Chapter 21
AVA
Once the words leave my lips, the weight of what I’m doing really begins to settle.
I’m used to the weight of people depending on me. Sometimes it feels like I was born with it already pressing against my ribs, like there’s never been a version of me that didn’t exist to hold something—or someone—together.
Even at the expense of holding on to myself.
As far back as I can remember, I was responsible for someone. If my mom was unraveling, I steadied her. If Phoebe or Jasmine needed something, I found a way to give it to them.
I learned how to read a room before I learned how to relax in one. I learned it was my job to stay, fix, and smooth things over. That I was meant to go without.
My needs were always negotiable.
Theirs never were.
“That’s huge,” Rumi says, a hand coming to her mouth. “I didn’t realize—” she pauses, looking at Georgie and then back at me. “I’m so happy for you. For both of you. Oh my god!” My best friend throws her arms around me, pulling me against her, and it feels good to be held.
“Me too!” my other best friend shrieks. Emerson stands up on the couch, jumping over her brother as she hands him her beer and throws her arms around Rumi and me. Anderson and Jack are on either side of our group hug, probably looking at us like we’re crazy.
My entire body relaxing into my two best friends, and it means everything to have their support with this.
It’s something I didn’t realize I needed.
“You guys are so weird,” Georgie laughs from the other end of the couch.
“Kid, you better zip it and get your ass over here,” Emerson says, pointing in Georgie’s direction without looking at her.
She opens her arm, and I lift my head from Rumi’s shoulder to see Georgie roll her eyes.
She stands up with a scoff, but her smile is bright as she walks over to us, letting Emerson wrap her arm around her slender shoulders and pull her in.
I wrap my open arm around my little sister, pulling her into my lap, my heart doubling in size.
“Wait, so you’re getting married for the adoption?
” Rumi says as our hold loosens and the four of us lean back to see each other.
Georgie and Emerson end up cross-legged on the ground, and Rumi and I join them, the four of us ending up in a circle on the carpet, like friends at a sleepover, sharing secrets. “Is that what Anderson meant?”
This is what I’ve been preparing for and dreading at the same time—lying, convincing the people who mean the most to me that my fake marriage is real.
Taking a breath, the urge to start counting my inhales is strong, but I try to resist, telling myself that I have the power to prevent my response—to make the choice to not count.
That nothing bad will happen if I don’t.
My fingers begin tapping against the pad of my thumb, going from my pointer finger to my pinky before going back in the same order.
A palm rests on my shoulder, and it gets me out of my head.
Turning around, I look at Anderson, a habit I’ve developed tonight—one I don’t want to think too much about right now.
The relief is instant—and surprising. I expect it to be short-lived, taken aback by how, just like earlier, his lazy smile, his kind eyes, and his gentle touch instantly reassure me.
With a slight inclination of his head in my direction, as if saying I’m here if you need me, my mind quiets.
It doesn’t go silent—I don’t think it ever will.
But the thoughts that were clawing at the inside of my skull, loud and relentless, soften into something distant, like music playing in another room—still there, but quiet enough that I don’t have to listen if I don’t want to.
I take another breath, and this time, I can ignore the compulsion to count.
I go on to explain to Rumi, Emerson, and Jack—who still has yet to say a word, not at all shocking—the version of events that Anderson and I agreed on for our story.
Leaving out most of the details about my mom for Georgie’s sake, I explain how things got bad enough that Georgie had to call me, and that even her teachers had some concerns.
Because of that, she was assigned a social worker.
I relayed to them what Patricia told me about my situation and how it might not look good to CPS, and that Anderson and I agreed to get married earlier than we thought we would, because it strengthens my case.
“So, when are you tying the knot?” Emerson asks after I’ve filled them all in.
“Soon. We still have to figure out the date,” I answer, since I still haven’t had a chance to tell Anderson that I want to make a quick pit stop at the Little White Chapel when we get to Vegas next month.
“But we have a few home studies we need to prepare for, so we decided that we will be moving in together,” I add, suddenly nervous and feeling like an asshole for dumping this on Emerson. “Tomorrow.”
Emerson’s eyes slightly widen, but she doesn’t look upset. “You’re moving out?”
“I’m so sorry, Em.” I apologize. “I promise to still pay my half of rent until the lease is up, and—” Emerson holds up her hand, stopping me.
“Stop,” Emerson says. “We got the apartment for a steal since we’re subletting from some guy who’s traveling or something for another year. I’ve been taking on some more freelance work and could use the extra space for an office and all my art supplies.”
“Still,” I say. “I feel so bad leaving you high and dry.”
“You’re not.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Like I said, I could really use the space. And while I’ve loved living with you, and you,” she turns to point to Georgie, giving her a wink, “I wouldn’t mind going back to living alone.”
I sigh in relief, my eyes prickling.
“This is all so crazy.” Rumi turns to look at Anderson, her own eyes glistening. “And Anderson, wow. That is so amazing of you.”
“I’m happy to do it,” he answers, and it sounds so sincere.
“As if he wouldn’t do anything for Ava,” Emerson says with a scoff, taking her beer back from Jack and taking a swig. “We can all finally stop pretending that we don’t see that you’ve been in love with her since day one.”
My breath hitches, and it’s like everything around me slows. Conversation continues around me, Rumi asking Jack if he knew any of this, Emerson asking Georgie how she feels about it all, but I turn around, finding Anderson looking at me—just like he always is.
Only now, it’s not like he’s trying to find the words to ask me something.
It’s like he’s waiting for my answer.
He’s just playing the part, I tell myself, like I always do.
He hasn’t actually been in love with me…
Has he?
No.
The thought itself is absolutely ridiculous.
There’s nothing real about Anderson and me.
There never has been.
There never will be.
It was always just sex.
And now, it’s a fake relationship, a fake engagement, a fake marriage, all to be followed by a very real divorce.
I’m not cut out for relationships, not after what happened with my last one.
Not when my life is so much of a mess. It wouldn’t be fair to bring someone in just for them to have to help me clean it up.
“Any other big news to share?” Rumi says, pulling me from my thoughts, looking between Anderson and me. She’s half-laughing, but she also looks a little scared, like she’s preparing for me to drop another bomb.
“That’s all for tonight,” I answer.
“Dating, moving in together, marriage, adoption? You guys really are checking all the boxes in one go, huh?” Emerson jokes, and both Anderson and I push out a dry chuckle.
It sounds like we’re in the clear.
For how crazy the story is, just like we planned, there’s enough truth in it for it to be believable.
“When you know, you know.” I hope the lightness of my voice comes across less forced than it feels.
“So, what’s the process with the adoption?” Rumi asks me.
“Oh,” I say, looking over at Georgie. Guilt digs a hole deep in my stomach since I haven’t had the heart to tell her about what happened with Mom.
She took the news about me going to grab her stuff pretty well, better than I expected, and she’s been really open about not feeling comfortable going back to our mom’s.
“G, you want to help me grab dessert?” Anderson interjects, and Georgie eagerly nods, standing up from where she’s sitting. Anderson’s hand lightly wraps around the back of my neck, giving it a squeeze as he stands.
When the two of them head into the kitchen, grabbing bowls and spoons from the cabinets and drawers and all the ingredients for ice cream sundaes that Emerson brought over—she’s the queen of “there’s always room for dessert”—I bring my voice down, Rumi and Emerson leaning in closer, and I swear I see Jack bend down from where he sits behind Rumi on the couch.
“My mom wants to sign away her parental rights.”
Rumi covers her gasp with her hand, and Emerson just stares, keeping her emotions locked tight like she has the tendency to do.
“I haven’t told Georgie yet, and I honestly don’t think I ever will,” I add, keeping my voice just above a whisper.
“What made her want to do that?” Rumi asks, keeping her voice low.
“She’s sick.” As if that’s the answer enough.
“When the social worker told her she’d be subject to a substance use assessment and random alcohol testing, she refused, and she said no to all of the counseling and rehabilitation that CPS offers.
I think that was the start of it. She knew she was going to have to give up her drinking if she was going to get Georgie back. ”
“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but when did her drinking start?” Emerson asks.
I snort. “Way before Georgie. She’s been drinking for as long as I can remember.
She had bouts of sobriety and actually was able to stay sober for all of Georgie’s life, but after my stepfather died last year, it started up again.
” The answer comes rushing out, my voice hushed, and I’m surprised at how easy it is to share these parts of my life I’ve kept for myself.
Maybe that’s what has kept me continuing. “She called me yesterday, drunk, blaming me for CPS showing up at her door and for taking Georgie away from her. I told her she could only talk to Georgie and me through the social worker from now on, and it set her off.”
Rumi shakes her head, taking everything in. Her crystal blue eyes are squinted under her thick dark brows, as if trying to make sense of it all. “Set her off?”
“Is that why you left Hey Honey’s in such a rush yesterday?” Emerson asks.
I nod, tucking some loose curls behind my ears. “One of her neighbors called me, saying she was throwing Georgie’s stuff into garbage bags and onto the front lawn.”
“That’s fucking ridiculous,” Emerson says, and both Rumi and Jack nod in agreement. “I know addiction is no joke, but it’s so hard to be forgiving when you know it’s that little girl she’s hurting,” Emerson grits through her teeth, pointing her finger toward the kitchen.
“Trust me, not enough therapy in the world will help me forgive my mother,” I say dryly. “Dr. Abbie has her work cut out for her when it comes to the mommy issues, I’ll tell you that.”
We all laugh. It’s one of those things that isn’t really funny, but it’s the only thing that feels right to do at the moment—I don’t want to be angry right now.
“Listen, Av,” Rumi starts, once all our laughter has died down.
“About what you said about the social worker saying you have no support system.” She reaches for my hand, holding it tightly in both of hers.
“I’m glad you have Anderson and the marriage to help with your case, but I want you to know that no matter what CPS thinks, you have support. You have me, and Jack, and Em.”
My eyes prickle, and I don’t fight it. I let the first tear fall, like a crack in a dam, and then they’re falling one after another.
It feels good to let them.
“She’s right, babe,” Emerson adds, grabbing my other hand and pulling it into her lap. “We are your support system. We’re your family.”
I feel Jack nudge me with his knee, and I turn to him, seeing a soft curve on his lips. He nods in my direction, and I know he’s echoing the sentiment in his own way.
“And you are so lucky to have someone like Anderson, Ava. I am so proud of you for letting yourself be loved the way you deserve.”
Guilt begins to cloud the moment, and it brings me back to reality—that I’m lying to the people who mean the most to me, that Anderson and I are all for show, that this is all fake.
Rumi continues, “I know it can’t be easy after everything that happened with Jett, but you, Anderson, and Georgie are going to be so happy together.”
At the thought of the three of us, the picture Rumi paints, I feel the familiar tingle in my fingers, but it’s stronger than it’s felt all day.
It’s almost painful, like my skin is burning off, exposing the bone underneath.
It’s like any control I thought I had over this situation, everything I’ve prepared for, all the outcomes I’ve thought through, slip right out of my hands.
All I’m left with is the air to grasp at.
In. Out.
One.
In. Out.
Two.
In. Out.
Three.
“Sundaes are ready!” Georgie calls out from the kitchen.
Emerson and Rumi both squeeze my hands before letting go and standing up and heading into the kitchen, Jack right behind.
I keep counting, needing to get to seventeen.
Because seventeen is how many breaths I counted over the phone with the 911 operator when I was six years old. She counted with me, telling me that the paramedics were on the way, and that they would be there to help my mom wake up.
In. Out.
Fifteen.
In. Out.
Sixteen.
In. Out.
Seventeen.
It’s like my lungs can finally completely expand the moment I get to seventeen, like everything will be okay because I got there.
I slowly stand, feeling a little shaky on my feet.
I can’t keep doing this, letting this number completely control my entire life.
And as I turn around, I see Georgie handing out bowls to Rumi, Emerson, and Jack with a huge grin on her face. I see Anderson scooping ice cream for everyone, bumping his hip into Georgie’s and making her giggle.
I see my family.
And something worse than guilt settles deep in my bones.
Something much more dangerous and so much more terrifying.
Hope.
Because if this is fake—why does it feel so real?