LITMIR.BIZ

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using the fewest possible words to communicate. It was like Name that Tune had taken over our kitchen.

      The night before, I’d bawled my eyes out in our bedroom amid soft, comforting three-hundred-count Egyptian-cotton sheets and the white matelasse coverlet that Joe always called impractical. Part of me had fully expected Joe to tap me on the shoulder, tell me he was crazy, take me in his arms and make sweet apologetic love to me.

      The other part, the part that knew love wasn’t all happily-ever-after, wasn’t surprised when he didn’t.

      By the time he’d come slinking into our bedroom, my humming anger had overtaken me. I waited until he’d slid tentatively under the covers, careful not to touch me. Then I headed for the computer and the refuge the Chinese adoption boards Yahoo! offered.

      With nearly fifteen-thousand members, someone was always awake on the APC. It was the big board, the board where rumors about referral slowdowns and speedups bloomed, cheek by jowl with urban legends about how the CCAA really matched you with your baby.

      I logged onto my DTC group first, that small intimate gathering of everyone who had the same DTC date as I did. There, typing furiously, mindless of typos or grammar or anything but relief, I poured out my story.

      To my amazement, someone in the group replied almost as quickly as I’d hit the send button.

      Oh, you poor dear. (((MerryMom))) Boys are stupid, aren’t they? my electronic angel, KidReady, had given me a big virtual hug. Let me go back and read your post more carefully and I’ll give you MHO. Hey, I saw a ladybug today, that’s got to mean good luck and referrals soon, right?

      I sat back and waited for her to give me that humble opinion. We APCers were a superstitious bunch, no doubt about it. We saw portents and signs in almost everything. But with The Wait so long, and without a burgeoning belly to remind us our “pregnancy” was indeed real, we all went a little stir-crazy sometimes. Ladybugs and red threads and a million other nutty but harmless myths kept us occupied.

      And who’s to say ladybugs were a myth, anyway?

      KidReady’s reply came back in that strange garbled shorthand that had sprung up to save our tired fingers keystrokes.

      MerryMom, I say your dh is just as wounded and hurt as you are—as all of us are. He just wants to run like hell before China has a chance to quit on him. If he keeps it up, just apply iron-frying-pan therapy to that hard head of his, that ought to soften him up. He’ll be okay once the referrals come, OK? JMHO.

      Tears choked my laughter. I felt a deep kinship with the women on this board—and I didn’t even know what they looked like or how their voices sounded. But they were the only ones who really got what it meant to endure The Wait. Not even Maggie could totally understand. With these women I’d shared deep, dark secrets, given them the speech about our babies being worth The Wait, had cyber baby showers, cyber birthday parties, dried tears, belly-laughed, given out Heinous Husband awards.

      Heinous Husband awards. In our sunny kitchen the next morning, staring at Joe’s rigid back, I was ready to paint one in the shape of a bull’s-eye on his blue T-shirt and then loan him out as target practice.

      My chin up, my back just as stiff as his, I marched past him and X’d out another day on The Wait calendar with a defiant screech of the marker. Joe looked at me wordlessly, his eyes flat over his coffee mug.

      Joe and I hardly ever had serious fights, not like some couples. A couple we were friends with had regular knockdown drag-out rows about every six months or so. They’d send the kids to their grandmother’s and throw down. I could never understand a woman’s complacent acceptance of such a marriage. I didn’t know how your love stayed intact after you’d screamed obscenities at each other.

      The one fight we’d had that came close to this one was when I’d had my ovary removed. Joe had lobbied hard for me to have a total hysterectomy, which he thought would eradicate any future chance of cancer. I’d been horrified. Give up any chance at all of having a child? Never.

      We’d sulked and pouted and yelled at each other for days. The morning of the surgery, I’d packed my overnight bag and headed to the car by myself. I was two miles down the road when I’d turned the car around and floored it back home.

      Joe had been sitting on the front porch of the bungalow we’d lived in then, tears streaming down his face. We’d grabbed onto each other as though we were sliding off a sinking ship. “Don’t ever do that again,” he’d whispered fiercely, burying his face in my hair. “I love you, can’t live without you. Don’t ever, ever do that.”

      In the end, he’d decided it was my body and my decision. The hands-off approach had been a tough one for Joe, but he’d gritted his teeth and white-knuckled his way through it.

      I wished desperately today was a weekday, not a Saturday. We’d always made it a practice to keep Saturday mornings for just the two of us. This morning, though, I wanted to be anywhere but here.

      The telephone’s ring gave me an excuse to escape the silent table. I leapt like a trout to answer it.

      “Hey, girl, got any plans today?” Maggie asked me. “How about some serious shopping therapy if you don’t have anything else to do?”

      I smiled. Maggie had impeccable timing. I’d called her before Joe got in the night before, just so she could give me a plateful of moral support. Now she was giving me a second helping. “Not really, other than pick up some groceries for Ma. Why? What do you have in mind?”

      “I’m heading up to Macon to make a Sam’s run. Wanna come along for the ride?”

      Ah, Sam’s, the call of the warehouse store. I shot a guilty look over my shoulder at Joe, who resolutely forked up bites of scrambled eggs and grits and pretended not to listen.

      “Sounds tempting. What else do you have planned?”

      “Maybe an Olive Garden lunch? And we could go by Bed Bath & Beyond.”

      “Ooh, Maggie, you know how to tempt a gal.”

      “So we’re on? You can get loose from His Royal Highness?”

      “I don’t think that will be a problem in the slightest.”

      “Oh,” Maggie said in a knowing tone. “He’s giving you grief?”

      “You couldn’t possibly imagine just how much.” I kept my voice cheerful and upbeat so Joe wouldn’t realize I was talking about him.

      “Aha, he’s sitting there and you can’t give me the dirt. Gotcha, girl. Sounds like you need to be busted outta there. What do you say I pick you up in about an hour?”

      “Sure! I’ll look for you around ten.”

      I came back to my breakfast, where the morning’s gloom settled back on us. The pile of eggs on my plate seemed to grow, no matter how much I ate. Joe, too, seemed to have little appetite.

      The tension made me sick, but I was on the side of might and right, and I didn’t intend to give even one tiny inch.

      An insidious voice in my head whispered just as it had during the night: Maybe he never wanted to adopt. Maybe he’s just been going along to keep the peace. Maybe he’ll never love Meredith. What will you do then?

      I pushed my chair back and the thought out of my head. Joe’d come around. Once he saw the referrals start coming in, he’d be okay. That was my Joe.

      Over the sound of the running water in the sink, Joe asked, “So, uh, what are your plans for the day?”

      I looked at him as he sat at our big dining table. “Nothing special. Have to get groceries. Thought I’d see if Ma needed anything. Maggie just asked if I wanted to go to Macon with her, for a Sam’s run.”

      “Oh,” he replied. Another awkward silence stretched between us.

      If he could try, so could I. “What about you?”

      “Don’t

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