Page 39 of Minted
“I haven’t seen that many rats in years,” he says. “And I visit the City pretty often.”
I drop my voice to a whisper while Alice is interrogating the girls. “You think I’m crazy for bringing them to my place?”
“I’m not the one you should worry about.” He looks pointedly at my phone where it’s poking out of my purse. It’s lit up again—Jennifer has called at least eight times.
“I have a party I need to go by,” I say. “Is there any chance I could do that and then take them home?”
Alice had picked up a call, which I didn’t realize. She says, “Lemme call you right back.”
“Sorry,” I say. “It’s just that—”
“You should let me place them with a foster home that’s ready for this kind of thing.” She frowns. “I pulled your file, and you’re recently divorced.”
It feels like she just slapped me. “Does that really matter?”
“Divorce wrecks people, and being a foster parent wrecks people, and in my experience, most people who are already recovering from something aren’t ready for the fallout.”
“I’m ready,” I say. “It’s fine. I don’t have to go to the party.”
She arches her eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
I nod.
“Will skipping this party get you fired?” She compresses her lips into a flat line. “Because I don’t want to stick these girls with you and have to move them elsewhere inside of seventy-two hours because your boss is threatening to fire you for caring for them properly.”
I shake my head. “It’ll be fine.”
“The first three days are going to be the hardest on all of you.”
Nikki’s just coming out of her room, a massive backpack that looks dramatically overloaded on her back, and a huge duffel bag dragging across the floor behind her.
I cannot think about what she’s dragging it through, or what may have hitched a ride in the bags.
I’ve watched the news for thirty years of my life, and I’ve seen a lot of clips of prisoners of war being brought home. Nikki’s eyes look like that—like she’s wary and tired and angry and scared.
I found them. I care about them. After spending time with Dave and Seren, I have an inkling of what’s in store for me. I firmly believe I’m their best placement. That matters more than a job I don’t even love.
“They can come with me.”
Alice stares at me without saying a word for ten seconds. Then for twenty. Finally, around the very awkward thirty seconds mark, she nods. “Alright. But you will call me if you find that you can’t do this, and you will not let those girls suffer through more trauma on your watch.”
“I won’t,” I say.
“You think I’m being hard on you, but those girls have no other advocate.”
In that moment, I realize that Alice is so gruff because her heart’s constantly flayed wide open. I’m not sure I could survive handling a job like hers. Being called at all hours to remove kids from their homes, like tearing feral kittens out of their dens underneath someone’s warehouse. Then she has to pass them off to someone else, knowing that she won’t be able to do much if they’re not properly cared for other than ripping them away yet again.
There are too many injured, neglected feral kittens in this world. Alice can’t care for them all. Neither can I. But I found these two, and I can care for them. So I will.
“Alright,” I say. “Nikki, Ricki, let’s go. Anything you forgot, we can come back for tomorrow. Don’t stress.”
“Rent’s only paid through Wednesday of next week,” Ricki says. “Can we come back before then?”
I pity the landlord, having this bomb dropped on him or her next week. “Absolutely,” I say. “We will.”
“I’ll come and help,” Bentley says. “In fact, if you need—”
I shake my head. “You’ve been a huge support, but I’ll get them home from here.”
