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I used it to give back.
Another good decision.
I looked at my watch.
If I wanted to be on time, and I hoped I actually would be on time today, I needed to start getting ready.
Thirty minutes past the time I’d hoped to be there, I flew through the door. “Sorry I’m late!” I tossed my purse onto the table in the hall as I swept into the kitchen of the only real home I’d ever shared with anyone.
“Minty! Sweetheart!” Ezinne, the house mother, exclaimed as she swept me up in her strong arms.
I cupped my palms around her shoulder blades and held her close. I’d learned that in order for the hug to end, I had to hug her back.
It was not a huge trial.
She drew back and looked at me, her perfect teeth on display in the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. Her skin, smooth and baby-soft with nary a wrinkle, never failed to amaze me.
“God, I’d kill for your skin, Ezzy.”
“And I’d kill for your legs.” She beamed at me. “Merry Christmas, sweet girl.”
A decade older than me, Ezinne felt for me what I felt for Willa and Junie. Like an older sister, perhaps. A little protective, enormous admiration, and a deep, abiding affection that she never failed to communicate.
“Merry Christmas, sweet friend,” I answered. “How are the girls doing today? How many are home?”
I peered into the living room to see if anyone was around.
Ezinne linked her pinky with mine as she, too, peeked into the living room. “They’re all going to be here for dinner at three o’clock. Jen had Christmas dinner with her family last night and just called to say she wants to come back.”
Ezinne looked at her watch. She was one of the few people I knew who still wore one. “I sent an Uber for her half an hour ago, so she’ll be back any minute. Lindy will be here by three. Everyone else is here.”
After my parents passed away, the house felt as hollow as my heart. It was far too big for one person, and my thoughts echoed off the walls, so I renovated and moved into the condo downtown.
A conversation with Amber after she got her first official gig as a social worker sparked the idea for what my family home became.
Kids like me who ended up in foster care, once they turned eighteen, aged out of the system. Most were left to their own devices without a single clue how to proceed.
Some of them, like Lindy and Jen, still had contact with their birth families, one of the reasons they were never eligible for adoption. They lived in a cruel sort of limbo, balancing between the foster family or families that offered them shelter for a fee, and the birth families who elected to hang on despite offering less than nothing. Oftentimes, months passed with nary a phone call nor a visit.
And I had this big, beautiful house and no one to share it with.
I kept the master bedroom closed behind a locked door. It belonged exclusively to me and was mine for when I chose to stay there.
And I stayed often.
When I needed to be close to the memories of my mom and dad.
When I needed the embrace of the walls that first gave me a sense of belonging.
When the girls needed me.
When Ezinne called me in for backup.
Grants and funding were easy to come by through contacts of my parents, other wealthy people who had more money than they knew what to do with. Running this place cost me nothing but time. And it gave these girls a fighting chance.
I had room for five girls at once. Three of the girls currently living in the house attended post-secondary school full time. They paid rent out of their government grants, that money going into an account which would be transferred into their name once they graduated and moved out. After the first couple of years, I learned a little extra motivation never hurt.
The other two girls were not ready to make any decisions for their future yet.
