by Bijou Hunter
Mallory and I enjoy downtown for the most part, and the charity keeps us busy. During an event, Mallory and I meet a do-gooder named Cyril who attempts to guilt us into becoming foster parents. I blow him off so completely that he nearly cries. Mallory, though, pushes him over the edge into sobs by ranting how no woman should be expected to be a mother.
“I will not be defined by my uterus!” she yells, terrifying everyone around us.
Despite our angry responses to his guilt trip, I do consider what he says about opening my heart to a child. Not a baby—as I reassure Asher—but a child already potty trained and walking and with a full personality rather than the voids Asher claims babies have.
“We could be parents without going through the parts that scare us so much,” I suggest.
“Parenthood is a full-time job.”
Hands on my hips, I narrow my gaze and ask, “Are you talking down to me or are you so nervous about the idea that you’ve lost your diplomacy? Pick carefully.”
“I’m not sure this is an idea I can get behind,” he says, pausing between each word. “Fatherhood might not be for me.”
“Why don’t we go through the process of becoming foster parents first? That’ll give us plenty of time to think and plan for the reality. Before we adopt, we’ll make certain we’re a good match for the child. We don’t want the unlucky kid to get more messed up by having us as parents.”
Asher agrees because he can’t say no. I assume he’ll attempt to weasel out of it down the road, but that’s before we meet Eli.
The awkward seven-year-old would rather hide in his room than face the world. He barely speaks, fails at school, and can’t make friends. The gawky blond is Asher on crack.
But he likes us. Not at first, of course. Most people don’t, but Eli warms up to us quickly. I play video games with him, and he enjoys watching TV with Mallory, me and Couch Potato. Asher and Eli enjoy silence and view outsiders as dangerous. They’re not twins, and Eli screams when he doesn’t get his way while Asher retreats to his study. I let them freak out in their separate ways. When they calm down, they return to me in the living room where I watch TV with the cat.
“You didn’t come to my room when I yelled,” Eli says, sitting on the other end of the couch from me.
“Why would I?”
“I was yelling.”
“You weren’t yelling my name, so I figured you didn’t want me to bother you.”
Eli frowns at me for a long time, but I only stare at the TV. Finally, the kid shakes off his bad mood and shifts closer.
“My mom yelled a lot.”
“I’m not your mom, but I like to yell sometimes too. Not inside the penthouse, though. Asher doesn’t like noise.”
Eli watches me for a while longer before shifting closer until our legs touch. “How long am I staying here?”
“I don’t know.”
That’s all I could tell him for weeks until Asher mentions calling a lawyer to get the adoption started.
“Without asking me?” I balk with feigned horror.
“It was a surprise.”
Smiling, I love when he takes charge almost as much as I love when he sits on the balcony talking with Eli. They’re adorable together, both awkward in a world unwilling to wait for them to fit in.
After we’re legally his parents, we pull Eli out of school and have him taught at home. He’s too far behind the other kids to succeed without the extra help. I take him with me on errands, helping him find the confidence with crowds that his father still struggles with. Eli considers trying skates but decides he’d rather walk like Asher.
“Skating is faster,” I always point out to no avail.
Eli is nearly nine when I hear about a girl in foster care who can be adopted. Jimena is a half-Hispanic, half-white six-year-old, shy but chatty, and needs constant companionship. She cries whenever left alone, and I don’t need to know her past to understand the little girl fears abandonment at every turn.
Asher insists she be homeschooled, distrusting teachers to give her the kind of attention she craves.
“How can any teacher focus on her when there are twenty other kids in the class?”
“You don’t have to convince me.”
“Oh,” he says, smiling at how angry he’d been at the thought of leaving Jimena in public school.
“You protect what you love, don’t you, Ferrer?”
“Always.”
I hadn’t known what to expect from this man when we first met. Asher lied to me right off the bat. He pushed me away and then yanked me closer. I didn’t think I was capable of staying with someone so confusing. Nothing was easy until we made the decision that we couldn’t be apart so we needed to find a way to be together.
Once I made the first change, the second one became simpler. Each one brought me closer to Asher until we feel more the same than different.
Epilogue
❁ Asher ❁
Marriage and fatherhood were never goals of mine. I didn’t think I could let anyone close enough. I hadn’t connected with my parents or brother well. Even Garrett and I were more like friends out of convenience, which explained why he left once he spotted an escape route. I hadn’t minded the idea of spending my life alone. That is until Junie skated into my life.
Now we have two children who both think I’m a quality father. I’m particularly struck by this fact when we travel a block over to Junie’s favorite sandwich spot downtown. Jimena skates next to her mother but frequently smiles back at me. Eli keeps close to me, checking for my reactions to people and the questions they ask. My boy wants to be like his old man, and I often think to find him a better role model.
“You’re proof how being an outsider doesn’t make you a loser,” Junie says when I question Eli’s admiration of me.
“He isn’t me, and I don’t want him to think he should be.”
“He’s awkward and feels weird in a world full of normal people. So, yeah, he is you, isn’t he? And what’s wrong with him wanting to grow up to be a successful, smart, sexy bastard like his father?”
“My crippling fears nearly lost you.”
“But they didn’t. Now stop with the low self-esteem act, Ferrer. I’m not giving you a handjob to cheer you up if that’s what you’re hoping.”
I swear Junie throws the word “handjob” out whenever she hopes to distract me. Pathetically, I respond accordingly even knowing I’ve been conditioned to crave sex the minute she says the word.
Junie isn’t my only weakness. The kids know how to play me, even if they don’t realize it. I loathe when they’re sad and will give them anything to improve their moods.
I ask Egor to supervise the installation of a quiet room in the penthouse so the kids have a safe spot to vent. Soothing music playing overhead, they tear up paper, scream to their hearts’ content, and kick the padded walls. Jimena refuses to go in without Junie, but Eli is happy to have a place where he can let loose.
The more Junie takes over my life; Egor doesn’t know what to do with his increasing free time. He wants to buddy up with Mallory, but she isn’t interested in making a new best friend.
“Get a woman,” she grunts one night at dinner when he asks if she wants to spend his free night off together.
“Get a man,” he mutters back.
“Asexual people aren’t interested in romance,” she says while cutting Jimena’s steak. “You’re lonely. I am not.”
“I’m not lonely.”
“Yes, you are,” Junie says while cutting Eli’s steak. “Asher, tell Egor that he’s lonely.”
“You’re lonely,” I say, and he gives me a death stare. “There’s nothing wrong with finding company with people not in this particular room.”
“Maybe I’m asexual like Mallory.”
“Nope,” she says immediately.
“I’ve caught you checking out parts of the anatomy that aren’t asexual in nature,” Junie says, carefully wording her sentence. “You’re just scared to take the
leap and have your heart broken, but if things go bad on your date, we’ll be here to feed you sugar and talk trash about her.”
Unable to help myself, I blurt out, “I’m not doing that.”
Junie snickers at me. “You’ll do whatever necessary to cheer up your friend.”
Nodding, Mallory winks at Egor. “Time to put yourself out there and see what happens.”
Egor grudgingly goes on several dates before finding a woman he marries within weeks of meeting. Junie can’t stand Patricia who can’t stand Mallory who thinks Patricia is cool.
“She’s like the best person ever,” Mallory says, and I can’t tell if she’s serious.
“Nope,” Junie insists. “You hate her.”
“She’s magical.”
These two women will always know how to irritate each other in a way where I can only step aside and allow them to play their games.
While I trust Junie can handle her melodrama, I want to fix every problem the kids have, and she’s often forced to play the bad guy.
“Your parents didn’t hand you everything in life,” she reminds me later when I give her grief about usurping my authority. “If they had, you wouldn’t have built what you have, so don’t steal the kids’ chances to create something in the future by coddling them today.”
“I don’t see it as coddling.”
“I know, but you’re wrong,” she says, fighting laughter. “You overprotect those you love. Like when you first fell for me and had me followed. It’s your way to want to keep people safe even from themselves. That’s okay. It’s who you are, and I love who you are. That’s why it’s my job to step in when you can’t help yourself. We’re a team, right?”
“Always.”
We’re the best kind of team. Junie takes charge of situations I’m unable to handle. Every month, we visit my parents’ house for dinner. If Alastair starts talking about money, Junie cuts him off every single time with some lie about how we’re saving money for a renovation or trip. Once she claimed we couldn’t afford to give him a hundred dollars because we’d spent all our money at the Farmer’s Market, but he could have a tomato if he wanted.
My parents love her as more than the bond reconnecting me with them. She’s positive without being preachy and laid-back without feeling lazy. Mostly, she corrals the kids and me enough to force us outside when we’re satisfied most days to remain in the tower.
One afternoon after visiting my parents, Junie gets the idea to stop at the Flamingo Exit Diner. The kids think we’re just eating out. I know what she’s up to, though.
Junie and I once lived mostly solitary lives, keeping few people close. That part hasn’t changed much, though our circle of family and friends has grown over the years.
Yet it all started in the back booth where I once sat alone, yet now eat the best chicken and waffles with the best woman and kids.
About Bijou
Living in Indiana with my three sweet sons, three wacky cats, one super mom (and her ugly dog), I love cats, Denny's, 1970s rock, Beanie Boos, and sitcoms canceled before their time.
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