Out with the old, in with my son, I tell myself firmly. All I’m doing is creating more room in my heart for David. Each time I go to Sarah and Hung’s to play with him and the kids is the only time I feel like smiling. I’ve been buried under old shop blankets, helped each child paint miniature pumpkins, and even set up a new spreadsheet for Sarah to assist her with tracking her expenses in Excel.
So, it’s with a sick anticipation I received a call from Leigh Scott, the state’s social worker for our area. Her voice was neutral, telling me nothing. “I hope we can meet at your home next week, Ms. Smith. Unfortunately, I can’t make it before then.”
“Absolutely. I look forward to it.” But the minute I hung up, I raced up the stairs to David’s room. Should I paint it? Get new bed clothes? Should I ask him what he’d like in his room? Before it was just a possibility, but this? I allow myself a moment to look inside that place I’ve fortified and sheltered—the part of me that is permanently reserved to love Nick. A shaft of pain lances through me as my heart bleeds again. This moment is what I gave up love for—the chance to be a mother to the little boy that captured my heart.
I quickly slam the fortress door shut again and nod as I survey the room with the basic twin bed and plaid comforter, nightstand, lamp, classic oak bookshelf filled with children’s books of all ages in the event David wants to have his former foster siblings over, and an empty dresser.
“It was all for this,” I say aloud.
Closing the door, I head back downstairs.
A week later, I feel too much.
Too much confusion.
Too much shock.
Too much devastation.
But I try to rein in my emotions. I place my coffee mug to the side. “I’m sorry, Ms. Scott. I went through this program with the intent on fostering and then adopting a specific child. While Kassidy is an adorable little girl, my intent has always been to adopt David from Sarah and Hung Li.”
“Yes, well. I evaluated David and found him well adjusted in his current home.”
My stomach curdles. “And you don’t feel a permanent home would be better for him? With someone who loves him?”
“It’s my job to evaluate the overall health and well-being of the child. Right now, the best thing for David is to remain with the Li family with the boys and girls he considers his ‘siblings.’ I can’t rip a child from their family when there are so many others who need our help.”
She lays her hands on top of the stack of files in her lap—as if Kassidy isn’t to my liking, here’s another option? The problem is, none of them will be. They are not the little boy I’ve been convinced is mine.
No one prepared me this could happen. My hands begin shaking as I close the folder and sit back trying to gather my thoughts. All these months, all the preparation, everyone knew I was doing this for that little boy. But honesty forces me to admit, Did Mrs. G.? Did the state? Would they have prepared me? Helped me to shelter my heart a little better?
Kind of like I should have done with Nick?
Suddenly the air has been sucked out from the room. All along I had the chance for it all, but I threw it away because I wore blinders to reality. Nick’s gone, and I can’t imagine being a good mother to any of these children. Not right now. Not until I get my head on straight.
“I need time to reset my expectations.” I think my words are reasonable, but judging from the look on Ms. Scott’s face, I apparently have let down someone else.
Nick. A child. The state. Why don’t I add Jed to the list as well since I’m sure he’s just as disappointed in me.
“Also, my best friend is giving birth soon in Florida. I’m expected to be in the labor room. I fly out soon, but I wanted to meet with you first. I’m surprised this part is moving so fast since the rest took such a long time,” I lie convincingly.
Ms. Scott’s face clears up. “Oh, dear. I didn’t realize that. How generous of you to do that considering your own issues.”
I’m unable to hold back the wince. “It’s love, not generosity.”
“Of course. That makes me all the more excited to have you in our program, Ms. Smith. A child will be lucky to have you for their mother with your big heart. Now I understand what you mean about resetting your expectations.”
I hand her back the file, which along with the others, she slips back into her bag. My heart aches for those children. Not now. Forgive me.
After Ms. Scott leaves, I lean my head against the door. I know what I need to do.
I need to leave.
Nicholas
November
“No!” I yell at Reece and Oliver, who are rolling around the mat like they’re about to embrace instead of do some physical damage to one another. “This isn’t huggy-kissy time, boys. Unless we’re all just wasting our time for fucking nothing?”
Reece shoves Oliver off him, probably the most impressive move he’s shown since the two of them entered the octagon. But it’s Oliver who opens his mouth. “Why don’t you get whatever it is off your chest and stop being a little bitch, Nick.”
“What? I’m a little bitch because I’ve invested time and money in Reece only to get him back here to Albuquerque for subpar sessions?”
“No, you’ve been a dick since we got back because you won’t face the fact you never should have left.”
Oliver obviously has a death wish. “London, out of the ring,” I snarl. I’m already stripping off my tee over my head.
His grappling may still suck despite the amount of time we’ve been working on it, but his ears work just fine. Reece slides out just as I slip in. I point a finger at Oliver. “You’re going to be useless by the time I’m through with you.”
“I’m quivering over here, Nick. After all, how hard can it be to take down a man who leaves the woman—”
My fist connecting with his mouth isn’t fair, but at least it shuts him up. He swipes the back of his gloved hand against his cut lip. “You’re a serious dick.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Hopefully by Maris,” Oliver taunts, following up his words with a quick jab.
For the next several minutes, I try to stay out of range while Oliver uses his eagle-length arms to knock some sense in to me. Literally. He’s the best at quick effective jabs to rattle the guy he’s fighting against. But it’s worth a few knocks to take him to his knees when I get the chance to put all my power behind a round kick.
Oliver groans, stumbling back, before dropping to a knee. I can’t prevent the smug smile. “Those direct shots to the kidney hurt like a—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence as Oliver sweeps my legs out from beneath me. Then he’s on top of me. I bring my arms up to protect my face as I stupidly got into the cage without any head gear. My ribs take a few nasty shots before I wrap my legs around his and roll him over.
I hammer him with an overhand looping punch before using my elbows to get some of my own back. I don’t do as much damage to him as I can. Because maybe, just maybe, I can let out some of this pain rolling around inside me.
Tatum leaps into the Octagon. “I’m calling it.”