Page 67 of The Facilitator: Part 3
“We’ve had a couple of eventful weekends, maybe we just need to chill for a couple of days. Perhaps get away for a long weekend,” I offered.
“But how I feel will still be here when we get back. I don’t know what it is,” she said. “Maybe I’m due on,” she laughed.
“You’re not normally unsettled before,” I said. Lauren was one of the lucky ones. She had an alert on her phone that predicted when her period was coming, it was always accurate and short. Since she was super horny when she was on her period, the shortness of it often frustrated me.
She placed her hand on my cheek. “I want a child. I think it will complete us, but I don’t want all the stress and upset.”
I grabbed her hand and slid it to my lips. I kissed her palm. “Whatever you want, Lauren, is what we’ll do.”
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Whatever you want,” I replied, and she rolled her eyes and sighed. “It’s the truth. I’m not pacifying you.I’ll be happy to adopt, I’ll be happy to father a child. I want a child, too, Lauren, and I really don’t care how that child comes to be. No matter, he, or she, will be our child.”
“How did I get so lucky, huh?” she said quietly, musing on her words.
“Well, I can tell you that. You sat in a bar and you looked so fucking sad that I was compelled to talk to you. And it was a trap, like a black widow, except you didn’t kill me when you ensnared me, you made me love you and want to give you the world instead.”
She rolled her eyes again, but laughed that time. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”
“And that’s your decision for now?” Lauren was asked. She nodded at the fertility consultant. “I don’t blame you. It’s a traumatic experience, especially with the difficulties you’ve been having.”
There was a little more back and forth chat, some documents to sign and then we left. Our decision to put any further IVF treatment on hold was made. Before we’d even made it back to the car, I was on the phone to the adoption agency that we’d already found details on. I expressed our desire for a meeting as soon as possible. We certainly didn’t need the offered pamphlets in advance and explained that we’d made up our minds to adopt and wanted toget cracking,as Lauren would say.
I had no idea on the route adopting in the UK wouldtake. I could call a private agency in the US, money would change hands, and a child handed over. Of course, all the necessary checks would be made, but I didn’t think either Lauren or I had any idea of the difficult year we were about to be sucked in to.
A date was set and by the time we’d arrived home, we had gone through all the reasons we would be refused, without even knowing the criteria!
“How about we don’t talk about this anymore until the meeting?” Lauren said.
I was mumbling to myself, making a verbal list of what documentation I thought they’d want. Since I was an American citizen, I wasn’t sure if that would stand in our way.
“I’ll become British,” I said, turning while sipping on a scalding hot coffee. “Fuck,” I grumbled, running my tongue over my lower lip to cool it.
“You’ll do no such thing. I’m pretty sure you being American won’t be an issue. I’m British.”
However, her frown belied her confidence. I placed the coffee on the counter and sat at the kitchen table. I pulled the laptop closer to me and we googled. Not finding a definitive answer was frustrating.
Lauren placed her hand over mine. “I honestly don’t see this is a problem. And if it is, we’ll go to the States. You’re not giving up your citizenship, Mackenzie.”
I smiled and shook my head. It was a crazy idea,being American offered me many advantages in the UK. Any child of ours would have American citizenship, I believed, as well.
“So what do we do now?” I asked, closing the laptop lid.
“We wait for the meeting.”
Waiting wasn’t what I was good at, however.
“Are you ready?” I heard. Lauren had called upstairs.
“Nearly.” I had been tying my shoelaces and my stomach had been in knots all morning.
We were expecting Gloria Clarkson at eleven that morning and it was already five minutes to. I was a wreck, Lauren equally so. She was pacing the kitchen by the time I’d gotten downstairs.
“Come and sit,” I offered and turned on the kettle.
She sighed. “I don’t think I can sit still. What if she doesn’t like us?” Lauren was wringing her hands and she reminded me of Vivienne, who would do the same in times of stress.
“She will love us. And I’m not sure personalities count, do they? As long as we can prove we’re good parents, does it matter if she doesn’t like us personally?” I probably should have kept my mouth shut because the doubt that Lauren had transferred to me.
