Page 107 of Call You Mine
And Anderson deserves to know.
Right?
With Georgie home for Spring Break this last week, the two of us have been working opposite schedules—when I’m at work, he’s home. When he’s on shift, I’m home as much as I can. We’ve barely seen each other.
And the times we are home at the same time, I haven’t wanted to pop the bubble.
The “perfect little family” bubble.
Anderson hasn’t tried to pop it either—it’s like the two of us have this understanding that if we don’t talk about what we’re doing, then we can just exist in it.
I’m finishing up a few inventory orders when my phone rings; Patricia’s contact popping up on my screen.
My stomach flips as I answer before the second ring can even sound. “Patricia, hi.” I hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I tidy up my desk, putting all the paperwork in the color-coded folders I keep in my bottom-left drawer and closing any unnecessary tabs still open on my desktop.
“Hi, Ava,” she greets in that familiar gentle voice.
Is she calling with good news? With updates? Her voice sounds light, like she might even be smiling.
Or, maybe she’s calling because something went wrong with the adoption—maybe her voice sounds like this because she is about to let me down easily. Maybe they somehow figured out that my marriage to Anderson is fake.
Or that I’m pregnant.
And how irresponsible I am—getting into a sham marriage and getting knocked up all within two months.
My thoughts race, and part of me recognizes how silly these thoughts are. But there’s another part of me that doesn’t care how ridiculous it all sounds because it believes them.
“I have some good news,” Patricia continues, but even as she says the words, the tension in my body doesn’t lessen. I feel the prickling in my fingertips, the restlessness in my legs, and the constriction of my lungs.
“Okay,” I manage to say, and if she hears the unease in my voice, she doesn’t mention it.
“We finalized all the necessary background checks and safety screenings, and everything looks good,” she says, but I don’t say anything, needing her to continue. I don’t think I’ll feel any relief until I know everything she’s calling to say.
My head nods, even though she can’t see me as she continues, each pad of my finger meeting my thumb, the counting coming even more natural than breathing. “And we officially have a court date scheduled. Does April 30th work for you?” she asks.
I’m about to take a deeper breath than when I first answered her call, but I still feel that anxious energy buzzing just beneath my skin, like an electric current reminding me that assurance, a sense of calm, the idea of relief, is always just temporary.
I clear my throat, suddenly thick with emotion. “Yes, that works.”
“Wonderful! It should be a relatively quick hearing. No more than an hour.”
“What exactly does it entail?” I ask carefully, my fingers continuing to tap my thumb in quick succession, going in order from pointer finger to pinky before reversing the pattern.
“A judge will review all the documentation before swearing you in as the adoptive parent,” she explains. “He’ll confirm that the adoption is in the child’s best interest, and then he’ll sign the final adoption decree. It’s a closed court proceeding, but you’re welcome to invite other family or friends to attend.”
“O-okay, sounds good,” I manage to say, a little too stunned to speak.
I can’t believe it.
She goes on, continuing to explain the final court hearing,but it all sounds muffled as my thoughts grow louder and louder.
We did it.
I haven’t heard a peep from my mom since that one phone call, just before she gave up her parental rights of Georgie, and Patricia hasn’t said anything about being contacted by her either. I thought it would make me more upset or angry—more for Georgie than for myself—but it’s a relief. And now that the adoption is so close to being official, there’s no part of me that regrets blocking my mom’s number and cutting ties. For me, and for Georgie.
Georgie will be mine—officially mine—in three weeks.
Which means we’re three weeks away from no longer needing to pretend this marriage was anything more than a means to an end.
