Page 45 of Call You Mine
How does that one word have the tension in my shoulders lifting, the thoughts in my mind quieting, the lingering loneliness settled deep in my bones slightly lessening?
I set the damp dish towel down on the counter, mirroring Anderson’s stance as I lean back on the counter, crossing my arms over my chest as I turn my head to look at him.
“I guess we start with when we are getting married,” I offer with a sigh.
“It’ll be pretty easy once we have a date. But first, we’ll need to get a marriage license. It’s just a quick trip to the County Clerk’s office with some documents?—”
“Wait, you already looked into it?” The words tumble out of my mouth, and I can’t hide my surprise. Looking into the legal process of marriage was something I meant to do today, but between how busy my shift was at the coffee shop, and the traffic Georgie and I got stuck in when we were stopping at a few stores to get her some new clothes and other things she needed to stay with me more long-term, I didn’t have time.
Anderson nods, not at all affected by my surprise. If anything, he looks pleased with himself that he pulled that reaction from me. “Once we have the marriage license, we can choose what we want to do for a ceremony.”
I shake my head. “No ceremony. We can just make an appointment at the courthouse.”
“Are you sure?” Anderson asks.
“Yep,” I answer quickly, popping the “p”. “No muss, no fuss. Just quick and dirty.” I shrug my shoulders. “It’s not like it means anything more than just a legal union for my guardianship anyway.”
It isn’t until the words are out that I realize how cold—howbitter—I sound, and the way Anderson looks away for a moment before giving me a nod and a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes has me wishing I kept the words to myself.
My voice softens involuntarily. “No need to make it something it isn’t, you know?”
Anderson clears his throat. “Right.” And then, to my shock, says, “You don’t need to keep reminding me that I don’t mean anything to you.”
He turns back toward the sink, handing me the forgotten pot to dry, picking up where we left off. The silence is more than just awkward this time around, a twinge of hurt lingering in the air with Anderson’s words. Not even the music Georgie is playing helps fill it.
“When do you guys want to move in here?” he asks, handing me a soaked plate, the edge in his voice gone.
The question surprises me almost as much as the urge that builds to understand why his words bother me, or why he sounded so hurt—until I remember everything we talked about last night and snap back to reality.
I look around his space as I decide how I want to answer his question. Seeing how big this house really is—even more so in the low light of the evening rather than the darkness of the late night—it’s obvious that there’s more than enough room for a couple of guests.
Anderson lives in a single-story home with high ceilings andbig windows. A polished hardwood floor stretches throughout the space, and everywhere you look, there’s a little bit of Anderson—picture frames hanging on the walls with photos of his family and friends with him at all different ages. A fridge adorned with magnets holding up a handwritten grocery list and a reminder of when his next dentist appointment is. Living room shelves filled with worn and weathered books and knick-knacks.
There’s clutter and basically no sensible organization, but it’s the kind that proves someone actually lives here—shoes by the door, a pile of mail on the counter, a backpack slumped in the corner like it’s always just dropped there.
Ordinary traces of a life being lived.
It reminds me of those few years we all lived in the house Steven bought for my mom and my sisters, one big enough for all of us.
The only home I feel like I've ever known.
Everywhere else has just been a place to live.
My chest aches with a quiet heaviness, each beat of my heart threaded with the same longing.
Longing to find even just a sliver of comfort in a place where my mind can finally go still.
One I wouldn’t have to say goodbye to.
“Soon, if that’s okay with you,” I answer. “I haven’t had a chance to talk about it with Georgie, but once I do, I think we should make the transition. Plus, the first of many home visits will happen either this week or next, all while CPS continues its investigation before we can officially begin the adoption process.
Moving in with Anderson is part of the deal—something I’m surprised he’s so okay with—and I’ve replayed it in my head since he agreed to marry me last night. I couldn’t sleep last night after he left, turning over every scenario until the answer felt obvious: it would look more believable if we actually lived here instead of just showing up for the home study.The marriage might sweeten the deal for CPS, but it won’t speed anything up.
With the adoption taking months—filled with home visits, court hearings, and check-ins with Patricia—we need this marriage to look real.
And that includes the three of us showing the makings for one big happy family.
As if there was even such a thing.
