❁Junie❁

A year from the day I smashed a coffee pot against a robber’s head, Asher and I marry at the courthouse. Fortunately, I’m not on my period when I sign the paperwork and say a quick, “yeah, sure” to the registrar’s questions. Asher is so chill at my side that I worry he took too many anti-anxiety pills for our trip.

A few hours later, we head to the airport to begin our trek to Chile. Once in Santiago, Asher remains in our hotel room as much as possible while Mallory and I force Egor to actively participate in fun activities.

“You got sunburned,” Asher says one evening while we sit on our hotel balcony.

“You have to admit the view is nice here.”

Glancing out at the Santiago city view, he shrugs. “Not as nice as the one at home.”

Asher never enjoys our trips half as much as I do, but he always comes along because he knows how much I love them. Well, that and he can’t sleep without me nearby. Besides, as long as Mallory joins us, he knows I won’t expect him to go sightseeing.

“I can see everything I want from the hotel,” he always says.

Twice a year, I torture him with a getaway. Otherwise, our adventures remain closer to home. Nearly six months after I moved into the guest apartment, I upgrade to Asher’s penthouse. So many moves in such a brief period ought to leave me edgy, but I guess I’ve matured. Asher’s penthouse no longer freaks me out, although I avoid standing too close to the windows when wearing my skates. The one exception is during my naked skates for his entertainment.

The only changes to the penthouse for my benefit are a few colorful pillows and a Southwestern-style rug in the living room along with a painting I bought at the Farmer’s Market that we hang in the family room. Oh, and I turn the den into a reproduction of my old apartment, which is where Couch Potato spends most of his time.

Even practicing with my cat, kids don’t seem like a viable part of our future. I’m not all that interested in pregnancy or childbirth. Asher couldn’t deal with a baby crying, pooping, and spitting up everywhere. I’m told babies do more than those three things, but I’ve never seen proof. A baby and concrete floors do not make a solid match. No kids are in our horizon.

Until Asher insists I quit my job, so he won’t worry about men sniffing around me. I should put up a bigger fight in the name of women’s independence and so forth, but I’m bored at IT Zen anyway. Without work, I’m lonely all day alone while Asher writes code in his office. I insist he hires Mallory to help me run his charity. Mallory soon moves into the guest apartment, so I have someone to hang out with when Asher’s working.

After we move out, my mom initially sulks. Even though we still bring food to her each week and pick up fruit and vegetables from the Farmer’s Market. Nothing can soothe her unhappiness. Well, that is until we find new renters who are closer to Mom’s age. Suddenly, she’s sociable—in the safety of her home—and enjoys the friends her life’s been missing. I’m even forced to check her schedule before planning our monthly dinners at her place.

Mallory and I enjoy downtown for the most part, and the charity keeps us busy. During an event, Mallory and I meet a do-gooder named Cyril who attempts to guilt us into becoming foster parents. I blow him off so completely that he nearly cries. Mallory, though, pushes him over the edge into sobs by ranting how no woman should be expected to be a mother.

“I will not be defined by my uterus!” she yells, terrifying everyone around us.

Despite our angry responses to his guilt trip, I do consider what he says about opening my heart to a child. Not a baby—as I reassure Asher—but a child already potty trained and walking and with a full personality rather than the voids Asher claims babies have.

“We could be parents without going through the parts that scare us so much,” I suggest.

“Parenthood is a full-time job.”

Hands on my hips, I narrow my gaze and ask, “Are you talking down to me or are you so nervous about the idea that you’ve lost your diplomacy? Pick carefully.”

“I’m not sure this is an idea I can get behind,” he says, pausing between each word. “Fatherhood might not be for me.”

“Why don’t we go through the process of becoming foster parents first? That’ll give us plenty of time to think and plan for the reality. Before we adopt, we’ll make certain we’re a good match for the child. We don’t want the unlucky kid to get more messed up by having us as parents.”

Asher agrees because he can’t say no. I assume he’ll attempt to weasel out of it down the road, but that’s before we meet Eli.

The awkward seven-year-old would rather hide in his room than face the world. He barely speaks, fails at school, and can’t make friends. The gawky blond is Asher on crack.

But he likes us. Not at first, of course. Most people don’t, but Eli warms up to us quickly. I play video games with him, and he enjoys watching TV with Mallory, me and Couch Potato. Asher and Eli enjoy silence and view outsiders as dangerous. They’re not twins, and Eli screams when he doesn’t get his way while Asher retreats to his study. I let them freak out in their separate ways. When they calm down, they return to me in the living room where I watch TV with the cat.

“You didn’t come to my room when I yelled,” Eli says, sitting on the other end of the couch from me.

“Why would I?”

“I was yelling.”

“You weren’t yelling my name, so I figured you didn’t want me to bother you.”

Eli frowns at me for a long time, but I only stare at the TV. Finally, the kid shakes off his bad mood and shifts closer.

“My mom yelled a lot.”

“I’m not your mom, but I like to yell sometimes too. Not inside the penthouse, though. Asher doesn’t like noise.”

Eli watches me for a while longer before shifting closer until our legs touch. “How long am I staying here?”

“I don’t know.”

That’s all I could tell him for weeks until Asher mentions calling a lawyer to get the adoption started.

“Without asking me?” I balk with feigned horror.

“It was a surprise.”

Smiling, I love when he takes charge almost as much as I love when he sits on the balcony talking with Eli. They’re adorable together, both awkward in a world unwilling to wait for them to fit in.

After we’re legally his parents, we pull Eli out of school and have him taught at home. He’s too far behind the other kids to succeed without the extra help. I take him with me on errands, helping him find the confidence with crowds that his father still struggles with. Eli considers trying skates but decides he’d rather walk like Asher.

“Skating is faster,” I always point out to no avail.

Eli is nearly nine when I hear about a girl in foster care who can be adopted. Jimena is a half-Hispanic, half-white six-year-old, shy but chatty, and needs constant companionship. She cries whenever left alone, and I don’t need to know her past to understand the little girl fears abandonment at every turn.

Asher insists she be homeschooled, distrusting teachers to give her the kind of attention she craves.

“How can any teacher focus on her when there are twenty other kids in the class?”

“You don’t have to convince me.”

“Oh,” he says, smiling at how angry he’d been at the thought of leaving Jimena in public school.

“You protect what you love, don’t you, Ferrer?”

“Always.”

I hadn’t known what to expect from this man when we first met. Asher lied to me right off the bat. He pushed me away and then yanked me closer. I didn’t think I was capable of staying with someone so confusing. Nothing was easy until we made the decision that we couldn’t be apart so we needed to find a way to be together.

Once I made the first change, the second one became simpler. Each one brought me closer to Asher until we feel more the same than different.