Coda Books 06 - Fear, Hope, and Bread Pudding (MM)

lives are already complete, and I envy you for it. Is it selfish of me to want more? I love Jonathan with all my heart, and I adore George, but I can’t help feeling that there’s something I’m missing. Something profound. I have so much to give, Jared. Not only money or things, but love. I have so much love in my heart, and not enough people to share it with.
    It’s cheesy, I know. Even I roll my eyes a bit when I read back over those words, but it doesn’t change the truth of them.
    A few months ago we were in Lucca, Italy. Have you been? It’s delightful, not crowded like Florence or Venice or Rome. Inside the old city walls, it still feels quaint and charming. Beautiful young people stroll along the streets. The women are all casually exotic. The men wear skinny jeans and shoes without socks and ragged American T-shirts with silk scarves around their necks. Jonathan teased that he’d finally found the one place in the world where everybody dressed like me.
    But I’m rambling.
    The old battlements still surround the city, and on top of them is a lovely path. There are trees and parks and picnic benches and even a cafe or two. It was a bright, warm morning, and Jon had gone out for a jog. I was walking alone on the ramparts when I saw a child. I think she was two or three. She was gathering chestnuts with a man who I assume was her grandfather. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen chestnuts when they fall from the tree, but they’re in a spiky green shell. The man would hit them with his stick to break them open, then he’d point and say, “There it is! Get it, get it!” And she’d run and grab it and drop it into the sack he held, and then she’d yell, “Encore! Encore!” It was so picturesque, like something out of a movie. So perfect, and all I could think was, that should be George. George deserves a grandchild. And yet, I still haven’t succeeded in giving him one.
    I have to change the subject, or I’ll start to cry again.
    I talked to Angelo a few days ago. He rarely calls, but when he does, he always manages to surprise me. He hopes to work with foster kids. Did you know that? Teenagers specifically. Not as a foster parent, but he’s considering joining the Big Brother program as a mentor. I told him it was a wonderful idea. After all, he can relate to those kids in a way most of us can’t. I also convinced him to let me pay for him to go back to school. He doesn’t have lofty goals. He just wants to take a class or two at a time, to expand his horizons a bit. I think it’s commendable, and I’m thrilled to be able to help. He was reluctant to take the money at first. He kept saying it was too expensive. Well, it’s only money, for heaven’s sake. What good is it if I can’t spend it on people? Then he spent an hour fretting about how he’d pay me back, trying to convince me to accept monthly payments. There are no words for how little I care about being repaid. I finally made him a deal. I told him that if I’m ever down to my last hundred dollars, I’ll come to him and he’ll be obligated to give me everything he owns. But I told him that until that happens, we’re even. End of story.
    Oh. And I made him promise to babysit when we come to Coda, just to make him squirm. I swear, I could hear the panic in his voice.
    Of course, that brings me back to the adoption. It’s too depressing to think about.
    Take care, sweets. May your holiday season be better than mine.

    C OLE , my father, and I arrived in Munich on December 22. A flurry of activity ensued. Cole insisted we have a tree, never mind that Christmas was only three days away. We spent hours in the markets. They were amazing, as Cole had promised. He spent the first day searching for gifts and decorations for our tree, but my father and I were more interested in the food. There were toasted candied almonds and gingerbread and stollen and hot mulled wine with brandy that warmed us from the inside out. Halfway through the first day, my fingers were frozen and sticky and my mind comfortably muddled from the alcohol. My father’s cheeks and nose were bright red, and he began to weave a bit as he strolled between the stalls. Cole rolled his eyes indulgently and sent us back to the condo.
    “Besides,” he said, “I can’t buy gifts for you when you’re standing right next to me.”
    “Don’t go too crazy. We still have to get it all home.”
    Grace wasn’t due in until Christmas Eve night. Despite his continued