Of course I chuckled right back. Our life was like that a lot. For the first time since Liv died, I went days without thinking of death, of endings, of tragedy. I was too busy living life.
Over Ani’s shoulder, out the window, a black sedan pulled into the driveway.Uh oh. I was thinking of how to put a positive, lighthearted spin on the impending interview when Ani spotted the car too.
“Oh, I hope it’s Charity again.” I saw a flicker of worry pass across her face as she held out the baby to me, ran over to thekitchen sink, and began rubbing something on her blouse with a wet paper towel.
I prepped Rosie’s bottle while Ani added soap and kept scrubbing. “Does my blouse look okay?” She inspected the tiny floral print. “When I was seeing patients this afternoon, a baby spit up on me.”
“Very professional, no spit-up in sight,” I said. “I’d definitely hire you.”
“You’re biased,” she said. “I need to look competent. Today is the psychosocial evaluation. It determines my fitness not only to foster but also to ultimately adopt Rosie.”
After assessing her grave expression, I decided to keep things light. “You are so competent.” I shot her my most admiring grin. “And hot.”
“You’re sticking around, right?” she asked. “They’ll be asking me household relationship questions today. Like, to make sure anyone involved in Rosie’s life is safe.”
“That’s why I’m here.” I squeezed her shoulder. “You got this.”
She gave me a look that was half grateful, half worried, and then threw her arms around me in a giant hug. She didn’t need say anything to let me know she was glad I was here.
She did have this. She was an amazing, wonderful mother in every way.
As I fed Rosie, I noticed a car in the driveway. A woman got out and began walking up the stone path, which I was proud to say was now very tidy and neat, thanks to my new rechargeable weed whacker. She wore a navy blazer outside, despite the July heat, a long skirt, and rubber-soled shoes, and her hair was tied up in a tight gray bun.
“It’s Ms. Nelson,” Ani said, her tone crestfallen.
I got the concern. The woman looked terrifying. “Does Ms. Nelson have a first name?” I asked. “Ursula? Narissa? Cruella?”
“Glad to see that you’re up on your Disney villains.” Ani walked up behind me and rested her hand on my back as we peered out the window.
“She looks like someone you’d never call by their first name,” I said to be funny.
“I know,” Ani said in a somber tone.
I turned around and grabbed her hands. “You’re going to nail this. You’re an awesome mom.” I kissed each of her hands in turn. I was hoping for a smile, but she immediately teared up instead. “I love her so much, Adam. I don’t want to do anything to screw this up now.”
“There’s nothing to screw up. We have seven smoke alarms, four carbon monoxide detectors, and you can’t even plug in the coffee pot without removing a child safety cover.”
She laughed a little at that. “You know that’s not what I’m worried about.”
I knew she was worried about what she called her “imperfect relationship history.” “No one’s perfect,” I said in my most reassuring voice. Then I kissed her on the nose. “But you come close.”
I wanted to tell her not to look back. To keep moving forward. That had been the mantra for both of us these past few months. But I figured she didn’t need me to spell it out. The doorbell rang, and I tapped her playfully on the butt as she ran to let Ms. Nelson in.
She looked back and smiled.
I shot her a two-thumbs-up as I went to put the baby down for her nap. I knew that Ani would be great. This was a no-brainer. What could go wrong?
Ani
On the way to the door, I rehearsed my past mishaps, my past failed relationships, and tried to figure out the best way to explain Adam’s presence in my life. I was blowing things out of proportion thinking the worst. No one had a perfect life, right?
Surely, I would gain points for being a responsible human and for working so diligently to make this happen. I truly believed that I was the one to be Rosalie’s mother, and that belief gave me strength. What else really mattered?
Why, oh why couldn’t I have gotten Ms. Charity this time instead of Ms. Nelson? As if in response to all my wild thoughts, Arnie bounded up from his bed and raced me to the door, skidding to a frantic stop right in front of it and letting out a loud bark. I sent him a warning look as inPlease be a good doggie, and he answered by barking again in adolescent rebellion.
“Come in, Ms. Nelson,” I said, waving her in. “May I get you some coffee, water, a Diet Coke?”
“I don’t use caffeine or artificial sweeteners, but thank you,” she said as I guided her to the couch. Arnold followed on her heels, and once she sat down, he sniffed her legs. She ignored him. Arnold, offput, growled.
