32. Georgie
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
GEORGIE
Here is what I know about love.
Sienna was in pre-term labour from something called placenta previa, her placenta covered the opening of her uterus and caused the bleeding.
Luckily, they were able to get her comfortable and control the bleeding, and managed to stop pre-term delivery with medications to stop contractions.
That little bean has a little longer to cook in that belly before we're ready to see them.
Sienna is home and resting and is absolutely miserable, which takes up most of Noah's time when he's not working at the craft store with me or spending the night at my place. We’ve fallen back into a rhythm, but it feels like we’re toeing a tightrope that could break at any moment.
I've always worn my heart on my sleeve, but that often got me in trouble.
In eighth grade, I was absolutely smitten with Billy Tomas, and he absolutely despised me.
This meant that any time I tried to interact with him, it was with much disdain that he put up with my existence and fondness.
I was so blinded by the crush, I didn't notice the crush he himself had on Kendra, the popular girl in school that year.
Eventually, I grew out of unrequited love with Billy, mostly because I was 11 and realized our names would likely be shortened to Bill and George in our later life, and that sounded awful to me.
But what I also realized was how much I could hold onto someone or something without even trying to, and how my heart felt broken after I lost that.
Loving Noah is kind of like that too. I love him, I am in love with him, I want everything with him, and yet I know I can't have all these things without some sort of repercussion.
The universe never fails to give something in return when something is taken.
If I take the relationship with Noah, what does the universe throw at me?
The thing is, we're pretending everything is fine, but it's far from fine.
He doesn't ask about the picc line in my arm and antibiotics that come home on a pump I have to change daily.
He doesn't ask why I wouldn't let him come to see me in the hospital.
He doesn't really say much of anything, and neither do I.
We're comfortably content saying nothing at all, which is almost worse.
We know what needs to be said, we know what we should be doing, but we just...
can't. The true question is how do you intentionally interrupt a delicate balance of things and say how you're feeling, knowing it may ruin everything or make it that much more tense?
We're borderline territory where we know things will be said we don't want to hear, so we just pretend that everything, all the feelings, the emotions, the hurt and the anger and the talk that we really need to have but refuse to, don't exist. And it works for a while, until it doesn't.
The day it starts that inevitable fall we've been teetering on the top of, is also the day that Birdie's adoption goes through.
"What do you mean she's been adopted by another family?
I put in my application for her adoption weeks ago.
I've fostered her for three months, and you're just telling me now that I have to break a bond with her because another family was approved?
" I say this into the phone with a lump in my throat, a pounding in my head and the sound of my heart pulsing in my ears.
A worker I've never met at PPP clears her throat, "I am sorry, Georgia. I know how much you care for Birdie, but we had a few adoption applications to choose from, and the family was chosen."
"So what, you threw our names into a hat and went, 'hm yeah, that one will do'?" She says nothing to this. I pinch the bridge of my nose to ward away the burning tears threatening to fall. "What if I refuse to bring her back? Couldn't you just tell the family she's unavailable?"
"We would send a worker with a police officer to pick her up, if that were the case. Honestly, Georgia, I wish there was something more I could do. Please don't make this difficult."
"You realize what you're doing, right? Noah trained her specifically for me, my needs.
She's bonded. She's settled. She hasn't been brought back once, has she? I want her. She’s happy with me, and now you want me to give her away?
" Silence. I let out a choked off sob, "When do I have to bring her in? "
"End of day. The family will be here after the father is done with work."
"Fine. You know, if she were staying with me, she'd never be alone. She comes to work with me. Everyone loves her. I love her. But I guess that doesn't matter, does it?"
"We'll see you soon, Georgia." The line goes dead on the other end.
I scream, hurling my phone across the room and hiding my face in my hands to muffle the sobs.
I don't even care that I hear the shattering smash, the tell-tale sign I have officially fucked my phone over for the last time.
Birdie comes over to distract me from the panic rising in my chest like a weight I can't lift.
She rests her head on my knees, and I pull her in, hold her close and sob into her soft fur.
She rests her chin on my shoulder in this new position, and I scream cry until my voice is lost, and all that remains are tears that she kisses away from my face.
"You're going to be a good girl, okay? This new family, you have to be good.
They'll... never love you as much as I do, but they're good people.
Okay? You have to be a good girl, make them love you, show them why you're the goodest girl.
" I smooth her fur and straighten her headband once again as I kneel in front of her in the front of PPP, waiting with a volunteer to hand over the leash to my dog that is no longer mine.
"You're sure they'll know how to do her skin treatments?"
The worker sighs, "Yes, we gave them a workshop. Honestly, if this is going to be too hard, you can just hand over the leash and I can—"
"No. No." I snatch the leash back, holding onto it like a lifeline for as long as I have it left.
"There they are." She points to a family of four walking their way over to us.
The father is tall, broad, with a receding hairline.
He looks absolutely exhausted. The mother wears a stained top with frumpy leggings, her hair framing her face from where it falls out of her bun.
The kids, a little girl and a younger boy, look like rough-and-tumble kids.
They look like they’d use a dog as a ride-and-go pony, like they're going to struggle to get on a proper schedule with her, like they're going to forget everything Birdie needs.
I say none of this, because the worker is watching me cautiously and I don't want to be told to go away until the last possible minute.
"Angela, Joseph, Holly and Joe, welcome!"
Birdie glances up to me and I give her a head pat to wash away the fear she senses. The family stops in front of us, the kids end up on their knees surrounding Birdie. She doesn't seem fazed by it, but I want to tell them to get away from her.
"This is Georgia, Birdie's foster home. Oh, sorry. Brandie."
Brandie? I look at the worker with a look of confusion, and they flash me a look that says to me, this isn’t your dog anymore.
"She's beautiful. You've done a great job." The mother, Angela, tells me. I tighten on the leash for a moment and swallow hard.
"Thank you," I say through gritted teeth.
"Well, we better get going." The father, Joseph, clears his throat and does that stereotypical dad motion of clapping his hands and rubbing them together to signal his being ready to leave.
But I am far from being ready for them to leave. If they leave, they take my Birdie with them. The kids pull at the leash until it drops from my fingers.
"Wait!" I say to the family, who is fully expecting Birdie to go willingly with them.
She stays where she is, and I kneel to hug her, kiss her, and I try to not cry as I tell her I love her, over and over.
The kids pull on the leash, I want to pull back.
"You'll come back to me, baby girl. I know it.
We'll be together again someday. Be good, okay? "
As if in response, Birdie gives me a kiss, and I watch her walk away hesitantly behind the two rambunctious kids. I don't start fully crying until she's hopped into the car with her new family, her new life as Brandie.
"So!" The rescue worker claps her hands, "Were you looking to foster again? We have plenty of new rescues who need homes—"
"Are you fucking kidding me?" I turn to her, not caring how gross my face must look from crying.
I can imagine the blotches of pink coming down my neck and heating my chest. "Did you seriously just ask me that while I am losing the dog that I chose—that chose me—that you gave away to...
that?" I wave angrily at the place where the family once was.
"I don't mean to offend. Usually foster homes try to fill that empty space with a new foster to love-"
"I loved her!" I shout, watching the woman jump back.
I don't care that I look disgusting, sound awful, that I've made her feel some type of way.
"I wanted her. I wanted to foster fail with her.
I begged for you to pick me, and you still chose wrong.
If that dog comes back differently and fails adoption again, that's not because of me.
That's all because of you. You can consider my foster account closed.
If Birdie comes back, I want to know. That's all I ask. "
"Okay." The girl nods, shell shocked.
"Look, I know you're not the one who decided where Birdie was adopted to—"
"Actually, I am. Partly. There's a board, we all decide on the applications... But I voted for you, if that makes you feel better."
A funny feeling washes over me. I feel chilled to the bone where I stand. "Who are the other members?"
"Hm? Oh. Uh, there's me, and then there's Mary, Leo, Charlene, Noah—"
The ringing in my ears grows louder. I just hear his name over and over.
Noah, Noah, Noah.
"I've got to go."
The tightrope snaps. My broken heart left behind as I walk away.
Now it's a heart of ice.