I just can’t the picture of Rosie’s little face looking at me from the door of a police station. It was so wrong, so heartbreaking. No child should ever have to go through that.
“You are fucked. You are so fucked,” I sing softly as I walk into the kitchen. “Only you’re not fucked because fucking brings clarity, and you can’t think clearly.”
I whistle a beat that the words could go to like I know something about music and pop a pod into the coffee maker. I hit the brew button and start toward the fridge for some cream.
My attention is grabbed by a yellow legal pad sticking out from under a magazine on the table. Unable to contain my curiosity like a grown man should, I peer at the words written in neat handwriting.
To-Do:
Pediatrician / therapy?
Groceries
Job
Car ($5K max!)
Daycare?
Bed, clothes, toys (?)
Housing (where?)
Me clothes.
What about healthcare?
I lift the notepad and read through the list again. My heart crumbles.
This is what she’s worried about? Shit.
I’ve never once worried about any of that stuff. Even after spending the day with Rosie yesterday, most of that didn’t occur to me either. Sure, I knew we needed groceries because eating out with a child probably isn’t the healthiest, and I knew we would have to get Rosie some things to help her get situated.
But healthcare? A doctor? A car?
I drop the notepad to the table. I never thought about the fact that Jaxi doesn’t have a car. I didn’t even know that Rosie needed a car seat until Sergeant Bordeaux showed me how to set it up in my car. Thank God Kurt thought to send it with Rosie and Nettie’s things.
My life spins around me, taunting me with how little I know. How much of life I don’t take seriously.
Ignoring the click of the Keurig, I march back to the couch and retrieve my phone. I find the number and press call.
“Boone? What’s wrong, honey? It’s so early.”
“Mom?”
She laughs sleepily. “What other woman is answering your mother’s phone? Do I need to have a talk with your father?”
“Good point.”
Dad mumbles in the distance.
“Oh, be quiet, Rodney,” she says. “I’m getting up. Hang on, Boone.”
I pace back and forth until the coffee aroma drags me to the kitchen. I get my mug and add some creamer before Mom comes back on the line.
“Okay. I can talk now,” she says. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I think so.” I take a sip for sustenance. “I met a girl.”
“Okay …”
“Not like that. Well, I don’t think like that.” I reconsider. “No, I didn’t meet a girl like that, but I might like her—I do like her. She’s great. But that’s not what this is about. I can handle that shit.”
“It’s a little early for cursing in a conversation with your mother and on a Sunday morning, no less. But continue.”
I roll my eyes. “She sold all her shit—stuff to move to Hawaii for a job and was staying at Libby’s next door. But Ted was fucking—sleeping with someone, so Libby left him. Anyway,” I say, trying to get to the point, “she has nowhere to stay and just found out her sister died and that she left behind a little girl named Rosie.”
I pause to take a breath. The line grows quiet.
“Mom?”
“I’m just waiting on you to finish,” she says.
“I’m finished. I just … This isn’t my wheelhouse, Mom. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I did the right thing. Jaxi needs actual adult help, and I don’t know that I can give her that.”
Mom laughs.
“This isn’t funny,” I tell her. “You know what? Oliver is right. I’m impulsive. I’m the king of it. But what was I supposed to do? Send them to the streets?”
“No, honey. You were supposed to do whatever you did, which I assume by the slight panic in your voice is that you let them stay with you.”
“You would assume correctly.”
She laughs softly. “So what is the level of your relationship with the woman? Are you seeing her? Acquaintances? Friends?”
“I’d like to be fucking her if—”
“Boone Michael Mason, this is your last warning.”
I grin. “Sorry. I’d like to be procreating with her except not actually making children if there wasn’t already a child in my bed as we speak.” I raise my mug to my lips. “Better?”
“Oh, Boone.” She sighs. “Okay. So you like the woman. What’s her name?”
“Jaxi.”
“Cute. So we have Jaxi and Rosie?”
“Yes, Mom,” I say, getting impatient.
“And for what am I being summoned?”
It’s my turn to sigh. “I don’t know. This isn’t something I do. This is something Oliver does.”
“Actually, you’re wrong. Oliver wouldn’t do this. He’d pay for them to go to a hotel, but he wouldn’t let them stay in his house. This is absolutely a you thing to do.”
“Nope.”
She laughs. “Well, you did it, so I’m taking that as a point in my favor.”