I approach the podium with a painted-on smile, giving my boss a hug before he takes his seat next to me on the stage. Then I nod to the guests, greeting them with the same smile. Cordial. Rehearsed. Solemn. I should have it down to a science. I’ve had ten years to practice it.
My eyes scan the group of social climbers with bleach-white teeth and diamond necklaces undoubtedly on loan from Tiffany’s or Cartier until I spot him, the only person in this sea of strangers that matters. Blaze. His copper gaze locks on mine, and my pulse races. I dig my heels into the carpet to keep from running to him. The black and white tuxedo fits him like a glove. These are his people. This is his world. He looks as though he hasn’t shaved in days, and I get it because I haven’t slept in days. My hands twitch with the need to reach out and touch his face, to feel each whisker beneath my fingertips. Then I remember he’s not mine to run to, not mine to touch. I’m not sure he ever was.
Heartache, like pain, slices through me, and the cigarette stench is back, accompanied by the memories of gravel crushing beneath bald car tires, the itch of bug-bitten legs and head lice, and the chill that comes from sleeping in an abandoned house with broken windows.
There’s an awkward silence in the room as some of the guests re-fold the cloth napkins in their laps while others clear their throats and adjust their posture. Hundreds of flawless faces stare at me as they wait for me to begin, but I only focus on one. He’s the reason I’m standing here ready to freely give the world the only piece of me it hasn’t stolen yet—my heart. He’s the reason I turned a generic list of bullet points into something personal. He’s the reason I’m here, sweaty palms and shaky breath, trying to save the one person who—I hope—can save me.
I take a deep breath and force myself out of my own head—the place where the silence is louder than any noise. The only way to get through this is to tell it as if it were someone else’s story, as an outsider looking in.
Here goes nothing.
“When I was six years old, my mother taught me how to distract the convenience store cashiers so she could shoplift. At eight years old, I learned how to pretend I was asleep when one of her boyfriends crawled in bed beside me and breathed his whiskey-drenched breath down my neck. By the time I was ten, I learned CPR—the hard way—when I found Sugar passed out on the bathroom floor. When I was twelve, I walked out into the ocean and prayed the waves would take me under and never bring me back. Three days after my fourteenth birthday my mother died.”
The formal banquet room is so quiet not even a single breath is heard. I close my eyes and hold my breath before I continue. I can’t look at him anymore. My heart can’t bear his judgment. When I open them again, he’s moved all the way to the front of the room, right in front of the stage. His solitary chair sits apart from all the other elaborate round tables. He looks at me, and the earth shatters.
He’s broken.
I’m broken.
We’re broken.
I swallow the heavy lump in my throat and fight back tears. Suddenly it’s not the past that haunts me anymore. It’s the future.
“If you’re thinking this is where my story ends, you’re wrong. This is where it begins.” I pick up the stack of note cards Kai left on the podium and straighten them then lay them back down. “The Bryants were my first foster family. I stayed with them for two years. They had a biological child of their own. She was the same age as me, so I hoped we could be friends. We weren’t. Her name was Jane, and she resented me for taking her parents from her. Sometimes I would find spiders in my bed. Other times I would wake up late for school because the setting on my alarm had been changed. She’d hide the feminine products from me every month, so I’d have to…improvise.” I wince at the memory of using toilet paper in place of a pad. Then I thank God for school nurses. “Finally, she found a way to break my heart.” By taking the boy it belonged to. “My next family was great at first. Until his wife got sick and I was suddenly shoved into a role I was way too young to play. I cooked. I cleaned. I took care of buying groceries. I played nurse. I did everything they asked me to do. Mrs. Adams died on a Saturday morning with me sitting at her side. Mr. Adams never forgave me for not trying harder to save her. He said I should’ve called someone. He said I should’ve prayed more. He said he couldn’t stand the sight of me. Then he made me leave.” I blink back tears and clear my throat. Mrs. Adams had been decent. She had been kind. I miss her smile. “I was only with my last family for a few months before I turned eighteen. That was the cut-off age at that time for foster care. The Pattersons had four foster children. The state doesn’t actually pay a lot for foster kids, so they barely had the money to feed us, much less send any of us to college. They kept reminding me that my stay was temporary. Like I didn’t already know, like I wasn’t already counting the days. So far, everything in my life had been temporary.” My eyes find Blaze. “I’m used to temporary.”
Four years, three families, and only one person ever made me feel wanted. Then she left me.
I go silent.
The room is silent.
I made it. I’m still standing, still breathing, still fighting. Just like I always have. I fought my way through life, through college, through heartache…
Some people are staring. Some are dabbing their tears with the corner of a linen napkin. But all of them are quiet.
“Not all stories are like mine. Some… Most are better. Some are worse.” Like Micah’s. “Our goal at Corporate Cares is to make sure every child feels loved, that every child feels wanted, that every child knows they have a family to come home to, a family who cares. Our goal is to help good kids become great adults.” I straighten my spine and smile. “Thank you for coming today. Thank you for letting me tell my story.”
Someone begins to clap, then the entire room is filled with the sound of applause, but it’s all static. Because Blaze is looking at me as though I’m the only person in this room. Everything else fades away.
There is him, and there is me. Nothing else matters.
Kai does an amazing job of wrapping everything up in a neat little bow. He talks about the expenses and benefits and all the details he’s so good at making feel polished. He’s making his way around the room, shaking hands and making friends.
Blaze makes his way toward me, taking up all the air in the room and making it nearly impossible to breathe. He finally stops in front of me, and I inhale and compose myself. Being this close to him brings back feelings I’ve spent the last two months trying to ignore—feelings of heartache, of rejection, of fear, and of missing him.
“Hi,” I say.
“Has anyone ever told you that you are phenomenal?” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, and my heart plummets. “You’re a motherfucking warrior.”
“Nah. I’m just a girl who’s not afraid of the dark.”
You don’t want inside my head, Adrienne. It’s too dark for you.
We stand here, silent and staring, for what seems like a million heartbeats. He doesn’t walk away and neither do I. He rakes his hand through his hair and cups the back of his neck. I prepare myself for an excuse, a reason why I shouldn’t be wanting him to touch me right now.