Chapter 5

Rose

My foot taps on the worn gray carpet of the waiting room of the child welfare agency. As usual, my nerves are threatening to ruin everything again. Despite my many visits here, the pervasive silence and grayness never cease to unsettle me.

My anxiety also stems more from the fact that I never come out of these meetings with the Administration of Child Services with a positive outcome. Something tells me today won’t be different.

I failed the last apartment inspection because the elevator in the high-rise building I live in chose that day to break down again. And of course, my ever-leaky kitchen faucet decided to rear its ugly head.

“Miss Marsh?”

My head snaps up, and I flash a tremulous smile at my niece’s caseworker before rising to follow her into the small office.

I smooth down the simple green dress I chose for today. I’m usually more comfortable in tank tops and jeans, but I need to make the best impression. I thank her and sit stiffly in the proffered chair.

“Right, Miss Marsh,” Anita Brodkin begins, shuffling papers on the desk. “I know how passionate you are about adopting Harriet, but there are some realities we must consider.” She pauses while I brace myself for rejection. “Given that she is already settling in with her foster family, and compared to the setup you have right now, it seems sensible to let things remain as is.”

My heart sinks at her words, but I’m determined to push for what I want. Harriet is my only family, my late sister’s daughter. Her deathbed wish was that I raise Harriet as mine.

“But I’m her aunt. Her only family. Surely that has to count for something?”

“Family isn’t always enough in the eyes of the law, especially in this case,” Anita states, not unkindly.

She goes on to list the financial stability and housing requirements. The real kicker, which Anita is too kind to mention, is that Harriet’s current foster parents, the DuPonts, are a young, affluent married couple residing in the Hamptons, epitomizing stability.

I, on the other hand, juggle styling and makeup gigs, event planning, social media influencing, with attending night school. I can see how I measure up—or don’t measure up—to the DuPonts.

I huff out a sigh of frustration as I stand to leave. How the hell do I compare with that, with my meager savings and unpredictable income as a stylist and social media influencer?

Ever since Brooke moved in with Xavier, I’ve had to pay the whole rent myself. She didn’t get why I couldn’t just find a cheaper studio apartment. I couldn’t tell her it was because I was hoping to get Harriet in the second bedroom.

I haven’t told my friends about Harriet. If I do, I’ll also have to talk about my sister and what happened to her the day she turned eighteen.

What I let happen to her.

No. I swallow the lump of guilt in my throat and take deep breaths. I can’t tell anyone that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I thank the caseworker and leave, disappointment weighing heavily on me. All through the bus ride home, tears threaten to spill, but I don’t let myself go. I fist my stress ball tightly, mentally holding myself together.

There’s only one place I let all my grief out. Under a scalding hot shower.

It’s been six years since I held my baby sister’s hand. I watched the light fade from her eyes, promising to look after her newborn.

After I lost her, I spiraled into a darkness filled with guilt and pain. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of fulfilling my promise.

I learned to stuff all my self-hatred and hate for men into a dark place. I kept it hidden deep under my bright smiles and bold flirting. Only events like these case worker meetings force me to remember how much I’m failing Vivian and Harriet with every passing year.

I grip the stress ball tighter.

Finally reaching my fourth-floor Brownsville apartment, my phone rings. I groan when I see it’s Greg. I’m so not in the mood but I pick up.

“Hey Greg, how are you?”

“Great, I just got back from Italy.” Greg had gone to Italy for a three-month modeling contract.

“Awesome. How did you find it?” For Greg and me, it’s out of sight, out of mind. As soon as he’d left, we stopped speaking.

“Unbelievable!” Greg gushes, “Everything is amazing. The food...the language...”

“The women…” I add, letting out a humorless chuckle.

“You said it, not me. But I agree wholeheartedly. I’m actually trying to wrangle another contract with the agency, and hopefully a longer one.”

“I bet.” I kick off my heels, smiling in spite of my dark mood.

“Listen. Are you still with that guy? Ryan?” Greg asks.

That brings me up short. “Greg. I told you, I’m not dating the man. He’s just a friend’s friend.”

“I see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I have eyes, Rose. And seeing you two together at that wedding. I don’t know, I thought there was something there. Besides, I like the guy, he’s cool.”

I roll my eyes. Everybody just seems to love the guy, don’t they? “Well, I don’t like him.”

Liar. That inner voice accuses.

“O-kay.” Greg drawls, “Well in that case, what are you doing tonight? Why don’t we catch up?”

By “catch up,” he means hook up.

“No, I’m good, Greg, I’m not really in the mood to go out.”

“I can come over,” he offers.

I should be down with this, considering I’ve not had sex with another human being in months.

My trusty vibrator, on the other hand, should have packed up, given the kind of workout it’s been getting recently. Lately, I’ve been too busy trying to work hard enough to save for Harriet to meet guys.

“Sorry Greg, not tonight. I’ve got a lot of things on my mind. “Give me a call next week, okay?”

I think I hear him whine, but I don’t bother waiting for him to finish. I disconnect and leave my phone on the dresser, then strip off my clothes.

Only a hot shower and a good cry will make me feel better. I set the power as high as it can go and let the punishing heat and the roar of the shower drown out my wrenching sobs.

I’m trying, I really am. Saving as much as I can and putting my dreams on hold. I should be providing the little angel with a home. She should experience the joy of being raised by her relative. This was something Viv and I never had.

Images of Harriet’s adorable blonde curls and chubby arms fill my head, fueling my desperation. She looks just like me. Like Vivian.

I leave the shower, my eyes red and skin wrinkled, but feeling so much lighter.

I wipe the fogged mirror, and for a moment, through the distorted image the steam makes, it seems like Viv is staring back at me.

Vivian and I could pass for twins. I gently finger-comb my thick, blonde, almost silvery hair, then grab a towel to dry it in a way that retains the natural waves.

I force my thoughts to more pressing needs, declaring my pity party now over.

I say to my reflection. “Rose, you’re going to get a new apartment and in a better neighborhood. It’s never going to be the Hamptons, but hell if you’re going to let that cow you.”

As I leave the foggy bathroom, I wonder whether it might be worth getting a regular-paying job. Bonnie has started working in Ethan’s company, and she doesn’t seem to be regretting it so far, despite the man being a bosshole.

I’m about to pull on my favorite silk robe when my phone vibrates on the dresser.

It’s Ryan.

I let out a huff of irritation, ignoring the way my heart skips a beat. Again? He’s been calling me every day for the past week now. What’s crawled under the guy’s ass?