Free Where Do You Stay by Andrea Cheng Page A

ask?”
    “Can we still be brothers even if our last names are different.”
    “Sure,” I say. “No problem.”

25
    We go back to that lawyer and wait for over two hours. What’d he give us an appointment for if he’s so busy? Aunt Geneva keeps shuffling the papers and looking at her watch. Finally I say, “Can I see those papers?”
    “They’re for the lawyer,” she says.
    “I know. But can I see them?”
    She hesitates.
    “Mama showed me everything,” I say.
    Aunt Geneva hands me the stack.
    There’s my birth certificate on top, Jerome William Mason. Place of birth: Cincinnati, Ohio. University Hospital. Next is my parents’ marriage license. Underneath the date are their names: William Randall Mason and Sylvia Nicole Jackson. I wonder if Mama wanted to change her last name.
    “When ladies get married, do they have to change their names?” I ask.
    “It’s the custom,” Aunt Geneva says.
    “But do they have to?”
    “It’s not a must.”
    “I’m not ever changing my name,” I tell her.
    She pulls her eyebrows together. “It would be simplerif we all had the same last name, Jerome.”
    I feel the tightness in my chest. “Jerome William Mason is the name Mama gave me,” I say. Jerome was Mama’s idea. Daddy wanted to name me William Randall Mason the Second, but Mama said Our baby isn’t second, he’s first. When they came with the papers at the hospital, Mama wrote Jerome in the line for my first name. Sometimes people try to call me Jerry, but I don’t answer because Jerry is not a name I like.
    Finally the secretary calls us into the lawyer’s office. He takes the papers and looks through them. On top of the stack is the one that says Mama died. I don’t know why he even needs that, because why would I be getting adopted if my mother was alive?
    “It looks like everything is in order,” the lawyer says. He smiles at me. “It should come through in about a month.” He doesn’t say anything like Sorry to hear about your mother.
    “Thank you,” Aunt Geneva says. “It would be best to have it settled before the start of the school year.”
    “No guarantee,” the man says. “We have to contact his father, you know.”
    I stiffen. My dad hasn’t been around in so long. What business does this man have trying to find him now?
    “His father hasn’t been seen in years,” Aunt Geneva says.
    “I understand that. But the law says we have to makean effort to contact him. He has one month to respond.”
    “And then?” Aunt Geneva asks.
    “He can voluntarily relinquish his right to the boy.”
    The lawyer acts like he’s not talking about me when I’m sitting in this chair right in front of his face.
    “His father hasn’t been present for most of his life,” Aunt Geneva says crisply.
    A temporary stop. He’s not interested in us, Jerome. No matter. We have each other, that’s what’s important.
    “The law protects his rights as a father.”
    “I don’t know why he would have any rights after all this time,” Aunt Geneva says.
    The man smiles at her like she is a child. “Most likely he won’t respond. That’s what happens nine times out of ten.”
    Aunt Geneva stands up and looks him right in his face. “I hope you will do what you can to expedite this process,” she says.
    “We’ll contact you as soon as we know something.”
    “We’ll be waiting.” Aunt Geneva leads me out of the office.
    We walk down the marble stairs out into the bright sunshine. People are hurrying this way and that on the sidewalk. I can hardly catch my breath.
    “Are you okay, Jerome?” Aunt Geneva asks.
    Concentrate on each breath. In, out, in, out.
    “You want to rest here a minute?” Aunt Geneva leads me to a bench in front of the courthouse. There’s a patchof grass behind it with a sprinkler going. I let the cold water droplets land on my arm. Aunt Geneva wets her hand and puts it on my forehead.
    “I know this isn’t easy, Jerome,” she says. “I know that.”
    The