Unforgettable You (28 page)

I smile and nod, still sniffling, but Sheila gasps. “Oh, no! I didn’t know this was going to happen so I don’t have his!”

There’s a soft chuckle and Trish appears next to Sheila and there, in her palm, is a ring box. “Good thing you told me where you hid it. And good thing you have a spare key hidden outside too.” That makes Sheila giggle. She hands Sheila the tiny box, and I watch my new wife reach for her friend and hug her before taking the little treasure and turning back to me.

As she opens the box, takes out the ring, and hands the box back to Trish, Clint hands me Sheila’s ring; he’d had it since I picked it up from the jewelry store. As it passes from his hand into mine, he leans into me and growls, “For the love of god, Cothran, marry this woman and stop blubbering.”

“Shut up, Winstead.”

“No, you shut up, Cothran. And have a happy life. I love you, brother, and I’m happy for you. Put that ring on her finger and seal the deal before she can change her mind. I know if I were her, I’d be looking for a way to skip town as fast as I could.”

“Lucky for me I’m not marrying you.”

“Lucky for
both
of us.”

In that moment, I can’t help it; I reach for Clint and hug him tight, and he hugs me back. “Thanks for being a true friend, Winstead. You have no idea what your friendship means to me.”

He whispers back, “What are you trying to do, get
me
to blubber? Not happening, man. But thanks. Your friendship means the world to me too.” He pats my back and turns loose, and his eyes are red and teary too.

In that moment, I realize that it doesn’t matter that I won’t have any family here when my mother is gone. I have family, a family that I’ve chosen and made, and that bond is strong. Across the room I can see Dave smiling, and Marta and Angela are there too. I know when I need a dad or a mom, the three of them will be there for me. Bridget is near them, and it’s clear to me that I hired a remarkable young woman when I hired her. She’s been there for me to do anything I asked, and to do so cheerfully. I look around and see that the whole restaurant is filled with love, from Hailee and McKenna, who were excited to be able to have new dresses for the occasion, and Morris, who looks hideously uncomfortable in his little suit and tie, to the servers, people I’ve seen over and over through the years whose names I don’t even know but who are standing and watching, their faces stretched in smiles, happy for both of us. And Sheila’s family seems genuinely happy to know that I’m part of them now, a thing I’ll be eternally grateful for. I’ve never known love like this, but it’s this remarkable woman standing here with me who awoke me to the possibilities for happiness and love all around me. I owe her everything. I owe her my very life.

My hand trembles as I slip the ring onto her finger. “Second thoughts?” she giggles.

“No. Afraid you’ll jerk your hand away before I can get it on your finger!”

“Not happening.” She takes my hand and, before she slips the band on my finger, she holds it up and turns it slightly so I can see the inscription. I can’t read it, but she quietly says as a tear slips down her cheek, “It says, ‘Never forget me.’”

I take her face in my hands and look deep into her eyes. “You can count on that. I’ll never, never forget you.” Pulling her face to mine, I kiss her. In that kiss I feel the promise of a future I never thought I’d have, and suddenly I’m excited to be going on this journey with this amazing woman.

Master Steffen is officially out of circulation and, surprisingly, he’s thrilled about it.

“A
re you nervous?” Sheila’s voice is sort of shaky as she asks.

“Nervous as hell. You?”

She nods. “Almost unbearably.” She’s straightening the flowers in the vase, then straightening the throw on the back of the sofa, then straightening the pictures on the walls.

“Baby, nobody cares about that stuff. Come over here and sit down.” When she sits down beside me on the sofa, I wrap an arm around her and pull her up against me. “It’s going to be fine. Remember, if this doesn’t work out, we’ll just look for another way, okay? Don’t get all freaked out if it doesn’t fly.”

“I know, I know. But I want it to, I really do.” About that time, the doorbell rings. “Oh, god, do I look okay?”

I kiss her nose as I rise to answer the door. “You look spectacular. She’ll love you, I promise.”

I sling open the door and flash that famous Cothran smile, then realize it won’t do me any good. This woman has to be the manliest woman I’ve ever seen. There’s no doubt in my mind that femdom has just arrived on my front porch. “Ms. Abernathy?”

“Yes! Mr. Cothran?”

“Yes, ma’am! It’s so nice to meet you.” I extend a hand and she shakes it heartily. “Won’t you please come in? Make yourself at home. This is my wife, Sheila.” Sheila extends a hand and the woman takes it in hers and smiles. “Honey, this is Ms. Abernathy.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Sheila smiles warmly at her, and the woman responds. For all her masculinity, she’s very gentle and personable, and I feel comfortable with her immediately. “Would you like something to drink? I’ve got a fresh pot of coffee on, and we have juice and soda and bottled water . . .”

“Oh, a nice hot cup of coffee would be wonderful!” Before Sheila can ask, Ms. Abernathy responds, “And just black. I don’t want to be any bother.”

“No bother at all.” Sheila disappears into the kitchen, and I motion to Ms. Abernathy to have a seat. Once she’s in the chair, Sheila appears with her coffee. She takes a sip. “Wow. This is a nice roast. You must’ve paid a fortune for it.”

I can tell Sheila’s under her spell. “No, not at all. It came from Publix. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“It really is.” She pulls some things out of the bag she brought in with her and spreads them out on the coffee table. “Okay, first things first. I’m not Ms. Abernathy; I’m Amy. May I call you Steffen and Sheila?”

“Please,” I nod.

“Great! Remember, I’m your ally here, not your adversary. I’ll be the first one to point out if I think a situation is poorly suited for you, but it won’t be to hurt you or anyone else; it’ll be to spare everyone some grief. I’ve been around long enough to be able to spot a bad situation in a heartbeat, and I want the best possible outcome for everyone.”

“We understand that,” I reply.

“Good. Now, you both got all of your paperwork filled out and it all looks good. You also turned in your compatibility sheets, so I know what you think will work. So tell me, what provisions have you made?”

“We have a room ready. I mean, we don’t know how to decorate it yet, but it has new furniture and bedding, the walls are freshly painted, there’s new flooring down, and some plain curtains that can be replaced easily. We didn’t know whether to buy a changing table and a rocking chair, or a desk and chair to go with it, because we don’t know an age or anything, but . . .”

“Slow down, Steffen! It’s okay. As long as there’s somewhere for a child to sleep, everything else can be done later. I noticed that you said you’d rather not have a baby. Is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s correct,” Sheila echoes back.

“Well, I have to tell you, that increases your chances by about ninety percent. You won’t have any trouble there. I also noticed that you have no race restrictions.”

“No, ma’am. That doesn’t make one bit of difference to us.”

“Well, you just increased that ninety percent by about ninety percent. Better all the time. Now, let’s talk about the elephant in the room.”

Sheila and I look at each other nervously. “Okay,” I manage to squeak out.

Amy chuckles. “I know you’re not stupid; it’s pretty obvious I’m a lesbian.” When we both nod, she starts to laugh right out loud. “We’ve got that out of the way! And as such, you’ve got a real advantage in having me as your adoption agent. I know all about gender and sexual discrimination in the adoption community. I’m here to help you circumvent that, and there are ways. So tell me about your particular situation so I know what we’re dealing with.” She looks directly at me. “I somehow get the impression that I should be directing that statement to you, am I correct?”

I nod. “Yes. I’m the Dominant in this relationship.”

“Yeah. I got that vibe. So are we talking about a TPE, a Master/slave arrangement, a D/s relationship, what?”

“D/s. And I wouldn’t say we ‘live the lifestyle,’ but elements of it permeate our relationship, and we do scene regularly in a private club where we do so in the public areas.”

“Full-blown sex acts?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She shrugs. “I don’t see that as a problem. It’s not like you’re scening in front of children, and I have no reason to believe you’d do that. Do you have some references from the club who can vouch for your character?”

I nod. “Oh, yes, absolutely.”

“My husband’s been a well-respected Dom there for years,” Sheila adds with obvious pride.

Amy smiles. “To watch you respond in that manner, I know it must be true for the community as well as in this household.”

“Yes, ma’am, it is,” Sheila beams. Instantly I’m so proud that I feel like my chest is going to burst open.

“Good, good. Now, here at home, what kind of D/s activity do you engage in?”

“We’re pretty subtle about it. Once we close the bedroom door, it’s no holds barred, but otherwise, we’re pretty careful. I mean, we don’t just do it in the bedroom, but, well, you know, oh . . .”

Amy laughs loudly. “Steffen, I’m not here to judge. I just need reassurance that you’re not going to intentionally or negligently engage in any sexual activity in the presence of a child, that’s all. If you want to fuck each other’s brains out on the kitchen table, as long as there’s no kid there watching and you wipe it down with an antibacterial agent afterward, I really don’t give a shit.”

Damn, I like this woman.

“So here’s what I’d suggest. Don’t volunteer any information, but if you’re asked outright, be truthful but give as little in the way of details as you can possibly give. For instance, if asked if you engage in, oh, let’s say BDSM, you could just say something like, ‘We do enjoy variety in our sexual relationship, but I wouldn’t exactly call it BDSM.’ Because, frankly, you can call it anything you like. I mean, a Leatherman could say, ‘I like puppies,’ and no one would have to know that he meant puppy play.”

I nod. “I see what you’re saying. Semantics.”

“Exactly. So we do the placements, but the state comes in and does both a home study and a six-week monitoring, since it’s more or less private, even though you’re going through the state register. And you can do anything if you have to for six weeks, correct?”

We both nod and I say, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Very good. Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.” She drags out three large binders and we start looking at pictures and profiles. As we flip through, she suddenly stops. “How many bedrooms do you have?”

“Three, but one’s a home office.” I look up at her. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing. I thought this would be a great fit, but you’d need a three-bedroom house.” She keeps flipping pages, but my mind is running ninety to nothing. It’s just a little home office, and I do have a desk in the living room. Plus Sheila and I had been talking about selling her house and buying something else, something that was ours instead of hers or mine.

“We could convert the home office back to a bedroom. And we’ve been talking about buying a different place. So could you tell us about your prospect there?”

“Not prospect. Prospects – plural.” She flips back and places the book open on the table. There, staring back at us, are two little faces. The boy looks to be about eight, and the girl about six. Under their pictures are the names Joseph and Rachel. “These two are half brother and sister. Fathers have never been in the picture, and mom is in and out of jail. She finally agreed to sign them over to the state, worst part of which is that they’ve had to be separated. We didn’t have a foster home for them together, and the only spaces we had were in gender-specific group homes. And it’s killing them to not be together.” I study the little faces, and Sheila leans in with me. “Mom’s white, and Joey’s dad is Hispanic. Mom’s not sure about Rachel’s dad, but looking at her, I’d say it’s a pretty sure thing that he’s black. Two issues with them: Rachel’s got asthma, and Joey’s got a learning disability, but he’s done very well with a tutor.” She stops to let it all soak in. I pick up the book and lay it in my lap so Sheila and I can look it over more closely.

Then I let out a sniggle. “Joey and Rachel. Is somebody a
Friends
fan?”

Sheila lets out a little giggle, then sobers. “It says her favorite color is purple,” Sheila says with a small smile. “She wants an American Girl doll. And she likes ponies.” Her eyes are sad. “What little girl doesn’t like ponies?”

“And he wants to be an astronaut when he grows up.” I can’t help but grin. “You know, I wanted to be an astronaut when I was that age. And he likes basketball; I can forgive him for that!” I laugh. I’m a football fan. “He wants a bicycle because he’s never had one.” That makes me sad. Every kid should have a bike. Then I see something that brings tears to my eyes. “Oh my god. It says here that if he could have anything he wanted, it would be his own bed, a toilet that flushes right, and clean clothes.” Something catches in my chest and I have trouble drawing in a breath. When I lift my head and level my gaze with Amy’s, I blurt out, “How many kids like these are out there waiting for families?”