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The barista knows us by now, but she had thought for the longest time that we’re mother and son, always claiming we looked just like one another.
“So, tell me. What is new in the life of Ashton James?” She had the hardest time accepting my decision to take Noah’s last name.
But, shortly after we returned from our honeymoon, she said it was like I was always meant to be part of the James family. She and Tia had a little too much wine. My sister is a bad influence on my mother-in-law. Evelyn only drinks when Tia is around.
“Nothing much. I’m working on a new piece that a gentleman in New York has commissioned. It’s similar to the ones I sold at my first show, with abstract forms on the far edges of the painting. He wants me to paint his daughter’s wedding. It’s quite beautiful, by the picture he sent. I’ve never been to Martha’s Vineyard but one day, Noah has promised to take me.”
I show her a couple photos I’ve snapped and she gasps, covering her mouth like she does with Noah. In the past six months, the woman has gone from attempting to break us up, to my number-one fan, a real cheerleader, like she is with her son. She doesn’t induce the same anxiety-ridden terror in my body as she once had. She’s certainly overbearing, but her love for her sons is beautiful.
We begin talking about a quilt she’s sewing for my sister for her upcoming birthday. It’s white, ivory and light turquoise, very classy, very Tia. She has a giving heart. I’ll give her that. She’s still overbearing. Some people will never change, and Evelyn will always be Evelyn. And somehow, after a rocky start, she’s worn me down, and I adore the woman.
33
Ashton
Our class beginsat the normal time. I scan the room, and the Carrol kids aren’t here. It’s unlike Devin, Collin, and Lainey to be late. They’re typically here an hour early, when Mrs. Bronte, the director, serves a late lunch. She understands it may be the only time some of these kids eat.
“Hey Mark,” I ask of one of Devin’s friends. “Where’s Dev today? He was excited when we told him we were starting with oil paints this week.”
He’s packing up his bag, halfway in the conversation. “You didn’t hear? I thought Dev would have texted. Social services placed them in emergency foster care. There was no electricity at the house, and they couldn’t locate their mom.”
He says it as if this isn’t a big deal. And what has he been exposed to, if this is his mindset?
“Why wouldn’t Devin call us?” Noah asks of both me and Mark. He’s the calm in the storm because my heart is erratic, and I hold onto Noah to steady me.
“I’m not sure. My guess would be he left his phone. It was quick. The kids barely were able to pack, not that it matters. They don’t have much anyway. If I hear from Dev, I’ll tell him to call you.”
He leaves without any more explanation. Our foster classes are complete, and we’ve combined our certifications now that we’re married. We didn’t sign up for emergency placement. And we’d asked our case worker to place us with kids whose parent’s rights would most likely be terminated. We want to raise a family, and we understand we aren’t guaranteed an adoption, but if given an opportunity, it’s what we wanted to provide to a sibling group.
“What do we do now?” My body is still relying on him for support. He finds the closest chair and pulls me onto his lap.
“I don’t know, honey.” His hand rests on my shoulder. I adjust my body, staring at his dark eyes communicating his tortured disbelief.
“Should we call Mrs. Roeger?” She’s our case worker, and though King County is large, Mrs. Roeger should have access to their files.
We can’t reach her, but leave a voice mail, and we’re halfway back to the North side of Seattle when she calls us. I place it on speaker for Noah to hear.
“I’ll cut to the chase, guys. The kids have been split up. Devin is at a group home since he’s sixteen. Collin is with a foster family that only accepts boys. And Lainey is with an older couple who specifically take in emergency cases only, until a more suitable home has been located. I have a call in to their case worker. I can’t speak for her, or her supervisor, but this is a social worker’s dream come true. We never want to split the kids up, and with a relationship already established, or what we call fictive kin, it’s always ideal to place the children in a home with a family they’re already comfortable with. If I was the social worker for these children, I’d thank my lucky stars for you. As long as they have sought out their biological family members first, I can’t imagine there should be an issue.” She pauses for a moment.
“Is there more, Mrs. Roeger?”
“Well, I know we went over this during your certification, but I want to reiterate it. You realize that the sweet kids you know and spend time with won’t be so sweet in your care twenty-four-seven, right? These kids have been through trauma, but they know and trust you. It’s more than most kids get, shoved in with families they had just met. We have great foster parents, but unfortunately, we have some that aren’t. But, with it being close to five, I can’t imagine we’ll have a solution tonight.”
The idea of all three being split up for another night makes me physically ill.
“But,” she continues, “I’ll be in touch. As soon as I know something, I’ll call you no matter the time.” There’s something hanging in her voice, and I assume she has more to say, so I don’t end the call. “Let me ask you something, and it has no bearing on this case. Did you get certified for these kids?”
It’s a hard question to answer, but I don’t have to. Noah answers for both of us.
“Early on in our relationship, Ashton and I discussed children, understanding we wanted a family. He expressed his interest in adopting from the foster care system. I agreed, but didn’t understand fully until I started volunteering. We never hoped these kids would be taken away from their mother, and we realize the risk that the mother may want them back.”
Even hearing these words is devastating, I think to myself.
“But,” he continues, “we wanted to prepare, just in case they needed us, and if they didn’t, then we trusted we’d eventually get placed with kids who would complete our family.”
“Wow,” Mrs. Roeger says. “You two are truly special people. I knew you guys would be some of the good ones. So, when I know, I’ll call you.”
When we had our home inspection, we understood the bedroom situation was going to be a deal breaker. Behind the studio, on the far wall of our home, was a large space to create three small but enclosed bedrooms, one for any girl or girls, one for any boy or boys, and one for us. The space would be tight, but we’d not get certified without this change. I always thought it was wasted space, but somehow, Noah knew we’d need it one day.
