God and Jetfire

God and Jetfire by Amy Seek Read Free Book Online Page A

Book: God and Jetfire by Amy Seek Read Free Book Online
Authors: Amy Seek
walls. A primary instrument of open adoption, these were letters written by waiting couples to an unknown pregnant girl, kept on file by the agency for moments like this, when one stops in, contemplating the impossible.
    Jevn hadn’t gotten back from Colorado, but I’d begun to take the steps: I set up prenatal appointments at the university hospital and arranged my second meeting with Molly. I bought groceries and a pregnancy cookbook; I took the vitamins Mom had bought for me in Tennessee. On the phone, I told Jevn I could do adoption. All the while, I was still trying to convince myself that I was pregnant.
    Molly handed me several letters, along with a work sheet she pulled from a folder, and left me to look at them. I had in my hands a bumpy pile of what could be my child’s parents. The exercise would be as simple as this: for each potential family, a check box for yes and one for no, and three empty lines to accommodate an explanation. This was open adoption: you go into a little room with your ballpoint pen and a work sheet and come out with a completed form and a family for your child.
    Dear Birth Mother, Our names are Kevin and Kate, and we are in our late twenties.
    There was a heart-shaped photo of a brunette couple, china cabinet in the background, flowered border along the top of the wall behind them. Her wrist fell over his shoulder and her hand lay perfectly flat at his chest, as if to display her diamond ring.
    We were high school sweethearts and have a very tender loving stable and supportive marriage.
    I turned the page.
    There was a photograph of Kevin sitting in the branches of a tree; it was affixed with football helmet and baseball glove stickers. His round, gold-rimmed glasses and wide face reminded me of my high school boyfriend. Kevin is an attorney and works in a local law firm not far from home , the caption said.
    On the next page, there was a photo of Kate, limp-wristed and pulled up so close to the piano her belly was touching the keys. The photo was attached with music note and flower stickers.
    I put the profile on the sofa beside me and looked at the next. Carl and Denise’s letter had a light blue ribbon border and a soft pink rose in the corner. Its tone was direct and earnest. While having a hysterectomy was certainly not something we wished for, we don’t see it as the end of the world. They described their home as a four-bedroom house in a subdivision outside of a large metropolitan area , and they had a three-year-old adopted daughter. Denise said Carl could always make her laugh; Carl said that Denise had an irresistible childish joy . They loved to travel; their daughter had already seen the Shedd Aquarium, FAO Schwarz, the Ghirardelli Chocolate factory, and Lake Tahoe!
    I put them on top of Kevin and Kate.
    Rob and Lori had wide smiles and giant plaid shirts. We both love children and have been through four years of infertility treatment trying to start our family. There was a photo of five indistinguishable heads bobbing in a lake. Handwritten below it, swimming with friends. Along the margins were colorful flowers overlaid with romantic fragments of script, as if their own seventeen-page message was printed on the palimpsest of a love letter from the days of inkwells and wax seals. There was a picture of Lori’s brother kissing a llama. A picture of a mobile home with vast lengths of plastic siding where windows should have been. A cat and the handwritten text precious —the name of the cat, or maybe just the nature of its blissful curled-up-ness. A blurry picture of a deer, maybe in their yard, and a yellowed photo of a barge loaded with people, with the caption boat parade .
    Molly returned and quietly closed the door.
    â€œYou’ll have more time to look at these; I just wanted you to get an idea of the kinds of letters couples write. You’re very early on in this process.”
    This Process had Early Stages and Late Stages. I was sitting

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