... and Baby Makes Two Read online

  They chatted through the other people on line. From time to time, they watched George fall down again. Teresa wondered aloud if this is what kids watch these days. It didn't seem educational. But eventually George found true love, and Jane and Teresa found the front of the line. Teresa's formality never faltered.

  “I came here this morning with an out-clause in my head. I keep telling myself that this is all still theoretical, this adoption, this child.” Teresa seemed to be talking to her shoes. She spoke slowly and never looked up.

  “But this isn't theory. I'm going to do this. I'm hungry to do this. I'm starving. I'm adopting a baby from China. I'm going to be a mother.” Still talking to the shoes. Nice shoes. Awkward pause. Jane needed to state the obvious.

  “This is hard.”

  “Yes. I'm narrowing down my agency search, but honestly, I can't tell why one agency would be better than another. I suppose it's a personal reaction to the individuals? I don't know.”

  Jane made a mental note: start agency searching.

  The fingerprinting process was very high-tech. It involved computers and glass screens. No paper and ink. Jane studied the ridges and whorls on her hands until Mr. Fingerprinter grabbed her thumb and started the process. It took only a few minutes, and then he turned his back on her. Jane was lost. What happens next?

  “Excuse me? What happens next?”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I'm asking you a question. What happens next?”

  “No. What are you doing?”

  “I'm asking you a question. What happens next?”

  The supervisor stepped in.

  “What are you doing?” he asked Jane.

  “Well, I'm trying to ask a question.”

  “No. Why are you being fingerprinted? What are you doing with the prints? Getting citizenship? What? Let me see your letter.”

  He took two seconds to read it, then said, “Your fingerprints will go to the FBI for clearance, then back to the INS with your paperwork. Good luck, Mommy. Next!”

  …

  Jane returned from the INS, sat at her PC, and Googled adoption agencies: “adoption agency,” “China,” “single mother.” The results spilled out with blinding blue underlines. Each “welcome” sounded the same. Each offered the same instructions and advice. Some were more religious than others. Some assembled the dossier for you and charged a hefty fee for doing it. Some dealt only with China adoptions, some were multinational. And then she saw an agency called Founding Mothers. It specialized in helping single women adopt. Founding Mothers. She gave the site a quick read, and that was it. She had chosen her agency. Done.

  Jane planned to lie about how she chose her agency. She would never admit to this slipshod research. She would fake a story about a detailed list. She looked for their phone number—it was a Brooklyn number. She found a link to e-mail the agency. She composed a formal and formidable introduction and request for documents to initiate an adoption. Her e-mail read like a letter of introduction to the King of Sweden. Just in case they were judging her by this initial contact, they would have to take her so seriously. And their reply would give her a sign about whether or not she should proceed, whether or not this was the right agency for her. Did Founding Mothers know how much pressure was on their reply? Within the hour, she received this e-mail:

  To: [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Re: Request for Documents

  Dear Ms. Howe,

  Ill send you our documents through the post office today. I can stop by there after I pick up my daughter from school. BTW, she's originally from Hunan Province.

  I have to ask: You wouldn't be the same Jane Howe who used to spend hours finding all the nuances in Beckett, would you? Before I started this agency, I used to teach a class on Comparative Literature in Translation and I remember a Jane Howe in my class, but this was years ago. If that's you—Hi! If that's not you—Hi too!

  Later!

  Barbara Ali

  Agency Director

  Yes, Jane was that same Jane Howe. And now, Jane Howe had her agency.

  To: [email protected], [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Dossier

  Ladies,

  I've begun work on the dossier. My agency sent me a very helpful checklist to guide me through the process. Planning to assemble photos of family and home, as this is part of the dossier. Heard that one adoptive mom hired a “bug wrangler” to assemble thousands of ladybugs for her photo. Apparently, Americans think that Chinese think that ladybugs are good luck. Do the Chinese know this? At any rate, the mom-in-question arranged for the ladybugs to be released from their cages just as the photos were snapped. And they're going to give a child to this person. Oh my.

  To: [email protected], [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Re: Dossier

  I hope I get a list from my agency. Where did you hear about the ladybug lady? I love that.

  Were supposed to include photos of us along with our families, and a good look at our home. I always take pictures, so I'm not in any of them myself. So, this weekend I'm going to have my friend Ray take pictures of me at the Chinese Scholars’ Garden. Is that too cheesy, too “look at me I'm all into your culture”? By the way, what agency did you choose? I chose Founding Mothers. They're small, but I actually know the founder. Talk about signs!

  Jane

  To: [email protected], [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Re: Re: Dossier

  Jane,

  No way! I chose Founding Mothers too! I liked the name. I like the woman who ran it. Oh my God! Maybe well end up traveling together! Maybe our girls are in the same orphanage! Wow! I'm getting chills!

  Karen

  To: [email protected], [email protected]

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Re: Re: Re: Dossier

  Ladies,

  I don't mean to give anyone here chills, but I may have no alternative. I chose Founding Mothers as well. I wanted a New York-based agency that knew how to handle single mother adoptions and had reasonable fees, a good track record, and a few other factors.

  That said, do you know the odds against us traveling together? And Jane, you haven't started your homestudy yet.

  T

  Jane returned to the gym, while Ray claimed to be home meditating. She chose to believe him. She quietly rejoiced that he wouldn't be able to ask Peter about his wife again. Not that she was thinking about Peter. Ever. In fact, she was actively not thinking of him when she packed her clothes for the gym: her tightest yoga pants, her littlest midriff. She wore her hair in a bouncy ponytail. She put on makeup. She looked fake, like an advertisement for a gym.

  She sprinted on the treadmill until boredom set in. She went over to find her weights. She studied the selection of shiny weights, opting to start with a low, low, easy size, and suddenly there was Peter. He wore shorts and a NYC Marathon shirt. Had he run a marathon? Did he want Jane to know? Were those tinted contacts or were his eyes really green?

  “Where's your friend?” Peter asked.

  “Home. He's a better person than me. He doesn't need the gym.”

  “Well, I do.”

  Jane decided that his eyes were really green like that. No contacts. He looked like a fast-forward of Brad Pitt with engraved laugh lines. They said something positive about his character, didn't they?

  Peter was using heavy weights, so Jane chose a larger weight than she really wanted, did two bicep curls, and exchanged them for a lighter weight.

  “Don't move your elbow like that,” Peter advised. He placed his hands gently on her elbows. She tried not to flinch.

  “Keep your elbow at your waist. Like this. Don't jerk your arm up, or you'll hurt yourself. Form is really important with weights.”

  “Got it.” She looked in the mirror. They lo
oked like they were ready to sing a song in a Rodgers & Hammerstein musical. They were a picture.

  “So, Jane. Since we work in the same building, maybe we can hook up for lunch sometime.”

  Jane wanted so much to say yes. That's why she said, “No. I usually eat at my desk. But thanks anyway.”

  “Or dinner. There are so many restaurants in our neighborhood that I really want to check out. And I hate to go to restaurants alone. What do you say?”

  “Oh, I don't know. I mean. No. Thanks, but I don't think it's a good idea.”

  “Oh.”

  He went back to his weights, and he looked a little angry. Jane didn't think that Mr. Married Peter had any business being mad. He shouldn't be asking her out on a date, right?

  “I'm not asking you out on a date, you know. I'm married.”

  “Yes, I found that out. Eventually” Now Jane sounded a little angry.

  “I just thought that we could be friends. Why can't you be friends with me?”

  Because you're gorgeous and smart and charming and nice and warm, and I like you way too much. And I want to have a child, and I'm even working on that, and you look like such good Daddy material, it makes me want to break my own teeth. That's what she wanted to say. She couldn't think up a polite lie quickly enough. So Peter continued.

  “Dinner buddies. We could be dinner buddies. We both have to eat. Please? You're looking at a guy with no dishes and a big appetite. Look at me. I'm hungry. I'm wasting away. You can help me out, or you can turn the page.”

  She smiled. She relented. They would become dinner buddies.

  …

  The Founding Mothers DTC checklist came with a bright red folder on which Barbara had written, “Building a Family” in gold letters. Jane could check off five columns of progress: Obtained, Reviewed by Founding Mothers, Notarized, Certified, Authenticated. A list with levels. Ooh. Her dossier would contain a big pile of paper.

  The Homestudy—this scared Jane the most. A social worker must come to her home and inspect it, her, three letters of reference, and her life. This verdict would sway the entire process.

  State Report—this required her to give Albany a list of every

  address she had inhabited since she was eighteen, and it would prove, on a state level, that she was not a crook.

  POLICE REPORT—THIS MEANT A TRIP TO POLICE HEADQUARTERS AND ANOTHER FINGERPRINTING. IT WOULD PROVE, ON THE CITY LEVEL, THAT SHE WAS NOT A CROOK.

  FINANCIAL REPORT—THIS WAS A FORM PROVIDED BY CHINA WHERE SHE LISTED HER DEBTS AND ASSETS. SHE NEEDED ONLY TO BE ABOVE THE POVERTY LEVEL TO QUALIFY

  MEDICAL REPORT—THIS WAS ANOTHER FORM PROVIDED BY CHINA. IT REQUIRED A GENERAL CHECKUP AND TESTS FOR HIV AND TB.

  LETTER TO THE CHINA CENTER OF ADOPTION AFFAIRS (CCAA)—THIS WAS A SORT OF COVER LETTER TO THE DOSSIER. THERE WAS NO TEMPLATE TO FOLLOW, BUT SHE ABSOLUTELY HAD TO GAIN CHINA'S TRUST, CONVEY HER PERSONALITY, AND EXPLAIN WHY SHE HAD CHOSEN TO ADOPT, WHY CHINA, AND HOW WELL SHE WOULD TREAT THE CHILD. ALL ON ONE PAGE.

  PHOTOS—THIS WOULD BE TWO PAGES OF PHOTOS THAT SHOWED JANE, HER FAMILY, HER HOME, ALL CAPTIONED, COLORFUL, AND HAPPY.

  BIRTH CERTIFICATE—EASY.

  PASSPORT—EASY.

  PROOF OF EMPLOYMENT—EASY.

  MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE OR DIVORCE DECREE OR LETTER OF SINGLE STATUS—A LITTLE EMBARRASSING. THIS WAS A NOTARIZED LETTER, STATING THAT SHE WAS, IN FACT, UNMARRIED. NEVER BEEN MARRIED, STILL NOT MARRIED. SINCERELY, JANE HOWE.

  DOCUMENT I-171H—This would prove, on a federal level, that Jane was not a crook. It could take months to receive. A copy would be sent to Jane and to China and to all the twelve apostles, maybe.

  Still, Jane's heart sang. A list! Lists are so specific and possible.

  …

  Karen and Teresa had already begun work on their lists. They were ahead of her. They would get to China before her. Jane had to catch up. So she scheduled a homestudy right away. She tried to imagine how it would go. Some large, suspicious person would interview her and probably run a white-gloved finger over the top bookshelf, the one Jane couldn't reach. Maybe there would be an elaborate lie detector involved. Dr. Ali, who really wished Jane would call her Barbara, encouraged Jane to complete the homestudy as soon as possible. The FBI's approval of the fingerprints would combine with the homestudy in an INS office and transform into the I-171H. The magical result of bureaucratic alchemy. Hard to obtain. Very Holy Graily But once it was received, Jane would be ready to send her dossier to China. Jane could not see anything beyond the Dossier to China date. The DTC, as the folks on the listserv called it. Jane was learning the lingo.

  Jane enlisted Ray's help with the cleaning. He could reach the top shelf of the bookcase. Jane reorganized her very organized sock drawer. She grimaced at the thought of the spare room—she couldn't call it a baby's room yet—being inspected. It looked like a warehouse in hell. Ray talked her down.

  “You know, babies make messes. They're not known for their neatness.”

  “This is an inspection. I had to gather three letters of reference that make me sound like the savior of western civilization. I'm not leaving anything to chance. Please tell me that the place doesn't smell too much like cleaning chemicals.”

  It did.

  “Please, please, please let me cleanse the place with a little burning sage?” Ray was practically begging. His eyes looked big.

  “Babies. Fire. No.”

  She opened the windows and tried to whoosh all the chemical smells out to the city.

  “Ray?” Jane asked while she whooshed. “You'll come with me to China, won't you?”

  He kissed her cheek.

  “Darling Jane. Just try and stop me.”

  By the time social worker Donna Dupree-O’Reilly arrived at Jane's home, it would have met the standards of the worst obsessive-compulsive in Martha Stewart's family tree. Clean, but warm. Safe, but lived-in. Happy, but stable. Good, but great. This was to be the actual judgment of her fitness to be a mother. She buzzed Donna into the building with maternal warmth and firmness.

  Donna seemed to like Jane in advance. She had a list of questions that she had to ask, but they veered off topic easily. Donna had two teenagers and talked fondly of the baby years.

  “Jane, you have a second bedroom? Wow! Most of the people I interview are still kicking themselves for buying a one-bedroom, you know?”

  “But the room is kind of small.”

  “So are babies.”

  Donna wasn't judging or inspecting. She was chatting. She offered advice on the baby's adjustment to the U.S. She shared good and bad experiences in child care. She never even glanced at that top bookshelf. Jane forgot about being nervous. The interview lasted an hour and included two cups of decaffeinated tea.

  “Now, I take all this stuff, the letters, the financial stuff, and I turn it into a homestudy” Donna explained. “You and your agency okay it, and there'll be two copies: a long version for the INS and a short version for China.”

  “Why does China want a short version?”

  “They've got to get this all translated, and they need a more condensed version. The long homestudies used to really slow them down. They've got a lot of homestudies to read. A lot.”

  There was so much to know. Jane worried that perhaps she had used too many American idiomatic phrases, and her homestudy would be impossible to translate. Donna reassured her that all would be well. Jane raced to the phone and relived the entire evening for Ray. He was, as always, an attentive audience.

  Chapter Seven

  “Barbara, tell me the truth. Can I do this alone?” Jane knew she was asking for a passing grade, permission, and a psychic prediction. She also knew that Barbara was too smart to provide any of the above.

  “Jane, sweetheart, no.” And didn't that sound like a failing grade?

  Barbara continued. “No one can do it alone. It takes more than a village to raise a child, Jane. It takes a whole hemisphere. Let's make sure you stay connected.”

 
And so Barbara invited all her adopting Moms to dinner in Chinatown. There were other single women who were following this same crazy path, beyond Karen and Teresa. The restaurant was noisy, but the women found one another easily. There were lots of new faces.

  “I'm Greta. I'm halfway through my dossier. And you?” Greta was short and heavy. Jane thought she looked like a mushroom.

  “I'm Charm. C-H-A-R-M. My parents thought it would be cute. I promise you, I'll give my kid a normal name. Not Charm. I haven't started yet, on the dossier, I mean. I'm still thinking about it.” Charm was a pretty brunette with a thick New York accent.

  “I'm Megan. I'm waiting.” Megan was rail thin, with an ex-punk look to her.

  “For what?” asked Charm. Jane wondered if Megan waited for signs too.

  “For my referral. My dossier went to China, like, six months ago. So I'm watching the Web like crazy. We all keep track of what each agency is saying about timing. And the referrals usually come in monthly batches. So you watch a whole mess of people get their referrals, and you know you're one step closer. Don't you watch the lists?”

  You would think that a Web site commonly referred to as “the lists” would have had a special appeal for Jane, but so far she had avoided them. She had lists of her own. It seemed like adoption was an entire world beneath or around this one. She had just never noticed.

  Barbara arrived late, with her daughter, Rachel, in tow. Rachel was six years old, with pigtails and a Catholic school uniform. She was lethally gorgeous. There was too much to react to. The baby hunger awoke in the table of women, and Rachel sensed it immediately. They all looked ready to snatch the little girl and take her home. She clung to her mother.

  “She's not usually so shy” Barbara apologized, then got down to business. “Ladies, one of the reasons I've brought you all together is this: I'd like to hold a couple of seminars or discussions that I wish I'd had back when I was paper-chasing.” The women glowed. It was like free money. Or shoes.