Next of Kin E-Book

Hannah Bonam-Young

• Herausgeber: Bedford Square Publishers
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 450

Beschreibung

FROM THE VIRAL TIK TOK AUTHOR OF OUT ON A LIMB AND NEXT TO YOU! Two bickering strangers trying to foster their younger siblings team up to create a stable home, but the undeniable chemistry between them threatens to ruin everything. "Funny and huge-hearted and romantic and real."—New York Times bestselling author Talia Hibbert When she discovers her biological mother has had a new baby, Chloe doesn't hesitate to provide a home for her. Failing to meet social services' financial evaluation, she's forced into a new initiative: joining households with another prospective guardian. Surly garage mechanic Warren, who is trying to gain custody of his deaf teenage brother, does not make a great first impression. But as their lives intertwine, Chloe and Warren discover they have more in common than they thought. So much so that the chemistry between them threatens everything they've fought for...

Leseprobe

Praise for Hannah Bonam-Young

‘Warm, sexy, and vulnerable. Hannah Bonam-Young needs to be on your romance radar’ Hannah Grace, author of Icebreaker and Wildfire

‘Tender, thoughtful, and deeply touching. Next of Kin celebrates the gift of found family, the wonders of falling in love, and the beautiful work of building a life together’ Chloe Liese, author of Two Wrongs Make a Right

‘Funny and huge-hearted and romantic and real’ New York Times bestselling author Talia Hibbert

‘[Next to You is h]eartfelt and hopeful – everything a friends-to-lovers romance should be’ Lyla Sage, author of Done and Dusted

‘Out on a Limb is filled with comfort, acceptance, and pure joy. I took turns every chapter laughing at the hilarious banter and sobbing from the emotional depth of it all’ Clare Gilmore, author of Love Interest

This book is dedicated to those who think

Jess was Rory’s best boyfriend.

The rest of you are wrong.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Dear Reader,

Thank you for picking up Next of Kin! I wanted to include a list of content and themes throughout the book that may be distressing to some readers.

Content Warnings:

• Foster care and adoption

• Past parental neglect and abandonment

• Past death of a parent (drug overdose)

• Drug and alcohol consumption

• Descriptive sex scenes

• Anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and anger management issues

• Medically fragile infant in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) (fetal alcohol syndrome)

• References to ableism

Chloe and Warren were both in foster care growing up.

Chloe was eventually adopted but Warren and his younger brother, Luke, were not. The topics of foster care and adoption were written with the utmost care. I, with the employment of sensitivity readers, worked diligently to portray this subject in a balanced, honest manner.

Luke, Warren’s teenage brother, is Deaf. He communicates exclusively in American Sign Language (ASL). I’m very grateful to the sensitivity readers from the Deaf community who partnered with me to portray Luke’s experience accurately.

I hope you enjoy Chloe and Warren’s love story.

Wishing you peace,

Hannah Bonam-Young

ONE

My phone rings, flashing a number that immediately sends a chill down my spine. I follow my instincts, ditching my cart and spot in the checkout line to find quiet in the grocery store’s bathroom, which, thankfully, is empty.

‘Hello, this is Chloe.’ My voice is already shaking.

‘Hi, Chloe, this is Rachel Feroux calling from Child Protective Services. Is this a good time to talk?’

I close the toilet stall and lock it behind me as an all-too-familiar feeling of dread creeps into my chest. I paw at my collarbone with my free hand. A nervous rash is most likely already spreading. ‘Sure.’ Connie… it has to be Connie. She’s hurt, or worse. Why else would CPS call? I haven’t heard from a social worker in more than six years.

‘Okay, great.’ Rachel clears her throat, then seems to brace herself with a loud inhale. ‘In your file, it states that you’re open to your birth mother contacting you. Is that still accurate?’

Do I want to know? ‘Yes…’

‘It is sort of an unusual call, I suppose. Your mother… sorry, Constance. Constance has put in an urgent request that you visit her. She’s at the hospital.’

My body goes entirely still, and the blood pumps slower in my veins. As much as I have tried to distance myself from her, the need for Connie to be okay still sits lodged in my throat.

‘She has just, entirely unexpectedly, given birth.’

‘I’m sorry, what?’ I fight for my next breath.

‘Your mother had a baby.’ My palm hits the stall’s wall before my back does, and I slide down to sit on the floor. I’ll burn these clothes later.

‘No. That – but – what?’

‘I understand that it must be a lot to process. I wish there was a way for me to deliver this news that wouldn’t give such a shock. I know that it’s been more than ten years since you have seen or heard from your mother.’

That is not entirely true. There were plenty of times in high school when she showed up without my adoptive parents’ permission, and I never told.

‘Is she—? Is Connie okay?’

‘Yes, she’s fine. A colleague of mine is with her right now. The baby was premature. The doctor who called us earlier said they will make a full recovery, probably after a two- or three-month NICU stay. The baby… will not be placed with your mother. We are looking into different care options.’

Colleague. Placed. Care. Social workers are all over this – why would Connie want to see me? Wouldn’t she understand how messed up that is? To need me while she sends another kid into foster care? No, not just another kid… my sibling.

She clears her throat. ‘Constance has listed you as a possible caregiver. She’s willing to sign over her parental rights to you. If not, the baby, after making a full recovery, will be placed in foster care.’

I pull the phone away from my face and stare blankly at the screen for a moment. I must have a bad signal or be imagining this entirely. A possible caregiver? For a baby. Me?

‘But… I’m twenty-four.’ I’m not sure why that’s the thought that escapes when there are about two thousand others bouncing around in my head, but for whatever reason, it’s what comes out. Twenty-four, recently graduated, no idea what I’m doing… Hell, I had been crossing my fingers that my bank card wouldn’t be declined for my groceries.

‘Chloe, I understand that this is a lot to ask of you. Especially considering your… distant relationship with your birth mother. However, it’s only appropriate that we follow up with each possible contact she provides. You have every right to say no, and there could be visitation options with your sibling if you were to want that.’

I gasp softly as an undeniable rush of joy curves my lips into a smile, another thought breaking through the heavy silence. I have a sibling. I’d have given anything for a sibling growing up, someone familiar and known. Someone to love and be loved by unconditionally. ‘Would I even be allowed?’ I ask hesitantly. ‘If I wanted to?’

‘That would require a much larger conversation… one that may be best to have at my office.’

‘Yeah… okay.’

‘There would be lots to discuss. I think, right now, we should just digest this news.’ Rachel’s voice remains cool yet determined.

‘Right.’ I pinch the bridge of my nose. My eyes are closed, but the room keeps spinning.

‘Constance is asking to see you regardless.’

‘Okay.’ I don’t know if it’s the prospect of seeing Connie or the thought that she chose not to reach out before now that causes my lips to tremble, but either way, they do.

‘But to be perfectly clear, the choice is ultimately yours.’ Rachel’s gentle confidence reassures me somewhat.

‘Yeah…’

‘How about I give you the phone number of my colleague who is with Constance now? If you decide you want to see her, you can get the information from her. Then we can go from there, whatever you decide.’

My head aches and pounds, feeling like it would on a relentlessly humid day before a thunderstorm.

After Rachel gives me her colleague’s details, I hang up the phone and press it into the space between my eyes. Focusing on that spot of slight discomfort, one I’m choosing to cause and not receive unwillingly, seems to help. I think of Connie, or at least the latest version of her I have in memory, and transfer that image to a hospital bed.

Sympathy swells despite my impulse to shut my emotions down and get out of this bathroom without causing a scene. I imagine the similarities between where she is now and the picture that used to sit on her bedside table. Our first photo together, taken as she lay in a different hospital bed almost 25 years ago. She had been alone then too and only 17.

My thoughts hold on my birth mother until an unwelcome memory rises to the top of the pile. I was four years old, waiting on an empty school bus that had already made a second loop back to my street. Sitting alone with the bus driver and my kindergarten teacher, I remember thinking that they both looked at me with the same expression my mom had when I’d fallen out of a tree a few days before. I asked myself why they did that – I wasn’t hurt.

‘Mommy didn’t mention any plans she had for today?’ Ms Brown had asked me.

‘Nope,’ little me answered.

‘Do you know your grandma’s phone number? Or where she might work?’

‘I don’t have a grandma. I have an uncle, but he lives on a big boat.’

‘And your… dad? Do you know your dad’s name, sweetie?’ Ms Brown was making me nervous, and I wanted my mom. Mostly so I could show her the artwork I’d made and ask if I had a dad like my friend Sara did. Sara’s dad seemed nice. Maybe, I had thought, he could be my dad too.

‘Nope,’ I answered.

‘Okay, all right. Well, I think you and I are going to go on a little adventure today! Would you like to see where Ms Brown lives?’

‘Don’t you have a dog?’ I asked.

‘Uh… yes, I do.’

‘I don’t like dogs. They’re stinky.’

‘Well, how about we put him outside and the two of us can play inside?’

Ms Brown had taken me back to her house for two hours before CPS workers arrived and placed me in emergency care.

I’ve read in my file since – the one I was ‘gifted’ on my 18th birthday – that the police tracked Connie down a few days later. She was high, drunk, and angry to have been found. I bounced around foster care for a year until my mom proved successful enough in her sobriety that I was able to move back in with her. I knew she had worked hard for that. Counselors, social workers, and teachers – they’d all told me how much my mom had worked to get me back.

I’ve never understood why they needed to tell me that, as if any five-year-old should be grateful to be with their own mother. As if I was a sobriety chip and not a human.

When Connie relapsed ten months later, my head was so filled up with forced gratitude that I felt worse for her than for myself. I should have been told I didn’t deserve to eat nothing but dry Froot Loops for three days straight – but I wasn’t. Instead, I felt sad for her. I still do.

Now, she’s brought another kid into this mess.

Determination fills my chest, and I open my eyes, bringing myself back into the fluorescent-lit bathroom and into my adult body that shakes as waves of nausea cause goosebumps to spread. I know that I need to go see my mother. I won’t let my sibling go through what I did. I can’t.

TWO

I step out of the toilet stall and wash my hands. Once I’m positive I have scrubbed every last piece of public bathroom off me, I bring some cold water to my face. The water droplets run down into the neck of my T-shirt as I lean over the sink, bracing myself with a firm grip on either side. Do not throw up in a grocery store bathroom. I look at my reflection in the clouded mirror resting above the basin.

My mother’s eyes look back at me. Deep green with amber flecks. Thick, dark eyelashes and even thicker eyebrows. The women in our family were built to battle the elements, carry children on our backs, live through famine – survive. Strong brows, strong noses, strong bodies, strong hearts. Connie has written that on each of my birthday cards – the years she remembered.

I always thought it was a batshit crazy thing to write, but now the familiar sentiment is sort of nice. I became far less insecure about my soft-edged figure when I realized my body had evolved to hold weight and strength because of what my Polish lineage – on Connie’s side – had to survive.

My chestnut-brown hair is getting far too long, falling almost to the ends of my fingertips, but I like it that way. Mostly because my adoptive mother would hate it – it’s not practical. I tie it up now to allow my neck to breathe. Everything feels too close to my skin.

Outside the grocery store bathroom, crowds of shoppers go about their day. Announcements on the overhead speaker include a promotion on paper towels. The beeps of the cash registers are steady and jarring. The smiles of the cashiers plastered and polite. A woman uses a coupon on cat litter that gets her a whole twenty cents off. The world hasn’t turned upside down for anyone else.

I abandon my cart of groceries and make a mental note to never return to this store in case I was spotted doing so. There is frozen stuff in the cart, after all.

I pass by a picture-perfect family entering the store as I leave. Two parents, two kids. They’re giggling with one another. The dad makes a silly face at the little girl balancing on the end of the cart, holding on for dear life. I push down the resentment that threatens to burn its way up my throat and turn into tears. I envy them, deeply, in my gut.

Finally outside, I lean on the concrete wall of the building and take a much-needed breath of the mid-June air. When I woke up this morning, my to-do list consisted of buying groceries, watching a documentary my father recommended, and possibly getting tipsy enough on wine to download yet another dating app. Now, bigger things to tackle.

I pull out my phone to call Rachel’s colleague.

‘Hello, this is Odette.’

‘Hi, Odette, it’s Chloe, Connie’s… daughter.’

‘Oh, yes!’ Odette sings out. ‘Hi, hon. Good to hear from you.’ Her tone is so warm it builds an ache in my chest. The longing to be comforted by her is outweighed by my need to keep this day progressing forward at top speed. I need to remain a moving target.

‘I was wondering if you could tell me where Connie is and how to see her.’

‘Of course. Is this a mobile number? It may be best to text the details to you. Is that okay?’

‘That would be great, thanks.’

‘Okay, hon, talk soon,’ Odette says softly.

I copy the address of the hospital from Odette’s text and paste it into the GPS on my phone. There is no way I’m paying for a cab ride across the city, but I also don’t have any change for the bus. I’d go inside and use the ATM, but they could be waiting for the owner of the abandoned grocery cart to return or beginning to hang wanted posters, so I won’t be doing that.

I do have my expired student bus pass, however, given to me by my alma mater. It’s only been one month since graduation. That has to count for something. Perhaps the pass is sort of like expired yogurt: You can still try it if you’re too broke to afford more – which I am.

The bus driver waves me on without reading the fine print – thank god – and I take a seat towards the back next to a window. I shut down thoughts of where I’m headed, hoping to not add ‘cried on public transport’ to today’s list of achievements.

The ride passes far too quickly. The back doors open to a crowded stop filled with scrub-wearing folks clamoring to get on. I make my way through them and up the ramp to the visitor entrance of the hospital.

As I get into the empty elevator, it dawns on me that, prior to 90 minutes ago, I hadn’t thought of Connie in a few weeks. Not since Mother’s Day. The guilt comes in an unexpected and tsunami-sized wave.

Without pausing, I frantically search the collection of buttons on the wall and push the emergency stop button. The elevator immediately halts. I place my hands around the base of my neck, apply pressure with my forearms against my chest – as my adoptive parents taught me when I was experiencing anxiety, or what they affectionately called nerves.

I haven’t seen Connie for six years. I hadn’t known if she was alive, though I always suspected I would feel it if she passed. What do I say to her? Call her? Should I have stopped at the lobby gift shop first? Do you get flowers for the new mother who will be leaving alone?

‘Hello, is something wrong?’ A muffled male voice comes through the elevator’s speaker. Shit.

‘Oh no, sorry, I pressed it accidentally,’ I stammer.

‘No problem.’ The elevator hums and starts back up.

Two floors later, I step off and follow the purple arrows on the floor to the maternity ward, per Odette’s instruction. There is a phone hanging on the wall outside the entrance of locked double doors. A sticker next to it reads inform the charge nurse who you are here to visit and wait for the doors to open. I pick it up, and it trills a few times before a rather crabby-sounding woman answers.

‘Hi. I’m here to see Constance Walden.’ I haven’t said my pre-adoption surname out loud in a long time.

‘One moment, please.’ The line clicks, and the doors open slowly with a hum. I walk in and nod at the nurse at the front desk. She barely looks up as she points over her shoulder toward, presumably, Connie’s room.

‘End of the hall on your left,’ another, kinder nurse chimes in from behind, offering me a sympathetic grin.

‘Thanks.’ At this point, to keep me upright, my feet have to keep moving faster than my fears can grow.

I knock three times, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, before a towering woman steps out. She is probably in her mid-60s, dressed in purple from head to toe, and has dreadlocks that rest past her shoulders. She has dark skin, painted-on red cheeks, and kind eyes that she uses to look me up and down adoringly.

‘Oh, Miss Chloe… look at you.’ She clasps her hands in front of her face. ‘I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I have known your mother for a long time. We met when you were only five years old.’ She lowers her hands and holds one palm out for me to take, which I do willingly. ‘It’s so nice to see you again, my dear. Though I wish it was under different circumstances.’ We both let go.

I do remember her, or her kind eyes at least, and I feel a little safer for it. ‘It’s nice to see you again, Odette.’ I force out a smile, and she puts one hand on my shoulder, the comfort of which almost sends me into a fit of tears. I resist.

‘How are you holding up?’

‘Weird morning.’ My voice, despite my efforts, has no ease to it.

‘Mmm, I can believe that,’ she says. ‘Well, hon, I’m here to be your mama’s friend right now. Is it okay if I call her your mama?’

I shrug, but before I speak, she continues, ‘Connie and I have kept in touch over the years… when she’s doing well. I’ve helped her with rehabilitation programs, a sponsorship group, things like that. Mostly, I try to be a listening ear. Before last night, when she asked me here, I hadn’t heard from her in two years. The hospital staff had been less than friendly. She hadn’t even seen the baby before I got here this morning. Connie—’

She stops speaking, exhales, and rubs her eye with a closed fist. ‘Connie had gone into the ER, complaining of stomach pains. She was… drunk. They discovered she was in active labor, and they performed a C-section. She hadn’t known she was pregnant.’ Odette’s face turns solemn. ‘I’m a children’s support worker, but the hat I’m wearing through this door is Connie’s friend first. I want to be clear, sweet girl, that I know she has made many mistakes. I know they have impacted you greatly. But she is having a hard time, and we need to be as compassionate as we can be right now.’

Guilt wraps tightly around my heart as it beats a little faster. ‘Understood.’ I swallow thickly.

‘Okay, hon. You ready to go in?’

I hesitate to ask, but I have to know before my feet will move me. ‘Is… is the baby in there?’

‘No. She’s in the neonatal intensive care unit. She’s safe.’

I have a sister. ‘Can I see her?’ I ask with trepidation. ‘After?’

Odette’s expression clouds, and she nods a few times. ‘Sure, hon.’

I press my mouth into a hard line and adjust myself to stand straighter, inhaling deeply. ‘Okay. I’m ready.’

THREE

‘Miss connie? i have someone here for you…’ Odette pulls back the curtain wrapped around the hospital bed in the otherwise empty room. ‘Chloe has come to visit.’

I blink at the person lying in front of me. This woman shares almost no recognizable features with the mother I remember. Connie’s face is hollow, with circles under her eyes that are almost black. Her lips are cracked and dry, and her hair is no longer dark brown, like mine, but bleached blond and fraying.

If I saw her on the street, I wouldn’t have thought twice as I passed her by. Maybe I have. A tear falls onto my cheek, but I wipe it away before Odette or Connie sees it.

‘Hello…’ I sincerely cannot think of any other word to say.

Connie looks me up and down, face neutral, shrinking me to two feet tall. Even now, as she looks like this, I still crave her approval.

‘You really came.’ Her voice is more familiar than her face, but gruff. She wipes her nose with the back of her forearm.

‘I did.’ All my energy is concentrated on keeping my tone and expression neutral.

‘Well… good.’ Connie already sounds annoyed. Off to a great start.

I look toward Odette, and she takes my cue.

‘Connie… Chloe has agreed to visit you out of the kindness of her heart. We talked about this, my dear. I know you’re grateful she agreed to come.’

The woman in the bed nods, looking between Odette and me rapidly. Her movements gain momentum as the emotional energy in the room shifts to an unpredictable intensity.

‘So this is the part, huh? The part where you two team up on me? Mock me? Dismiss me? Well, dear’ – she spits this word back at Odette – ‘don’t forget that I made her.’ She gestures to me with a limp wrist. ‘I know how to talk to her.’

‘You asked for me?’ I step in front of Odette, shielding her the best I can, though my height does little to hide her broad shoulders and towering figure.

‘Yeah…’ She leans back, calming her body down physically, but her eyes remain wild. ‘I… I didn’t know.’ She looks at her lap, wringing her hands. ‘I didn’t know I was pregnant. I didn’t know… I wouldn’t have done it again.’

‘But you have.’ The harsh reply escapes me before I think to take Odette’s words of caution. Connie’s face falls, looking like a scorned child. How can someone so physically worn look so young?

‘Yeah, I have.’ The room stills, the tension lowering. Odette glides over to the chairs sitting next to the bed and gestures for me to sit with her, and I do.

‘Why don’t you tell Chloe why you’ve asked her here?’ Connie doesn’t look up but shakes her head. ‘Connie.’ Odette reaches for her hand. ‘She came… it’s your turn now.’

‘Chloe… baby…’ My mother’s voice shifts to the tone I remember. ‘I’m so – I’m so sorry.’ Her lips tremble, but no tears appear.

I nod and cautiously raise my hand before deciding where it’s safest to rest. I choose her knee that’s covered by a thin hospital sheet.

‘I don’t want her to go through what you did. I couldn’t live with myself if—’

Odette interrupts. ‘Let’s try to keep all expectations manageable and free from guilt.’ She raises an eyebrow at Connie, a reminder, it seems.

‘I want you to take the baby until I can get clean… I know you’re still so young but—’ She looks up toward me, tears in her eyes. ‘You’re you. You’re way more responsible than I have ever been.’

I lean back in my chair; my hand moves to my knee instead. ‘Because I had to be,’ I say.

‘Yeah, I guess so,’ she whispers.

I look to Odette, who, despite having no idea what I plan to say, gives me an encouraging nod.

I straighten and rock back and forth until the motion comforts me enough to speak. ‘I’ll do it. But only if you promise to give up custody completely.’ I turn toward Odette. ‘That’s what Rachel said on the phone.’

Odette purses her lips.

I lick my lips before speaking. ‘I’ll do it, if I even can. I don’t know if I’ll be allowed… but you won’t get custody again. You can visit with her when you’re sober. You can see her often, when you are… but… she is not going to live with you – ever. Do you understand?’ My voice pitches louder with the last question, and I regret it immediately.

Connie wipes a single tear away, but the look on her face is one of accepted defeat instead of hurt.

I jump on the defensive. ‘They may not let me. I don’t know… I just finished school. I have tons of student loans and started freelancing less than a month ago. I’m living alone right now. I can’t move… home.’ No need to add My adoptive parents left the country and we aren’t particularly close.

Odette speaks up. ‘But we appreciate your willingness to try.’

I offer an awkward but appreciative smile. I look back toward Connie and study her for a moment, my heart filling with worry. ‘I really hope things turn around for you.’

She fumbles to gather a tighter hold on Odette’s hand. ‘Me too,’ Connie whispers.

We sit in awkward silence until Odette stands and gracefully turns to me. ‘Chloe, would you like to go meet your sister?’

I nod, rising to stand next to her. I move away from the hospital bed and around the back of the chair I’d been sitting in. I choose to give a parting gift to Connie. ‘Good to see you, Mom.’

She reaches for my hand, and I gently touch the back of hers before tensing and moving away. ‘Goodbye,’ I say.

I follow Odette into the hallway. She places a hand on my back after shutting the door. I blankly look off to the white walls with metal panels across the hall as she uses a heavy palm to pat me. ‘No rush, hon.’

I smile unconvincingly over my shoulder to Odette, who stands behind me. She continues her soothing motions as I catch my breath and unclench my jaw.

Who was that woman?

Sober or not, my mother has always looked like herself – warm, familiar, like me. Now, I’m perhaps the only version of who my mother used to be that’s left in this world. She’s a stranger now, in all ways. A stranger my heart breaks for. A stranger I still need the approval of, love from… but I will have to settle for trust. The trust she is giving me to look after my sister.

FOUR

Odette leads me back past the elevators and toward the NICU. Eventually, we arrive at another entryway with a video camera above the door. Whoever is watching must have noticed Odette is wearing a visitor’s pass around her neck since the doors open before she reaches for the phone on the wall. She waves politely at the nurses’ station as we pass, going toward a dimly lit hallway.

I feel out of place here, like I’m trespassing in someone else’s life. I make an effort to not look into the rooms with other families. I’m glad Odette walks with such force, otherwise I may turn and run.

Odette slows, nearing the end of the hall. A man wearing blue scrubs, the same as the nurses at the front desk, sits at a computer in an alcove outside the room. He’s facing a large window that looks into one of the many private suites.

From where we stop in the hallway, I can look through it to see an incubator with a dual-monitor stand towering above it. Odette clears her throat, and the nurse looks toward us as he switches off the computer he’d been typing on. He stands and reaches out a hand to shake with Odette and then me.

‘Hi. I’m Calvin. I’m looking after Baby Walden this afternoon. I’ll be here till seven.’ Calvin is probably a few inches taller than me and has olive-toned skin and dark hair and eyes. He reminds me of a classic World War II soldier, short in stature but strong-looking, with broad muscles in his upper body, a wide stance, and coifed black hair.

‘Hi, Calvin, this is Chloe, baby girl’s older sister, and I’m Odette from CPS.’

Something beeps, and I turn to look at the monitors, trying to decipher what any of it means.

‘Good to meet you both.’ Calvin steps beside me and points toward the window. ‘The top line is her heart rate, the middle is her oxygenation level, the last is the feeding tube’s input.’

I nod. The other screen is a baby monitor, a live feed of my sister. My sister.

‘If you have any questions, don’t hesitate. It can be really overwhelming. There are a lot of beeps and alarms and wires, but it all looks far worse than it actually is.’

I smile at him through the fog of my overstimulation. He has clearly given this speech thousands of times, but I do find myself settling at the sight ahead of me. I can barely make out the shape of a baby under each wire, bandage, and wrap.

‘Let’s go inside.’ Odette reaches for the glass sliding door.

‘What’s her name?’ I blurt.

Odette doesn’t slow as she opens the door and guides me in with a steady hand on the small of my back. ‘No name yet.’

I walk over and look down at the incubator. Her tiny body is nearly transparent. She has a monitor on her right foot, which is sticking out from under a blanket.

‘I love her little toes. Oh my goodness,’ Odette coos from behind me.

I agree, but fail to speak or move closer. I didn’t know humans could be so small. I feel worried just looking at her.

An alarm sounds, and Calvin comes inside.

‘Looks like someone is a little overexcited to meet her sister.’ He opens the incubator and turns her, rubbing her back with what seems like far too aggressive a motion. I look at the screens; the top line is flashing in rhythm with the blaring alarm.

Another nurse pops her head in as the monitor continues sounding. ‘Hey, folks, would you mind stepping outside for a minute?’ She looks at me before continuing, ‘Might be a good time to get you a visitor’s badge? Baby girl just needs some extra help right now.’ She glances at the monitor and then back at us. ‘And we need to get more staff in here.’ She ushers us out the door quickly, and I crane my neck to look back toward Calvin.

The nurse leads us to the opposite side of the hall, where she has a standing desk on wheels.

‘She’s going to be okay, right?’ I ask as three medical staff walk past us, pushing a cart in front of them.

‘She’s been putting up an amazing fight so far. Her heart is proving more challenging than we had originally hoped, but she’s strong and is doing great otherwise.’ She shuffles around, trying to catch my eye as I glance around the hallway. ‘Hey… she has a great team in there. She’s in good hands.’

I nod, but my heart is beating so loud it competes with the quickened rhythm of the beeping monitor inside the room.

‘You’re the big sister, right?’ the nurse asks me.

‘Yeah,’ I think I answer, but I can’t be sure.

‘Wonderful… and you’ll be attempting next-of-kin care adoption?’

‘Yes.’ I’m guessing what she’s saying for the most part, since I can barely hear. My adoptive parents called it ‘selective hearing’ growing up, but I can’t help it. When I’m anxious, it’s like I’ve put earmuffs on, and voices all seem to dim.

‘Good for you. In that case, there is some paperwork I need you to fill out. Starting with family medical history, stuff like that.’

Odette reaches for my hand and wraps both of her hands around it. ‘We can do our best, but we don’t have a lot of background history of mom’s side of the family, and none of the father’s.’

The nurse grimaces. ‘Right, well. Okay.’ She hands a file folder to Odette.

I notice the monitor is no longer ringing and turn to see all the staff except Calvin leave the room. Calvin waves for us to come back in, and a huff of breath escapes me as my body springs toward the door.

‘All right! So!’ Calvin claps his hands once. He stands straight but relaxed – confident yet approachable. ‘Baby Girl was taking the new medication well – a little too well. We have adjusted, and now we should be able to avoid any more tachycardic episodes. No need to worry. She’s a tough little one.’

I let my shoulders fall back – they’re a lot heavier than they were this morning.

‘Otherwise, she’s doing fantastic. Not a single thing to note other than needing to catch up on some lung development and weight gain, which is normal for preemies.’

I push the pads of my feet into my shoes and twist them, trying to ground myself back into this room. I’ve never been scared out of my body before.

‘I’ll be outside if you need me.’ Calvin cleans his hands, disposes of his outer gown, and goes to sit at the window desk, out of view from where I stand. I slump into the armchair next to my sister.

‘Quite the day…’ Odette’s voice is soft as she looks lovingly into the incubator.

‘I don’t know where to start.’ I place my forehead into my palms.

‘Well, is there someone you might want to call? This is a lot to take in all at once.’

‘Nope.’ If I needed a reminder of how lonely I have become – this is perfect. My university roommates all left after graduation, leaving me a great big (but thankfully rent-controlled) apartment to myself. My adoptive parents went to live in Barcelona to care for my aging abuela, and the guy I was seeing ghosted me a few weeks back. On top of that, I freelance, so I don’t have co-workers.

The plan was to start a life after graduation. I had a lot of plans, though I had no actual idea how to begin. Regardless, I was going to find my sitcom-style chosen family and welcome in my mid-20s alongside them. I was going to get new roommates. I was going to tell them everything this time, be honest, be genuine. I was going to find love.

‘Well, then allow me to keep you company.’ Odette sits down next to me in the other armchair. The one set up here for the other parent, I suppose. I look over at the cot in the corner of the room – am I expected to sleep here? I look toward my sister. Would she know she’s alone?

‘I think we start with giving this sweet baby a name.’ Odette breaks the silence.

‘Am I – am I supposed to do that?’ I stammer.

‘That’s what Connie wants. She thought it would be better that way.’

I don’t have the energy to try to psychoanalyze why Connie wouldn’t even bother to name her because, truthfully, I’m grateful for the chance.

I stand and slowly approach the incubator. In all the action, her lilac hat was pulled back slightly, and I can make out more of her little face. Her name hits me instantly, as if her soul speaks to my own. ‘Willow.’

‘Mmm. I like that.’ Odette rises and stands beside me.

‘There was this song my abuela used to play for me, “Little Willow.” I think Paul McCartney wrote it.’

‘Willow it is.’ Odette’s smile is so warm. She really found the right career. Smiles like that belong with people in crisis.

‘Will she have Connie’s last name? Or mine?’

‘I would presume Connie’s until custody is final. Then, if possible, it would be your choice.’

‘Right.’ I sniffle into my sleeve.

There is no way they’re going to let me have her. Do I even want her? Her little hand twitches. Yes, yes, I do. I reach out to brush her fingertips. The way her hand curls around my pinkie finger spurs me on. ‘What’s next?’

‘We get you to see Rachel. She’ll be Willow’s caseworker. Then we start your application process. They’ll do a home and finance assessment, psych evaluation, things like that.’

‘You make it sound so easy.’ My chest rises impossibly high with a breath that does nothing to soothe me.

‘Oh, hon, it is not easy. Not in the slightest. But you have me, Rachel, and a whole team of people behind you who want to make it easier for you and Willow.’

I nod repeatedly, trying to convince myself that I agree but fail. All of today’s shock runs up my body and climbs up my throat. A muffled sob comes out, then another and another. ‘I don’t know what to do.’ Odette rubs my back as I lean forward in the chair.

‘Chloe, if this is what you want, you can do it. You will do it. But if it’s too much, if you aren’t ready to be a full-time caregiver…’

‘I can’t leave her. I can’t,’ I interrupt, blubbering still.

‘Okay then, okay. Then we do our best.’

FIVE

‘I have good news and some bad news—’

‘As usual, then,’ I interrupt Rachel, who sits across from me in her cubicle – one of thirty in this large room alone.

The first time I came here, I found out each caseworker has about twenty kids under their supervision. There are three floors with rooms like this one. That is a lot of kids. A lot.

Rachel’s desk is covered in file folders, Post-it notes, and disposable coffee cups. She has a professional exterior, but her personality sneaks out once in a while through small smirks, cleared throats, and muffled laughs.

‘Your apartment was found suitable for care, and you passed both the psych evaluation and the background screening…’ There’s a definite but coming on. ‘However,’ – close enough – ‘we are still concerned about your income and financial security. We do not have a clear indicator that you’ll be able to keep up with your rent and bills if Willow is placed in your care.’

I flatten my dress out with my palms and tug at the fabric on my lap. ‘But since graduation, I’ve picked up enough work to pay all my bills, put money aside, and make loan payments.’ Graphic design work, thankfully, pays well when you can find it.

‘Right, and we appreciate your efforts. But we don’t have enough proof that this will continue, and you do not have enough savings, as of right now, to fall back on. Additionally, if Willow was to be placed with you, you would need to either cut back on work or make childcare arrangements, which can be costly.’

I know Rachel isn’t enjoying having to deliver this news – her face says she’d rather crawl into a hole – either way, I can’t help but feel annoyance settle between us.

I bite the inside of my cheek, my eyes narrowing on the edge of Rachel’s desk where a chewed piece of gum sits. ‘So I’m screwed then? No chance?’ The tip of my nose and my eyes begin to burn, warning of tears. I choose not to stop it. I don’t have the energy.

‘No. I said there was good news too, remember?’ I blink rapidly at Rachel, willing her to continue. ‘We have this new program, a new initiative… TeamUp.’ Her lip twitches with the hint of excitement.

My mind wanders to whomever is making marketing decisions for Child Protective Services. What a shitty gig and what terrible work they do. Every program I attended as a kid had an awful name. Found Children, my least favorite, was a support group for adopted kids.

‘TeamUp?’ I purposely raise a brow to show my distaste.

‘Yes, TeamUp.’ Rachel opens a desk drawer and pulls out a pamphlet with a design somehow worse than the name. I take it anyway.

‘The program was designed to partner up prospective guardians who will mutually benefit from one another. Both members would make fantastic foster or next-of-kin care providers; they would have passed the evaluations with flying colors, except for an element such as housing or income. In your case, you would be a wonderful contributor to housing. Having a three-bedroom apartment in an accessible building is really great. Someone with steady work and consistent income would be a good counterpart in your particular case.’

‘So we’d live together? At my place?’ I ask, my brows pressed together with disdain.

‘Yes.’ Rachel shifts in her seat, her tone sympathetic but strained, her patience thinning.

‘Is that not… a little strange? I mean… I won’t know this person.’

‘It is new, a little unusual – sure. But it could be the difference between Willow being placed with you and needing to go into temporary care until your re-evaluation in January. If you were to agree, it would be a short-term arrangement. Enough time for you to prove consistent income and for your TeamUp partner to find appropriate housing elsewhere. There would be a visit beforehand, and I would be available for support throughout.’

‘It sounds like you have someone in mind,’ I say.

Rachel’s mouth raises at one corner – she needs to work on her poker face.

‘I suppose I do, yes. Another one of my cases. Similar situation to yours – a sibling guardianship.’

I nod, imagining another woman who is also trying to navigate this process and raise her sibling. We could figure it out together. Maybe it could even be fun… ‘Can I meet her?’

‘Well, actually, it’s a him,’ Rachel replies matter-of-factly, but her eyes shift between mine, trying to gauge a reaction.

My jaw drops. ‘A man? You want me to live with a man I don’t know?’

She gives me an exasperated look as she adjusts her glasses.

‘I’m not trying to end up on the news.’ I raise my voice slightly, laughing unconvincingly.

Rachel scoffs, smiling. She is certainly letting her mask slip today.

‘Warren is one year younger than you and trying to get legal custody of his 15-year-old brother. He has also passed all the evaluations other than housing. He has a one-bedroom apartment at the moment, and any child above the age of ten is required to have their own room. However, he’s a mechanic’s apprentice and has more than two years of work at a consistent rate of pay.’

‘I… I don’t think I would feel safe.’

‘Your safety, Willow’s, and all my cases are my top and only priority. The psych evaluations have been extensive. I’d never ask you to consider it if I wasn’t confident everyone would be safe.’

Perhaps Warren is safe, considering he had to undergo the same evaluations I did. But a 15-year-old boy who grew up in the system? I can’t help but wonder if there are similar evaluations in place for the older kids too.

‘And his brother?’ I ask nervously.

‘A great, sweet kid,’ Rachel continues. ‘Warren has been trying to locate housing but has struggled to find a two-bedroom apartment that would be close to his work and his brother’s school – which is a necessity.’

‘He can’t just change schools?’ I ask abruptly.

‘The school is for Deaf children, and it’s the only one in this area.’

I avoid eye contact and nod. I know that school; it isn’t too far from me, actually. I breathe in, preparing to mentally weigh the pros and cons.

‘Willow has about seven weeks left until she will be out of the NICU. You have time to make another arrangement. It would need to be someone willing to commit to the evaluation process and be certified by our office.’ She pauses, studying my reaction. ‘There may be another guardian who decides to try TeamUp, but I would presume most would be looking for income assistance and not housing, as housing tends to be more flexible.’

There’s a plea in Rachel’s tone, whether she intends it or not. Her job is to be an advocate, but it must be a tricky balance when she is representing both Willow and this older boy. They both need a win.

‘Warren is looking for something immediate. The sooner the better. His brother is currently placed in a group home that is’ – Rachel hesitates and shakes her head – ‘unfortunately unable to meet the needs of a Deaf child.’

They don’t know sign language? My heart drops. That must be so lonely. ‘And if I say yes… will I be approved to bring Willow home? As soon as she’s ready?’

‘Yes, if Warren agrees to the arrangement as well.’

‘Okay… I’m in.’ Anything for Willow.

‘Wonderful.’ Rachel’s face remains nearly neutral, but she does tap with the tips of her index fingers as if she is drumming on her desk’s edge.

‘I will let Warren know, and we can arrange a meeting. Would you prefer to meet here?’

‘You can give him my address. He may as well see where he might be living for the next few months.’ I sit straighter in the chair, nodding to provide myself reassurance.

Rachel grins. ‘Okay. I’ll ask if that’s comfortable for him and let you know.’

I stand. ‘Great.’

‘Thank you, Chloe, for being open to this. I think it will be really beneficial for you both.’

‘Let’s hope so.’ It’s only until January. How hard could it be?

SIX

warren is late. i pace back and forth in front of my building’s front entrance and check my phone yet again. It’s 10.52 a.m. Twenty-two minutes late. I have been standing outside for thirty, like a reasonable person would when about to meet a potential roommate. Not simply a roommate, but someone who stands to make or break my sibling’s placement. He better be pulling a car off an old lady or rescuing a cat from a tree.

I checked my appearance three times before leaving the apartment and changed my outfit twice, settling on my favorite yellow jumpsuit. I paired it with my clay cherry earrings and red headband. People like bright colors, right? This outfit says, ‘I’m safe, approachable. We can be a team.’

A black car pulls up into the semicircular driveway of my apartment building, and I adjust my posture to stand straighter as I expect to meet Warren and direct him to the visitors’ parking. The music from the car is far too loud for it to be a ride service, but I look behind me to see if someone is waiting for one. It’s only me outside.

The car turns off and the door opens. I notice a buzz-cut first, and then the sheer height of the stranger as he shuts the car door and surveys the building. He moves toward me, paying me no mind. Not Warren, I suppose. I allow my eyes to follow him as he passes me. He has the face of a handsome movie villain – devastatingly sharp.

‘Hey!’ I yell, but the stranger doesn’t turn. ‘Hello? You can’t park here!’ I project my voice louder.

The guy looks over his shoulder and narrows his eyes ever so slightly before turning back toward the front entrance.

‘Hey!’ I say, exasperated.

‘I’ll be just a minute.’ He lifts a hand to literally wave me off. His voice is deep and smug – a deadly combination.

‘Excuse me? No!’ I look around, no sign of another car approaching. Perhaps it’s because I’m bored waiting around for Warren to show, but I choose this hill to die on. I follow the brooding stranger inside the lobby. He presses the call button on the intercom next to the inner door as I enter.

‘Listen, Prison Break, you can’t park out front. You’re blocking the entrance.’ He turns and looks down at me, more out of necessity than patronization – but the effect is the same. He opens his curled lips to speak as my phone rings.

I reach into my back pocket and lift a hand in front of his broad chest to silence him. He raises his eyebrows at my palm as I pull up my phone.

‘Huh?’ My buzzer is ringing. Oh, shit. Of-freaking-course… I silence my phone and let out a long sigh, lowering my hand to my jumpsuit’s pocket.

‘Warren, I take it?’

A deep, brief laugh escapes him. ‘Chloe?’

I pucker my lips and give him a single nod. ‘Yup.’ We both look out to his car.

‘I guess I should go move that, then.’ He isn’t taking this seriously, and it fuels my annoyance. I open the front door for him and make a show of waving him through.

He ducks out of the lobby, and I push my forehead into the heel of my hand. Almost thirty minutes late, parked in a no-parking zone, villain’s cheekbones… this is a disaster.

He returns, wearing a bashful expression that is entirely put on for my benefit and dripping with arrogance. ‘Can we start over? Nice to meet you, Chloe.’ He extends a hand to me.

‘Why were you late?’ I open the inner door with my key fob and let him step in front. He lowers his unshaken hand.

‘Traffic?’ He doesn’t even attempt to mask the lie. He’s amused for some reason.

I narrow my eyes at him, wearing my best screw you expression that I’ve been perfecting since puberty.

‘Fine… I slept late. It’s my day off.’ He raises both hands.

‘Great…’ We step into the elevator.

‘Why does that make you so mad?’ he asks, eyes narrowed.

‘I think people should be on time? Like the normal societal expectation?’

‘Noted.’ He blows out his mouth as if to say geez, and it only adds to the rage threatening to spill out of my mouth.

I’m not normally an angry person. I avoid conflict. I don’t usually let people get under my skin. Or, more accurately, I don’t usually let them know they have. I take a few deep breaths. Start over.

He follows me off the elevator and toward my apartment door. I fiddle with my keys, trying the first three on my lanyard before I notice him watching.

‘Did you just move in?’ He places his forearm on the wall next to my door to support his leaning frame.

‘No.’ I don’t look up as I insert a fourth key.

‘Wondering, since you seem to have keys to the whole city there – but none of them are marked for this door.’ His voice is heavy with sarcasm, his smirk audible.

The fifth key turns the lock, and I widen my eyes at him as I push the door open. My shoes land on the mat next to the door, but he leaves his on – another strike.

The entry of my apartment has a door on the right, which leads to a bathroom, and another on the left, leading to the first of the unoccupied bedrooms. The hallway ends as it bends into the kitchen on the right before opening up into the living area. The space has brick walls and high ceilings that meet where I sleep in the loft above.

‘I had two roommates for university. They both moved out in the spring, but I kept the lease. What I pay here is what a one-bedroom seems to be going for these days.’ I flick the lights on in the empty bedrooms, and he glances around, nodding but silent.

We enter the main living area, and he looks around at my furniture. Most of it is thrifted or from a big-box store, and it definitely has a feminine vibe. There’s a pink couch, fluffy off-white carpet, and a purple velvet armchair in the living room. He looks toward it as if he’s hearing one long joke.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘Nothing, just… cutesy.’ He shrugs.

My head involuntarily retracts at his use of cutesy when, clearly, he meant girly in a derogatory way. I count another strike against him.

‘My room is up there.’ I point toward the spiral staircase that leads to the loft, open to the downstairs but not in view. ‘You wouldn’t fit – slanted ceilings.’ I blurt out that last part as I look up at him. He tightens his lips and looks away, silently taking in the apartment.