Fic - More Beautiful (than you could dream)
More Beautiful (than you could dream)
Jon/Brendon
PG
4,000+ words
Future fic
Note: There's the most wonderful show on Discovery Health channel called Adoption Stories. If you get a chance to watch an episode, you really should. A few years ago I decided that someday I was going to write Jon and Brendon's adoption story. This is that. Maybe it's because life is kind of messy, but I burst into tears writing this. In a happy way. Maybe take that into consideration before reading.
you should feel the sun in the spring
comin out after a rain
suddenly all is green
sunshine on everything
I can feel it now, I feel you now
Stars - David Crowder Band
The sun is just beginning to rise, coming up over the ocean. The huge bay windows overlooking the water let the light in, the orange and pink glow filling the house with shadows.
It’s peaceful, relaxing, when Brendon feels nothing but anxiety. He didn’t sleep at all last night, neither he nor Jon able to close their eyes.
Somewhere around two they’d given up, gathered up an old blanket and carried it out to the deck, the double lounge chair where they tangled together, the sound of the waves in the distance. They spent the rest of the night there, wide awake, slowly kissing, talking softly, holding hands. Enjoying their last moments as a family of two.
It’s just a little before six now, and Brendon feels his exhaustion settle over him. It’s going to be a long day and not sleeping last night probably didn’t do him any favors.
“Jon?” Brendon calls over his shoulder from where he’s rifling through his backpack one last time, making sure they have everything.
Jon pokes his head out from the bathroom. His hair is getting long, curling around his ears, flopping in his eyes. He looks like he’s nineteen again, not a month shy of thirty. He’s got his toothbrush in his mouth and he hasn’t finished dressing, shirtless, pants undone.
Brendon smiles and reaches for the camera.
Jon makes a ridiculous face, lets Brendon snap the shot as he strikes a pose.
“Do you have the passports? The plane tickets?” Brendon asks, putting the camera back in the backpack.
Jon’s nodding before Brendon finishes. “Relax, B. We have everything, we’re as ready as two people who have no clue what they’re doing can be.” Jon disappears into the bathroom, comes back a minute later, stepping behind Brendon. He presses a kiss to Brendon’s neck. “It’s going to be perfect,” he whispers into Brendon’s hair. “Just like we imagined.”
Brendon can’t catch his breath. He feels like the last two years have been a marathon. They’ve got one mile left but none of the energy, none of the hope they had when this started.
Brendon turns to wrap his arms around Jon’s middle. “I’m ready,” he says, smiling. All the time they’ve had to prepare, to get used to the idea, and Brendon knows logically they can’t be more ready. He’s never been more terrified of anything in his life.
*
The weather was unseasonably warm for late January, even for San Diego, and they’d taken advantage of it by spending the quiet Sunday on the water.
Afterwards, pink skinned and sore, exhaustion in their bones, they ate Thai food in take out containers on their deck, legs scissored together on the cushions.
“I want to have a baby,” Jon said later, when they were lying on their backs, the sky dark and lit up, the stars clear and bright here the way Brendon had never seen in Las Vegas.
It wasn’t the first time he’d brought it up, the first time either had mentioned a need to have a family. But there was something in the way Jon said it that made Brendon’s breath catch, like maybe it was time, it was going to happen.
He rolled to his side, sprawled half over Jon, weight propped on his elbow. “Yeah?” he whispered, hair in his eyes.
Jon lifted his head to kiss him, lips chapped from salt and sun. “Yeah,” he agreed, into Brendon’s mouth.
*
Ryan’s been in Europe for the last eight months, living in a flat in London’s West End. He showed up three days ago, his hair past his ears, his eyes bright and clear, smiling in a way Brendon hasn’t seen in years.
He’s waiting for them downstairs when they lug their suitcases down the stairs.
“I made coffee,” Ryan says, standing in the hallway with two mugs. He makes a face. “Tastes more like tar,” he says by way of apology.
Brendon laughs because Ryan showed up at their house, to be a part of this, and Brendon thought his life had gotten as good as it was going to get.
Ryan sets the mugs down on the hall table and takes a wary step back. “Brendon,” Ryan says, a little alarmed. Brendon swipes at his eyes and mumbles, “what? I have allergies.”
“He’s been doing that a lot,” Jon says with a sigh, but Brendon can hear the laughter in his voice.
“We should get going.” Brendon changes the subject because it’s going to be like this for at least the next month, he can tell from the way every little thing sends him off, just thinking about what they’re getting ready to do makes him break down.
Ryan shocks the hell out of Brendon by stepping forward and wrapping his thin arms around Brendon’s shoulders. It’s not a placating thing, it’s a real honest-to-goodness hug and Brendon gives himself into it.
“I’m really, really glad you came,” he says into Ryan’s hair.
*
There were no guarantees with surrogacy. That both knew that going in. But they’d talked about it ad nauseam, endlessly weighed the pros and cons, considered all their options.
Jon wanted a biological baby. So surrogacy was it.
They found her through an agency that boasted an ninety-one percent success rate.
Her name was Rachel. She had pretty blonde hair and big green eyes and the three of them agreed that she and Jon would make a beautiful baby.
There was no reason to fear the worst, no reason not to trust her. She was a few years older than Jon, and she said this was something she’d always wanted to do, give a child to a couple who couldn’t have one naturally.
At five months they found out Rachel was pregnant with a boy, all three of them wet eyed in the tiny examining room, unable to stop grinning and laughing, giddy with the possibilities.
They had the room finished, the name picked out, announcements sent and they were just counting the days when she took off, a month before her due date.
She sent them an email later, apologizing. She said she just couldn’t give him up.
That was the end of that dream for a while.
*
Ryan drives them to the airport. He idles at the curb in their new Volvo XC70, the family-friendly SUV they spent the last three weeks researching. The car seat has been strapped into the back since they bought it.
Brendon and Jon get all their luggage unloaded and Brendon scrambles into the front seat, leaning across the steering wheel.
“You made me really happy,” he says against Ryan’s cheek.
Jon comes around to Ryan’s side, gives him a hug and says something quietly in his ear.
“Me and Spence will meet your flight on Tuesday,” Ryan says through the open window, when they’ve sorted themselves out.
Brendon waves and turns to Jon. “I’m not going to get through this in one piece,” he says with a sigh, leaning into him and tucking his face in against Jon’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” Jon agrees softly. He slips his hand beneath Brendon’s t-shirt. “We’ll just be emotional messes together,” he whispers, fingers cupping Brendon’s chin to bring him up, opening his mouth over Brendon’s.
*
If ever there had been a time in his life when Brendon thought he and Jon might not make it, it was those months afterwards, after she’d reneged on a promise and they’d watched a dream disappear, out of reach.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Brendon said, both of them wide awake in the dark, four in the morning and unable to sleep, this tension between them that hadn’t been there before.
They had an empty room painted in blues and yellows, a name written above a little white crib, and nothing but a lot of accusations between the two of them.
“What are you saying?” Jon said, flat, unflinching.
“I’m saying I’m done with this, with wallowing.” He let it hang in the air between them for a little while.
“I think we should call Sharon,” he said finally when he thought Jon might have fallen asleep.
She was the woman his mother had told them about, a woman with a little adoption agency.
Jon wanted a biological child, that was the dream.
Jon let out a heavy breath and rolled to his side, facing Brendon.
He reached out, touched his thumb to Brendon’s cheek. It had been months since they’d touched each other in any real way, any way that mattered.
Brendon shuddered on a sob and rolled into Jon to press his face to Jon’s neck.
“Okay,” Jon said later, breathing into Brendon’s mouth. “Okay.”
*
Brendon sleeps on the flight from San Diego to Miami, a few hours of dead sleep on Jon’s shoulder.
They have a three hour wait in Miami. It might as well be three days, as anxious as they both are.
“Want to grab something to eat?” Jon asks, a hand on Brendon’s lower back as he follows him through the crowd deplaning.
Brendon shakes his head. He’s a jumble of nerves, excitement and anxiety and the thought of food makes him nauseous.
Jon gives Brendon a small smile, a quirk of his lips in sympathy. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
They find their way to the gate, settle down in a pair of seats by the window.
Brendon digs in his pocket for his phone.
“in miami, will text when in colombia,” he texts to his mother who had argued for months that she wanted to come to Colombia with them, until Brendon assured her it wasn’t necessary and waiting for them at the house was probably the best thing she could do.
“Spence wants to know how you’re doing?” Jon says, gesturing to his phone where he’s been talking quietly, low and hushed.
Brendon shrugs. “I’m about twenty seconds from throwing up,” he says with what he hopes is a smile but it feels like might be a grimace.
Jon chuckles and leans forward to press a quick kiss to the corner of Brendon’s mouth.
“He’s a little nervous,” Jon says into the phone, laughing at something Spencer says.
Brendon curls his legs up under him and presses his cheek to Jon’s shoulder, closing his eyes.
*
“I’ll warn you now,” Sharon said, after pleasantries had been exchanged and introductions had been made, sitting around the small table in the conference room at the agency. “This is a long, grueling process. There’s no guarantee.”
“Because we’re gay?” Brendon blurted before he could stop.
Jon put a settling hand on Brendon’s knee. “Bren, shh,” he said.
Sharon just smiled. “It’s okay. Yes, Brendon, to be honest, it’s a factor. But we’ve facilitated quite a few same-sex adoptions and overall, they’ve had the same obstacles, the same successes as any of the straight couples who have adopted through our agency. That’s what sets us apart from the rest.”
The meeting lasted three hours. They listened as Sharon went through the list of countries they worked with, where their chances would be better and what they could expect from each. They filled out form after form, handed over a large check, and walked out with another stack of forms to be submitted before they could be put on the waiting list.
Afterwards, they sat in the car in the parking lot, quiet.
“So?” Brendon prompted after a while, turning to look at Jon.
“Let’s get started,” Jon said, curling his fingers in Jon’s, a smile in his eyes.
*
It’s almost two am when they land in Medellin, Colombia. The airport is hot, crowded with more people than Brendon has ever seen in such a small space. It’s a little depressing and it doesn’t help that Brendon is beyond tired and spent the duration of the flight counting all the ways this could go wrong.
Despite the ridiculous hour, it’s oppressively hot. They’re both sticky with it, clothes clinging to them with grit and sweat.
They do their best to stay together through the crush of people, gripping each other’s shirts, hips, whatever they can reach.
The orphanage sent a driver to greet them and take them to their hotel, an older gentleman with dark skin weathered by the sun and friendly eyes.
“Buenos noches,” he greets them, tipping the brim of his straw hat and giving them a toothy smile.
He shakes their hands and Brendon grimaces in apology at how sweaty his palms are. He feels like he’s covered in a week’s worth of grime.
The gentleman introduces himself as Emel and looks pleased to meet them, ushering them out to the waiting van with the name of the orphanage scrawled across the side in faded letters.
Brendon and Jon sit together in the middle seat and try to take it all in, the crowded, unpaved streets, the stench of the air.
Jon’s hair is sweat damp, curling around his ears, matted to his forehead. He’s pale and jittery. Brendon grabs his hand, brings it between them and kisses his cheek.
“This is really happening,” he whispers, nose pressed to Jon’s sweaty skin. Jon takes a couple of deep breaths, a little shaky, and he turns then, gives Brendon the sweetest smile despite the exhaustion in every line of his face.
Emel keeps up a steady stream of chatter, his accent heavy, his voice cheerful, as if oblivious to how out of their minds with fatigue and fear and anxiety they are.
*
It wasn’t quite seven and they were both still in bed, hidden somewhere beneath the blankets, fooling around just because they could.
Jon’s cell phone rang, his ringtone the newest song from the band Spencer was playing with these days. Brendon burst out laughing as the poppy synth beat cut into the fog of having his dick in Jon’s mouth.
“Hold that thought,” Jon said, all cheeky grin, wiping his hand across his lips as he poked his head out from beneath the pile of blankets.
Brendon threw an arm over his eyes, tried to catch his breath and only half listened to Jon’s conversation.
Jon’s “are you kidding me?” made Brendon jolt upright.
“What?” Brendon demanded, rolling towards Jon.
Jon’s face was pale, his mouth open. “Hang on Sharon,” he said, a little shaky, “I’m putting you on speaker phone so you can tell Brendon.”
“Brendon?” Sharon’s voice came over the speaker. “Good morning, I’m sorry for calling so early but I just got word at home from the orphanage in Medellin. They have a baby for you, a little girl.”
He’d never thought it was possible to feel so many things at once, but there it all was, elation and doubt and nerves.
“If you give me a few mintues,” Sharon was saying while Brendon was trying to keep his heart from beating out of his chest, “I’ll forward you the picture they sent me. Her name is Olivia.”
When Jon hung up the phone, they both just sat there in the mess of their bed, staring at each other.
And then they were grinning at each other, Jon pushing Brendon onto his back and pressing their mouths together.
They kissed until they couldn’t breathe and then they were scrambling out of bed, racing down the stairs to check the computer.
*
The hotel is three blocks from the orphanage. They check in and get settled and then they sit, wide awake.
“I hate this part,” Brendon sighs, throwing his legs over Jon’s.
They have an appointment for ten tomorrow morning, when their lawyer and the adoption facilitator are going to meet them. It feels like forever.
Since Brendon doesn’t think he’s going to get much sleep, he goes about unpacking the bag they brought for her, for Olivia.
There’s been a barrage of gifts over the last month since they got the news. Baby clothes, toys, contraptions, picture frames. An overwhelming amount of stuff that neither Brendon nor Jon really have any clue what to do with.
They picked out the little yellow onesie together, at a boutique in Los Angeles a few weeks ago when they were up visiting Ashlee and Pete and Bronx. It’s embroidered with tiny pink flowers and Brendon’s never given much thought to baby clothes before, but he can’t wait to see Olivia in it.
Jon calls Ryan, Spencer, his mom, Brendon’s mom, tells them about the trip, about Medellin. Brendon takes the few bottles into the bathroom to wash them a few more times, though he already sterilized them back in San Diego. He’s got to do something.
He finds the plush green turtle Shane brought over the other day with a pink ribbon around its neck. He tucks that into his backpack along with a bottle, the container of formula, the gift for Olivia’s birth mother and the leather bound baby book he’s been keeping since the phone call that perfect morning.
He falls asleep sometime around five, his head on Jon’s thigh, the turtle resting on his belly.
*
They called their mothers at the same time, Jon sitting on Brendon’s thighs at the computer as they stared at Olivia’s picture.
The email gave them the details of her birth, that the birth mother had been at the orphanage for the last two months to carry out the pregnancy. Olivia was three days old and her mother had chosen Jon and Brendon to be her parents.
Brendon didn’t bother hiding his tears as he read the email to his mother, who was crying herself as she told Boyd to get on the phone, he was going to be a grandfather again.
They were talking over each other, both of them close to hysteria.
“I’m coming out there,” both mothers said immediately and they set about making arrangements to come out while Brendon and Jon were in Colombia, to spend a few weeks helping them adjust to being first time fathers.
There were more phone calls to make after that, friends and family, an hour long conversation with Sharon to hammer out all the details, a call to their lawyer to make sure she’d be coming with them.
Later, when they were both coming down from the giddy high, Brendon curled up between Jon’s thighs, wrapped his arms around Jon’s neck, and breathed.
*
Jon and Brendon arrive at the orphanage twenty minutes early.
Francisco runs the agency who put them in touch with the orphanage. He greets them at the door with a big smile on his face, as though this is as big a day for him as it is for Brendon and Jon.
“Welcome, come in,” he says to them, ignoring their outstretched hands and greeting them with a firm hug.
“This is a big day, we are very excited here,” he tells Jon and Brendon with a heavy accent, ushering them into the center of the orphanage, an open airy living space.
Theresa, their lawyer, met them for breakfast and is waiting with them, quiet and business-like but Brendon’s not fooled, he can tell she’s just as emotional as the rest of them.
Francisco sits in a chair opposite Brendon and Jon and walks them through the rest of the papers they have to sign, taking a photocopy of the passport Jon and Brendon had to get for Olivia.
It’s a little after ten when Francisco comes back into the room. “She’ll be right down,” he says, and his eyes are wet. “Christiane, Olivia’s birth mother, she is just saying goodbye.”
Brendon turns wide, terrified eyes on Jon and Jon’s got this panicked look on his face. Brendon gets to his feet, pulls Jon up because he just needs a little reassurance right now, and pulls him in, arms around Jon’s back, clinging.
“It’s okay, Brendon.” Jon’s voice is shaky, cracking a little, and he tightens his arms around Brendon. “We’re going to be a family.”
Brendon sort of loses himself a little then, his cheeks wet, his breath coming in little sobs. They just stand like that until Theresa touches a gentle hand to Brendon’s shoulder.
“It’s time, sweetie,” she says.
Brendon takes a deep breath and pulls back from Jon, though he grabs Jon’s hand and doesn’t let go.
There’s a beat of heavy silence and then a young woman is coming into the room, holding Olivia, an older woman with her, a reassuring arm around her.
“Um, Buenos dias,” Brendon says to them. It’s the only thing that comes to mind because there’s his daughter, seven weeks old, pink cheeked and the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Brendon’s feet won’t move and he’s got a death grip on Jon, so the woman ushers the girl to them.
“Buenos dias,” the girl, Christiane, Olivia’s mother, says softly. She presses a kiss to Olivia’s head, her soft, dark hair, and holds out her arms.
Jon makes the first move. He smiles reassuringly at Christiane and takes Olivia from her with a quiet, “gracias.”
Christiane is a pretty girl. She has the same big brown eyes as Olivia. She doesn’t seem old enough to have carried this beautiful baby for nine months, mature enough to make a decision such as this, to give her baby to Jon and Brendon.
Brendon can’t stop watching her, the determined look in her eyes, the way her jaw quivers like she’s gritting her teeth.
“Gracias,” she says to Brendon, like it’s Brendon who’s giving instead of receiving and Brendon loses it, forgets himself and steps forward, wrapping his arms around her slight frame.
When he lets go, he starts crying for real then. Because Jon’s holding Olvia in the cradle of his arms, looking down at her with a look like he can’t quite believe it. There’s a peace to him that Brendon has never seen, in all the years, all the ups and downs they’ve been through together.
He’s talking quietly to her, murmuring sweet, reassuring words to her, “hello sweetheart, hi precious,” over and over.
Brendon’s holding Christiane’s hand he realizes after a minute and she’s just letting him, watching Jon.
She surprises Brendon by pulling away and stepping up to Jon. She leans up on tiptoe, kisses his cheek and says in broken english, “thank you.”
Jon looks up, taken aback, startled. Brendon can tell he’s trying to hold it together from the set of his jaw. He shakes his head, firm and wraps an arm around Christiane’s shoulders, pulling her in against his side. “No, thank you,” he says.
*
Colombian law requires them to stay in Medellin for three days. It’s a whirlwind, a mess of exhaustion and emotion.
Olivia is a wonder, wide eyed and smiley. She sleeps between them in the huge bed in their hotel room, though admittedly Jon and Brendon spend most of the night hours curled up together, just watching her.
She’ll be two months old next week and there’s some concern that she’s under weight. But there’ll be time to worry about that, doctors visits to make and tests to undergo when they get back to San Diego and have begun to settle into their life together.
They spend the three days wandering around the city. The adoption agency in Medellin arranges for them to take a ride to one of the ancient, surrounding villages. They take turns carrying Olivia, strapped to their fronts with the batik sling Jon’s mother gave them.
Brendon’s cheeks hurt from smiling, his chest doesn’t feel tight for the first time in months. It feels a little, too, like he and Jon are falling in love with each other all over again, discovering new things about each other.
The days go by in a blur and then it’s time to leave Medellin, to leave Colombia behind and head home.
In front of their hotel, in the middle of smog and broken concrete, Brendon takes a picture of the three of them, holding the camera out with one hand as he leans in to Jon, all smiles.
Jon/Brendon
PG
4,000+ words
Future fic
Note: There's the most wonderful show on Discovery Health channel called Adoption Stories. If you get a chance to watch an episode, you really should. A few years ago I decided that someday I was going to write Jon and Brendon's adoption story. This is that. Maybe it's because life is kind of messy, but I burst into tears writing this. In a happy way. Maybe take that into consideration before reading.
you should feel the sun in the spring
comin out after a rain
suddenly all is green
sunshine on everything
I can feel it now, I feel you now
Stars - David Crowder Band
The sun is just beginning to rise, coming up over the ocean. The huge bay windows overlooking the water let the light in, the orange and pink glow filling the house with shadows.
It’s peaceful, relaxing, when Brendon feels nothing but anxiety. He didn’t sleep at all last night, neither he nor Jon able to close their eyes.
Somewhere around two they’d given up, gathered up an old blanket and carried it out to the deck, the double lounge chair where they tangled together, the sound of the waves in the distance. They spent the rest of the night there, wide awake, slowly kissing, talking softly, holding hands. Enjoying their last moments as a family of two.
It’s just a little before six now, and Brendon feels his exhaustion settle over him. It’s going to be a long day and not sleeping last night probably didn’t do him any favors.
“Jon?” Brendon calls over his shoulder from where he’s rifling through his backpack one last time, making sure they have everything.
Jon pokes his head out from the bathroom. His hair is getting long, curling around his ears, flopping in his eyes. He looks like he’s nineteen again, not a month shy of thirty. He’s got his toothbrush in his mouth and he hasn’t finished dressing, shirtless, pants undone.
Brendon smiles and reaches for the camera.
Jon makes a ridiculous face, lets Brendon snap the shot as he strikes a pose.
“Do you have the passports? The plane tickets?” Brendon asks, putting the camera back in the backpack.
Jon’s nodding before Brendon finishes. “Relax, B. We have everything, we’re as ready as two people who have no clue what they’re doing can be.” Jon disappears into the bathroom, comes back a minute later, stepping behind Brendon. He presses a kiss to Brendon’s neck. “It’s going to be perfect,” he whispers into Brendon’s hair. “Just like we imagined.”
Brendon can’t catch his breath. He feels like the last two years have been a marathon. They’ve got one mile left but none of the energy, none of the hope they had when this started.
Brendon turns to wrap his arms around Jon’s middle. “I’m ready,” he says, smiling. All the time they’ve had to prepare, to get used to the idea, and Brendon knows logically they can’t be more ready. He’s never been more terrified of anything in his life.
*
The weather was unseasonably warm for late January, even for San Diego, and they’d taken advantage of it by spending the quiet Sunday on the water.
Afterwards, pink skinned and sore, exhaustion in their bones, they ate Thai food in take out containers on their deck, legs scissored together on the cushions.
“I want to have a baby,” Jon said later, when they were lying on their backs, the sky dark and lit up, the stars clear and bright here the way Brendon had never seen in Las Vegas.
It wasn’t the first time he’d brought it up, the first time either had mentioned a need to have a family. But there was something in the way Jon said it that made Brendon’s breath catch, like maybe it was time, it was going to happen.
He rolled to his side, sprawled half over Jon, weight propped on his elbow. “Yeah?” he whispered, hair in his eyes.
Jon lifted his head to kiss him, lips chapped from salt and sun. “Yeah,” he agreed, into Brendon’s mouth.
*
Ryan’s been in Europe for the last eight months, living in a flat in London’s West End. He showed up three days ago, his hair past his ears, his eyes bright and clear, smiling in a way Brendon hasn’t seen in years.
He’s waiting for them downstairs when they lug their suitcases down the stairs.
“I made coffee,” Ryan says, standing in the hallway with two mugs. He makes a face. “Tastes more like tar,” he says by way of apology.
Brendon laughs because Ryan showed up at their house, to be a part of this, and Brendon thought his life had gotten as good as it was going to get.
Ryan sets the mugs down on the hall table and takes a wary step back. “Brendon,” Ryan says, a little alarmed. Brendon swipes at his eyes and mumbles, “what? I have allergies.”
“He’s been doing that a lot,” Jon says with a sigh, but Brendon can hear the laughter in his voice.
“We should get going.” Brendon changes the subject because it’s going to be like this for at least the next month, he can tell from the way every little thing sends him off, just thinking about what they’re getting ready to do makes him break down.
Ryan shocks the hell out of Brendon by stepping forward and wrapping his thin arms around Brendon’s shoulders. It’s not a placating thing, it’s a real honest-to-goodness hug and Brendon gives himself into it.
“I’m really, really glad you came,” he says into Ryan’s hair.
*
There were no guarantees with surrogacy. That both knew that going in. But they’d talked about it ad nauseam, endlessly weighed the pros and cons, considered all their options.
Jon wanted a biological baby. So surrogacy was it.
They found her through an agency that boasted an ninety-one percent success rate.
Her name was Rachel. She had pretty blonde hair and big green eyes and the three of them agreed that she and Jon would make a beautiful baby.
There was no reason to fear the worst, no reason not to trust her. She was a few years older than Jon, and she said this was something she’d always wanted to do, give a child to a couple who couldn’t have one naturally.
At five months they found out Rachel was pregnant with a boy, all three of them wet eyed in the tiny examining room, unable to stop grinning and laughing, giddy with the possibilities.
They had the room finished, the name picked out, announcements sent and they were just counting the days when she took off, a month before her due date.
She sent them an email later, apologizing. She said she just couldn’t give him up.
That was the end of that dream for a while.
*
Ryan drives them to the airport. He idles at the curb in their new Volvo XC70, the family-friendly SUV they spent the last three weeks researching. The car seat has been strapped into the back since they bought it.
Brendon and Jon get all their luggage unloaded and Brendon scrambles into the front seat, leaning across the steering wheel.
“You made me really happy,” he says against Ryan’s cheek.
Jon comes around to Ryan’s side, gives him a hug and says something quietly in his ear.
“Me and Spence will meet your flight on Tuesday,” Ryan says through the open window, when they’ve sorted themselves out.
Brendon waves and turns to Jon. “I’m not going to get through this in one piece,” he says with a sigh, leaning into him and tucking his face in against Jon’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” Jon agrees softly. He slips his hand beneath Brendon’s t-shirt. “We’ll just be emotional messes together,” he whispers, fingers cupping Brendon’s chin to bring him up, opening his mouth over Brendon’s.
*
If ever there had been a time in his life when Brendon thought he and Jon might not make it, it was those months afterwards, after she’d reneged on a promise and they’d watched a dream disappear, out of reach.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Brendon said, both of them wide awake in the dark, four in the morning and unable to sleep, this tension between them that hadn’t been there before.
They had an empty room painted in blues and yellows, a name written above a little white crib, and nothing but a lot of accusations between the two of them.
“What are you saying?” Jon said, flat, unflinching.
“I’m saying I’m done with this, with wallowing.” He let it hang in the air between them for a little while.
“I think we should call Sharon,” he said finally when he thought Jon might have fallen asleep.
She was the woman his mother had told them about, a woman with a little adoption agency.
Jon wanted a biological child, that was the dream.
Jon let out a heavy breath and rolled to his side, facing Brendon.
He reached out, touched his thumb to Brendon’s cheek. It had been months since they’d touched each other in any real way, any way that mattered.
Brendon shuddered on a sob and rolled into Jon to press his face to Jon’s neck.
“Okay,” Jon said later, breathing into Brendon’s mouth. “Okay.”
*
Brendon sleeps on the flight from San Diego to Miami, a few hours of dead sleep on Jon’s shoulder.
They have a three hour wait in Miami. It might as well be three days, as anxious as they both are.
“Want to grab something to eat?” Jon asks, a hand on Brendon’s lower back as he follows him through the crowd deplaning.
Brendon shakes his head. He’s a jumble of nerves, excitement and anxiety and the thought of food makes him nauseous.
Jon gives Brendon a small smile, a quirk of his lips in sympathy. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
They find their way to the gate, settle down in a pair of seats by the window.
Brendon digs in his pocket for his phone.
“in miami, will text when in colombia,” he texts to his mother who had argued for months that she wanted to come to Colombia with them, until Brendon assured her it wasn’t necessary and waiting for them at the house was probably the best thing she could do.
“Spence wants to know how you’re doing?” Jon says, gesturing to his phone where he’s been talking quietly, low and hushed.
Brendon shrugs. “I’m about twenty seconds from throwing up,” he says with what he hopes is a smile but it feels like might be a grimace.
Jon chuckles and leans forward to press a quick kiss to the corner of Brendon’s mouth.
“He’s a little nervous,” Jon says into the phone, laughing at something Spencer says.
Brendon curls his legs up under him and presses his cheek to Jon’s shoulder, closing his eyes.
*
“I’ll warn you now,” Sharon said, after pleasantries had been exchanged and introductions had been made, sitting around the small table in the conference room at the agency. “This is a long, grueling process. There’s no guarantee.”
“Because we’re gay?” Brendon blurted before he could stop.
Jon put a settling hand on Brendon’s knee. “Bren, shh,” he said.
Sharon just smiled. “It’s okay. Yes, Brendon, to be honest, it’s a factor. But we’ve facilitated quite a few same-sex adoptions and overall, they’ve had the same obstacles, the same successes as any of the straight couples who have adopted through our agency. That’s what sets us apart from the rest.”
The meeting lasted three hours. They listened as Sharon went through the list of countries they worked with, where their chances would be better and what they could expect from each. They filled out form after form, handed over a large check, and walked out with another stack of forms to be submitted before they could be put on the waiting list.
Afterwards, they sat in the car in the parking lot, quiet.
“So?” Brendon prompted after a while, turning to look at Jon.
“Let’s get started,” Jon said, curling his fingers in Jon’s, a smile in his eyes.
*
It’s almost two am when they land in Medellin, Colombia. The airport is hot, crowded with more people than Brendon has ever seen in such a small space. It’s a little depressing and it doesn’t help that Brendon is beyond tired and spent the duration of the flight counting all the ways this could go wrong.
Despite the ridiculous hour, it’s oppressively hot. They’re both sticky with it, clothes clinging to them with grit and sweat.
They do their best to stay together through the crush of people, gripping each other’s shirts, hips, whatever they can reach.
The orphanage sent a driver to greet them and take them to their hotel, an older gentleman with dark skin weathered by the sun and friendly eyes.
“Buenos noches,” he greets them, tipping the brim of his straw hat and giving them a toothy smile.
He shakes their hands and Brendon grimaces in apology at how sweaty his palms are. He feels like he’s covered in a week’s worth of grime.
The gentleman introduces himself as Emel and looks pleased to meet them, ushering them out to the waiting van with the name of the orphanage scrawled across the side in faded letters.
Brendon and Jon sit together in the middle seat and try to take it all in, the crowded, unpaved streets, the stench of the air.
Jon’s hair is sweat damp, curling around his ears, matted to his forehead. He’s pale and jittery. Brendon grabs his hand, brings it between them and kisses his cheek.
“This is really happening,” he whispers, nose pressed to Jon’s sweaty skin. Jon takes a couple of deep breaths, a little shaky, and he turns then, gives Brendon the sweetest smile despite the exhaustion in every line of his face.
Emel keeps up a steady stream of chatter, his accent heavy, his voice cheerful, as if oblivious to how out of their minds with fatigue and fear and anxiety they are.
*
It wasn’t quite seven and they were both still in bed, hidden somewhere beneath the blankets, fooling around just because they could.
Jon’s cell phone rang, his ringtone the newest song from the band Spencer was playing with these days. Brendon burst out laughing as the poppy synth beat cut into the fog of having his dick in Jon’s mouth.
“Hold that thought,” Jon said, all cheeky grin, wiping his hand across his lips as he poked his head out from beneath the pile of blankets.
Brendon threw an arm over his eyes, tried to catch his breath and only half listened to Jon’s conversation.
Jon’s “are you kidding me?” made Brendon jolt upright.
“What?” Brendon demanded, rolling towards Jon.
Jon’s face was pale, his mouth open. “Hang on Sharon,” he said, a little shaky, “I’m putting you on speaker phone so you can tell Brendon.”
“Brendon?” Sharon’s voice came over the speaker. “Good morning, I’m sorry for calling so early but I just got word at home from the orphanage in Medellin. They have a baby for you, a little girl.”
He’d never thought it was possible to feel so many things at once, but there it all was, elation and doubt and nerves.
“If you give me a few mintues,” Sharon was saying while Brendon was trying to keep his heart from beating out of his chest, “I’ll forward you the picture they sent me. Her name is Olivia.”
When Jon hung up the phone, they both just sat there in the mess of their bed, staring at each other.
And then they were grinning at each other, Jon pushing Brendon onto his back and pressing their mouths together.
They kissed until they couldn’t breathe and then they were scrambling out of bed, racing down the stairs to check the computer.
*
The hotel is three blocks from the orphanage. They check in and get settled and then they sit, wide awake.
“I hate this part,” Brendon sighs, throwing his legs over Jon’s.
They have an appointment for ten tomorrow morning, when their lawyer and the adoption facilitator are going to meet them. It feels like forever.
Since Brendon doesn’t think he’s going to get much sleep, he goes about unpacking the bag they brought for her, for Olivia.
There’s been a barrage of gifts over the last month since they got the news. Baby clothes, toys, contraptions, picture frames. An overwhelming amount of stuff that neither Brendon nor Jon really have any clue what to do with.
They picked out the little yellow onesie together, at a boutique in Los Angeles a few weeks ago when they were up visiting Ashlee and Pete and Bronx. It’s embroidered with tiny pink flowers and Brendon’s never given much thought to baby clothes before, but he can’t wait to see Olivia in it.
Jon calls Ryan, Spencer, his mom, Brendon’s mom, tells them about the trip, about Medellin. Brendon takes the few bottles into the bathroom to wash them a few more times, though he already sterilized them back in San Diego. He’s got to do something.
He finds the plush green turtle Shane brought over the other day with a pink ribbon around its neck. He tucks that into his backpack along with a bottle, the container of formula, the gift for Olivia’s birth mother and the leather bound baby book he’s been keeping since the phone call that perfect morning.
He falls asleep sometime around five, his head on Jon’s thigh, the turtle resting on his belly.
*
They called their mothers at the same time, Jon sitting on Brendon’s thighs at the computer as they stared at Olivia’s picture.
The email gave them the details of her birth, that the birth mother had been at the orphanage for the last two months to carry out the pregnancy. Olivia was three days old and her mother had chosen Jon and Brendon to be her parents.
Brendon didn’t bother hiding his tears as he read the email to his mother, who was crying herself as she told Boyd to get on the phone, he was going to be a grandfather again.
They were talking over each other, both of them close to hysteria.
“I’m coming out there,” both mothers said immediately and they set about making arrangements to come out while Brendon and Jon were in Colombia, to spend a few weeks helping them adjust to being first time fathers.
There were more phone calls to make after that, friends and family, an hour long conversation with Sharon to hammer out all the details, a call to their lawyer to make sure she’d be coming with them.
Later, when they were both coming down from the giddy high, Brendon curled up between Jon’s thighs, wrapped his arms around Jon’s neck, and breathed.
*
Jon and Brendon arrive at the orphanage twenty minutes early.
Francisco runs the agency who put them in touch with the orphanage. He greets them at the door with a big smile on his face, as though this is as big a day for him as it is for Brendon and Jon.
“Welcome, come in,” he says to them, ignoring their outstretched hands and greeting them with a firm hug.
“This is a big day, we are very excited here,” he tells Jon and Brendon with a heavy accent, ushering them into the center of the orphanage, an open airy living space.
Theresa, their lawyer, met them for breakfast and is waiting with them, quiet and business-like but Brendon’s not fooled, he can tell she’s just as emotional as the rest of them.
Francisco sits in a chair opposite Brendon and Jon and walks them through the rest of the papers they have to sign, taking a photocopy of the passport Jon and Brendon had to get for Olivia.
It’s a little after ten when Francisco comes back into the room. “She’ll be right down,” he says, and his eyes are wet. “Christiane, Olivia’s birth mother, she is just saying goodbye.”
Brendon turns wide, terrified eyes on Jon and Jon’s got this panicked look on his face. Brendon gets to his feet, pulls Jon up because he just needs a little reassurance right now, and pulls him in, arms around Jon’s back, clinging.
“It’s okay, Brendon.” Jon’s voice is shaky, cracking a little, and he tightens his arms around Brendon. “We’re going to be a family.”
Brendon sort of loses himself a little then, his cheeks wet, his breath coming in little sobs. They just stand like that until Theresa touches a gentle hand to Brendon’s shoulder.
“It’s time, sweetie,” she says.
Brendon takes a deep breath and pulls back from Jon, though he grabs Jon’s hand and doesn’t let go.
There’s a beat of heavy silence and then a young woman is coming into the room, holding Olivia, an older woman with her, a reassuring arm around her.
“Um, Buenos dias,” Brendon says to them. It’s the only thing that comes to mind because there’s his daughter, seven weeks old, pink cheeked and the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
Brendon’s feet won’t move and he’s got a death grip on Jon, so the woman ushers the girl to them.
“Buenos dias,” the girl, Christiane, Olivia’s mother, says softly. She presses a kiss to Olivia’s head, her soft, dark hair, and holds out her arms.
Jon makes the first move. He smiles reassuringly at Christiane and takes Olivia from her with a quiet, “gracias.”
Christiane is a pretty girl. She has the same big brown eyes as Olivia. She doesn’t seem old enough to have carried this beautiful baby for nine months, mature enough to make a decision such as this, to give her baby to Jon and Brendon.
Brendon can’t stop watching her, the determined look in her eyes, the way her jaw quivers like she’s gritting her teeth.
“Gracias,” she says to Brendon, like it’s Brendon who’s giving instead of receiving and Brendon loses it, forgets himself and steps forward, wrapping his arms around her slight frame.
When he lets go, he starts crying for real then. Because Jon’s holding Olvia in the cradle of his arms, looking down at her with a look like he can’t quite believe it. There’s a peace to him that Brendon has never seen, in all the years, all the ups and downs they’ve been through together.
He’s talking quietly to her, murmuring sweet, reassuring words to her, “hello sweetheart, hi precious,” over and over.
Brendon’s holding Christiane’s hand he realizes after a minute and she’s just letting him, watching Jon.
She surprises Brendon by pulling away and stepping up to Jon. She leans up on tiptoe, kisses his cheek and says in broken english, “thank you.”
Jon looks up, taken aback, startled. Brendon can tell he’s trying to hold it together from the set of his jaw. He shakes his head, firm and wraps an arm around Christiane’s shoulders, pulling her in against his side. “No, thank you,” he says.
*
Colombian law requires them to stay in Medellin for three days. It’s a whirlwind, a mess of exhaustion and emotion.
Olivia is a wonder, wide eyed and smiley. She sleeps between them in the huge bed in their hotel room, though admittedly Jon and Brendon spend most of the night hours curled up together, just watching her.
She’ll be two months old next week and there’s some concern that she’s under weight. But there’ll be time to worry about that, doctors visits to make and tests to undergo when they get back to San Diego and have begun to settle into their life together.
They spend the three days wandering around the city. The adoption agency in Medellin arranges for them to take a ride to one of the ancient, surrounding villages. They take turns carrying Olivia, strapped to their fronts with the batik sling Jon’s mother gave them.
Brendon’s cheeks hurt from smiling, his chest doesn’t feel tight for the first time in months. It feels a little, too, like he and Jon are falling in love with each other all over again, discovering new things about each other.
The days go by in a blur and then it’s time to leave Medellin, to leave Colombia behind and head home.
In front of their hotel, in the middle of smog and broken concrete, Brendon takes a picture of the three of them, holding the camera out with one hand as he leans in to Jon, all smiles.