The staff showed us to a small cafeteria-style room, with circular plastic tables and chairs. Grant left us alone, while Micki and I sat and chatted about the shelter staff, her parents, and what she was planning on doing next. It felt familiar.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s like I have unlimited options before me. I’m almost sixteen, so the shelter is helping me figure out emancipation. I just have to be able to support myself.”
“You don’t want to go home to your parents?” I asked. She shook her head. My heart burned for her. I knew what that felt like. My parents overdosed when I was a baby, but when it came to the different aunts and uncles that reluctantly took us in, I always ran away. Because I knew I wasn’t wanted. I thought it would make everyone’s lives easier if I left. But I had always gone home in the end, because of Heather. Because she was all I had.
And now, looking at Micki, I wanted her to feel safe somewhere. It made my heartbreak that she didn’t have that with her parents.
“We can talk about it,” I said. “Or we don’t have to.”
“My parents caught me kissing a girl. Said they disowned me. Threatened to beat me if I didn’t leave the house.” From the way her voice sounded, I knew it wasn’t the first time they had followed through with a threat like that. She wasn’t willing to take chances anymore.
She gave me a funny look, as if I had accused her of something, then added, “If you’ve got a problem with lesbians, I don’t need you. You can take this soda and shove it up your ass.”
She reminded me so much of myself. The first time Uncle Walter had threatened to kick me out was when I had gotten suspended for messing around with a boy in the school locker rooms. I’m sure I had said similar things to Heather and to Uncle Walter.
“Not at all,” I said. “Kiss who you want to. I don’t care. But I wish I could do more to help you.”
She sat up. “Good.” She smiled. “I probably would’ve been forced to go back, if you guys hadn’t taken me here.”
Part of me wondered if she was better off with her parents. If we had done her more harm than good by taking her to the shelter. Being an emancipated minor wouldn’t be an easy road for her. But I had to trust that she was okay, that Grant knew what he was doing when he took her here. That she knew what she was doing. And it sounded like she had good support here.
After a while, Grant returned. Each of the staff members gave me a hug like I had always been part of the family. And we left the shelter. The sun was making its way down, though the desert was still bright, speckled with vibrant succulents. Looking out, I felt something weird.
Was it hope?
Maybe I could work with kids like Micki. Kids like me.
Yeah, that was an okay future with me.
“I’d love to work with kids like her,” I said.
Grant turned off the podcast. “Love?” he asked.
“I know. It’s a strong word,” I said. His eyes stayed focused on the road. “But here’s the thing. I hate school. And it takes years to get a social work degree. And money. And time.”
“Money isn’t an issue,” he said. A warmth swelled through me. Was he offering to help pay for my education? “If you’re willing to dedicate yourself to it, I’ll back you the whole way.”
In my heart, I knew he was telling the truth. Grant wasn’t going to say something he didn’t mean, and helping me find my way back into normal society was always his goal. His promise to me. And I knew that I could provide the kind of support kids like Micki needed, someone who had been there, who had seen all of it, and lived to see another day. No matter how dark it got, I pushed through. Sometimes without anyone’s help. And sometimes, with more help than I could have dreamed of.
“You will support me, won’t you?” I asked, looking at Grant. His face glowed pink in the setting sunlight. Sunglasses on, he was poised like someone who was untouchable. He put a hand on my thigh.
“I will.”
