Chapter Text
Jesus Christ, this house is big.
It’s not even a house. It’s a mansion, which technically are houses, but it doesn’t look like a house. It’s symmetrical to match the courtyard, which has trees on either side of the circular driveway with an actual fountain in the middle, roses planted around it.
Even Ms. Norbury seems taken aback, and it must be nauseatingly perfect if she’s reacting to it again. She was here a few weeks ago to assure it was suitable, and now Janis is tempted to argue that it’s literally too good to be true.
The parents are waiting on the front porch, and the mom, clad in tight white capris and a flowy pink top, waves ecstatically with one arm. She cradles a hairy brown dog in the other.
Ms. Norbury parks in front and climbs out as the woman and her tall, balding husband come down the steps to greet them. Janis watches in morbid awe as he balances her on the stairs given the height of her silver heels.
Good God. Janis didn’t think people like that actually existed.
While Ms. Norbury exchanges pleasantries, Janis quickly checks her backpack to make sure she has everything. Her entire life can fit in this backpack, she realizes dimly as she hauls it onto her shoulder, begrudgingly popping the door open.
When she steps out into the cloudy autumn afternoon, she barely has time to glance at the big house before she’s being pulled into a one-armed hug by the woman. Stephanie George, she thinks her name is. Ms. Norbury has probably mentioned it lots of times lately. Janis hardly listens at this point when she’s being told who her new foster parents are. It never seems to matter.
“We’re so happy you’re here!” Mrs. George squeals, thankfully stepping back before her floral perfume suffocates poor Janis, despite Janis being a good several inches taller (she’s taller than everybody, she’s used to it by now).
“Thanks,” Janis manages to say. In a neutral voice this time. Yay, progress.
Mrs. George puts the little dog down when it starts to squirm, and Janis lets it sniff her combat boots, the slightest bit endeared by its sweater and wagging tail.
“This is Henry,” Mrs. George tells her. “Do you like dogs?”
Janis half-shrugs, half-nods. “Yeah, I like dogs.” She’s never had a permanent one, but they’re reliable secret-keepers. There’s more dogs out there who know her better than people do.
Mrs. George introduces Janis to her husband, and they shake hands. Everything about Janis is bigger than the average teenager, but his hand still swallows hers. She doesn’t know how to feel about that, but his eyes are warm.
“Alright, come on inside, it’s chilly out here,” Mrs. George chirps then, waving everybody in the direction of the mansion. “Janis, I bought all different kinds of cookie dough since I don’t know what you like, so I haven’t made the cookies yet. I wanted you to choose.”
“Oh,” Janis replies, dumbfounded, awkwardly trailing after the adults, Henry still at her heels. “Um. Thank you. Chocolate chip is fine, I guess.”
Mrs. George claps, opening one of the huge mahogany doors. “Oh, those are my favorite! You have good taste, sweetie. Chocolate chip it is then. You can help make them if you want.”
“Steph, don’t overwhelm the poor girl,” her husband, Alexander, murmurs as she shuts the door.
“It’s fine,” Janis assures immediately. As uncomfortable as she is merely being seen by other people, this couple mean well, and Mrs. George is clearly making an effort to help her feel at home here. It’s a nice gesture, she isn’t so bitter and traumatized she can’t mind her manners. “I might eat all the dough, though.”
Mrs. George cackles, and Ms. Norbury nudges Janis’s elbow, seeming proud she’s talking to them. One family she never spoke a word to. That’s why they gave up.
“Oh, you’re funny,” Mrs. George says, leading them down the foyer to the kitchen.
Janis gapes at the interior, trying to take in as much as she can without being a slowpoke. It’s beautifully decorated, and she’s strangely soothed by the pale, classy tones. But then she’s suddenly aware of how badly her wardrobe contrasts with it.
That might not be a problem for a normal person, but normal people aren’t in her situation nor have they been booted from houses for insignificant crap like that. Granted, usually she made it worse or did something to warrant it, but still.
These people are the epitome of wealth and having their shit together. Janis is embarrassed for them that they have to care for her and possibly be seen in public with her.
Mrs. George shows her around, but not in an obnoxious way like other rich moms have done. Janis admires her resistance to flaunting her home to a teenager who couldn’t care less about how much everything costs, and gets the sense she truly wants Janis to feel welcome here. It makes Janis’s skin itch regardless, but she’s sweet.
Without being asked, Janis pauses to take her boots off at the foot of the staircase. She vividly recalls the one house tour where the woman’s demeanor shifted instantly rather than ask her not to wear shoes on the carpet. That lady held it against her until she left.
Upstairs is also fabulous, and there’s so many rooms Janis vaguely thinks this should be the group home rather than the default one she always goes back to. They could fit twice the kids and probably afford to feed them all.
“That’s our daughter Regina’s room,” Mrs. George is saying, pointing to an open doorway that leads to an awful lot of pink. Janis controls her face so she won’t offend them right off the bat, but good heavens, she’d go crazy if she were stuck in that room.
Luckily Janis already knew the Georges have a daughter her age. She evidently isn’t here yet, so Janis is grateful to have time to relax before awkward small talk and those long expectant glances when they don’t know what else to say.
“Aaand, last but not least, here’s your room, honey,” Mrs. George says, opening a door.
Janis heaves a sigh of relief when she sees how practical and simple her room is. It’s one of the smaller rooms, with cream walls and fluffy white carpet. The furniture is high end but not so over the top she feels guilty being in here.
“We didn’t know what kind of decor and bedding you like,” Mrs. George explains gently. “So we just went with the basics. We’d be more than happy to buy you more colorful stuff.”
Janis shucks off her backpack, a thrum of anxiety pulsing through her as it leaves her body so she can set it down on the nearby dresser. It’s almost like an extra limb or organ she needs to survive. She can’t go anywhere without it.
“Uh, yeah,” she answers belatedly after sweeping the room one more time. She musters a grin of appreciation, and both Mr. and Mrs. George smile back. Ms. Norbury hangs in the doorway, watching with a melancholy look on her face. Janis understands why.
“Alright, well, let’s give you some time to yourself. Out, Alex.” Mrs. George shoos her husband out of the room, and he disappears after exchanging an amused wave with Janis. It’s not often Janis feels safe around men, and of course time will tell as it always does, but she likes him—at the very least, he hasn’t been staring at her ass. The bar has never been lower.
Mrs. George turns back to say to Ms. Norbury, “Oh, Sharon, you’re welcome to stay for dinner. You don’t have to leave just yet if Janis wants you to stick around.”
“Thank you, Stephanie,” Ms. Norbury tells her sincerely, then looks to Janis. “It’s up to her.”
“Uh—no, it’s okay,” Janis says, trying not to sound happy Ms. Norbury needs to leave but also not too sad, because that would mean she cares.
She feels something akin to affection for Ms. Norbury. Being Janis’s case worker for twelve years has that effect. Very mildly.
“I mean, um—you can go, I’ll be okay,” Janis corrects, fidgeting with her many rings. “I know you’re busy and have stuff to do. Paperwork and all that. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” Ms. Norbury says, but doesn’t move a muscle. Mrs. George pats her shoulder, scoops up Henry, and leaves to give them privacy.
This is the hard part. Janis doesn’t care, obviously, but it’s still hard. Ms. Norbury is always the glue keeping her together, and now she has to leave. Not for long, Janis has low expectations, but the adjustment period is going to suck and Janis isn’t sure when she’ll see her again.
Maybe she does care. A teensy bit. Barely at all. But she does.
She sinks onto the bed, long legs stretched out in front of her. Ms. Norbury comes over to take a seat beside her, significantly shorter. They sit the same, with their ankles crossed, shoulders hunched. Both feeling the weight of an unsaid goodbye.
At this point they really don’t have to say it.
“You can call me whenever,” Ms. Norbury says softly. “For anything. You know that?”
Janis nods mutely, focusing on her hands, willing them not to shake.
“I’d give a speech about giving these people a chance,” Ms. Norbury continues, “and that you could end up staying permanently. But that’s not what you want to hear. I understand. So I will say this: you’re a good kid, and you deserve better than what the world has thrown at you.”
Janis’s throat tightens then, and she wishes her side cut was on the opposite side so she had hair to cover her face. But she’s exposed, like a nerve.
Ms. Norbury has seen her cry enough times that maybe she can deal with it.
“I’m sorry this is happening again,” the older woman says quietly, a hand now on Janis’s arm. “I wish I could promise things will be different. But we’ll have to wait and see. But I’m hoping for the best this time. I really like these people. I get good vibes from them. You might not, so I hope my word means something to you,” and Janis grins, just a little, “so you’ll sleep better tonight. Just gotta take it one day at a time, kid.”
Janis nods her understanding, having successfully kept her tears at bay. “Yeah. I will. Thanks, Norbury.” She only thinks of the woman by her surname, but they’re past formalities.
Ms. Norbury—Sharon, Janis thinks, just call her Sharon—pats Janis’s knee and rises from the bed. “I’m sure you’ll have fun decorating,” she notes. “When I come back to see you in a few weeks, there better be sketches and paintings all over.”
Janis snorts, bumping her foot to Sharon’s leg. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll see.”
Sharon holds her arms out then. “Can I get a hug?” she asks, and it’s the one thing Janis can’t deny either of them. They used to be the same height, but now Janis has to lean down slightly to squeeze tiny Sharon, who hugs her with such sudden urgency it makes Janis’s heart throb. She bites her tongue, comforted by Sharon’s familiar vanilla almond scent.
They both know the other is emotional when they finally pull away. Sharon rubs Janis’s arm, almost to soothe herself, and heads for the door.
“Mr. George will probably bring your suitcases up later,” she tells Janis.
“Cool,” Janis replies, looking anywhere but Sharon’s face.
“See you around, kid,” Sharon says, and Janis smiles gratefully in farewell. Then Sharon exits the room, softly shutting the door behind her.
Janis folds her arms and stares at the ceiling for a long time. She wills her heart to slow down, to stop hurting over someone she shouldn’t miss. Sharon is just her case worker.
It’s not like she hasn’t held Janis as she cried, defended her to parents who turned their backs on a child, made her laugh when her world was falling apart. Again and again and again, this woman is there. From start to finish. Every single fucking time.
So, Janis does care. More than she’d like to admit. But she always only realizes how much it hurts to say goodbye when Sharon is gone. And that makes it hurt even more.
There’s a knock on the door an hour later. “Janis?” Mrs. George’s voice says through it. “Just thought you should know Regina is home, if you’d like to meet her.”
Janis’s stomach sinks, but she puts her phone in the nightstand drawer and reluctantly leaves the unsurprisingly comfy bed. Mrs. George’s face lights up when Janis opens the door.
“Do I look okay?” is Janis’s first question.
Mrs. George waves a hand. “You look fine, honey. Regina won’t care.”
Janis already highly doubts that. An almost eerie vibe has filled the house, and that doesn’t sit well with her. Tyrannical toddlers are one thing. Teens are another.
She follows Mrs. George down the winding staircase and into the conjoined kitchen and living area. Janis chokes when she spots Regina, a leggy blonde who looks like the human version of a Barbie doll. She’s standing at the kitchen island talking to her father while he flips through a cookbook, and her ass is something else.
“Regina,” Mrs. George chirps, and her ramen noodle hair bounces as she whirls around. She smiles so sickly sweet when she sees Janis, and she reminds her of every white blonde bitch in a teen coming of age movie. Fake smile, fake nails, debatably fake tits.
“Oh, hi,” she says in a high voice, and just like that, as hot as she objectively is, Janis cannot in good lesbian conscience handle that. (At least it fits with her Barbie vibe.) Even her hands are slim and pretty when she walks over to offer one. “I’m Regina.”
“Janis,” Janis replies, even more intimidated up close. She’s beautiful—obscenely, she could be a model—but something in her eyes gives Janis an indescribable feeling. She’s never met a foster sibling she was vaguely afraid of. Usually it’s the other way around.
“Mom and Dad have told me a lot about you,” Regina says. “You like it here yet?”
“Yeah, it’s great,” Janis admits honestly, and Mrs. George beams. “Lots of rooms. I’ve never been in a house so big.” Even the biggest house prior was half this size.
Regina looks like she wants to say something, then thinks better of it. Janis almost wants her to, just to see how bold she’ll be in front of her parents. But instead she says, “Well, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” not sounding at all like that is even remotely true.
The awkwardness is blessedly cut short when Mr. George pipes up to ask Janis come over and pick something for dinner, and Janis has never been so thankful to be near a man in her life. He encourages her to pick anything, so she decides a basic pasta dish, since she can eat that and not make a total fool of herself.
Regina goes upstairs to change as Janis assists in the kitchen. Aside from her art, she likes cooking, or at least trying to. The smell of food makes her feel homey, no matter where she is or who she’s with. It normalizes her existence for a short while.
Regina returns when her mother calls for her to set the table, and she comes back wearing what Janis assumes are a rich girl’s idea of sweats: loose jeans and a pink blouse not unlike her mother’s. Her hair is pulled back, though, and she took some of her makeup off.
“Smells good,” she praises as she goes to grab table settings, and Janis can’t help but feel a misplaced hiccup of validation in her chest.
Janis is glad Regina sets the table because if it were up to her, she’d have totally humiliated herself for not knowing where everything should go. She’s also relieved when they all sit and nobody links hands for grace or starts off with a toast to their new arrival.
Dinner is relatively normal, and not nearly as suffocating as she was expecting. Regina is quiet but her parents are funny together, and make an effort to include Janis in the conversation. It throws her off, because never before has she been a real priority, especially at dinnertime. It’s usually filled with the sound of fussy babies, irritated moms, and no interaction on Janis’s part.
Mrs. George tells Janis to sit and digest when it’s over, but Janis insists on helping clear the table, out of habit and just because she’s obligated. Mrs. George isn’t one to argue or deny the help, especially since Regina is deliberately immobile.
“Things might be a little weird for you two right now,” she says under her breath, taking empty glasses from Janis. “This is a big adjustment for both of you. Regina’s never had to share the house with anyone, and this was rather sudden.”
Janis feels a flicker of guilt, and it must show on her face because Mrs. George quickly says, “I don’t mean that in a bad way, sweetie. We just weren’t expecting to get an application to foster since we’ve been waiting so long to hear back from them. But we’re happy to have you.”
“Thanks,” Janis says softly, knowing ‘we’ does not include Regina.
When Janis showers, she’s in tears over having her own bathroom all to herself. She puts on her music, figuring the house is so big they can’t hear it downstairs. She lets hot water soak into her hair and pulse onto her neck and shoulders, unaware of how tense she was until now. Showers are probably her favorite part of the day.
Feeling clean and relaxed, she dons an oversized shirt and pair of sleep shorts, which are the least amount of clothing she wears a day. She turns down her music once she’s cozy in bed, scrolling through her Tumblr. Social media is banned at the group home and the teenagers’ phones are regularly monitored, so this is the first time she’s been able to check her accounts in several weeks. She’s relieved she won’t have to delete and redownload apps for a while.
She’s humming along to a Queen song when someone knocks at the door. She pauses it the same moment Regina asks, “Hi, can I come in?”
Janis swallows, her good mood evaporating. “Uh, yeah, sure.”
Regina enters, clad in a tank top and sweatpants. Janis’s anxiety spikes as the door shuts.
She isn’t sure why she’s surprised when Regina instantly adopts a haughty expression, arms folded to accentuate her possible boob job. “Comfortable?” is all she says.
Janis clutches her phone a bit tighter. “Yeah.”
Regina smiles, but it isn’t a smile, more like a half-sneer. “Well, don’t be,” she sniffs then, and now looks like she’s suppressing a laugh. “You’ll be out of here soon enough. Dinner was real sweet and all, but don’t expect it to last.”
Behind the terror, there’s anger, and Janis wonders where the hell this little miss gets her ugly attitude. “Yeah, I know,” she responds curtly, and Regina seems slightly taken aback that she’s already aware of her fate. “I’ve been in thirteen houses over the last twelve years, I’m good at not getting my hopes up anymore. But I can still be comfy in this bed.”
Regina’s tongue pokes her cheek. “Well, don’t go thinking we’re friends, or that my parents are going to love you. Though, clearly, you’re used to that.”
That cuts deep. Janis winces, genuinely feeling like she’s been stabbed.
“Anyway, we’re gonna go to school together,” Regina continues airily. “I’m warning you now to keep your distance. If anyone knew my parents were fostering some dykey brat, I wouldn’t be able to live that down. Gosh.” She rolls her eyes. “So, yeah, just pretend you don’t know me.” Regina waggles her fingers in farewell. “Off to bed now. See you tomorrow.”
And then she leaves like she didn’t just insult Janis to hell and back. Janis is so shocked she can’t move for a solid two minutes, staring at a GIF as it loops and loops and loops.
Later, she briefly considers calling Sharon, then decides against it. She wouldn’t tell her about Regina, but Sharon knows her voice. And Janis can’t lie to her.
She lays in bed under the covers in the dark, replaying Regina’s words in her head. The word “dyke” jumps out at her in various memories she’d rather forget. She hates the word triggered, but it’s hard not to be.
She eventually falls asleep, but that stabbing feeling hasn’t gone away.