Page 137 of When Ben Loved Jace
Jace is grinning as he stands beside the car door he just opened for me. I get out, shield my eyes from the sun, and consider the orphanage. They aren’t called that anymore—terms like group home or residential facility are considered more correct—but those terms sound unnatural to my ear, like trying to disguise an unpleasant situation with technical jargon.“Oh no no no, you aren’t getting a painful root canal. You’re about to undergo an invasive dental procedure.”I mean, a group of people can live in a home together for all sorts of reasons. There’s no mistaking what an orphanage is for.
“I’m excited,” Jace says, still beaming at me.
I try to match his smile, despite not sharing his jubilance. I’m nervous, uncertain what I can offer a teenager. I envy straight people in this regard. Planned or otherwise, they begin with a screaming infant and have no option but to meet its needs for the next two decades and beyond. Although I suppose that isn’t always true, or there wouldn’t be any children to adopt.
The stone building we walk toward is large and rectangular. At a casual glance, most would assume it was filled with apartment units. Only when entering does the truth become apparent. The small reception area gives off an institutional vibe. Two secured doors flanking a receptionist bar access to the rest of the building.
Jace saunters up to the front desk, like he’s there to collect a prize. “We have an appointment with Michelle,” he explains.
A young man takes note of our names before placing a call. I can’t help but wonder if he aged out of the system and was given a job here. We’re instructed to wait, which doesn’t take long. I’m reassured when Jace’s sister arrives in the lobby, all smiles as she hugs each of us.
“I can’twaitfor you to meet Jason,” she says, ushering us toward one of the secured doors. “I think he’s a perfect fit.”
“What can you tell us about him?” I pry, and not for the first time.
She shakes her head. “I’d rather let Jason speak for himself. If I were in his place, I would find it intimidating to meet a strangerwho already knew my life story. Besides, that’s so difficult to answer.” She glances at me while using a badge to buzz us in. “After all, who areyouexactly? Yes, you can rattle off your age, where you live, and your occupation, but is any of that your true identity?”
“It certainly helps paint a picture,” I reply.
“Please save your questions for the end of the tour,” Jace interjects before turning to his sister. “I can’t wait to meet him!”
“Right this way.”
Michelle leads us down a hall to a large common room. Couches, chairs, a foosball table, an entertainment center… I’m already scanning the group of guys clustered around the TV playing video games, wondering if one of them is Jason. I can eliminate many by age, since I do at least know that he’s fourteen. Michelle has been tight-lipped about any other details.
“He must be in his room,” she murmurs to herself before addressing us. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
We settle down on a couch in the corner that faces another. I wonder how many times it has been used for this purpose—a sort of job interview for people hoping to join a family.
Jace takes my hand. “We’re about to meet our son.”
The breath is thin in my lungs. “We don’t know that.”
This doesn’t discourage him in the slightest. “I trust my sister.”
I’m sure she’s great at her job, but nobody is perfect. Even she must make mistakes. There’s no sense in taking him down a peg. If this is a bad match, that will readily become apparent. Besides, this is the first of three meetings. We don’t have to commit to anything today. Try before you buy. God this whole process is weird!
Shouting erupts in front of the entertainment center. It occurs to me that we won’t just be inviting one teenager into our lives. He’s bound to have friends over. I try to picture our quaint little home full of roughhousing youngsters and grimace. Not because I have anything against kids. At the hospital, I enjoy working with them more than adult clients. Perhaps my reticence comes from the experiences I had when growing up. By the time I got to high school, most of the other people my age had become adversaries to some extent. What if Jason is homophobic? I probably don’t need to worry about that. I also trust Michelle. But what willhappen when he invites a friend for a sleepover? Or when we meet other parents?
“You okay?” Jace asks.
“Just nervous,” I reply.
“I’m sure—” Jace shoots to his feet.
Michelle is walking toward us with a young man in tow, so I stand too while assessing him. Jason is broad-shouldered but lanky. A mop of messy brown hair covers his ears and forehead, putting me in mind of a sheepdog, his eyes covered by the tangled curtain. His arms are crossed tightly over an old concert T-shirt, like he’s hugging himself, his jeans in tatters. I’m guessing that’s a stylistic choice and not because they can’t afford to clothe the orphans here. Or should I say wards of the state? Ugh! That sounds like someone who has been imprisoned for a crime.
Michelle stops before us to make introductions. “This is my brother, Jace,” she says.
Jason remains a step behind her, chewing his bottom lip before releasing it for a downbeat, “Hey.”
“And this is his husband, Ben,” Michelle continues.
“Hi there,” I say with a little wave.
Jason doesn’t respond. He just stares at me. I’m slightly annoyed that he’s my height. I just love being reminded that I’m tall as your average high school freshman.
“We have the same name!” Jace says, stepping forward to offer his hand.
