“Send me the address, and I’ll pick you up at nine,” Aleksandr repeats, calm, as if she hasn’t spoken.
“That’s not—” The usual instinct to protest, to say she’ll do what she wants—but what does she want? She wants to see him, and Lili wonders—a new sprout of a thought—if her sense of independence, freedom, identity can be found only in resisting help, in letting no one take care of her. If the inverse might offer strength, too.
“Alright,” Lili concedes, albeit grudgingly.
“Good. I’ve got to go, Michael’s waiting downstairs.”
“Wouldn’t want to keep him waiting,” she teases. “I’d say have a good dinner, but...”
Aleksandr laughs again, the echo clear in the familiar open space of the loft.
“Goodbye, Lili,” he says. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Bye,” she replies, smiling. The call beeps closed, and she’s alone again.
Lili sits up in bed, crossing her legs. She looks out the dormer window, the darkening sky. An owl hoots, off in the trees. Evening birdsong. Downstairs, her friends are loudly arguing; probably Amina pretending, predictably, that she’s not cheating at cards.
The sound of his laugh lingers, warm in her chest. She feels safe.
Lili glances at her phone. Swipes it open again, tapping through her contacts.
She chews her lip.
Jane Remnick.
After a beat of hesitation, she presses call.
She lifts the phone to her ear. It rings once, twice, three—
“Hello?” It’s a man’s voice, gruff; she’s startled, before recognizing it’s Robert.
“Oh, hi!” Lili exclaims, suddenly nervous. “Hi, Robert—it’s Lili. How are you?”
“Lili?”
“Yes, Lili—Lili Marwan?” she volunteers.
“No, no, I know who you are.” He laughs. “I almost didn’t recognize your voice, how are you?”
“Good, yeah.” She nods, although he can’t see her. She starts fiddling with the blanket edges. “Are you okay, everything okay?” It feels immediate, and destabilizing, to be faced with the reality of them: her foster parents, people she’s known for years, yet felt—feels—such a lack of closeness to. Like ships that inhabited the same port, passing by each other in the night, constantly. Especially Robert. Fostering children was Jane’s project, not so much his. He was a neutral, mildly benevolent presence through her childhood and teenage years: working late, reading nonfiction in his armchair, woodworking in his shed, taking up little airtime in the house. He’d served in the army, worked for the forest service now. Growing up, Lili had heard him mix up the names of more temporarily fostered kids. But he’d also built her a bookshelf, gorgeous red oak, completely unbidden and making no mention of it until it was done, when they’d realized how much she liked to read as a little kid.
“Yes, you know—keeping on, keeping on,” he responds. “School good, job good?”
“Yep!”
“That’s good—Jane?Jane, it’s Lili—she just called, I picked up—”
A distant woman’s voice, then the sound of the phone changing hands.
“Lili?”
It’s a more complicated feeling, hearing her foster mother’s voice.
“Hey, Jane,” Lili replies, shakily smiling a little. “Sorry, I saw your text a couple days ago, but it’s been crazy with work.” An excuse, but also a habit to grasp at some protective distance. With Jane, there’s always the sense that she did choose Lili—made the decision to foster her long-term—but just didn’t choose her enough; let her go really fucking easily. That constant question—was she just not enough, or maybe too much, to be worth officially adopting? “Thought I’d return the call. What’s up?”
“Oh, you’ve just been on my mind a little—June, no, don’t play with that—sorry, the kids,” Jane says. She sounds tired, but warm; just enough presence to make you want more, Lili remembers. “I was clearing out old boxes, thought of you. I found a few photographs I’ll send your way, actually. Some of your baby photos, they were in our foster files. You might already have copies, though—”
“No, please,” Lili hastily urges. “Send them.”
