Chapter 9 - THE ROOM I GOT TO CHOOSE
Roman did not ask me to move in when he came home.
Good.
He asked what I wanted for Saturday.
We went to a bookstore.
The next week, bowling.
He was terrible.
The week after that, I chose his house because I wanted to see whether he had kept the room empty.
He had.
Bed.
Dresser.
Blank walls.
No blue explosion.
Good.
I stood in the doorway.
“You didn’t decorate.”
“You threatened me.”
“I did not.”
“You said you hate blue.”
“Some blue.”
“Impossible standards.”
I smiled.
Then:
“Can I pick?”
“Yes.”
Everything?
“Within structural limits.”
I stared.
“That means no indoor horse.”
Unfair.
I chose pale green walls.
Yellow blanket.
Bookshelves.
A desk by the window.
Roman did not hire a designer.
Good.
We went to a normal furniture store with Mrs. Bennett and Ms. Cho.
Roman tried to buy a desk that cost more than Mrs. Bennett’s car.
I said no.
He looked personally injured.
“Why?”
“It has gold handles.”
“They’re brass.”
“Same.”
Mrs. Bennett laughed.
We bought the cheaper desk.
I assembled one drawer with Roman.
Wrong.
We had to do it again.
Good.
Power did not help with furniture.
The transition plan lasted six months.
At first:
Saturday visits.
Then:
Saturday and Sunday.
Then:
one overnight every other weekend.
Judge Hart reviewed monthly reports.
Roman never missed a therapy appointment.
Never violated supervision.
Never used employees to contact Deborah.
Never interfered with my trust.
Never tried to change my school.
He did argue about the bus.
Of course.
“You are not taking public transit alone.”
“I did before.”
“That does not make it good.”
Mrs. Bennett agreed with him.
Traitor.
We compromised.
School bus.
No private armored car.
Good.
Pickle visited Roman’s house.
Immediately peed on an expensive rug.
Roman stared.
I waited.
He said:
“Of course.”
Progress.
Mrs. Bennett nearly collapsed laughing.
Then came the hard part.
The family-court home study asked me where I wanted to live permanently.
I hated permanently.
Permanently had already failed twice.
Dad.
Mom.
Deborah.
Ms. Cho explained:
“Permanent in court means stable plan. It does not mean nothing can ever change.”
Better.
“Can I stay with Bennett and Roman?”
“Not in two houses equally under one guardianship order, but you can have a legal guardian and still have another adult in your life.”
“What does Bennett want?”
“Ask her.”
I did.
She cried before answering.
Annoying.
“I love having you.”
“But?”
“No but.”
She wiped her face.
“I also became your emergency person because you needed someone. I will stay your person whether you live here or not.”
“Do you want your old life back?”
Mrs. Bennett laughed.
“What old life?”
“Before me.”
“Rosie, my old life involved grading thirty spelling tests alone on Friday nights.”
Fair.
Then she said:
“I don’t want you choosing me because you’re afraid Roman will leave.”
There.
She knew.
“What if he does?”
“Then I’m still here.”
Simple.
Good.
I asked Roman the same question.
“What if you leave?”
We were at his kitchen table.
He put his coffee down.
“I could die. Get sick. Make mistakes. Be ordered away for some legal reason I don’t know yet.”
I hated all answers.
Then:
“So I signed successor-guardian papers.”
“What?”
“If something happens to me, Bennett is first choice, subject to court.”
I looked at him.
“Did she agree?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Bennett had not told me.
Good.
No dramatic surprise needed.
“What about Deborah?”
Roman took time.
“Your choice later, depending on the court and her recovery.”
Good.
Not erasing.
Then he slid a paper toward me.
Not legal.
A list.
ROSIE RULES.
1. SAME SCHOOL.
2. BENNETT KEY TO HOUSE.
3. NO WORK MEETINGS DURING DINNER.
4. NO SURPRISE SECURITY.
5. PICKLE ALLOWED EVEN THOUGH HE IS A CRIMINAL.
6. TRUST STAYS INDEPENDENT.
7. ROSIE CAN ASK TO REVIEW THIS PLAN.
I stared.
“You wrote Pickle is criminal?”
“He damaged property.”
“It was one rug.”
“Exactly how crime begins.”
I laughed.
Then added:
8. NO TALKING ABOUT ME TO REPORTERS.
Roman nodded.
“Already court rule.”
“Still.”
He wrote it.
9. MOM’S THINGS COME WITH ME.
His face softened.
“Yes.”
10. I GET TO CHANGE MY ROOM.
“Yes.”
I thought.
“That’s all.”
“For now?”
“Yes.”
Good.
At the final hearing, Judge Hart asked everyone.
The social worker recommended placement with Roman under continued court supervision for twelve months.
Ms. Cho supported.
Mrs. Bennett supported.
Naomi supported.
The prosecutor monitoring Roman’s reentry raised no objection.
Then Deborah stood.
I had not expected her to speak.
Her lawyer said she wanted to address the court briefly.
Judge Hart allowed.
Deborah looked at me.
“I oppose nothing.”
Silence.
That was new.
“I spent a long time telling myself Rosie needed me because I needed to believe the things I did were part of caring for her.”
Her voice shook.
“They weren’t.”
She looked at Roman.
“I still don’t trust his world.”
Roman nodded.
Fair.
“But he has done something I did not.”
She looked at me again.
“He has let Rosie say no to him.”
My throat tightened.
Deborah continued.
“I support the transition because Rosie wants it.”
There.
Not because Roman won.
Not because Deborah lost.
Because I wanted.
Good.
Judge Hart asked me:
“Rosie, do you understand what this order does?”
“Yes.”
“What does it do?”
“Roman becomes my guardian.”
“And?”
“I live with him.”
“And?”
“Mrs. Bennett is still Mrs. Bennett.”
The judge smiled.
“Yes.”
“And my money is not his.”
A few people laughed.
Roman did not.
“Correct.”
“And Deborah can see me only the way the court says, and if I want.”
“Correct.”
“And Roman can’t move me to another school without asking the court during supervision.”
“Correct.”
I looked at Roman.
He looked nervous.
Good.
Judge Hart asked:
“Is this what you want?”
I thought about the auditorium.
The doors.
On my way.
The aquarium.
Letters.
Prison.
Green walls.
Pickle’s crime.
“Yes.”
The gavel was not dramatic.
Just wood.
Then it was done.
Roman became my legal guardian.
Outside court, reporters waited.
We used the side exit.
Good.
No victory photo.
At Roman’s house, my boxes arrived.
Not many.
Books.
Clothes.
Mom’s scarf.
The shoebox of Roman’s Sunday letters.
A framed picture of me with Mrs. Bennett and Pickle.
Roman carried the heaviest box.
I carried the scarf.
When we reached the green room, he put the box down.
“What now?”
I looked around.
“Move the bed.”
He stared.
“It was placed according to the floor plan.”
“I want it by the other wall.”
He closed his eyes.
Then:
“Fine.”
We moved it.
It looked better.
Good.
That first night, I could not sleep.
I walked down the hall.
Roman’s office light was on.
I stopped at the door.
He saw me.
“Everything okay?”
“No.”
He stood.
Then stopped.
Waited.
Good.
“I miss Bennett.”
“Want to call?”
“It’s midnight.”
“She’ll answer.”
He was right.
She did.
I cried.
Not because I wanted to move back.
Because gaining one home does not erase missing another.
Mrs. Bennett understood.
Roman sat on the floor outside the office while I talked.
Did not listen closely.
At least pretended.
After the call, I sat beside him.
“Do you regret it?”
he asked.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“A little.”
He nodded.
“That’s allowed.”
Good.
“Do you?”
His face changed.
“No.”
Immediate.
Then he added:
“I’m terrified.”
“Of me?”
“Of getting this wrong.”
I leaned against the wall.
“You will.”
He looked offended.
“Bennett says that.”
“She’s smart.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“You just have to say sorry for real.”
Roman smiled.
“Apparently.”
We sat there until I got sleepy.
He did not carry me to bed.
I was nine.
Almost ten.
I walked.
At my door, he said:
“Good night, Rosie.”
“Good night.”
Then I turned.
“Roman?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for coming.”
His face went still.
Not because he remembered the dance.
Because I did.
“You’re welcome.”
I went inside.
He left the hallway light on.
Not all night.
Just until I fell asleep.
The first month in Roman’s house was not magical.
I hated the hallway at night.
The refrigerator made a clicking sound.
Roman forgot that children need snacks before nine.
I forgot that his office door being closed did not mean he was angry.
We learned.
Mrs. Bennett came every Wednesday for dinner.
Not because I was falling apart.
Because I wanted her there.
Roman tried cooking once.
After that, we agreed money could ethically be used for takeout.
Good.
A home became real when it stopped needing to prove it was a home.
Roman kept one drawer in the green room empty.
I asked why.
“For things you haven’t chosen yet.”
That was such a strange answer I liked it immediately.
Not everything had to be decided before I arrived.
Good.
The empty drawer filled slowly.
A library card.
Two friendship bracelets.
A rock from the aquarium.
One photograph of Mom.
Nothing Roman chose.
May you like
That was the point.
The room became mine because I was allowed to leave parts of it unfinished.
