Page 19 of Going All In

Jesus, it’s like reading a fucking Highlights magazine. You know, the ones for little kids who can’t read, so they put little pictures for the hard words. That’s what happens when your little sister teaches your mom about emojis.

Mom, Addie, Josie, and Holly

Holly: Thanks, Judy. I’ll be there.

Maddox: I’ll be there. Stop using emojis, Mom.

Mom: *heart emoji* you all.

Holly’s text pops up just as I hitSendwith my last text. She looks over at me when she reads my reply. I can tell from her face that she wasn’t expecting me to accept.

“You’re going, too?” she asks, then shakes her head. “I mean, of course you’re going. It’s your mom’s house. I don’t have to go.”

I put the phone down and fold the game board into the box. “Of course I’m going. It’s Thanksgiving. Mom’s turkey is amazing. You should come.”

She chews her lip. “I don’t want it to be weird.”

I take two steps, closing the distance between us. I place two fingers under her chin to tilt it up so she has to meet my eyes. “It’s not weird. I enjoy being around you.” I run my thumb over her lower lip, the one I want to nibble on.

Her cheeks flush, and her pupils dilate as I bring my lips to her ear. “I can behave myself if I have to. Can you?”

7

HOLLY

JJ forwards me the information for my date on Thursday afternoon, three hours before the date itself—enough time to prepare, not enough time to stress out so much that I lose my nerve.

My first contender for Mr. Right is named Charles. He’s thirty, loves Italian food, and works as an accountant. His profile picture is of a man wearing a baseball cap, the Phillies stadium behind him. I mentally add baseball to his list of likes. He looks cute, at least from the picture.

I’m meeting him at Table 12, a trendy BYO restaurant in Center City. I arrive before he does and check my watch. It’s 6:58, so I’m actually early, although it would have been a point in his favor if he’d gotten here before me.

The hostess shows me to a table. I hand her the bottle of Malbec I picked up on the way here. The BYO—bring your own—restaurants don’t sell alcohol, but you can bring it in, and they’ll serve it for you.

At 7:05, I’m still waiting, and I let the waitress pour me a glass.

This is fine. Maybe he got held up with a work emergency. Accountants have emergencies at work sometimes, don’t they?

I mean, probably not the same kind of emergencies doctors would have to deal with. And probably not even the same kind of emergencies we have at the office when we need to urgently take custody of a child to get them out of an unsafe situation. But I’m sure there’s some kind of accounting emergency that could come up. Probably.

I take a sip of my wine, then a second sip. Today was stressful at work, even more than usual. I’m still searching for a placement for Julio for after the holidays. I’ve called my usual contacts, but no one can take him. It’s understandable that no one would be prepared to take on a new foster kid so close to the holidays, and I know a lot of the social workers in my department would just accept that he’ll need to be in a group home for a few weeks. But I think of that precious boy in what is, essentially, an orphanage, just prettied up with a nicer name. I can’t give up on him like that.

I take another sip of wine, nodding to myself. I’ll find a place for Julio. Maybe an emergency placement would work. We had to find one of those today for a baby, and just as much as thinking of Julio, maybe even more so, this one wrecked me. The baby was left in one of the Baby Safe Haven boxes by the fire station.

I blink back a tear as I imagine him being left there. Did he know what was happening? Was he confused when his mother put him there and never came back, leaving him with strangers?

The boxes are such a good thing, they really are. Almost every state has laws allowing you to surrender your baby, no questions asked, but the boxes are becoming more common, too. They’re a safe place, warm and dry, and as soon as a baby is put in there an alarm goes off, so a baby is never in there for more than a minute or two by themself.

It’s saved so many unwanted babies. But just the idea that someone wouldn’t want such a precious thing always gets to me. This little one is safe now, happy with one of my favorite foster families.

I mentally cross my fingers that they’ll be able to keep this little one for a while.

I bring the wine glass to my lips and sip again. I check my watch. 7:09. This is not a good impression for a first date, buddy.

“Holly?”

I turn at the voice to find a man who vaguely resembles the photo I saw of Charles. He’s taller than me, although not by much. He’s bald, now that he’s not wearing his baseball cap.

I smile and nod. “Yes. You must be Charles. It’s nice to meet you.”

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