Chapter 6

We were thirty minutes early. Mimi’s Cafe was across town and we wanted to give ourselves enough time to get there. I had thirty minutes to scrutinize everything I had already done. The basket looked pretty, the ribboned-bow a little crooked; and no matter how much I fiddled with it, it simply would not straighten. My armpits were already soaked, and fortunately not showing through the polyester shirt I had strategically chosen. My cheeks ached from the slight smile I had plastered across my face. And so we waited, our breath paused every time someone came through the door for breakfast. 

I remember that morning I was so sick, afraid, angry, and overwhelmed. The shelter manager reassured me that it was ok to cancel. However, as anxious and frayed I may have been feeling it was important for me not to make decisions based on my feelings but instead follow through.

She was stunning. Pam tossed her brown curls to the side with a quick switch of her head as she walked in. Mary was a familiar sight (as we had worked with her previously in Elijah’s adoption) – exactly as I remembered. Pam’s dark brown eyes timidly scanned the room until they met mine, and then a quick bounce to Paul’s. Back to me, we shook hands and introduced ourselves. 

Palpable tension was in the room as we all wondered what our next move should be. “Shall we get a table?” Mary’s voice pierced the awkwardness of the situation. We all agreed and turned as I made a last-ditch effort to present my offering. “We got this for you.” A few quick giggles and handing off as they commented on how pretty it was, that they mistook it for the restaurant’s table decoration. As we approached our table, and Pam nonchalantly placed the basket of lotions to the side, I marked my choice of gifts as a decided failure. Maybe she would appreciate it more later, I quietly reassured myself.

Our conversation was pleasant enough. Pam had a list of questions on a crumpled piece of paper that she pulled from her purse. We tallied in conversation, one to the other, trying to answer her inquiries as both truthfully and delicately as possible. Pam shared her story of love and loss, of hopes and aspirations. Tears fell, and Paul offered to get soft tissues from the truck. It was one of those times I was so thankful that I married a thoughtful man. The pleasant thoughts quickly vanished as he returned with a squished tissue box, cardboard flaps unadhered, dangling. Embarrassment, utter embarrassment filled my heart. And he knew, with a stern glance from me, that I was not happy with his decision to bring a broken box. With a slight breath and quick comment, “Are you for real?” Pam graciously accepted it, and continued on with her questions.

I had a rather lengthy list of questions I asked them. They included shallow ones such as “Will you change her name?” to much more important ones like “What happens if she has a disability?” During our initial meeting I had a real sense that they were the family for my child. 

I loved the fact that she would be the youngest of four, like I am, and that they were planning on adopting prior to finding out they couldn’t have biological children. I loved that when the waterworks started and I began blubbering, Paul immediately ran out to the car to get me a box of tissues. It was that type of kindness I wanted influencing and shaping her life.

“Naomi Renee Longshore,” Paul replied. Right away, I knew Pam hated it; the look on her face said it all. “It’s still up for debate,” I quickly replied, hoping to soften the blow. We had the hardest time picking girl names. Either I would like it and he did not, or the other way around. In fact, it was just the night before that we spoke the name “Naomi” and both fell in love. 

We also wanted a family name, and it was my turn. But as always, we thought it was important to honor their birth-given name and somehow include that in their legal name. “Isabella Janine” would be difficult to work with, but I wanted to assure Pam of our desire to make it work – for her to know that we respected her and her place in this decision. 

The rest of our time together was pleasant enough. It included light conversation, some laughs, and delicious food. After we exhausted Pam’s list and got up to leave, Paul and I exchanged a quick glance. Was she going to ask? The meandering walk through the tables towards the exit pained me with each step. Did we say something wrong? “I have to use the restroom again,” Pam noted, and dismissed herself from our company. 

Mary stood there with us and we all watched as Pam disappeared around the corner and out of sight. “How did it go?” We wanted to know Mary’s read of the situation. “As well as it could have gone,” was her reply. Not very reassuring. She went on to explain how Pam had made so many rushed decisions that had led her to a bad place, and she wanted to be very thoughtful and deliberate with this one. “It’s going to take some time.” 

Doubt filled my thoughts. Every birth mom who had met us, loved us. Before we even left the table they had asked us to be the parents. What had we said wrong? I replayed the conversation and our time together, painfully trying to catch the mis-step so that I could correct it before we all left the restaurant. Surely we must have said something wrong. 

Our drive home was taxing. Both Paul and I discussed the time we spent with Pam. I mentioned the tissue box, and he commented on her lackadaisical handling of my well-thought-out gift. “Well, what will be, will be,” was all the assurance we could give ourselves. And while we both wanted to find confidence in the fact that there is a greater plan than what we had in mind, we both desperately wanted some concrete direction. Our greatest desire had been realized; we had been chosen. Now, in the aftermath of our first meeting, we questioned the validity of this statement. Congratulations! You’re pregnant…sort of.