Next of Kin (Next #1)

by Hannah Bonam-Young

Odette’s face turns solemn. “I’m a children’s support worker, but the hat I’m wearing through this door is Connie’s friend first. I want to be clear, sweet girl, that I know she has made many mistakes. I know they have impacted you greatly. But she is having a hard time, and we need to be as compassionate as we can be right now.”

Okay well the tears are marching to the front already

I blink at the person lying in front of me. This woman shares almost no recognizable features with the mother I remember. Connie’s face is hollow, with circles under her eyes that are almost black. Her lips are cracked and dry, and her hair is no longer dark brown, like mine, but bleached blond and fraying. If I saw her on the street, I wouldn’t have thought twice as I passed her by. Maybe I have. A tear falls onto my cheek, but I wipe it away before Odette or Connie sees it.

💔

Who was that woman? Sober or not, my mother has always looked like herself—warm, familiar, like me. Now, I’m perhaps the only version of who my mother used to be that’s left in this world. She’s a stranger now, in all ways. A stranger my heart breaks for. A stranger I still need the approval of, love from…but I will have to settle for trust. The trust she is giving me to look after my sister.

The plan was to start a life after graduation. I had a lot of plans, though I had no actual idea how to begin. Regardless, I was going to find my sitcom-style chosen family and welcome in my mid-twenties alongside them. I was going to get new roommates. I was going to tell them everything this time, be honest, be genuine. I was going to find love.

The side of his lip curls up slightly, but his eyes grow weary. I tire him, I think. The all-too-familiar feeling of embarrassment over being “too much” flares.

I make the joke to set him at ease, but he doesn’t look any less concerned. “Seriously, it doesn’t hurt that bad. All good,” I say. He studies me, and I swallow without meaning to. “When did you start making your feelings smaller for other people’s benefit?” he asks, his narrowed eyes focused intently on me. My head involuntarily retracts, jarring my nose. Ow. “I—I wasn’t.” Shit, I might have been…but how does he know that?

“We aren’t going to be friends, Chloe.” His voice is low and full of unadulterated arrogance as he tilts his head in confusion. I huff, making an effort to form a look of bemused shock that is totally unreflective of the rejection I’m feeling. “Well, damn. Okay.”

I’m only one week into parenting, and I know I should allow myself more time for these feelings to pass, but I’m tired down to my bones. The loneliness that has been hanging over me for years threatens to swallow me up. I miss a life I never got to live—the one with the found family and friends I didn’t get the chance to find. I grieve for it. Odette suggested making a list of all the things I’ll get to do, now that I have Willow, but it would be a long list of disingenuous hopes. All the milestones I look forward to, but none of my own. Only Willow’s. Perhaps parenthood is always putting yourself on the back burner.

I look down at my feet. I haven’t felt at the mercy of someone’s temper since I moved out for university. There was a reason I chose to move away from home and stay away. I hate it. I hate feeling like I’ve let someone down. Like I’m inherently bad or wrong. Tears brim my eyes. “I know. I’m—”

I spend so much energy every day keeping myself pleasant. My clothing is approachable, my hair tucked away, my voice pitched up and calm, my posture hunched, head tilted down or legs crossed to take up as little space as possible. But not now.

When I was adopted at seven, I was only beginning the fun of figuring out who I was and what I was interested in. I loved art, mess, blurred lines and loud music, bright colors and my frizzy hair, glitter glue and comic books. Then I was plunged into a family who valued the opposite of most of those things and whom I was desperate to impress. They tamed me. I heard my mother say that to her friends once as they sat around our dining table. “We’ve tamed her.” Like I was a dog they’d gotten from the pound. The other adults laughed in response, not knowing I was on the other side of the door.

I nod, wiping some tears of my own. I have to know. Now. “Mom…I—I’m really proud of you…for getting sober. But—” “Baby, no,” Connie interrupts me. “I know what you’re going to say and no. Willow…she’s staying with you. I promise.” She takes in a drawn-out breath, and her chest rises. “I—I miss her beyond measure, as I missed you all those years, but I know I could relapse. I know what that did to you. I know she’s better off…with you. The stronger version of me.”

My dad pulls me into a bear hug, and I squeal like a child as he raises me off the floor and puts me back down. “Good to see you, Panda.” Panda has been my dad’s pet name for me since the day the CPS worker dropped me off at their home. They had put a stuffed panda on my pillow, and when I’d told them it was my favorite animal, they took it as a sign that we were meant to be a family. In reality, I preferred rabbits. Still, I learned to love pandas. They were gifted to me by my father after every business trip. Quickly, a collection began to grow. Snow globes, hats, shirts, stuffed animals—all panda-related. The original sits on my desk upstairs.

For wealthy people, they’re not usually this generous. I look down at the money, then to my father’s face, unsure, before reaching out and taking it. I stare at the money in my hand. According to my parents, my college fund had been eaten up by the tutors and extracurriculars it had taken to get me in because of my “rough start” to life. I fight the desire to count the money here and now.

“Do not speak to me like that, hija. You want me to be happy to watch you throw your life away?” She scoffs. “I thought you’d follow my example and not your junkie birth mother, but now you choose this life? You choose art over success? Pride over wealth? You choose to raise a baby alone? Who will want you now? Ay dios mio. We tried so hard! Where did we go so wrong?”

Warren hesitates, turning to the ceiling. “I’ve spent so much of my life being angry…angry at my mom for dying. Angry at my dad for not sticking around. Angry at CPS for separating Luke and me. Angry at myself for fucking everything up. Angry at people who get to live normal lives…angry at pretty girls who make me question why I’m so grumpy all the time…” He turns to me, wearing a sincere expression. “A dove is a symbol of peace.” He reaches toward me, holding my cheek in his palm. “That’s what you are to me…peace.”

His chin rests on top of my head and presses into me slightly as he begins to speak. “I thought it was obvious…I plan on keeping you forever. If you’ll have me.”

This man is not my father, or my mother, and he’ll probably never change—but fuck it. I’m done. I’m done holding back my anger toward people who don’t care about the impact their decisions have on others. The manipulation, the emotional immaturity, the narcissistic tendencies…I’m done with it all. Warren and Luke are my family, and I refuse to let this man take any more of our happiness. Him or anyone else.

They’re not perfect, but Chloe’s parents try. Hosting Luke and watching Chloe and I parent from afar has helped heal a lot of wounds. It’s just unfortunate that it wasn’t until Chloe no longer needed their approval that she finally got it.