Chapter 17
AVA
Patricia walks out the front door of my mom’s house just as I load the last of the six garbage bags into my car, the backseat and trunk filled to the absolute brim with everything that belongs to my little sister.
All her stuff—reduced to garbage by her own mother.
Slamming the doors closed, I lean back against the back bumper, running my hands through my curls as I blow out a breath, the air is cold enough that I can see it cloud before it disappears.
Pulling my phone out from my jacket pocket, I check the time and see a text from Georgie saying Anderson is dropping her off now.
I breathe a sigh of relief knowing she got home safe, that she wasn’t waiting outside at school for hours, wondering where I was.
I send her a quick reply before sliding my phone back into my pocket.
“Your mom is still insisting on talking to you before you leave,” Patricia says, leaning back against the car with me.
I tap my foot against the ground under my sneakers, counting each time I feel the bottom of my shoe meet the concrete.
One.
Two.
Three.
“But I don’t see a reason for you to,” she adds.
Nine.
Ten.
Eleven.
“I’m happy to pass on what she discussed with me, Ava.”
Fifteen.
Sixteen.
Seventeen.
“Sure,” I say on an exhale, distracted, even though Patricia’s words start to sound less jumbled and contorted, like she was talking to me while I was underwater, and I’ve finally come up for air.
She must sense it because she puts a hand on my shoulder, and it steadies me a little more. “I’m glad you called me, and that you’ve set this boundary with your mother. I’m more than happy to be the one who communicates with her for both you and Georgina.”
Patricia’s presence was intimidating the first time I met her, but right now, it’s comforting—having someone here to stand between my mom and me.
It’s something I’ve never had before.
“I can’t believe she’d do this to Georgie,” I say, shaking my head. I feel my throat constrict, and the back of my eyes prickle in frustration. “I should’ve known this would happen.” I feel tears well in my eyes, but I quickly blink them away. “She was supposed to be better for her.”
“Ava, sweetheart. Your mom is sick, and from what you’ve shared with me this last week, she’s been sick for a long time.” Patricia’s warm voice soothes some of my anxiety. She’s been so kind throughout this entire process.
I’ve heard from her at least once a day, if not more, since her initial visit to my apartment on Sunday.
Since then, she’s been assessing how my mother’s drinking impacted her ability to parent Georgie.
Her initial visit to my mom’s earlier this week ended with her deeming her unfit and her home unsafe.
The level of alcohol use, the lack of food in the home, and Georgie’s teacher’s report all indicated ongoing neglect.
My mom was wasted during the visit, for fuck’s sake.
Patricia has also been in communication with Callie since she made the initial report, and she's also spoken with Georgie’s other teachers—turns out, they all noticed a difference in Georgie’s behavior and weren’t surprised to hear about the current investigation into my mom.
“As you know, when I first came here to discuss next steps, your mom was very unreceptive,” Patricia explains.
“She was asked to complete a substance use assessment and told that she would be subject to random alcohol testing, and she refused. I mentioned it to her again today, and I was met with the same response from her.”
My mom woke up in the midst of me dragging the trash bags she had sitting in the living room, but luckily, Patricia got here before my mom could register what was happening. She was able to keep her settled.
I was worried she’d be belligerent or completely inconsolable—but she didn’t even remember what she was doing before she passed out. She just thought Patricia was there for another one of her surprise visits. She didn’t even register that I had been there—that’s how drunk she is.
“Yeah, I can imagine she wouldn’t take that news all that well.”
Patricia lets out a dry chuckle, one that sounds more exasperated than humored, as she drops her hand from my shoulder. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Did she even remember our conversation from this morning?” I ask Patricia.
Patricia shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
We’re both silent, our gazes on the ground in front of us.
“So, what happens now?” I ask after a minute or two.
Patricia sighs. “Today, I offered her some information about treatment referrals, counseling, and parenting services, assuming that she would want Georgina back. But, it sounds like evaluating your sister’s placement with you and having it become more long-term will be where we move next.”
“Wait, why? Not that I’m not happy to hear that Georgie staying with me doesn’t have to be temporary, but what changed?” I ask.
“While our investigation has shown us that your mom isn’t capable of being your sister’s primary guardian, her unwillingness to seek any help or treatment is concerning. And today, she voiced that she isn’t interested in ‘pleading her case’, to use her words.”
“She doesn’t want to plead her case?” Anger clouds my vision.
My fingers, numb from the cold, cramp with how clenched my fists are.
With everything that’s happened, I shouldn’t be surprised, but hearing it is more jarring than I anticipated.
“You’re saying she didn’t even try to convince you to give her back Georgie? ”
“I’m afraid not,” Patricia answers. “She actually asked to give up her parental rights.”
My mind begins to spin.
I never wanted this to turn into a nasty custody battle—I didn’t want to put Georgie through more than she’s already had to deal with. But I didn’t think it was all going to be so… Easy.
I tap each of my fingers to my thumb, the repetition of the movement helping me keep my mind focused on the conversation at hand.
I should’ve known better.
I’m pissed and frustrated, but I’m also just so sad.
My mom didn’t even fight for Georgie.
I clear my throat, trying to keep a handle on my emotions, on my compulsions, on anything that isn’t Georgie. “So how do we move forward? With the adoption? I want to get the process going as soon as possible.”
“Well, when a parent voluntarily terminates their parental rights while a child is in temporary, court-ordered custody with an older sibling, the legal relationship is permanently severed, opening the door for legal adoption.”
“So, she just signs a paper, and then all her ties to Georgie are cut?”
“In theory, yes. If and when your mother signs the voluntary relinquishment, she waives her rights as Georgie’s mother.”
“And you think she’s really going to do it?”
“Do you?” Patricia prompts.
The words sit between us as I think about her question for a moment—I was always so thankful to whatever higher power is out there that Georgie grew up with the mother I wish my other sisters and I had.
She had the mother I always wanted and the father I never knew could exist for the first twelve years of her life.
That mother would never give up Georgie, would never do anything to hurt her.
But she’s not that mother anymore.
She’s the one I grew up with.
“Yes,” I answer.
Patricia doesn’t skip a beat, keeping her voice calm and neutral. “Then once the paperwork is processed through the court, your sister will be cleared for adoption, and we can move forward.”
A breath I didn’t realize I was holding finally releases.
“I’ll be honest,” she starts softly, putting her gloved hands into the pocket of her jacket. “When we first opened this case, I had some concerns. A two-bedroom apartment with a roommate, variable income, no secondary caregiver—”
“But it’s not just me,” I quickly remind her.
“That’s right. Your fiancé’s house and his stable hours and income really help, along with his insurance and the overall support he seems willing to give you and your sister.
I know I only spent a short time with him, but I could tell in that time that he is all in when it comes to taking care of you and Georgina. ”
My heart skips a beat before I remember how carefully Anderson was playing his part on Sunday, giving Patricia the show of a lifetime.
I’m glad it paid off—despite the pit in my stomach at how easy it was for him to pretend we meant something to him.
“Have you two decided on a wedding date yet?”
I’ve been preparing for this question ever since our initial meeting, when this whole fake marriage mess came about, but I haven’t had time to talk to Anderson about my answer.
I’ve been losing sleep over making sure this plan of ours is foolproof, especially with seeing Rumi, Jack, and Emerson tomorrow.
It was on my to-do list for today, to run the plan I came up with by Anderson, but my list of tasks is forgotten on my desk back at Hey Honey’s.
And as Patricia waits for my answer, I decide I don’t have a choice but to answer, “Next month.” I don’t tell her that my internet browsing history from today is filled with research on Las Vegas marriage licenses and the address of the Little White Chapel nearest to the hotel I booked for all five of us today.
Patricia’s eyes grow wide, her cheeks rosy from the wind as a smile spreads across her lips. “That is so great to hear!”
I nod, forcing a smile. “We’re keeping things small and a little more casual.
Once the adoption is finalized, we’ll do something much bigger with all our friends and family since we’ll have more time to plan.
” The lie rolls right off my tongue, since I know Anderson and I have already agreed to divorce once the adoption is all said and done.
“That sounds like a wonderful plan,” Patricia beams. “Georgina is so lucky to have you and your fiancé. She deserves to be in a happy home built on commitment and love.”
I hum in agreement, opting for the “less is more” approach for this cover story, ignoring the guilt eroding a hole into my stomach at her words.
Patricia straightens, walking the few steps to stand on the sidewalk next to my parked car.
“So, once we have the documentation, the home study will reflect the new residence and combined income. With the relinquishment signed and your updated circumstances, I’ll be recommending approval for kinship adoption. ”