Page 69 of Call You Mine
And now, it’s afakerelationship, afakeengagement, afakemarriage, all to be followed by a veryrealdivorce.
I’m not cut out for relationships, not after what happened with my last one.
Not when my life is so much of a mess. It wouldn’t be fair to bring someone in just for them to have to help me clean it up.
“Any other big news to share?” Rumi says, pulling me from my thoughts, looking between Anderson and me. She’s half-laughing, but she also looks a little scared, like she’s preparing for me to drop another bomb.
“That’s all for tonight,” I answer.
“Dating, moving in together, marriage, adoption? You guys really are checking all the boxes in one go, huh?” Emerson jokes, and both Anderson and I push out a dry chuckle.
It sounds like we’re in the clear.
For how crazy the story is, just like we planned, there’s enough truth in it for it to be believable.
“When you know, you know.” I hope the lightness of my voice comes across less forced than it feels.
“So, what’s the process with the adoption?” Rumi asks me.
“Oh,” I say, looking over at Georgie. Guilt digs a hole deep in my stomach since I haven’t had the heart to tell her about what happened with Mom. She took the news about me going to grab her stuff pretty well, better than I expected, and she’s been really open about not feeling comfortable going back to our mom’s.
“G, you want to help me grab dessert?” Anderson interjects, and Georgie eagerly nods, standing up from where she’ssitting. Anderson’s hand lightly wraps around the back of my neck, giving it a squeeze as he stands.
When the two of them head into the kitchen, grabbing bowls and spoons from the cabinets and drawers and all the ingredients for ice cream sundaes that Emerson brought over—she’s the queen of “there’s always room for dessert”—I bring my voice down, Rumi and Emerson leaning in closer, and I swear I see Jack bend down from where he sits behind Rumi on the couch.
“My mom wants to sign away her parental rights.”
Rumi covers her gasp with her hand, and Emerson just stares, keeping her emotions locked tight like she has the tendency to do.
“I haven’t told Georgie yet, and I honestly don’t think I ever will,” I add, keeping my voice just above a whisper.
“What made her want to do that?” Rumi asks, keeping her voice low.
“She’s sick.” As if that’s the answer enough. “When the social worker told her she’d be subject to a substance use assessment and random alcohol testing, she refused, and she said no to all of the counseling and rehabilitation that CPS offers. I think that was the start of it. She knew she was going to have to give up her drinking if she was going to get Georgie back.”
“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but when did her drinking start?” Emerson asks.
I snort. “Waybefore Georgie. She’s been drinking for as long as I can remember. She had bouts of sobriety and actually was able to stay sober for all of Georgie’s life, but after my stepfather died last year, it started up again.” The answer comes rushing out, my voice hushed, and I’m surprised at how easy it is to share these parts of my life I’ve kept for myself.
Maybe that’s what has kept me continuing. “She called me yesterday, drunk, blaming me for CPS showing up at her doorand for taking Georgie away from her. I told her she could only talk to Georgie and me through the social worker from now on, and it set her off.”
Rumi shakes her head, taking everything in. Her crystal blue eyes are squinted under her thick dark brows, as if trying to make sense of it all. “Set her off?”
“Is that why you left Hey Honey’s in such a rush yesterday?” Emerson asks.
I nod, tucking some loose curls behind my ears. “One of her neighbors called me, saying she was throwing Georgie’s stuff into garbage bags and onto the front lawn.”
“That’s fucking ridiculous,” Emerson says, and both Rumi and Jack nod in agreement. “I know addiction is no joke, but it’s so hard to be forgiving when you know it’sthatlittle girl she’s hurting,” Emerson grits through her teeth, pointing her finger toward the kitchen.
“Trust me, not enough therapy in the world will help me forgive my mother,” I say dryly. “Dr. Abbie has her work cut out for her when it comes to the mommy issues, I’ll tell you that.”
We all laugh. It’s one of those things that isn’t really funny, but it’s the only thing that feels right to do at the moment—I don’t want to be angry right now.
“Listen, Av,” Rumi starts, once all our laughter has died down. “About what you said about the social worker saying you have no support system.” She reaches for my hand, holding it tightly in both of hers. “I’m glad you have Anderson and the marriage to help with your case, but I want you to know that no matter what CPS thinks, you have support. You have me, and Jack, and Em.”
My eyes prickle, and I don’t fight it. I let the first tear fall, like a crack in a dam, and then they’re falling one after another.
It feels good to let them.
