Page 51 of Eternally London

In two days, I’ll be home with Loïc. Two days. I should be over-the-moon excited, but instead, the closer I get to the counter, the more I want to cry. I stop in the middle of the large space. I have to get myself together.

Get your boarding pass.

Go through security.

Board the plane.

Go home.

I repeat the steps under my breath. It all sounds so easy. I’m less than two days away from clean clothes, a hot shower, good food, and first-world plumbing. I’m less than two days away from Loïc.

Loïc.

I picture his face. I imagine how amazing his arms will feel around me. I use these images to give me strength to go forward. Yet, still, I don’t move.

I can’t.

Because I’m less than two hours away from leaving her forever.

And I know, just as I knew the moment I saw her, that leaving her will never be an option.

“I didn’t get on my flight,” I repeat into my phone. “I need you to come here.”

Loïc is clearly confused, and I don’t blame him.

These past few weeks, I kept our conversations very neutral. I had to. I needed the emotional break that my phone calls with Loïc provided. I didn’t want to explain the brutality and despair I’d seen over the phone. I talked about the food, the scenery, and my travel buddies, Oliver and Abdu. Loïc spoke about his job, our friends, and our family.

I didn’t even tell him about her. What could I have said that would have given my feelings sufficient meaning? I needed time to process what I would say to him about her…about all of them when I returned home to allow him to truly understand. But, now, I need him to get it, and the only way for him to genuinely grasp everything is to see her. He has to come here.

“No, I’m fine. I’m great,” I reassure him.

His questions sound increasingly concerned. I try to decide what I should tell him now. I don’t want to explain everything because I want him to feel it the way I did. But I can’t leave him to worry during two days of travel until he arrives.

“Listen, I don’t want to explain everything now because I want you to experience it the way I did, firsthand. I don’t want you to worry. I found someone you need to meet.”

I give Loïc a long list of items that I need him to bring—clothes, supplies, and odds and ends that I want to deliver to some of the people I’ve met on my trip. I know I’ll be here for a while, so I try to think of everything I could possibly require over the next few months.

The long list only sparks Loïc’s curiosity more. He still sounds so confused and concerned.

So, I tell him, “Loïc, I found our daughter.”

Though it takes every ounce of willpower I have, I don’t return to Lindi to visit her. Instead, I stay in Dar es Salaam and use the five days it takes Loïc to get everything situated at home—to get his meetings covered, shop for my list, pack, and travel—to finish my articles for the magazine and get the ball moving on the adoption.

I naively thought that the adoption process would be easier than it is. My dad reached out to his lawyer friends and found me a great lawyer who specializes in out-of-country adoptions, specifically with African countries. Our lawyer seems to think that, if everything goes smoothly, we’re still looking at six months before we can bring her home. Half of a year seems like an eternity, but from some of the reading I’ve been doing online, sometimes, it takes up to two years for an African adoption to go through. In comparison, six months would be a gift.

I stand in the open lobby of the airport as the hot wind blows through the space. I watch the exit the arrivals come through like a hawk. My lip stings where I’ve been gnawing on it for the past hour.

Finally, I see him. My chest tightens as I run toward him, so anxious to be with him again. I jump into his arms, wrapping my feet around his waist. He holds me so tightly, burying his face against the side of my neck.

“God, I missed you,” he says against my skin.

“I missed you, too.”

We stand in this embrace for a while. I don’t want him to let me go, and I can tell that he doesn’t want to either. Eventually, he lifts his head, so he can see me. He scans my face, as if he’s taking in the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, his gaze bursting with adoration.

I can’t wait another second, and I crash my lips against his. I kiss him frantically, desperately.

“I love you. I love you,” I whisper against his lips.

---