Page 7 of Going All In

“Oh my God. I’m so hungover.” JJ shuffles into our shared office and flops onto the tattered sofa, which wheezes out a cloud of dust as she lands, laying an arm over her eyes.

It’s a typical Monday. I’d be alarmed if this wasn’t JJ’s usual routine after she’s been out all night. She’s been this way since the very first time she dragged me to a bar that first week of grad school. Party hard, claim to have the worst hangover of your life and that you’ll never drink again, and then go out that night and do it all over again.

I raise a brow. “Dramatic much? Anyway, that’s what you get for taking some college kid home from the bar. You’re almost thirty. We can’t drink like we used to.” I put my phone down to open the mini fridge between our desks and pull out the iced coffee I picked up for her. “Was the sex at least good?”

“He wasn’t in college. And we’re not almost thirty.” JJ reaches out a hand for the cup without moving her arm from where it’s draped over her eyes.

I press the coffee into her outstretched hand without responding.

A lesser friend would ignore the drama, but this is what you sign up for when your best friend is JJ. I choose not to point out that we are both, indeed, looking at the dubious landmark of our thirtieth birthdays within three years.

She sits up and practically chugs the coffee. “And… it happened.”

“That good, huh?” I wrap my hands around my own mug, needing the warmth. How JJ can drink iced beverages when it’s thirty-five degrees out, I’ve never understood.

JJ shrugs. “Yeah. That’s about the best description I can give you of our coupling, or whatever you want to call it. I need to stop sleeping with younger guys. They never know what they’re doing.”

I snort and pick up the folder from my desk, heading to the conference room for an interview with a potential foster family.

It’s always such a feeling of accomplishment to have another foster family join us. It’s so hard to place kids with the limited families available, so the more the merrier.

My meeting ends up going well, and an hour later they’re done with the paperwork and excited for the challenge. They’re ready for a placement as soon as we complete their background checks, although that will take a while. Nothing in government moves fast.

I grab a protein bar as I walk by my office to snag the folder I need.

JJ is at her desk, engrossed in a phone call, and doesn’t look up when I walk in. She does everything a hundred and ten percent. She’ll work her ass off all day and then be ready to go out by this evening.

My next appointment is a site visit. I placed Julio with a new foster family two weeks ago, and today’s visit is at their home to see how he’s settling in. Julio is eight, and he’s about the sweetest kid I’ve ever met. His dad has never been in the picture, and his mom has been in and out of jail for the past several years, finally relinquishing custody altogether last year.

I’ve been Julio’s case worker since I started at DHS, and I’m completely in love with this little guy. He’s been in foster homes since he was four, but none of them seem to stick for more than six months. Some even less.

I hope this one will be a good placement for him.

I take Kelly Drive to the Manayunk house. Even though it’s part of Philadelphia proper, the subdivision is so far out of the way that it’s almost impossible to get there without driving, especially if you’re working on limited time. When I pull into the driveway of the duplex, my heart sinks.

Julio is sitting on the front stoop, staring at the ground.

I climb out of my ancient Toyota Corolla and walk up to him. “Hi, Julio. How is everything going?”

He finally glances up to briefly acknowledge me before looking back down at his feet, but even from that quick glance I could see the sadness in those big brown eyes. “Hi, Miss Holly. It’s okay.”

“Can I give you a hug today?” I always ask before swooping in.

Some of my kids have bad reactions to any physical touch because of things in their past. Some have just never had any control in their lives and need to have a say in something that happens to them.

Julio nods and stands up. I wrap my arms around him in a quick embrace.

“I missed you, kiddo. How are things with Brad and Linda?”

The older couple has been a foster family for ages. I’ve placed several kids with them since I started as a case worker, and I’ve never had any complaints, but Julio doesn’t look like he’s having the best day.

“They’re good. I really like them, but I heard Mrs. Linda say that they’re retiring. They don’t want to be foster parents anymore. They don’t know that I know. Do you think it’s something I did?” He looks up at me with such a crestfallen expression that a lump rises in my throat.

“Oh, honey. I’m sure it’s nothing you did. Do you want to come inside while I talk with them a while?” I hold out my hand.

Julio takes my hand as we climb the cracked cement front steps. I knock on the door, Julio’s hand clinging to mine.

Brad and Linda know the routine after so many years of foster parenting, and the visit goes smoothly. They have the paperwork ready, know what questions I ask, and are ready with answers. After we go through our usual routine, they send Julio upstairs to play in his room.

---