26. Chanice
Chanice
It takes days for things to get back to normal with the kids.
In the meantime, I have been exploring every option we have, including the solicitor, Dana Albright, that Alex suggested.
After a quick phone call with her assistant and a breakdown of legal fees that would normally make me pass out, we set an appointment.
Now sitting in this fancy office, with a bottle of expensive water, I hope that I don’t stand out as much as I feel like I do.
“Ms. Jones?” A Black woman comes out of an office and gestures for me to follow her back in.
I don’t know what I was expecting when Alex said he had someone, but I didn’t think she would look like me. She gestures for me to sit and offers a gentle smile. The bottle of water crunches from my grip, I’m holding it like it’s my lifeline in this sea of uncertainty.
“I looked over the papers you filled out and requested the file from your social worker to have a better understanding of the situation.”
“Great.” Sitting up eagerly, my hands loosen.
“I have to say, you’re a lot younger than I thought you would be.”
I’m not surprised by her observation. Every time I meet one of the children’s teachers for the first time, they think I’m playing at being a guardian, or ask what my skin routine is.
“I got the kids when I was nineteen and have had them for four years. I know I’m young, but I’m capable.”
She looks down at a paper and smiles before meeting my eyes again.
“You are supporting them with two jobs and child benefit, right?” I nod.
“Typically, when kids are removed from the home, it’s with the intention of eventually reuniting them with the parents.
” I go to speak, and she holds up a hand.
“However, you were granted guardianship, and you are family, so this will work in your favor.”
“So I have a chance?” Hope sings in my voice. Too hesitant to smile, I feel a sense of relief that this isn’t a lost cause.
“It would have been better if your mother hadn’t shown that she is, in their definition, competent, but she did pass their action plan.”
Still unsure how that is possible, the part of me that is scared that I will lose them hopes that she is actually better now. No matter what, though, I know I’m what’s best for my siblings.
“I don’t get how she did this.”
“She reached out months ago asking how she could regain custody, and they provided her with steps. She was already clean, so they asked her to take parenting classes, secure a place to live, and get a job.”
The fact that I can’t find a place but she did astonishes me.
Then again, no one is more resourceful than someone who has been able to fund their addiction all while having no job.
I have seen my mother scrounge her way through life with her manipulation and scheming since I was five.
She learned how to work the system to her advantage and is still doing it to this day.
I’m at least grateful that our phone call isn’t what set this event into motion.
She clearly had been planning this long before she reached out to me.
If only I could understand why she is so determined to have them back.
We have always been more work than we’re worth to her.
Much like with Alex’s parents, love is not in her vocabulary.
“What you will need to do is show that you have a stable home, both financially and emotionally. It’s better if you can support them on one income and aren’t working as many hours. They need to see that you have both the means and the time to be there for them.”
Yet all she needed to show was that she had gotten a good grade in the basics of having children.
I secured us a place to live, but I can’t support them without my two jobs.
Even with the help we get from the government, we are scraping by.
I deflate in my chair, my hands shaking.
The bar is so high for me, and I have been jumping for years to get over it.
One conversation with her and they lower it enough that she can just take a step.
“Will me testifying about my own childhood help? She is my mother, too.”
Telling Alex my stories has brought up so many memories I have tried to repress. Things that have pushed me to do everything in my power to get them. I was her first child, and on top of every mistake normal parents make, she made a million more. What I went through has to count for something.
“That will help. You aren’t a stranger speaking to her character. I will try to get the records from your childhood as well. Maybe if we show this is a continued pattern, they will be less likely to repeat it.”
I already know that those papers won’t show everything, yet I feel ashamed that I have to show other people my past. Alex didn’t pity me when I told him, or look at me differently, since that day. But the questions they may ask will bring up stuff I have even kept from the kids.
I’ll bear it all if it means they stay with me.
“That’s all I have to discuss with you today, but we will meet a few more times before we go to court.” She gets up and shakes my hand before escorting me out of the office.
I try to hold myself together until I get to my apartment, but find myself fighting tears on the tube. All of this feels so hopeless, and this is just the beginning. It’s only uphill from here, and I need to carry them on my shoulders. At least now I’m not alone.
I let myself wallow for a few days before I jump back into action. With a checklist of things I need to accomplish, it starts by getting just one job. Which is why I have spent my last sixty quid on ingredients meant to change Chef Tomas’s mind.
Slapping the container in front of him now, I can’t hold back my excitement about what I have accomplished.
“What’s this?” He lifts the lid and sniffs the steam still billowing up from the heat of it.
“Cajun smoked salmon pasta with handmade noodles.” I hand him a fork and lean back, crossing my arms.
Hesitantly looking between me and the dish, he shrugs before taking a bite. Watching him chew slowly has to be in the top ten of my most nerve-racking moments. Time slows to a snail’s pace, and I hold my breath the whole time.
Not saying a word, he scoops up more food and takes a second bite. When he smiles, I finally inhale.
“Grab a hairnet. I’m interviewing you right now.” He passes the container back to Jorge, his sous chef, before grabbing a chopping board.
“Bruv, this is good,” Jorge says as I run to go and put my stuff away.
I can’t keep the smile off my face as I know that using that money actually paid off. Walking back out with my grin, Chef points a finger.
“Don’t get too happy yet. You have to actually show me your skills. Anyone can make something at their own pace in their own kitchen.”
“Not my mum,” Jorge calls out, causing us both to laugh.
“I’m going to create a dish while you watch, and then you are going to replicate it. Understood?”
He doesn’t wait for my answer and just begins.
Moving at his normal speed, he doesn’t stop or explain anything he is doing.
I watch him so intently that my hands start to move mimicking his actions.
While I know I’m not up to his caliber, I feel a sense of pride at the fact that I have at least seen or done most of what he is doing now.
Alongside that is a passion that I buried years ago, coming to life again, fueling me on.
When it’s my turn, that feeling pushes me to be my best. Every step feels like breathing as I inhale the movement and exhale the product.
I chop, sear, and fillet like it’s second nature.
Confident in every move I make, I don’t let it get me down that it takes almost twice as long as it did him to complete the dish.
Passing the plate to him, the whole kitchen stills as we wait to see what he thinks.
Just like earlier, he doesn’t say anything while tasting each component. Chewing and closing his eyes, he makes his way through some of the food.
“Well, did she do it?” Jorge asks, sounding more nervous than me.
“You have the job,” Chef finally says.
People start clapping, and it feels like something from a movie. I fight the urge to jump up and down, instead pressing my hands to my chest.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, you did it.” He bows his head a little in respect, and it feels like the thing I absolutely needed.
“I’ll email you an offer letter and schedule. I do want to let you know that, starting out, you don’t make much more than the servers. It’s great for your resume, though.” He pats me on the back and walks away.
I’m happy that he is gone, so he doesn’t see the way my face falls. What I thought was a solution to my problems is actually just a hard choice. Take the job and follow my dreams, or keep searching for the one that is going to support us all.
I know what I should do, but the reckless twenty-three-year-old that is in me wants to do what will make her happy. At this point, the choice is between two wants, and I will always choose them.
Jessie walks in just as I accept my fate.
“Girl, this is going to be brilliant. This is a gala for some sort of charity for the refugee resource center, but all the key players should be making an appearance.” She has her face beat and her hair pinned like she is going to the gala instead of working it.
Determined to finally snag her man, she is ready to be a distraction.
“What’s wrong?” Looking at me, my lack of excitement for her gives away how I’m feeling.
“I thought I got a job in the kitchen, but I can’t take it.”
She bats her brown eyes at me, confused.
“The pay isn’t different, and I need to find something that will pay more than I make now.”
She follows me to the bathroom as I go to get changed.
“You’re telling me you got a job where you can cook and be paid, and you’re turning it down?”
“I don’t have a choice.” I step into one of the stalls and pull off my street clothes. Stepping into the work pants, I button up my too-tight top.
“Are you mad? You can’t turn this down.”
When I come out, she is staring at herself in the mirror, touching up what is already perfection.
I stand next to her and tuck my hair into a bun.
Edge control makes it look more presentable than just the normal puffy attempt.
Passing me her lipstick and mascara, she waits for me to put the final touches on my effort.
“The kids and I are about three weeks away from being homeless. I know I can make the extra ￡350 a month to stay, but not without working more. I got an interview at a call center, and it might be my only option.”
“You have other recourses. You can ask that man for the money. Based on what you’ve told me, he really cares about you, and would be willing to give you the world. Will it kill you to just take a slice of it?” Crossing her arms, she leans against the counter.
“I have taken money from him. I’m more open than I was originally, but I don’t know if I can have him give me funds monthly.” I play with her makeup, twisting the cap open and closed as I stare at the floor.
“You are giving him your goodies. What is he giving in return?”
“Happiness.”
“What bill company takes that as a payment?” She shoves her shoulder against mine, and I laugh.
Handing her back her things, she stuffs them in her purse and leads me out of the bathroom. Over her shoulder, she says, “If you don’t water your dreams, they are going to die. Take something for yourself.”
I let her words linger around me as we bring out the first appetizers.