Breathe With Me By Becka Mack - 26

I ’VE ADMIRED MY WIFE EVERY day since we met.

I’ve admired her drive and her passion, her work ethic and creativity. I’ve admired her humor and her fire, her confidence and her honesty.

But above all, I’ve spent my days admiring her heart. How it’s every bit as soft as it is steadfast. How it loves hard and loud, and gentle and quiet. A heart filled with seemingly endless compassion, finding a space for every person who’s looking for their people, a place to call home.

Because as I stand here in the doorway of a room that’s been empty since we moved in, save for the two books I added to the shelves the day I asked Cara to marry me, as I watch her move around the now-full room, readjusting things for the umpteenth time in an effort to make them more perfect than they already are— impossible —I am absolutely sure that there has never, ever existed a heart quite like hers.

“Do you think he’ll like it?” She steps back, tip of her thumbnail between her teeth as her gaze coasts the room she’s spent the last three weeks redecorating.

We didn’t decide right away to foster Abel, though I think the answer was always going to be yes . We spent days talking about how this would work. What our days would look like if we opened our home to the sweet three-and-a-half-year-old who’s struggling for connection. In a perfect world, maybe it would have been an immediate yes, and we’d have figured out the details later. But the reality is my wife’s body and mind have been through so much over the last two and a half years, and she’s just getting her footing back, giving herself the grace she deserves to rest, recharge, and learn to love herself all over again. Do I think fostering will help not only Abel, but Cara too? Without a doubt. But I’m mindful that it’ll be an adjustment—it’ll be as tough as it is worthwhile—and that the majority of it will fall on Cara’s shoulders while hockey season is ongoing.

Adam and Rosie have graciously shared so much about their experience with Lily, while Rosie recovered from her second C-section after birthing their baby girl, Iris, just four days after Hunter and Brodie were born. They were happy to walk us through how they came to the decision, and as upfront as they were about how challenging it was, their message was clear: It is every bit as worthwhile as it is tough.

We talked in-depth with Emily, learning as much about Abel’s situation and needs as we could to help inform our decision. She told us about his mother, Catharine, who had Abel when she was only sixteen. About his grandparents, Peter and Elizabeth, who uphold very rigid religious values, and wouldn’t allow their daughter to consider abortion or adoption. She told us that Abel has been raised to believe that his mother is his sister, but that he only knows his grandparents by their first names. It probably should have been unsurprising, then, when she told us how he came to be at Second Chance two months ago, how his grandparents got fed up with their daughter for being, well, a fucking teenager, and kicked them both out. Should have been unsurprising, and yet, I’m still outraged.

The goal is to help his mother get back on her feet before ultimately reuniting the two of them. That means this placement is temporary, and for me, that was my greatest hesitancy. I know that reuniting when possible is best. I know that. That doesn’t make knowing a goodbye is inevitable any easier.

We’re going to have to say goodbye, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that we’ll fall in love along the way. And I just don’t know how many more goodbyes Cara has in her.

I am proud of her, though, and ultimately, I trust her. She’s started therapy with a friend of Emily’s who specializes in fertility-related PTSD, and though she comes back emotionally drained, I see the changes in her, small mentions of the future that glimmer a little bit like hope.

So, yeah, is it going to be easy? Fuck no. But with Cara, nothing has ever felt impossible.

I step into the room, winding an arm around Cara’s waist, tucking her against my chest. “It’s perfect, Care. He’ll love it.”

“But what if he doesn’t? What if he hates it? I wanted to keep it neutral,” she explains for at least the fifth time, “so we can add things that feel like him as we get to know him, and he can… he can… I mean, he can do whatever he wants. If he wants to paint it pink, we’ll paint it pink. If he wants to replace this… this… exquisite hand-tufted wool rug with those-those-those”—her face twists with disgust—“giant puzzle-piece mats that make a road, then we’ll do it. Will it kill me inside? I mean, I’ve survived worse, but yeah.”

The sound of a car approaching has her head snapping up, and when we hear doors shut, Cara starts shaking her hands out.

“Oh my God. He’s here. Okay, he’s here. Wait. Are we sure it’s him? Maybe it’s…” She dashes to the window, nodding. “Yep, it’s him. Okay, everything’s gonna be great. It’s gonna be fine.” A high-pitched giggle as the doorbell rings, and she swats my chest as she walks by me. “It’s gonna be fine, Emmett. Stop freaking out.”

I twist, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and smiling, waiting.

Cara makes it to the top of the stairs before she twirls around, sprinting back to me, taking me by the shirt. She looks all kinds of wild right now, just the way I love her. “Emmett, I’m freaking out!”

“You don’t say.” Taking her face in my hands, I keep her gaze on mine. “Breathe, baby. We can do this.”

“Can we? I mean, you’ll be a natural, sure. But what about me? Can I do it?”

“What kind of a question is that? You’re Cara Brodie, and before Cara Brodie you were Cara Hunter. You have a goddamn baby named after you. You can do this, firefly. We can do this.”

“Oh, God.” Her eyes close, and she gives her head a tiny shake. “If women take over the world and we only keep the good men for reproducing, you’re gonna be such a hot commodity. Everyone will want your unicorn sperm.” I have no idea what that means, but then I don’t understand at least 50 percent of what comes out of her mouth. Still, I enjoy the way her mouth collides with mine, her tongue sweeping inside, making every nerve ending dance. “Thanks for the pep talk,” she calls over her shoulder, patting the lump in my pants as she starts down the stairs. “Oh, that reminds me. We’re gonna need to get rid of the toy drawer in the kitchen.”

I gasp, jogging down the stairs behind her. “Get rid of it? Can’t we just—I’ll just—no, but— cockblocked in my own home ?” I snap my mouth shut as Cara whips open the front door, replacing my outrage with a grin. A grin that quickly dies when I spy Abel, wearing my beanie pulled all the way over his eyes, clinging to his social worker’s leg, sobbing.

“I want… to go… hooome!”

Cara and I look at each other, and I know without a doubt she feels as helpless as I do. I expected these moments, ones where I don’t know the right answer or the next move, but what I didn’t expect was the way it would have me immediately second-guessing myself.

“Oh, Abel.” Marlene, his social worker, reaches back to rub his head, a sad smile on her face, and I think back on what Emily said to us just yesterday, when she warned us that, although he loved spending time with us at the children’s home, it would likely be very different, at first, to see us outside of it. To become our own unit, separate from others.

This is why what you’re doing for him is so important , she’d said. Abel needs a steady environment, a place where he can settle in and really feel at home. Imagine having the only life you know uprooted, going from knowing where you’ll sleep each night to being on a new stranger’s couch every few days, then a big home filled with more people you don’t know, and now here, where nothing is familiar. Now imagine all that, but at three years old.

I watch my wife, the way she hesitates for only a split second before she falls to her knees, taking a seat on the floor in the entryway. “Hi, Abel,” she says softly. “Emmett and I are so excited to have you here with us, we even got a special treat for dessert.” She looks up at me, a hopeful grin spreading as Abel’s cries slow, and all I can do is stare down at her in wonder. The woman who wondered if she could do it not five minutes ago, over here doing it.

She holds her hand up to me, and I take it without hesitation, dropping to the floor beside her. I always feel more capable next to her.

“This is a little bit scary, huh?” Cara asks quietly when Abel peeks around Marlene, one green eye watching us carefully as he catches his breath. “This is a new place, and you don’t know it yet. It feels safer to be somewhere you already know sometimes, doesn’t it?” He nods, barely and so slow I almost miss it, but he nods. “We’re going to do our very best to make this as not-scary as possible for you. We want you to feel safe here.”

“Can I tell you something, Abel?” I swallow, and Cara squeezes my hand. When Abel’s gaze shifts to me, I tell him quietly, “We’re scared too.”

“Emmett?” he whispers, shifting another step, until both of those eyes are in view. “You… you scared?” When I nod, he points at me. “But you a big person. Big persons don’t get scared.”

“What? Big people don’t get scared? Psssh!” I wave my hand through the air, and he cracks a smile. “Dude, I get scared all the time!”

He looks at Cara, slipping a little farther around Marlene. “Do you gets scared?”

“Oh my gosh, yes . All the time. Emmett helps me a lot, though.”

His eyes brighten, and he drags the back of his hand across them. “He does?”

“Uh-huh. Like, I’m really scared of spiders. Every time I see one, I scream and hide. But Emmett always comes and gets it, takes it outside, and lets me know I’m safe.”

This time, Abel releases Marlene, stepping all the way out from behind her. He shifts from foot to foot, wringing his hands. “I’m not very much scared of spiders.” He shrugs, and the simple action has absolutely no right being so fucking cute. “Maybe I—I—I… maybe I could help Emmett catch ’em for you.”

Cara clasps her hands at her heart. “That’s so sweet, Abel. That would help me feel safe. Hey, I have an idea. What if you tell us something you’re afraid of, and we can come up with a plan to help you feel safe?”

“I’m scared…” His eyes move between us, and I see the hesitancy, almost like he already knows the answer. “I’m scared of the dark.”

“Well, hey, that’s an easy one to solve.” I point up the stairs. “Cara picked out some star lights for you, and I hung them up in your bedroom this morning.”

“Star lights?” He shifts on his feet, glancing at the staircase. “I gots my own… I gots my own room?”

“Sure do, buddy.” Slowly, I stand, helping Cara to her feet too. I hold out my hand to him. “Would you like to go see it?”

Abel watches us for a long moment, those hands twining at his stomach. I can’t imagine what he’s feeling right now, but I know it’s all valid. Every fear, every hesitancy. It doesn’t matter that he knows who we are, or that I gave him a hat. We’re still strangers to him, and he’s being sent to live in our home, forced to put all his trust in us—trust we haven’t earned yet. I may not know exactly what I’m doing, but one thing I do know is that I’ll do everything I can to earn that trust.

Slowly, Abel steps forward, one cautious step at a time until he’s standing in front of us. And then, he tucks one hand into mine, the other into Cara’s, and says, “I’m ready to see my room.”

O UR DAY IS ALL THE best kinds of quiet and slow.

Marlene stays for an hour, going over Abel’s schedule, his monthly visits with his mom, Catharine, appointments with Emily, and visits Marlene will be making. She makes sure he’s settled before she says goodbye, and we spend most of the afternoon exploring his room. He doesn’t talk much, except to confirm a few times that the toys are for him to play with.

His favorite space, as predicted, is the window seat. He climbs up there with Cara, face and hands pressed to the glass as he watches the world outside for nearly an hour, until he finally pulls a book off the shelves, handing it to Cara. It’s slow, the way he inches backward in the seat, closer and closer to Cara, until he’s curled up in her lap, his back against her chest while she reads to him, one book after another as he pulls them all off.

And the entire time his head is on her shoulder, and his eyes are on her.

“What do you like on your pizza?” I ask when we head downstairs.

He cocks his head. “Pizza?”

“Pizza.” I grin at him as I open the fridge, pulling out the ingredients I prepared this morning. I peek at the dough rising in the covered bowl on the counter, then pull the cloth right off it and set the oven to preheat. “We’re going to make our own pizzas for dinner.”

He shakes his head, shrugging. “I don’t know what I like on pizza.”

Cara pauses as she spreads the toppings out on the counter. “Have you had pizza before, Abel?”

He shrugs again. “I don’t know.”

“Then we picked an excellent first dinner. We need lots of help making it. Here.” She pats the kitchen island. “Come sit.”

His eyes widen. “Up there?”

“Up here. We’ll keep you safe, and you’ll be able to reach better.”

He scratches his head through the beanie he won’t take off. “E-Elizabef and Peter don’t let me climb things. And I never helped to make the dinner, because-because… I’m too messy, Elizabef says.”

I close my eyes, breathing through the tension in my shoulders that comes with memories of my own childhood. Cara touches my back, and I sigh, returning my attention to the pizza dough as I separate it into three portions.

“It sounds like our expectations might be different from Elizabeth and Peter’s,” Cara tells him gently. “And that’s okay. We’ll do our best to let you know what’s okay in this house, all right? And you know something else?” She leans closer, like she has a secret to tell, and he’s every bit as captivated by my wife as I am. “Emmett and me, we make messes all the time.”

“ Really? ” he asks, wide-eyed and hushed. “And you don’t get in big, big trouble?”

“Nope.”

I shake my head. “Never.”

He looks between me and the counter, then lifts his arms to me. “Can you help me?”

“Of course, buddy.” I groan loudly as I hoist him up, depositing him in the center of the island as he giggles.

“ Wow! This is really high!”

“If you want down, you let me know, and I’ll help you.” I slide a pan in front of him. “This is gonna be your pizza. First, we put sauce on it.” I hand him a spoon, and he watches as Cara and I spread sauce on our dough before he does the same. He spills his second scoop, and I watch as dread fills his face. He tosses the spoon, scooting toward the edge of the counter, and I hold up a hand, stopping him quietly. “Whoa, buddy. It’s okay. All messes can be cleaned up. Plus, look at Cara.”

He glances at her, relief sliding through him when he sees the sauce she may or may not have accidentally-on-purpose sloshed over the edge of her pan and onto the counter. “Cara, look! We both make a mess!” He scoots back to the center of the counter. “What now?”

“Now we cover it with cheese.”

“Oh, I like cheese!” He grabs two fistfuls, grinning as he dumps it in the middle of his dough, shaping it into a mountain. He points to the tray of pepperoni, bacon, onion, mushrooms, peppers, olives, and pineapple. “What is those?”

“Those are toppings. You pick what you like and you put it on top of your pizza. Then it’s ready to cook in the oven.”

“I will liiike… pineapple !”

Cara snorts a laugh as I groan, the two of them loading their pizzas with pineapple. He smiles at her as she adds bacon, and then he adds it too.

“Emmett, you want some pineapple like my pizza?” he asks, holding out a fistful of fruit to me that absolutely, without a doubt, does not belong on fucking pizza.

“No thanks,” I say, which is far better than gagging, which is, coincidentally, my preferred response.

We slip the pizzas into the oven, turning the light on so Abel can watch them cook. He’s so damn mesmerized with his pizza when we take them out, not because it’s a food he hasn’t tried before, but because it’s his. His creation, something he made from start to finish, and the pride in his eyes as we sit at the kitchen table, it’s addicting. I look at Cara, the way she’s watching him with that far-off look in her eyes, that gentle smile, and when our gazes meet, I know we’re thinking the same thing: I can’t believe we had a hand in that.

I snap a picture of the two of them as they lift their slices together before they take their first bite, and as I look down at their laughter, all the simple joy in their faces, I know this will be a picture I treasure forever. Once dinner is cleaned up, Cara and Abel are making ice cream sundaes, and I’m done setting up the movie, I shoot the photo off to the group chat, knowing as cute as it is, it’s about to start a war.

Jennie: Sorry, back the fuck up. Is that… pineapple *vomit emoji* on little man’s pizza?

Olivia: Cara, what have you DONE to him?!

Carter: BLASPHEMY!

Rosie: Adam’s about to pop in here to tell you he’s not picky and anything can be good on pizza. Adam’s wrong.

Adam: *shrugging emoji* What’s not to like? Pineapple, good. Pizza, good.

Lennon: Sweet and salty? I could fuck with that in a heartbeat. And Jaxon likes anything I like.

Jaxon: Not true, wtf???? I like it, but not cuz len likes it. I’m my own person, with my own taste.

Garrett: Jesus christ, what the fuck is this? I take the dog out for a pee for two minutes and this is what I come back to??? PINEAPPLE on PIZZA?!

Carter: u know what, im willing 2 give it another try. my tastebuds have become more refined with age. ollie’s always saying im so refined, right ollie??

Olivia: Literally never, and also, Carter just wants pizza. Update: Carter is ordering pizza. Update #2: Carter is ordering two pizzas, one with pineapple, one without, just in case. Says he won’t eat both, but probably will. Update #3: Can’t stop looking at this picture. Pizza = horrible. Cara & Abel? Perfection.

Jaxon: ok, so len’s the one that got me to try pineapple on pizza in the first place, but so what?? that doesn’t mean i like whatever she likes. If anything, it means I have a wide palate.

Me: Imagine thinking liking pineapple on pizza means you have a wide palate?

Garrett: That’s fucking crazy LOL

“Emmett, look what me and Cara made.” Abel walks toward me in the living room, holding out a bowl filled with ice cream, topped with strawberries and gummy bears. “Um, it’s got—it’s got… I picked chocolate, and strawberries, and bears. Do you want some? I can share.” He scoops up a heaping spoonful, offering it to me. Those hopeful green eyes widen as the spoon wobbles, and Abel watches in horror as his scoop of ice cream falls to the cream rug.

“I—I—I’m s-s-sorry,” he sputters, taking a step back. His foot catches on the edge of the rug, and I lunge across the couch, catching him with an arm around his waist before he can hit the ground, but not before his ice cream splatters, the bowl cracking in two.

“Abel,” Cara gasps, dashing in from the kitchen.

“You okay, buddy?” I ask, setting him back on his feet, but he’s not looking at me. His stare is fixed on the ice cream, the broken bowl, as he inches backward. Frowning, I stand, starting after him. “Abel?”

He freezes when my shadow falls over him, and my gaze swings to Cara, panicked. I don’t know whether to throw my ass back to the couch or to stand perfectly still; I just don’t want to scare him any more than he already is.

“It’s okay, Abel,” Cara says as softly as I’ve ever heard. “It’s—”

“It-it-it-it was a-a-a accident. I didn’t mean to.” He shakes his head violently, backing up, chest heaving.

“Abel,” I urge quietly, but the second our gazes connect, he takes off. Dashes down the hall, tumbles his way up the stairs. Flings himself through his bedroom door, slamming it closed behind him. And while I think there’s nothing quite so heartbreaking as the sobs that carry into the hall as Cara and I pause outside his door, I’m proven wrong when she slowly pushes it open, and we find him huddled in the corner of his room, gripping his hair, shaking.

And I see me. I see my brothers. I see my parents losing their absolute shit every time we spilled something, broke something, just made a mess because we were fucking kids , and that’s what kids do. My parents loved standing over us, reminding us how big they were, how intimidating someone could be without ever laying a hand on you, and maybe that’s what Abel’s used to too, but I can say without a doubt in my mind that that’s not how things are going to go here.

So I take Cara’s face in my hands, pressing a kiss to her lips, and tell her, “I’ve got this,” before I step into his room, taking a seat on the floor opposite him as I think about all the things I would have liked to hear as a kid.

“Hey, Abel. I’m gonna stay over here, okay? You still have your space, and if you want to come closer, you can.” I blow out a sigh, resting my head against the wall as Abel hugs his knees, crying. “You worked really hard on your ice cream sundae, huh? It looked so yummy. Are you sad that you didn’t get to eat it?”

Abel shakes his head, wiping his face quickly before he buries it again.

“No? Well, we have plenty more, so if you’re feeling sad about it later, you just let us know.”

Slowly, his face lifts, brows furrowing.

“Did you feel scared when your ice cream fell?”

He watches me carefully for a moment before nodding.

“Can you tell me what made you feel scared? It was loud when the bowl fell. Sometimes loud noises make me feel scared.”

Abel sniffles, scrubbing a hand across his eyes. He looks down at his feet.

“It’s hard to talk when you’re feeling scared, huh?” When his eyes come back to mine and he nods, I smile. “I know. Cara and I want you to know that you’re safe here. When you’re scared, you can talk to us.”

“I was scared… I was scared you was gonna yell at me.” He fiddles with the edge of the rug, his cheek resting on his hand, elbow on his knee. “ ’Cause I spilled and broke and made a big, big mess.”

I nod. “I get that. Thanks for telling me. Do you remember what Cara told you about messes when we were making pizza?”

“Um…” He taps his chin. “You make lots of messes?”

I grin. “We really do. Messes happen, and so do accidents. They’re both part of life.” I glance at Cara, watching us from the doorway. “Me and Cara, we’re not going to yell at you for making a mess or having an accident. Yelling’s not a good way to communicate. It usually only makes things sound loud and scary.”

He raises two palms in a shrug. “Well, Peter and Elizabeth, they-they… they yell at me.”

“I hear you, buddy. How about we make a family pact?”

Soft green eyes light. “What’s that?”

“A promise a family makes to each other.”

He shifts onto his knees, gliding across the floor toward me. “Is we a family? Me and you and Cara?”

“We sure are. Anyone living in this house is family. So how about we promise each other to always do our best to communicate, which is a fancy word for talking. That means we tell each other when we feel sad, or angry, or scared, and we try our very best to use calm voices, so everyone feels safe and heard.”

“And-and-and…” He grips my knee, propping himself up, brows raised as he points a finger in my face. “You not allowed to call me a bad boy, okay? Okay, Emmett?” He shakes his head. “It not nice, my Catharine always tells me it not nice when… when Peter and Elizabeth say, they say”—he puts one hand on his hip, face screwing up as he shakes a finger—“ ‘You a bad boy, Abel!’ ”

“We can absolutely promise that,” I say without hesitation. “Right, Care?”

She twists away, and I hear the unmistakable sniffle of a woman who’s trying to get rid of the evidence of her tears. “Right.” She grins, a little wobbly as she enters the room, taking a seat with us, rubbing Abel’s arm. “What do you say? Family promise?”

“Family promise,” he says with a smile.

And when he climbs into my lap, snuggling into my chest, I’m suddenly painfully aware that Cara isn’t the only one who’s going to have an impossible time saying goodbye.