That wasbeyondfair. Because yes, Bridge was, you know, a human being with agency and a grown-ass woman who could make her own choices. But when somebody would do literally anything for you, you had to be really careful with your anythings. “When you put it like that,” I said, “it seems a weird thing to ask a stranger for as well.”
Oliver gave a tiny shrug. “That’s a little more complicated, and I try to avoid second-guessing the motivations of people I don’t know. But if the idea makes you uncomfortable, we probably shouldn’t pursue it.”
I felt almost as relieved as I had when we’d decided not to get married. “Okay, so what’s option three?”
From the look on Oliver’s face, I already knew the answer. “There is no option three.”
“So it’s a complicated, difficult adoption or nothing?”
From the very slightlydifferentlook on Oliver’s face, I knew there was something else. But I also knew it wasn’t necessarily the something else I was hoping for. “Now that you mention it…” he began.
“What?” It came out snappier than I meant, but this had been a frighteningly grown-up talk about some heavy topics, and I was starting to wish I could go back to making three-legged dog jokes again.
“Well, I think it might be worth pointing out that when you look into adoption, a lot of the institutions involved will provide information about adoptionand fostering.”
I didn’t know what magic it was that let Oliver remind me how little I understood without making me feel like an ignorant prick. But he managed it. “I’m going to have to ask you what the difference is, aren’t I?”
“They overlap,” Oliver began, which was often his way of starting this kind of explanation, since it let me feel better about havinggot the overlapping things mixed up. “Especially if you’re talking about older children. But broadly the difference is that adoption is permanent, and the child legally becomes your child for all intents and purposes. Fostering can be long term, but you’re only looking after the child, and legally speaking, your obligations to them end at the point they return to their family, turn eighteen, or get adopted by somebody else.”
I could always tell when Oliver had been thinking about something, and he’d clearly been thinking about this. Even he wouldn’t have had that much information just off the top of his head. “I’m going to go out on a limb,” I said carefully, “and guess that you want us to foster.”
Oliver gave a surprisingly hesitant nod. “I know it’s not what people first think of when they think about…”
“Kids?” I suggested.
“Exactly. But thereisan unequivocal need for foster families. It’s a very overlooked part of the system. Because of, well, because of how people who want to expand their family by nontraditional routes tend to be looking for babies rather than older children or teenagers.”
This was shaping up to be the most Oliver thing ever. At least, I hoped it was shaping up to be the most Oliver thing ever because the alternative was that Oliver thought that it was the most Luc thing ever, and that might have gone to some awkward places. “Just to check, you want to do this because, like, ethics and shit. Not because you think having a kid we get to give back at some point will be safer with my commitment issues?”
“Absolutely not.” Oliver sounded reassuringly firm. “I’d like to do this, but it won’t be a trial run or a soft option. It’ll be hard, but I think it’ll also be rewarding.”
It was a beautiful day and I was in a beautiful park with my amazing boyfriend and my adorable dog, and so I allowed myself, inthis highly specific and controlled environment, to be performatively crap. Just for a moment. “You know Ihatehard-but-rewarding.”
Oliver gave me a not-the-time look.
“Okay, okay, I’m probably fine with hard-but-rewarding, actually. But I have a relentlessly negative self-image to keep up, and you’re making it really difficult right now.”
To my relief, Oliver laughed at that. “Duly noted. Although for what it’s worth, I really think we’d be good foster parents. I think it’s the right step for us.”
I’d not looked into things the way Oliver had looked into things. I’d not read the books or watched the videos or done the courses. But I trusted him. And I loved him. And I wanted this. “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I think so too.”
Chapter 13
We,d looked at some Literature (Oliver always had Literature) that evening, and it had turned out that fostering, while not as long and complicated a process as adopting or surrogacy, was still a pretty long and complicated process. Over the next couple of days, we’d talked about it some more, then talked about it some more some more, because it wasn’t a decision to be uncertain about, and then filled out some application forms, and now we were…waiting, I guess.
Waiting, looking after our dog, and going back to work. Before work exploded forever.
“Okay,” I said to Alex over Zoom, a good couple of weeks into the waiting process. I was wearing trousers this time because I dosometimeslearn from my mistakes. “What cheese do you use to lure a bear out of a cave?”
Alex, once more dressed as somebody from a historical era mostly notable for its extraordinarily tight trousers, made an intense, thinking face. “I suppose it depends on the bear. What you’d probably want to do is find a chap who has a bear hound, maybe round up a few fellows who are handy with a rifle, and just wait for it to come out on its own. Unless it’s in the winter, of course; then you can catch the blighter napping.”
Note to self: Don’t try to tell Alex a joke about something a poshperson is likely to have actually done. Like bear hunting. Or polo. Or throwing poor people in rivers for fun. “Okay, but suppose that in this scenario, you’re not aiming to kill the bear—”
“Bit of a rum hunting party if you aren’t.”
“Let’s assume you’re with Greenpeace.”
“Bunch of interfering stick-in-the-muds if you ask me.”
