Chapter 22
ANDERSON
It’s been three weeks of living under the same roof as Ava and Georgie.
And I think the only time the three of us have been home at the same time is when we’re all sleeping.
Between Georgie being at school for most of the day—followed by either soccer practice, piano lessons, or hanging out with her friends—and Ava working a good sixty hours a week at Hey Honey’s between barista shifts or her managerial stuff, I’ve barely seen either of them during any of my forty-eight hours off.
There are reminders of them, the only details that have me remembering that they’re here.
And everything has a place—an order Ava keeps. One I’m trying to learn as quickly as I can.
When I’m home, I always see Georgie’s lunch packed in a brown paper bag on a shelf in the refrigerator when I check for a midnight snack.
Every morning, I find Ava’s toothbrush sitting in the glass next to the sink in the bathroom we share—right next to mine.
Their shoes by the front door, their coats hanging over the chairs in my kitchen.
A note from the two of them on the counter when I wake up, telling me what time they’ll be home.
Traces of them are everywhere.
And when I find these traces, I get this weird sense of conflict—I find myself almost giddy at the thought of the two of them under my roof, but somehow I miss them at the same time.
There’s also been a handful of home visits and court hearings for the adoption, but I haven’t been able to attend any of them due to work. We were worried it would hurt our case, but all the updates Ava has given me have been good.
It sounds like things are moving the way they’re supposed to.
We just need that marriage certificate.
“And don’t forget,” Jack’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
Our shift is finishing up, and he’s filling in for our crew’s captain for the next few weeks since he’s out on leave.
The incoming crew is about to start their shift this morning at eight o’clock.
“The construction and road closures getting on to I-94 eastbound are starting today. Exits from 35th Street to 25th Street are closed most likely until this fall.”
Members of the incoming crew nod their heads, listening to the Lead Firefighter as he continues with today’s briefing report, discussing how our crew’s last twenty-four hours went. He hands things off to the captain, Raven Summers, who’s leading the crew for the next shift.
As she replaces Jack at the front, the rest of the crew and I, finishing up for the day, make our exits.
I’m walking out with Jack, physically taxed, mentally exhausted, and still feeling the adrenaline from one of our early morning calls coming down, when I hear my name from the chief’s office.
“Sonny!” His arms crossed as he leans against the door frame of his office. Damn, I hate that the nickname has stuck—and made its way to the chief. “Got a second?”
Jack gives me a curt nod in goodbye, and I give him one in return before heading toward Chief Sanders. While I’ve known my Uncle Artie—his solid, square jaw, his deep-set eyes, his neatly combed salt-and-pepper hair—since I was a kid, when we’re at the station, he’s my boss.
That’s it.
“So,” the chief starts, closing the door to his office behind him. “How are you?”
“Good,” I answer, but it sounds more like a question. I sit down in the chair across from his desk, stifling a yawn. “How are you?”
He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he jumps right into what he wants to talk about, and I appreciate the way he doesn’t beat around the bush. “How’s that girlfriend of yours?”
I lift a brow, confused by his question as he rounds his desk and takes a seat.
Does he know? That my relationship with Ava is fake?
Uncle Artie has been the only father figure I’ve had since my dad passed.
He lived two hours away, so he couldn’t always be there, but he visited whenever he could to check on me, my brothers, and his sister.
He was always busy, working his way up through the ranks at the station, until he became the chief he is today.
He has always put his crew first—they’re his family. He never married or had children of his own because the station became his life. Even though we’re related by blood and don’t let that interfere with work, it’s still nice having him so close now.
Except maybe it’ll make keeping this secret even harder.
When I don’t say anything to answer him right away, he clarifies, “You haven’t said much since that day you left to pick her sister up from school, and your mom didn’t say anything about you two when she called me yesterday, so I just wanted to make sure everything is okay.”
“Shocking,” I deadpan, but I’m instantly relieved. He’s not asking because he’s suspicious. He’s just asking. “But I’m sure my mom told you all about what the twins and Auggie are up to.”
Uncle Artie huffs out a laugh. “As a matter of fact, I did hear all about Alex’s new cat and Archie’s plan to propose to his boyfriend. And it sounds like Auggie’s got some sort of job.”
I raise a brow. “Really?”
I haven’t talked to the twins since I called them about my engagement—fake engagement—and my last conversation with my youngest brother was a few days ago, when he was asking me how many refills are included with my mom’s new pain medication prescription.
He didn’t tell me anything about a new job.
Chief Sanders nods. “Your mom said he’s been helping out with groceries and filling up her gas tank after he borrows her car.” He shrugs. “She seems pretty happy about it, enough to call me and tell me all about it yesterday.”
I sigh, crossing my arms over my chest, a familiar feeling, too akin to jealousy for my liking, makes my vision blur along the edges—or maybe it’s the exhaustion, both from this shit with my brothers or just because it’s been a long twenty-four hours.
“She does have a habit of applauding mediocrity.”
Chief’s lips quirk, but he rubs a hand over his mouth. “My sister and my other nephews are not what I called you in here to talk about. I wanted to talk about you.”
“There’s not much to talk about.” I lean back, crossing my arms.
“Seems like there is,” Uncle Artie says, a furrow in his brow. “Jack said you and your girlfriend are getting married and adopting her little sister? That sounds pretty serious to me.”
I feel my cheeks heat, like I was caught with my pants down. I rub the back of my neck with my palm. “I was going to tell you.”
Jack says ten words a day maximum, and he uses them to tell my uncle this. Thank fuck he didn’t tell him about Ava wanting to get married when we’re in Vegas, something she mentioned the day she and Georgie moved in.
I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Ava and I will be fucking married by this time next week.
“I will say, it was a little awkward when he talked about it a few days ago as if I already knew,” he says, but he doesn’t sound annoyed or upset. Instead, his face softens. “I’m assuming your mom knows?”
His gray eyes stare into mine, and I find myself looking away when I answer. “I told her a few days after Ava and I got engaged.”
“I figured,” my uncle says on a sigh, but I still don’t look up.
“Maybe she just forgot.” My voice comes out hard, but there’s a prickle in my nose.
I’m struggling with who exactly I want to defend right now, myself or my mom.
When I called and told her about Ava, the call went similarly to the one with my brothers.
She was surprised and a little upset at first since she didn’t even know I was in a relationship, but that was short-lived.
The conversation turned into her asking if I could talk to Auggie about maybe going to the fire academy since he couldn’t find a job—I remember wanting to tell her that you can’t find a job if you don’t look for one, but I kept it to myself.
By the time we hung up the phone, my news was nowhere near the front of her mind.
“Anderson,” my uncle starts. “I know it’s not really any of my business, but you gotta stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” I ask, even though I know he’s about to tell me the same thing my therapist does.
“Defending her.” His jaw tightens. “Your mom didn’t just forget. She didn’t care to really listen in the first place.”
The words feel like a betrayal on the first impact, but then it’s like it’s breaking down walls I’ve built up around these feelings about my family. Like it’s finally okay to actually feel them.
“She’s working full-time, and her arthritis pain is getting harder and harder to manage every year. And, it’s not like Alex, Archie, or Auggie make it any easier for her. She’s got a lot on her plate.”
“And so do you.”
I look up, and my uncle holds my stare. “You got engaged. That’s a big damn deal. And somehow you are the one explaining why she didn’t remember it when I asked what was new with all four of you.”
My throat tightens.
“It’s always the twins or Auggie, always something to celebrate or something to fix when it comes to them.
” He puts his elbows on his desk, leaning forward.
“But when it comes to you?” He points to me, and I feel my lips purse.
“You’re the one planning the birthday party or celebratory dinner or swooping in to clean up whatever mess one of them made.
” His voice is rough, but it’s not unkind.
“And you let her be. You’ve been letting her be since you were what—eight? ”
Guilt punches straight through my chest at the words.
“I just didn’t want to make things harder,” I say, but it sounds thinner now.
“You don’t get extra credit for being the easy kid.” My uncle throws back, not taking any of my excuses. “You don’t get a medal for not asking for anything.”
I swallow, blinking fast. The words land hard.
He’s right. Every single thing he’s saying, I’ve heard before—in therapy, in the quiet moments when I’m honest with myself. And that’s exactly why the guilt burns so bad.
I don’t want to feel this way about my family. I don’t want to resent them. Especially not for choices that I made.
“They’re just acting how they always have,” I say, my voice low. “I can’t fault them for that.”
Uncle Artie shakes his head once. “That’s not the same thing.”
“It is,” I insist with a dry chuckle. “I chose to be the easy one. It’s not like my mom made me do anything I didn’t want to do.”
“You were a kid, Anderson. You didn’t choose anything.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“You figured out real quick that if you didn’t need anything, things stayed calmer.
You figured out that helping her with your brothers made her happy, so you kept doing more and more, until it became an expectation of you.
” His voice softens, just barely. “That wasn’t you making some grand decision to be the new head of the household after your dad died. ”
My chest tightens in a way that feels different now. Not sharp. Not defensive.
Just exposed.
“I don’t want to blame her,” I admit.
“Then don’t,” he says simply. “This isn’t about blame.”
He leans back again, studying me.
“You can love your mom and still admit she didn’t show up the way you needed. Both things can be true.”
That makes something crack.
Because in my head, it’s always been one or the other.
If she did her best, I don’t get to feel hurt.
If I feel hurt, I’m ungrateful.
“And here’s the part you don’t want to hear,” he adds, voice steady. “If you keep pretending it doesn’t matter, you’re going to start resenting her anyway.”
I know he’s right.
Because I already feel it. The edge. The bitterness I don’t want. The dread that comes with anything that has to do with my family.
“You’re not wrong for wanting your life to matter,” he says. “It’s not selfish.”
My throat burns as his expression shifts—just slightly. Less chief and more uncle.
“And you’re not responsible for managing everyone else’s reactions to your happiness.”
The air feels different. Lighter. Not fixed—but clearer.
For the first time, the guilt isn’t screaming.
It’s just… Sadness.
And somehow, even with how heavy I feel it in my bones, I prefer it.