“How’s school?” Kat asked, setting aside her all-beef organic burger. After her first visit, seven months ago, she’d learned to bring her own lunch, and one for Brianna. The smell of the cafeteria food made her stomach turn. Eating it was far worse.
The little girl shrugged, picking at the well-seasoned french fries made from upstate New York potatoes. Kat waited, hoping for one of Brianna’s rare one-word answers. OK, good, sucks—she’d take anything.
In the back of her mind Kat wondered if she was wasting her time. She’d flown across the country to have lunch with Brianna, and still the kid wouldn’t talk to her.
“I spent the past few days on the West Coast. In Oregon,” Kat said, filling the silence. Brianna’s eyes widened as if she had revealed her recent trip to Mars. “It’s nice out there.”
Especially this one man. . .
But she couldn’t tell the child who spent one hour twice a month sitting silently across the table from Kat about Brody. That would be crazy. Like taking two red-eye flights to have lunch with a ten-year-old.
“After lunch, would you like to take a walk?” Kat suggested. The last time she spoke with Brianna’s social worker Kat had begged for help. She wanted to make this work. This child had been placed in foster care after her mother died—just like her. Brianna’s father wasn’t in the picture and her older sister was placed in a different foster care home. Every time she sat down with the quiet, sullen child, Kat felt like she was looking in the mirror. She wanted to wrap her arms around the little girl and promise to make it better, to tell Brianna that she wasn’t alone.
But first she had to get to know the girl. And the social worker had suggested Kat “express an interest in her school.”
Brianna nodded, pushing the food away. “I’m ready.”
Words. Kat’s mouth fell open, but she quickly masked her surprise and scrambled to pack up the leftovers. In the hall, Brianna took a left and Kat followed, walking slowly at her side, noting the bright, cheerful art displays on the bulletin boards.
“I’m moving.” Brianna kept her gaze on the polished floors.
“Oh?” The social worker hadn’t mentioned anything.
“The family I’m with can’t keep me anymore.”
“Brianna.” Kat froze and turned to the child. The way Brianna said those words, as if she were a pet who needed to be returned to the pound due to an allergic family member—it tore at her heart. Logically, Kat knew it was more complicated. But still—
“And I was thinking.” The child looked up at her, hope swimming in her ten-year-old eyes. “I was thinking you might want to adopt me. Because you keep coming back.”
Kat fought to hide her shock. But judging from the way the weariness returned to Brianna’s face, she failed. She spent two hours a month with this little girl. They hadn’t even graduated to weekend day trips. And still she qualified as the most steady presence in Brianna’s life. Her stomach flipped and she regretted the few small bites of her burger.
The little girl drew a deep breath. “I’m smart, I stay out of trouble—”
“I’ll talk to your social worker. Mrs. Henly.” There were so many obstacles. Kat would need approvals. And with her job, the hours and travel . . . But she refused to stand here and listen to this child list her credentials.
“I can’t make you any promises,” Kat said. “But I will do my best.”
The bell rang signaling the end of the lunch period. Children and teachers poured out of the cafeteria and classrooms.
“OK,” Brianna said.
Kat nodded. “I should take you back to class.”
Taking the child’s hand, she navigated the busy hallway until they reached the door to the classroom. “Brianna?”
The child looked up her, her expression schooled into an impartial mask.
“For the record, I want to adopt you,” Kat said, offering the words no one had given her as a child. “No matter what your social worker says, please don’t forget that.”
Eyes wide, Brianna nodded. “I won’t.”
FIVE MINUTES LATER Kat walked down the streets, excitement driving her hurried steps. For years she’d pushed the idea of finding a husband and starting a family aside. In theory, she wanted children. But whenever she thought about meeting a man, opening up to him, trusting he would want her tomorrow and the day after that . . . fear rose up and she slammed the door on the idea of family.
But she wanted to be a part of this little girl’s life. She mentally flung open the doors to her spare bedroom, painting the walls a bright pink.
Kat froze in the middle of the sidewalk, ten feet from the subway entrance. What if Brianna hated pink? She didn’t even know the child’s favorite color.
She reached into her purse and withdrew her phone. She could learn. And if the state agreed, if she passed the test, she could transform her apartment into a home. She could make this work. There was plenty of room in her two-bedroom Manhattan apartment. She lived in a stellar school district, according to her neighbors with young children. And she could afford a nanny.