“Tuh!” I picked up Dillon’s resignation letter and handed it back to her. “Read the fine print, sweetheart.”
She took it with force and scanned the document.
“Fuck.”
“Yup, he left the role to you.” I poked. “So get your fine ass in the car, let’s go to the bank, get this money and fixourcompany.”
She narrowed her eyes on me. “Say please.”
TWO YEARS LATER…
EPILOGUE
Rory.
“Just to be clear,we’re not trying to rush him.”
I satat the kitchen island with the phone on speaker between us, one hand wrapped around a mug I had not taken a single sip from. My tea had gone cold twenty minutes ago, but I kept holding it because I needed something to do with my hands.
Across from me, Marlon stood with his arms crossed but shoulders relaxed. He had been quiet for most of the call, but not absent. He listened hard. That was his thing with this process. He absorbed the information first, then asked questions nobody else thought to ask.
The woman from the agency spoke gently.
“We understand that, Ms. Rodriguez. With children his age, especially after disruption, transition matters. You’ll have scheduled visits first. If those go well, we’ll move into overnight stays before full placement.”
I nodded like she could see me. “Right. Okay. And during the visits, are we supposed to bring things? Toys? Food? Clothes? Or is that too much?”
“It depends on the child,” she said. “For him, we recommend starting small. He responds well to routine. Too many gifts may overwhelm him or make him feel like he has to perform gratitude.”
I swallowed.
That sentence went straight through me.
Perform gratitude.
I knew what that looked like. Different situation, same feeling. Marlon’s eyes moved to me and I looked down at my mug.
“So no big dramatic welcome basket,” I joked.
“Not at first,” the woman replied. “A small item is fine. Something practical or comforting, like a blanket. But the biggest thing you can offer is consistency.”
Consistency.
That word had been haunting me since we started this process.
That was the thing all the parenting books kept saying. The classes too. The home study coordinator said it three times during our interview. Children with complicated histories needed adults who did what they said they were going to do.
And me?
I used to be the queen of doing whatever I felt like doing and figuring out the damage later.
So of course, I was terrified.
“What if he doesn’t like us?” I asked.
The second it left my mouth, I regretted it. It sounded childish but it was the question sitting in my chest, so whatever. The woman didn’t laugh.
“That’s possible,” she said. “He may not warm up right away.”
