As I watched the scene unfold, I couldn't help but feel grateful for the bond we shared. It was untraditional and messy, but it was strong. And as we navigated the rough seas of the foster care system and stood up for a kid who'd had his life tossed into chaos, I knew we could weather any storm. Together.
I glanced at my watch, my heartbeat echoing its tick-tock rhythm in my chest. “Alright, we've got maybe half an hour before the caseworker gets here,” I announced, trying to mask my apprehension.
Across the room, James sat hunched over, his phone acting as a temporary refuge from the turmoil around him. Just beyond, down the hall, his belongings were strewn throughout “his” bedroom, making it the only room that looked live in.
“Yeah, I'm all set,” James replied, his voice subdued, swallowed by the silence that had settled over the room. He didn't look up from his phone, but the steady tap-tap-tap of his thumbs against the screen stuttered. “I'm just, you know, nervous.”
He attempted to brush off the unease with a short, hollow laugh, triggered by something he'd scrolled past on his screen. But the laughter didn't reach his eyes. He turned the screen to show whatever it was to Theo, and the two of them shared a moment of amusement.
Despite his best efforts to lose himself in the digital realm, his apprehension was impossible to ignore. It clung to him like a shadow, manifesting in the tight set of his shoulders and the restless tapping of his fingers, seeping into the room and intertwining with our own shared anxieties.
In the midst of this unease, Theo remained a silent, comforting presence. He sat nearby, his hand resting lightly on James's shoulder, providing a steadfast support that James clung to like a lifeline amidst the storm of our fears.
I grimaced, trying to mask it with a half-smile. “Hey, you're not the only one,” I tried to reassure James, and myself too, but my words came out stilted. The silence in the room was getting to me, and the nerves were playing a wicked game.
We were in my house, but it felt so alien, like a movie set. And us the reluctant actors bracing for the performance of a lifetime, with an audience of one critical caseworker.
Would she pick up on the fact that James's stuff looked like it had just been dropped here, not lived with? That gnawing question wouldn't leave me be. We were spinning a story here, sure, but the doubt kept nipping at my confidence, reminding me that we might be out of our depth.
“But remember,” I continued, stealing another glance at my watch. Time was running out, slipping through my fingers like sand. “Be yourself, and tell the truth.”
Maybe not thefull truth, but I knew James understood both what I said and what I left out. The truth was a thorny concept, a delicate dance between what was, what is, and what should be. We were treading the line between honesty and necessity, and the fear that we'd stumble was gnawing at my conscience. But for James, for our family, it was a risk I was willing to take.
Danny and Blake made themselves scarce, choosing to head back to their place and allow us to handle the caseworker. But they promised to be on standby if we needed them, and insisted we call after the worker left to update them on how things went.
It wasn't long before a gray sedan pulled up to the house. A woman stepped out, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, holding a clipboard and looking very much the part of a state caseworker.
I felt a pang of anxiety in my gut but forced a smile onto my face as I walked over to greet her. “Hi, I'm Billy. Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you. I'm Susan Mills,” she introduced herself, giving me a firm handshake. “I'm here to conduct a follow-up visit due to the complaint we received about James’s living situation.”
“I understand,” I nodded, leading her into the house. “I hope we can clear up any confusion today.”
James was seated on the couch, looking a bit pale but composed. Michael stood behind him, a comforting presence. I introduced them to Susan, who greeted them with a professional, but not unfriendly, smile.
As she began her inspection, asking questions about James's routine, his room, school, and hobbies, I tried to answer as honestly as I could. She seemed satisfied with my responses and the state of the house, noting down her observations in her clipboard.
As she spoke with James, asking him about his comfort and happiness in the house, he spoke up, looking her straight in the eyes. “I'm happy here. Billy and Michael… they're my family now. I’m not some runaway they’re hiding. My dad made it very clear that I can either be myself or I can live at home, but not both. Billy and Michael don’t put conditions on showing me they truly care about me.”
Susan noted this down but didn't say anything right away. Instead, she moved on to inspect James's room. It was admittedly still a little sparse, the few possessions James had were spread around the room to make it look lived in. She didn't comment, only taking note of everything around her.
There was an unnerving silence once she was done with her inspection. We all gathered back in the living room, waiting for her to speak. After what felt like an eternity, she finally looked up from her clipboard.
“I understand that James moved in with you recently?” she asked, and I nodded. “And you both are aware that any change in his living situation needs to be approved by the state?”
“We are,” Michael replied. “I’ve been in contact with my attorney this afternoon, and he assured me we’ve done nothing wrong. Yes, this is the address of record for James, but there’s nothing stopping them from spending part of their time at my house. Especially since I’d already been through the entire approval process before I was allowed to take in my son.”
I gaped at Michael, wondering if he was bullshitting or if he’d worked some sort of magic after I left his place. Now that he mentioned it, I wondered why I hadn’t thought about him having a home study as part of his adoption. Fuck, I hated facing the knowledge we might have been able to spare ourselves some of this drama if I hadn’t been distracted by my dick and infatuation.
“And James, what are your thoughts about your living arrangements?” Susan asked, turning her attention to him.
James nodded, looking more confident than he had all afternoon. “For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I’m walking on eggshells from the second I wake up until I’m allowed to go to bed. Billy and Michael are teaching me how to make responsible decisions instead of dictating what I’m allowed to do.”
Susan scribbled something on her clipboard, then put it down, folding her hands over it. “That’s… commendable. While I’m not the one who will make any decisions, I can tell you that based on this visit, I don't see anything that aligns with the complaints in the report I received. The house is clean, you both seem capable and caring, and most importantly, James appears happy and well taken care of. I can’t say I’m looking forward to seeing you again tomorrow, but I will look forward to reporting my findings.”
A wave of relief washed over me, and beside me, Michael let out a sigh he'd been holding in.
“However,” she continued, “You still need to follow the appropriate process for changing his placement. Until everything is officially approved, James's situation will remain under review. That means you will be subjected to potential visits without any advance notice. If the county finds this isn’t his primary residence, there could be grounds to have him removed from your care.”
