He chuckles softly into the phone. “Relax, babe. Breathe.” I pull in a deep breath, making sure it’s audible over the phone for his benefit, and Jase continues. “I think you’ll regret it if you don’t. I could come with you…if you want.”
“You’d do that?”
He’s quiet for a second. “Of course I would.”
“Why would you do that? You hardly know me.”
“So.”
“So…she probably lives across the country for all I know.”
“Lucky for you I like road trips. Besides, if I’m your life coach, it’s my responsibility to see you to her doorstep safe and sound. It’s practically part of the job description.”
I don’t say anything for several minutes as the meaning of his words sink in. I swallow a wave of emotion. Jase has been nothing short of amazing, and we’ve only known each other a couple of weeks. I still find it odd that he’s appointed himself my life coach, but it’s also totally endearing. His gesture is too much, and it’s in these moments with him that I feel like I could actually be whole again.
I can hear him breathing, so I know he’s still there. “And if she’s horrible, I’ll take you out for ice cream, hold you, let you cry on my shoulder, whatever you need, babe.”
Holy. Crap.
“Let me sleep on it,” I whisper.
“I don’t want to push you to do something you don’t want. I just thought maybe you needed a little shove. And I’ll be there with you. I’ll help however you want me to.”
No one in my life had ever really encouraged me to explore my adoption in this way. Even my best friend in high school, before she jumped on the Avery-is-a-disgusting-whore bandwagon, thought it was a bad idea. My dads were awesome, she argued. I had cooler parents than anyone. My birthmom didn’t want me, so why should I waste my time worrying about her? Yet there wasn’t a single childhood memory that wasn’t soured by the feeling my mom missed out on it. I always thought of her during major life events, birthdays, holidays, graduation, prom, and, of course, the silent nothingness of Mother’s Day. I also thought of her during insignificant moments, like studying myself in the mirror and wondering which of my features I got from her – and to a lesser extent, my birthfather. Since I had the love of two dads, he wasn’t the one I missed, despite never knowing. That hurt was reserved just for her.
I wondered if her nose was tiny, upturned and dotted with freckles like mine. Or if I got my green eyes and reddish hair from her. Did she know how to style this frizzy hair? My dads had always been clueless, though they’d dragged me to several hair stylists, trying to help.
I wondered about my first six weeks of life. Was I a bad baby? Why exactly did she choose what she did? Was it a hard, gut-wrenching decision, wrought with pain, or did she just know it was what she needed to do, and did it, unemotionally? My dads claim I was a perfect baby, that I rarely cried or fussed, but still, I wonder about my life before they got me.
“Okay,” I say softly, surprising myself. “I’ll do it.”
“Yeah?” He’s smiling.
“Yeah. I’ll request the records. As for actually searching for her…maybe…”
“Hey, it’s a start. I like it. What do you need me to do?” I hear his bedsprings creak, like he’s ready to spring into action if needed. That thought makes me smile.
It takes me a second to respond – the image of Jase in bed is a teensy bit distracting. I imagine his long form stretched out against the mattress, and my body warms as desire, unbidden and uninvited, pools between my legs.
“Nothing,” I say finally. “All I have to do is email the agency and fax in a sheet with my signature. I already researched it on their website last year.”
“I’m proud of you, Whistle.”
“Thanks.” I’m proud of me too. “Night, Jase.”
“Night, doll.”
I fall asleep with a smile on my lips, contentment in my heart and questions in my head.
Chapter 11
Jase
It’s been several days, but I haven’t asked Avery if she’s emailed the adoption agency or faxed in the information release. I am serious about helping her. Why wouldn’t I be? Even if my own parents are messed up most of the time, I love them and everyone deserves to know who brought them into this world. Even if it does make me nervous to think about what kind of mother gave a sweet little thing like Avery away. Still, I don’t want to hassle her. I just want her to be happy. Little by little, I’m watching her blossom and it’s beautiful. She doesn’t seem to be hiding quite as much, her eyes are bright and determined, and she’s even excited about going out this weekend. It’s no longer like pulling teeth to get her to come out. Though I know if I push too hard, too fast, I could lose her.
This weekend one of my frat brothers is playing at a local club and everyone is going to watch him perform. I wouldn’t mind having Avery alone at my house, but she seems excited about going.
I tell her I will pick her up, amazed that she’s set on doing this even without the safety net of her friends. Apparently, they have some theater party tonight. But I like that she trusts me. I stop in front of Avery’s dorm, where she’s waiting on the sidewalk. Her face lights up when she sees me. It’s strange to me that she wouldn’t kiss me, yet she clearly feels something when I’m around. This girl keeps me guessing, that’s for sure.