's happening, it's happening, and though you have a long way to go, it's just all becoming so very real.
"Next week." It bursts out of you the second you hit the end call button on your phone. "Tuesday. Tuesday at noon. Her name is Dina, and she's going to be our social worker, Britt."
"We have a social worker."
Her voice, it's light and fluttery, like she can't really breathe. Because you can't really breathe. Tears well up in her eyes, and you think maybe yours match, you don't even know. Your body, it feels numb, almost, like it needs to, in order to keep itself from imploding with all of the emotion, and you get to your feet. You get to your feet, and you climb into her chair with her, knees bracketing her thighs, face level with hers. It's a compulsion, you think, to wrap your arms around her, to kiss her, to just, let her hold you. You're shaking a little. It's not that you thought your initial application would be rejected, that's not it at all, it's just now that you know that it wasn't, you need to celebrate with your wife, in your own quiet way. You need to press your hands to her cheeks and your lips to hers. You need to laugh into her mouth, so she feels the vibrations tickle her throat. You need to feel her hands, tangling in her hair, pulling you closer, closer, because she's just as elated about this as you are. You need to just be, to just revel, where no words are even fit to exist, and a long while passes. A long while passes, before either of you even feel the urge to speak, to discuss the details, to figure out how, in under a week, you're supposed to prepare for this.
"Do you think. That— that we need more books?" She asks you, and you can't help it but laugh. You can't help it, because you think that might actually be the last thing either of you need to do.
You've both read a lot, because it's been the only way you could really begin to prepare, and you share the books with each other. Your Brittany, you're just, amazed by her really. She struggles with reading, you know she does. It takes her a lot of time to get through the pages, she's told you, because her mind has trouble sometimes, keeping up with her eyes, but it hasn't stopped her. The stack on your bookshelf grows every week, books about adoption, about same-sex parenting, adult books, children's books, whatever you can find. And then there are the ones that Brittany finds, that she reads, so extra carefully, the ones about hearing children and deaf parents. The ones that you read too, because you know they're important, so important, to her, and to you too.
"I think we might be okay with the ones we have." You kiss her chin, just because. "It seems like, at least for the first one, she just wants to get to know us a little."
"Do you think we're. Prepared though? I— I don't think I've ever been so nervous about anything in my life. She's going to decide if we. Get a baby. I feel. I don't even know how I feel. Happy, so happy, but I'm scared to be."
"I know. I know exactly what you mean, Brittany. I don't want to get my hopes up, but I think, I really do, that we're a great family for a baby. Look at us, we have so much love to give. We have a bedroom, all ready and waiting to be filled. And we've got all the practical things covered too, they'll have you at home while I'm at work, we've got money in the bank, we're both law abiding citizens. I just, I think, Britt, that there's no reason we won't be approved. I think we can be excited, because we're moving along."
"I did. A lot of research, about Otis." Her hands itch to cover her face and her voice is quiet, caught a little in her throat. You know, you know, despite all your assurances, she's still concerned that it'll be because of her that you don't get approved. You know that it's embarrassing for her, when she fills out things about health conditions, when she has to explain her dog. That doesn't change in this process either, but it's okay, you watch her work through it, and you help her when you can.
"Oh yeah?" You ask, urging her to continue. Her fingers play with a string hanging from the back of your shirt, and you smile softly, reassuring her. "What did you find out?"
"He'll tell me when he hears crying. It's. It's one of the things he was trained for. And. I just. I didn't know it. Because I didn't think I'd ever need it."
"That's awesome, Sweetheart." You look at Otis, and you feel that same swell of gratitude that you always do, whenever he does something that makes Brittany's life easier, whenever having him helps to boost her fragile self esteem.
"I know that. That we're going to get a vibrating monitor. But knowing that Otis will be able to help, it just— it makes me feel a lot more secure. I know it's silly, but. I just, I trust him more than electronic stuff, I always have."
"Hey. It's not silly at all. And, you know, these are the kinds of things that I think Dina's going to want to know. That we've put a lot of thought into the way things will work for us. I think any child that comes into our family is going to be extra lucky, Britt. They'll have the two of us to love them, and this guy, too." Otis, lying beneath her feet, lifts his head when you crook your finger, and you scratch behind his ears, you kiss the top of his head, and he looks up at you, his doggy grin on his mouth. "What do you think of that, Otis? You're going to help us out, if we have a baby?"
"I'm pretty sure he's going to love that, Santana." Her eyes, those universe eyes, they flicker with this softness, one that comes when she feels her fears dissipate, when she knows, she knows she'll be able to do something and do it well. You see it, whenever she finishes a painting. You see it, when she successfully executes a new recipe. You see it, when she puts a smile on your face with those little things she does. And you love that, and you love that you're going to see it, so many times, as you learn to mother together. And you hope, you hope so much, that you'll get to see those moments in the eyes of your child, too.
"What do you think of you and I taking a ride out to Ventnor this afternoon?" You feel this urge, suddenly, to get in the car with her, to drive out to the beach. It's been awhile since you've really done anything, just for the two of you, between the house, and the planning, and everything else. "We'll grab a bottle of wine, have an early dinner at the Red Room, then walk on the beach. It shouldn't be busy, we've still got a few weeks until Memorial Day."
"You've got work in the morning, though. You're sure you want to drive back late like that?"
"So I'll be little tired." You shrug, and you kiss her lips. "We haven't had a real date in a while, and I think it'll be good, take the stress out of waiting for next week. And then maybe tomorrow, when I come home from work ready for a nap, you'll get in bed with me."
"I'd like that a lot. I think, it'll be good too."
For a little longer, you stay where you are, just comfortable on Brittany's lap, as you are, before you go inside and start getting ready. You change out of your work clothes, while Brittany makes coffee, and tosses sweatshirts and a bottle of white wine in a bag. She's beautiful, while you're driving, sunglasses on, the window down and wind blowing through her hair. You can't help but steal glances at her, while you drive, and she smiles. She smiles with all of her teeth showing, and you trace your fingers on her thigh, you write there, that she's beautiful. In response, she giggles a little, and it's a beautiful sound, how carefree she gets, when it's just you, in the car on a long drive. When you'd first started dating, you'd worried, truly, about what to do in the car without really being able to talk, but now, after almost three years since you'd first had her in there— a car you're thinking about replacing, maybe, with something a little newer— it's become something you really love to do, to just drive, far out of the city. Because you don't need words with Brittany, you think, sometimes your best conversations happen in the silence.
You make it to the beach in time for an early dinner. You have two glasses of wine, and a whole lot of pasta, and you hold Brittany's hand on the table. You love working on the house, you love planning for your future together, but there's also something to be said for this, for sitting in the here and now. For talking about nothing big, for not talking at all. And you cherish those moments, the moments that will be fewer and farther between, if all goes according to plan. After you share a piece of cheesecake, you pull your sweatshirts over your jeans, and Brittany wraps you up in her arms as you walk down to the beach. Before you get back in the car, you want to walk off the rest of the alcohol in your system, and you kick off your Converse, hers in purple, yours in red, and step into the evening-cool sand. The sun is low in the sky, and the cool wind off the ocean bites your cheeks, but it's nice, being down there, mostly alone, Otis running a few feet in front of you. Brittany squeaks a little, when she lets the water lap her feet, and she squeezes you a little tighter as she does. She looks out at the ocean, and you can tell, she's painting in her mind, she's thinking of the colors in her paint box, mixing them, streaking them across canvas, creating.
"I love the beach." She turns back to you, and the colors, they glow in her eyes. "It's. It makes me happy. Here. It reminds me of—"
I love you. You sign to her, knowingly, and she nods, smile spreading bigger, bigger.
"It was. The perfect day for me. I was so hesitant about. About letting you into my life. I just, I mean. You know I'd never dated anyone before. I thought maybe you were having fun, or just. I don't know, testing things out. I didn't think you were, a bad person. I knew you had a good heart. From the minute we sat in that coffee place. But, I didn't know that you felt as strongly as I did. I didn't even know what I was feeling. Not really. And then, you just, you told me you love me. But. More than that, you held my hand and you let me do this—" She wiggles her toes in the water below her, and you giggle a little. "I like when we come here, because it makes me remember the first time I ever felt like I could do anything. You show me that all the time now. But— but there's something special— I don't know. I'm just glad that we came tonight. I needed this."
"Me too, Sweetheart. I know that you give me a lot of credit for helping you do things that you never thought you could, but that's all you. I'm just here, always, holding your hand." You bring it to your lips, and you kiss the back of her hand. "And having you holding mine makes me more sure of everything, too. I can't even tell you how excited I am to be doing this next big thing with you."
"We've done a lot. In a really short amount of time, haven't we?"
"Yeah we have. And we've got a whole lot more to do." You stand on your tiptoes and you kiss her. You wrap your arms around her neck, and she pulls you closer, the water coming up just to the hem of your jeans as you stand there holding her close. You hear a hum in her throat, that most contented sound as she hugs you tight, and you almost, almost don't hear the whisper that escapes her. You almost don't hear her softest, most hopeful voice.
"I can't wait for all of it with you."
