"I had a meeting with Child and Family Services."
"Child and what?" I ask, stirring the food in the skillet to make sure the veggies don't burn. I don't cook often, but this is one of the things I make that I know makes Kayla happy.
"It's the state agency that's over the adoption center."
"Adoption?"
"Yeah. I thought I'd check things out a little more. I filled out paperwork there a while back and I hadn't really followed up on it."
"Are you seriously considering it?"
"I was."
"Was?"
"Well, it seemed like the perfect answer. I don't need a man for it. I'd be able to help a child and give them a home, much like your mom did for me."
"True, but now you've changed your mind?"
"Not really. They kind of changed it for me."
"What do you mean?"
"Adoption is nearly impossible. Unless you're richer than God, or happily married and have the perfect home life."
"Ah. I get it. They don't want single parents adopting?"
"Not at all. Or at least, not unless it's a last resort. The system is so broken, White."
"I can't argue there, Buttercup. So what are you going to do?"
"Give up?"
"That doesn't sound like the Kayla I know and love."
"Well, that's how I feel. At least right now."
She looks so sad and alone that I can't stop myself from walking around and standing beside her. I pull her up on her feet and her pretty brown eyes look up at me, full of sadness. I'm frozen by them for a minute. They're a sweet, deep brown color, and I can see just a hint of another color.
"Your eyes have green in them," I tell her without even realizing it. My fingers move up and down on her soft cheek.
"Yeah, I guess. They're boring."
"They're beautiful," I tell her honestly. I bend down to kiss her forehead. "I have an idea."
"What's that?" she asks and I reach up to unpin her hair. It takes me a minute to find all of the clasps, but soon her brown hair is falling down around her shoulders. Much better.
"How about you go get comfortable. I'll dish you up a plate of the best stir-fry you've ever had in your life—"
"You're so modest," she interrupts and I smile.
"And when you come back, we'll kick it in front of the television and I'll let you watch one of those horrible movies you love."
"You're joking?"
"Not even a little bit."
"Hmm... Notting Hill?"
"Kill me now. Seriously?"
"I love that movie."
"Fine,” I groan jokingly because I already knew what she would pick. “Notting Hill it is, but after that we're watching my man Vin Diesel. I'll need to refuel up on my man points."
"Sounds great." She smiles, pulling away from me. She takes a few steps before turning back around. She stares at me for a moment and I see a question in her eyes.
"What?" I ask.
"Thank you for this, White."
"Anytime, Buttercup. Anytime."
She nods, and then walks away. I stare after her for a minute. Even through her smile, she seems so sad. I wish I knew how to fix it. Kayla is one of the very few people I know who is genuinely caring and loving. There's nothing false in her. It doesn't seem right that she's having this much trouble getting the life that she wants. Especially since her dreams don't seem all that extraordinary.
I shake off the thought and get busy dishing up our food and carrying it over to her coffee table. Then I hunt for that damn movie that she wants. I should be glad it's this one and not that other one she watches sometimes: You've Got Mail. That one makes no sense at all. What kind of people can fall in love just by talking to each other? That's not even possible and I can't see how people can pretend it is, even to watch a movie.
CHAPTER 11
KAYLA
I change into my pajamas, throwing my hair on top of my head in a messy bun. The last thing I wanted tonight was company, but crazily enough, I like having White around. He makes the empty apartment feel less depressing. I spare a glance at myself in the mirror and for a minute worry about how big my tank and shorts make my hips look. Then I remember it's White and it wouldn't matter to him if I was stark naked. He doesn't think of me along those lines. That isn't allowed to make me sad anymore. No looking back. Besides, this afternoon at the bar, I came up with a decision and I'm going to stick with it.
I go back out into the living room to find White already sprawled out on the living room floor in front of my coffee table, staring at the television. His broad back is braced against my sofa and he looks like an overgrown kid. I smile like I always do at seeing him like this. The White I know is so different from the one all the sports magazines write about, or even the White on the football field. I get a feeling I might be the only one to see him like this, completely. I like that he can feel that relaxed with me.