Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Summer
I tossed my bag onto the couch the second I got home, the thud echoing in the quiet house.
My shoes were kicked off in the usual messy pile near the door, but for once, I didn’t hear Mom reminding me to put them away properly.
The house smelled like garlic and butter, and the faint sound of music played from the tiny speaker in the kitchen, the same way it always did when Mom was cooking.
It was comforting, familiar, but none of it settled the knot in my stomach.
I had spent the whole walk home trying to shake off Malcolm’s words, but they stuck to me like glue.
Someone wants to adopt me. I should have seen it coming.
The whole thing had the perfect setup—a rich, generous couple looking for a son, and Malcolm, the broody, lost orphan who never let himself believe in things like happy endings.
It was the kind of thing that happened in movies.
But this wasn’t a movie. This was real, and it was happening fast. Faster than I was ready for.
I made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a fork off the counter and stabbing a piece of garlic bread from the basket before dropping into my usual chair. Mom was standing over the stove, stirring something in a pan, humming along to the music without looking up.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey.” I bit into the bread, chewing even though my appetite was practically nonexistent.
Mom glanced at me over her shoulder, her brow lifting slightly like she already knew something was up. “You okay?”
I nodded, even though it felt like a lie. “Yeah.”
She didn’t push, which was good because I wasn’t sure I even had the words to explain what was going on in my head.
She finished cooking a few minutes later and brought the food to the table, setting our plates down before sitting across from me.
The room was quiet except for the soft clink of utensils against ceramic.
Normally, I’d be rambling about my day, filling the silence with whatever ridiculous thoughts had crossed my mind, but tonight, I couldn’t bring myself to say much of anything.
It wasn’t until we were halfway through dinner that I finally spoke. “So… what’s the deal with Malcolm’s adoption thing?”
Mom stilled for just a second before setting down her fork. Her face shifted slightly, careful but unsurprised. “It’s not a ‘thing,’ Summer. The Sinclairs have already started the paperwork.”
I blinked. “Wait… already?”
She nodded. “They want to take him home as soon as possible. They’ve always wanted a son. They’re planning his future, his education—everything.”
My fingers curled around my fork. I knew this was a possibility. I knew that Malcolm couldn’t stay in that foster home forever. But hearing it laid out like that, so definite, so real, made something inside me sink.
“That’s… great,” I said after a second, forcing a smile I didn’t really feel.
Mom’s eyes softened, like she saw straight through me. “Summer.”
“What?” I shoved another bite into my mouth. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s great news. I’m happy for him.”
She kept watching me, her expression knowing.
I focused on my plate, pretending I didn’t feel the tightness in my chest.
Mom let out a slow breath, setting her napkin down before leaning forward slightly. “You care about him.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s my friend.”
“I know,” she said gently.
I stabbed my pasta harder than necessary, twisting it around my fork even though I wasn’t hungry anymore. “I just—” I stopped myself before I said something stupid, something that would make this conversation harder than it already was.
Mom sat quietly for a moment, studying me the way she always did when she was trying to figure out how much I was really willing to admit. Then she sighed and folded her hands together on the table. “Summer, I need you to really hear me on this. Malcolm needs this. You understand that, right?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah. Of course.”
She gave me a small smile, but there was something sad in it. “I know this is hard for you. And I know change is scary, but this is good, sweetheart. The Sinclairs can give him a life he’s never had. A family, stability, a future that doesn’t feel like a question mark.”
I looked down, pressing my fork against my plate.
Mom continued, her voice softer now. “You know how many kids in the system age out without ever getting adopted? How many of them spend years waiting for a home that never comes? Malcolm was already running out of time. If the Sinclairs hadn’t come along, he might have been stuck in that home until he turned eighteen, then pushed out into the world with nothing. ”
I clenched my jaw. I knew all of this. It wasn’t like I wanted him to stay in a place where he felt unwanted. I wanted him to have a family, a real home, a shot at something better. But I also didn’t want to feel like I was losing him.
Mom reached across the table, resting her hand over mine. “I know you two are close. And I know you don’t want to say it, but you’re afraid of what happens after he leaves.”
I didn’t look at her. “I just don’t want things to change.”
She squeezed my hand gently. “Things always change, Summer. That’s part of life. But just because something changes doesn’t mean it’s gone forever. You and Malcolm—you’ve been there for each other for a long time. That doesn’t have to stop just because he’s moving on to something better.”
I nodded, even though the words didn’t feel like enough to settle the weight in my chest.
Dinner carried on as normal after that, but I barely said another word.
When we finished, I helped clean up, keeping my hands busy so I wouldn’t have to think too hard.
Afterward, I went to my room, lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling while my phone rested on my stomach.
I thought about texting Malcolm, about telling him the things I couldn’t say out loud earlier.
But every time I typed something, I deleted it.
What was I supposed to say?
Hey, congrats on getting a real family. Sorry, I don’t know why that makes me want to scream into a pillow.
Yeah, no.
Instead, I grabbed my hoodie and stepped outside onto the porch, letting the cool night air hit my skin.
The streetlights flickered, and the stars peeked through the gaps between them.
I sat down on the steps, pulling my sleeves over my hands, my thumb hovering over Malcolm’s name on my phone screen.
I wondered if he was thinking about this as much as I was. Probably not. He was probably waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to go wrong, for someone to change their mind.
But I knew better.
This was happening.
And I was losing him.
I exhaled slowly, locking my phone without sending anything. I didn’t know what to say.
So I said nothing.
And somehow, that felt worse.