59. Alicia

"What do you think your grandmother would say if she could see you now?"

Eliza did that thing where she cocked her head and waited. Alicia hated it when she did that thing. She hated Eliza's stupid office with its calming blue paint and soft furnishings. She hated her neat gray hair and pressed beige slacks. She hated the way Eliza wouldn't let her deflect her feelings with sarcasm. She hated the fact that, in nearly every session over the past year, she'd cried.

"I think," she started, "Grammy would say she was proud."

And there she went, blubbering like an idiot.

Eliza didn't even need to push the tissues toward her. These days, Alicia just grabbed the box on her way in the door and held it in her lap. She took one now and dabbed at her eyes.

Eliza smiled her calming smile. "I think you're right."

Eliza charged Alicia $185 for making her cry, and then, like the sadist she was, Alicia made an appointment for the following week. For all of the suffering Eliza caused her, Alicia had to admit, there was something addictive about the sessions. Each time she left the psychologist's office, Alicia felt lighter.

Back home, Alicia heard the hum of life as soon she put her key in the door. Meera was in the kitchen making a salad. Aaron was sitting at the counter, demolishing Meera's beautifully prepared charcuterie board as if it were McDonald's.

"How'd it go?" Meera asked, shaking a jar of dressing.

"Awful." Alicia kissed her. "I talked about myself and my problems for fifty minutes. Now I feel dreadfully sorry for myself." She shut the fridge without taking anything out.

"Serves you right," Aaron said, "for forcing foster kids to go to counselling."

"Touché. Look, I think it might be… useful. I will say I feel much better about certain things now."

"What things?" Aaron said, loading what must have been seven dollars' worth of prosciutto on top of a cracker.

"None of your business," she said, sitting on the stool beside his. "And leave some of that for me. Where's Theo?"

"Napping," Meera said, and then she lifted her head slightly at the sound of movement. "Was napping."

"I awake!" the little boy called. "Awon?"

Theo was now talking so much it was hard to imagine he was ever silent. His favorite and most oft-used word was Aaron—or Awon, in toddler-speak.

Aaron sighed, standing. "I guess I have to do everything around here," he said, rolling his eyes.

Alicia snorted. Nothing brought her more joy than Aaron giving them cheek. A child comfortable enough to give their carer cheek is a secure child. At least, she hoped that was the case, now that they'd officially adopted him. She, on the other hand, wasn't quite as secure. She was already feeling that low tug of dread when she thought about the fact that Aaron was leaving to go to university in the new year. He had come into his own in the last six months.

"Sit down and finish eating your inheritance," Meera told him. "I'll get Theo."

Aaron sat back down.

It was during the car trip back to Melbourne from Port Agatha that Alicia had managed to verbalize to Meera what she'd been unable to stop thinking about.

"Meera, I'm wondering if you would consider representing me if I petitioned to legally adopt Theo and Aaron?"

Meera, of course, knew exactly how she would go about it, and outlined the process in detail. It wasn't until they were nearly back home that she said, "Your application would be stronger if you adopted as part of a couple."

She cocked an eyebrow.

And so it was decided. Given their connections, and the fact that they had both undertaken all the required checks and training, the process was relatively straightforward. Theo had struggled with the adjustment, but having Aaron with him had done wonders for his integration into their family.

Being thrust into parenthood of a teen and a toddler had also done wonders for Alicia. To her great surprise, she loved being part of a family. Loved the banter in the kitchen as they made dinner. Loved telling Aaron to clean his room. Loved moaning about Theo drawing on the walls again. Loved that moment at the end of the day when Theo was asleep and Aaron was in his room, and she and Meera curled up on the couch and heaved a silent, satisfied sigh at having made it through another day. Alicia remembered Grammy releasing that sigh when she returned to the living room after putting her to bed. This was what parenthood was meant to be, she realized. Nothing at all like what she'd experienced at Wild Meadows.

"Aaron!" Alicia cried, as Aaron picked up an entire cube of quince paste. "What the—"

"Dare me to eat it?"

"No!" she said. Then, she reconsidered. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Meera wasn't around. "Actually, go on."

He didn't hesitate, just crammed the entire thing in his mouth. Almost immediately he started making gagging faces. Alicia began to laugh uncontrollably.

As he ran to the rubbish bin to spit it out, Alicia felt that unfamiliar feeling again—the one that bowled her over at least once a day, and always at the strangest times. When Theo hit his head and held his arms out to her for comfort. When Aaron had a girl over and asked if they could hang out in his room. When they all ate dinner in front of the TV. When Aaron did something dumb like eat an entire cube of quince paste. The feeling was gratitude mixed with a little horror. The feeling was: We could have missed this.

"Alicia?" Aaron said, once he'd rinsed his mouth out with water and returned to his spot on the stool. "Remember when I said I was lucky that Trish was keeping me until I finished school, and you said I wasn't lucky because it was the least I deserved?"

"Yeah, mate."

"I'm lucky now," he said decisively. A momentary pause. "Right?"

It was in that pause she saw the lasting wounds of his upbringing. Despite the bravado, the sarcasm, the cheekiness, he still needed that reassurance. Alicia's role was to give it to him. It was a role she relished more than she could describe. The best role of her life.

"Sorry," she said, rumpling his hair. "But that'd be us. We are the lucky ones."