Page 28 of Call You Mine
A throat clearing across the table is like a bucket of cold water pouring over me.
Anderson’s cheeks immediately blush, something I’ve only seen in the darkness of his bedroom, but he recovers quickly. “I’m just glad I got to see you tonight, love.”
The nickname sends a tingle down my spine, just like it always does, but I try not to react. There’s a beat of awkward silence as he, along with my sister and Patricia, wait for me to prompt our next move,
“Why don’t you join us?” I tell him, and he nods slowly,before turning to look at our company with a polite smile, pulling out my chair for me to sit.
“If that’s okay with everyone,” he says as I slowly sink into my chair. I follow his gaze, finding it on Georgie. He watches her as she plays with the strings of her sweatpants, eyes in her lap, and shoulders drawn in like she’s trying to be as small as possible.
There’s a gentleness over his features as if he’s trying to assure her that she’s safe with him, and it causes a slight ache in my chest.
He’s close enough to rest his hand on my thigh, reminding me of all the times he’s touched me—always with a timid tenderness, like he’s not really sure I’m there, reaching out to touch me before I disappear.
When I heard the knock on the door, it was like a moment of divine intervention, giving me a distraction from the anxiety threatening to crush me under its weight.
Talking with Patricia started to feel less like a conversation and more like being quietly measured. Every answer I gave her seemed to expose another gap—my job, my apartment, the fact that there’s no immediate family close by, only a few friends thatIknew would help at a moment’s notice, but CPS didn’t.
Patricia had just asked about other relationships besides my close friendships, specifically romantic ones, and the knock gave me a second to get my bearings before I had to go back to digging myself into a bigger hole with the answer tothatquestion.
As I walked to the door, my thoughts were swirling so fast and so loud that tapping my thumbs against the pad of each of my fingers, counting until I got to seventeen, and immediately starting again, was the small relief I needed.
It took me a second to open the door, needing to get to seventeen taps before I could even think about turning theknob, and when I looked through the peephole, seeing Anderson was like an eraser across a whiteboard full of writing—every thought I had ceased, allowing me to finish my counting and open the door, not needing to start all over again.
I was able to just focus on what was in front of me—not forget entirely what was playing out in my dining room, but at least not feel like my body was in one place while my mind was in another.
My eyes focused on the way Anderson’s shaggy brown hair curled at the nape of his neck, and my nose caught the smell of his woodsy, spicy aftershave. I noticed how his weight shifted from one foot to the other—like he was nervous to be knocking on my door.
I don’t think I’ll ever get over how ridiculously adorable he was when he thought he was interrupting a date or something of the sort—I didn’t even remember that today is Valentine’s Day—and I’m still curious as to why he’s even here in the first place.
But when the thought crossed my mind, how Anderson might be the key to convincing CPS that I’m fit to be Georgie’s guardian, it was like the fog thinned enough for me to see clearly for the first time all night—for the first time since I got Georgie’s call.
Anderson squeezes my thigh gently, and that’s when I realize I’m still staring down at his hand—while the rest of the room is staring at me. He raises his brow, and there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. His eyes are full of questions I don’t have the time to answer.
Tucking a loose curl behind my ear, I clear my throat. “Anderson, this is Patricia. She’s Georgie’s social worker.”
Anderson’s eyes slightly widen, but he keeps the rest of his features schooled. He turns toward Patricia, where she sits across from me, and holds out his hand. She sets down herpen, giving Anderson a warm smile as she shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m Ava’s fr?—”
“Fiancé!” I quickly interject, the word slipping out too fast for me to stop it. It’s a safe assumption that he was about to say “friend”, but I don’t need a friend right now. Not if I want to convince Patricia that I have the means and stability to take care of Georgie.
“Fiancé,” Anderson repeats, stretching out the word like he’s never heard it before, taking his hand back from Patricia and looking at me. There’s a smile on his face, but it’s not the care-free one I’m used to. It’s strained and forced, and I hate it.
“How exciting!” Patricia picks up her pen and jots down something on her legal pad. “I guess that answers my question from right before we heard the knock on the door,” she offers, and I feel Georgie’s eyes burning a hole in the side of my head, thankful she’s keeping her surprise to herself. “Then, I guess it’s a good thing he stopped by.”
Patricia must see the confusion on my face—or all of our faces at this point—so she clarifies, “When someone steps into a permanent caregiver role, CPS looks at thewholehousehold, not just the individual.” She gestures to me. “Anyone you are in a committed relationship with—especially someone who will eventually live with her—would be part of the approval process, too, because the goal is to understand the full environment the child will be growing up in.”
The more she talks, the more I know that Anderson isvitalin making sure Georgie stays with me. I haven’t quite thought past what happens once Patricia leaves, but right now I need to make sure this woman reports back that I am a viable option for Georgie, especially while she conducts her investigation into my mom.
I grab Anderson’s hand on my leg and hold it tightly in mine. “Anderson and I were planning on moving into his house with the marriage, and there’stonsof room forGeorgie," I explain, using my knowledge of what his house looks like in the middle of the night to paint the picture for Patricia. “He lives in a nice, quiet,safeneighborhood that’s only fifteen minutes from Georgie’s school. There’s a big backyard and a park nearby. A huge living room for movie nights and a beautiful kitchen with a dining room that I can already see would be the perfect place for us to help Georgie with her homework every night before dinner.”
Patricia nods. “That sounds absolutely wonderful.” She writes a few more notes down just before her gaze goes to Anderson. “What do you do for work, Anderson?”
“I’m a firefighter,” he answers. “I work twenty-four-hour shifts and then have forty-eight hours off. It’s consistent, offers great insurance, and the station is only ten minutes from my house.”
My lips part in surprise at the way he does his part in convincing Patricia that Georgie would be taken care of with us—me.
I watch Patrica consider all of this, and I can’t tell if she likes his answer or not.
Before panic can settle in, Anderson adds, “And the crew is filled with other mothers, fathers, and caregivers, so we all help each other out with getting shifts covered whenever someone needs it.”
