Page 55 of The Dating Charade

And she was.

But it wouldn’t stop her.

Rachel spoke into the silence. “Are you still there?”

Cassie pulled the phone to her hip for a moment and coughed, trying to pull herself together. Even so, her voice sounded raspy in her own ears. “I’m here. I—” If she attempted the words “I want to adopt them,” she most assuredly wouldn’t be able to hold it together any longer. “Just tell me what I need to do next.”

They talked over details, court dates, the lengthy process and paperwork to be done in the coming weeks and months, and when Cassie ended the phone call, a breeze nearly lifted her off her feet.

It was official, or as official as official could get before becoming signed-and-signatured official. She was going to become a mother.

She checked the time and started jogging for the front doors.

More specifically, she was about to become a mother who had forgotten her children in childcare.

Cassie had reached the emotional state that, if someone touched her as she raced down the hall, she would’ve burst into tears. She ran up to the check-in girl—who was currently cleaning a rather large amount of spit-up off her blouse—and was directed to the gymnasium.

“Here to pick up?” a man said, leading her into the busy room of second-service children.

Cassie nodded silently. Pick up. Ready to pick up her kids.

Set up between two basketball goals on either end, a manger scene stood on a portable stage. While one group of eight-year-old angels practiced on it, huddled groups waited offstage beside teachers, appearing to be split up by age.

Deidre stood among a group of six-year-olds, clearly more interested in watching the director flick her conductor’s baton than listening to whatever direction her teacher was currently giving. The director made the dramatic motion of cradling a baby in her arms, and the child angels—sans Deidre—followed suit.

Kennedy was huddled with the rest of the four-year-olds, tugging on her braids.

Star stood off to one side with the rest of the teens, listening to a man who looked more like a football coach than youth pastor as he pointed rapidly, seemingly spouting off placements.

The man turned to her. “Which one of them is yours?”

Cassie felt the air catching in her lungs, her throat constricting in the same unyielding way as before.

Well, there it goes.

She was not a crier—a fact in which she prided herself. Now, however, one simple question tipped her over like a wobbly stack of dominoes.

A croak—not too far from a real frog’s—spilled out from her. She pressed a hand over her mouth as he jerked his head back to her. Pull it together, Cassie. Pull it together.

She pointed with her other hand. “The six-year-old girl in the striped pink.”

Another sniff. “And the four-year-old with the two yellow pom-poms in her braids.”

He rocked back on his heels, crossing his arms uncomfortably, doubtless rethinking this whole “volunteer in the children’s program” thing.

“And—And Star. One of the bravest—” Tears filled her eyes. “—most beautiful, relentless girls I know.”

Her face pinched, her skin both hot and cold. With a chin making heroic attempts to stay strong in the war against becoming a human water faucet, she knew she looked like a pig who’d eaten a frog. Another muffled sob escaped her. She was not a pretty crier.

She turned around abruptly and retreated down the hall toward the restroom. It was quiet, empty. Perfect for her to pull herself together.

She yanked out a tissue and blew her nose. Then thought about all the times she would get the privilege to blow Kennedy’s nose.

And the waterworks started.

The problem was the news that she could have three adopted children—one whom she’d already known and loved for years—kept hitting her like a ton of bricks. The consequences of what that meant slipped into her mind one at a time, as if demanding individualized attention.

Anticipated dreams—the opposite of memories—drifted into her mind like videos in iridescent bubbles. Her and Star sitting on the couch, talking about Star’s day while the youngest two lay tucked into their beds. Star closing up the Haven with her and dropping her backpack into the back seat of her car. Easter morning, when the girls would scavenge the yard in pastel dresses with baskets full of Easter eggs. Going over to her sister’s, drinking tea and turning barbequed chicken as cousins jumped on the trampoline. Sitting around on a regular afternoon with them, doing nothing at all.