"To David, the best adolescent psychologist in Columbus," Toby said, raising a glass of wine. I looked at the people gathered at the table at the Italian restaurant we'd had my graduation dinner at after UCLA. Now we were celebrating that I had completed my internship with high praise from my professors and supervisors.
I had decided that, for now, I was going to stay working the hospital. Get a few years of practice under my belt before I started my own practice. I knew I wanted that - my own practice. But I was willing to put in some legwork. Build a base, earn some money before I started my own practice.
I had moved out of Mom's house last year and was renting an apartment with two colleagues. We were closer to the hospital in the apartment. Mom missed having me home, but I went over for dinner pretty frequently, so she saw me a lot. My hours were more predictable as a doctor on staff as opposed to a resident or intern.
Toby had graduated from Yale and was working at a newspaper in New York. But he'd come home for this.
Erin was in her final year at Michigan and considering going for her Masters.
Mom had a boyfriend. Jim. He was a nice guy. Kind of reminded me of Dad. He was great with Toby and Erin, and I liked him. He was good to Mom, and that's what was the most important to me.
"David," Jim said. "Congratulations. Honestly. You've worked really hard for this. You should be very proud. Your mom is, I am, and I'm sure your dad would be, too."
I smiled at Jim. One of the things I liked about him was that he acknowledged our dad. He didn't feel threatened by his memory and we made sure he knew that we do actually like him.
The owner of the restaurant came over to our table. Mom and Dad had come here so often, we were practically family with the staff.
"So," Lorenzo said. "You're a doctor now, are you?"
"Yes, sir. I am," I smiled.
"To think you were such a brat when your parents took you in," he smiled. I looked at Mom.
"You were... challenging at times at first. Dad and I would talk about how best to help you when we'd come out for dinner. Lorenzo has known us so long, and he has six kids, we sometimes talked with him."
I shrugged. I was a pain at first. Even I know that.
Lorenzo stayed and talked for a little while and then left to take care of some things. We were sitting and finishing our meals when a guy who looked a few years younger than me nervously approached the table.
"Hi," he said. "Um, I'm really sorry to interrupt you, but you look really familiar to me and I was wondering, is your name Stephen Freud?"
"It was," I said, warily. There was something in his eyes that looked familiar.
He was dressed nicely, in a suit and tie. I couldn't pin down where I knew him from.
"I'm Brian Danforth. I think you were my foster brother at the Thompsons? Before Mrs. Thompson's cancer came back?"
My jaw dropped. Brian. My little foster brother. The kid I'd walk home from school most days so he wouldn't get bullied.
"Oh my god. Brian!" I said, standing up and pulling the younger man into a hug.
"I thought that was you, and then I thought you might not remember me. It's been, what? Almost 20 years?" He said.
"I still remember our last day with the Thompson's like it was yesterday! How are you? You look well."
"I am well. Thanks. My mom cleaned up her act, ditched her husband and remarried when I was ten. My step-dad is amazing. I lucked out."
"Yeah," I said. "Oh, let me introduce you to my family. This is my Mom, Mandy Foster, her boyfriend Jim, and my brother and sister Toby and Erin."
"Your mom cleaned up, too?"
"No. My birth mom died in prison. The Fosters, who were, ironically, my foster parents, adopted me on my 16th birthday," I said. "Look, I would love to catch up, but I'm with my family. Here's my card. Let's get together."
"Yeah, I'd like that. Here's mine," Brian handed me his card. He was in entertainment law but based here in Columbus.
"Interesting job," I said, showing his card to him.
"It is. I'll tell you more when we meet. It was nice to meet you all. Sorry to have interrupted," he said.
Everyone said it was no problem and Brian went back to his table.
"That was weird," I said. "I was ten the last time I saw him."
"What was the story there?" Toby asked.
"It was my first foster home. I was eight when I moved in. Brian came a year later. He's a couple of years younger than me. We lived with the Thompsons. It was actually not bad. But Mrs. Thompson got cancer and Brian and I got moved. That was the first time I went to the Boys' Home," I frowned.
"I take it the Boys' Home wasn't great?" Toby asked.
"No. It was better than some of the foster homes I was in but no. It was not a place you'd want to spend any more time than you had to."
"I'm so sorry, David," Mom said, tears in her eyes.
"What for?" I asked, confused.
"That you had to endure all that. I can see why you were so angry when you came to us."
I sighed.
"Yeah," I said. "Thanks, Mom."
"Thanks? For what?"
"For saving me. You and Dad. You didn't give up on me. And I was not a nice guy when I moved in."
"No. You weren't. But we saw something in you," Mom said, leaning on the table and looking at me. "There was just... something there in your eyes. Defiance, yes. But determination, too. And desire."
"Well, I was very alliterative," I smiled. Mom smiled back.
"Your father and I knew about, oh, six months after you came to live with us, that we'd be looking to adopt you if the opportunity arose."
"Really?" I asked. I thought about it. Six months after I started living with the Fosters, I finished Freshman year at the high school. I'd made the Dean's List in the second semester. I hadn't been at the school for the first semester long enough. Just a few weeks before the break.
"Yes. We saw how hard you were working and how much you had changed and grown in just those few months. You were turning around. You weren't as angry, you actually hung out with Toby and Erin sometimes. You talked. You were so sullen and quiet, it's why Dad made you throw the ball around. To get you to talk. He knew, somehow, that baseball was your thing. He figured if he had you concentrating on catching the ball, he might be able to crack your shell. And it worked," she smiled.
"All the way to UCLA," I said. We laughed.
Mom sighed again.
"He really loved you, David. He really did. He cried the night you opened up to him and told him about the last night you lived with your birth mom."
I hung my head. I don't like that it made him so sad. It was my pain to bear. Not his.
"David," mom touched my hand. "Don't be upset. Dad loved you so, so much, he wanted to know those things. So he could best help you heal and grow."
I looked at her and at my brother and sister.
"Thanks. Really. All of you," I said. Thanks for being my family."