I closed my eyes for a second and played with the chain Marlon gave me.
Great.
Marlon finally spoke. “And what happens if he says he doesn’t want to stay?”
See what I mean?Marley always asked questions nobody else thought to ask.
I looked at him then.
His voice was calm, but I knew that question cost him something. Because Marlon had been in the system and knew what it felt like to be somewhere you don’t want to be with people you don’t like.
“That will be handled carefully,” she said. “If he expresses fear or hesitation, we slow down and adjust the transition plan.”
Marlon nodded once.
“What does he know about us?” I asked.
“He knows you’re a couple interested in adopting him. He knows you live on a vineyard. He knows you have horses and a dog.”
Chewy barked from the floor like he knew he was being discussed.
I looked down at him. “Please don’t embarrass me when we meet this child.”
Marlon’s mouth moved like he wanted to smile but refused to give me the satisfaction. The woman laughed softly. “We did mention Chewy. He seemed very interested in that.”
“Okay,” I said. “So the dog has his interest more than us. Good to know.”
Marlon looked at me before adjusting his glasses. “He does have a better attitude.”
I pointed at him. “Do not start with me.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Yeah, you always just saying.”
The agency woman cleared her throat, amused. “That kind of natural interaction is good, by the way. Children need to see warmth, but they also need to see normalcy. Your first visit is scheduled for next Wednesday at ten. It will be at the agency office as it is a neutral space. His caseworker will be present. You’ll have about ninety minutes together.”
Ninety minutes to meet a five-year-old boy who might become our son.
My fingers tightened around the mug again.
“What does he like?” I asked. “Besides dogs.”
“He likes drawing. Dinosaurs. Building blocks. He struggles with loud spaces, so I would avoid anything too crowded at first. He also likes knowing the schedule ahead of time.”
I grabbed the notebook beside me and started writing.
Marlon leaned over slightly to read my notes.
“You write all that down?” he asked.
“Mind your business.”
“This is my business.”
I pointed my pen at him. “You want notes or not?”
He held his good hand up. “Write.”
