Neighbors and strangers often mistake me for a mother of three. These days, having three kids is considered a large family, but the truth is that one of the little ones isn't my son.
Leo is my nephew. He recently turned four, and he's spent half his life living with us. He calls me "Mom" and my husband "Dad," and he considers our two boys his brothers. He doesn't remember his own parents anymore, and whether they ever think of him is anyone's guess. Sometimes I wished they would just formally give him up so I could legally adopt him. But then there were the days when my only wish was for my brother to show up and take his son back. I'd tell him as much over the phone:
"If I had wanted a third child, I would have had one myself! We decided two was enough for us, so come get your kid and deal with him yourself!"
"Daisy, please," my brother would plead. "I'm sorry it turned out this way, but I just can't right now."
"It's been two years of 'not right now'..."
"I really can't. Chloe is on tour, and I'm working rotating shifts, including nights. I have no way to look after a child."
"Did you two even think about that before you had him? You're out there living your best lives while you've dumped a toddler on me. Does that seem right to you?"
Usually, after these talks, my brother would send a little money and disappear again. As for the so-called mother, she rarely remembered she had a son at all. On the rare occasions she did call, she mostly talked about herself and the cities she was visiting on tour. My brother just had to go and marry a circus performer. Her life was all one big carnival—applause, fans, contracts. The performers weren't allowed to bring children on the road. Chloe's parents had refused to help from the start; they were still young, still working, and they had been against the marriage anyway. They'd dreamed of a very different son-in-law, but their daughter had fallen for a regular guy from the suburbs.
After Leo was born, Chloe refused to let it stall her career. At first, they dropped the baby off with our parents, but since they're quite elderly, the boy eventually migrated to my house. I was the one who went and got him, honestly; I felt too sorry for my parents to let them struggle. In the beginning, my brother and his wife were grateful and promised it was only temporary. Then the calls became less frequent, and the idea of actually getting on a train to visit their son didn't even seem to cross their minds.
We live in Pennsylvania, not far from New York at all, yet it was easier for them to travel a thousand miles for a gig than to visit their own flesh and blood. A few months later, we found out they were getting divorced.
"What's going to happen to Leo? Have you even thought about that?" I asked both of them.
Neither Chloe nor my brother were ready to take him. They both had a thousand excuses, thinking only of their own convenience.
"Later," they'd say, waving it off.
"What do you mean 'later'? Later, I'm not giving him back. If you don't want him, sign the papers now."
"You're a mother yourself, how can you say things like that?" Chloe would whine.
My brother insisted the boy would live with him eventually—just not now, maybe later. My husband started getting involved in the arguments more often. He started calling me "Mother Teresa," but what choice did I have? Leo wasn't wanted by his own parents.
***
I have to say, Leo wasn't the healthiest kid. There wasn't much for him to build a constitution on, since his mother hadn't spent a single day nursing him, worried about her figure. As much as I tried to shower him with love and tenderness, I'd lose my temper every now and then, and I'm sure he felt that tension.
Because of the boy, I kept putting off my return to work. Luckily, my husband made a good living, but I hated the idea of losing my edge as a land surveyor. I'd have to practically retrain. I also felt guilty that I wasn't giving my own kids as much attention as I wanted to.
My fourteen-year-old, Justin, was becoming increasingly rebellious. He couldn't forgive us for canceling a trip to the coast he'd been dreaming of.
"Justin, we can't take Leo," I explained. "We don't have the legal paperwork to take him out of the country."
His parents couldn't be bothered to settle the matter. Meanwhile, my younger son, Toby, shared a room with Leo. The boys were constantly arguing and nearly coming to blows over toys. Leo was naturally more defiant and cunning than my boys. You could see the different streak in him.
One day, I vented to a friend. "People who adopt from foster care are heroes. You never know what to expect or what kind of genes are going to show up. Leo is my own nephew, and even I have doubts. I'm constantly afraid of either resenting him or hurting my own kids' feelings."
"Don't be afraid," she said. "Just treat him like he's yours, and tell your boys the same. You're one family. There shouldn't be a 'yours' and 'theirs'."
After that conversation, I felt a weight lift. I stopped waiting for the day they would take Leo away. I signed him up for preschool and enrolled him in a junior karate class. I noticed my husband started looking at me with more respect, and my sons stopped pushing back so hard.
"Why don't we get Leo a puppy?" my husband suggested one evening.
"Are you crazy? I have enough on my plate!"
"It's not for you, it's for Leo. And for the other two, so they learn a bit of responsibility while they're young."
He gave me a mysterious smile.
"And what should we get ourselves for Christmas?" I blurted out unexpectedly. "Maybe... a daughter?"
"I'm in," he laughed. "If we're going to be a big family, we might as well go all the way!"
My brother finally showed up five years later. But the boy didn't want to go to this strange man. To every plea to go with him, Leo just shook his head and gripped my skirt. My brother eventually left, muttering, "Fine, then let it be." And so we're still living this way—Mom, Dad, and three boys who are as close as brothers can be.
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