You Were Meant For Me Read Online Free PDF

Waxman. “We have our protocols, and they are strictly adhered to.”
    â€œWill they love her, though? How can your protocols determine that?”
    Judge Waxman pursed her shiny lips in what looked like irritation. But when she spoke, it was with more gentleness than she had previously displayed. “What about
you
, Ms. Berenzweig?” she asked.
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œWhat about you as a prospective foster parent? With the goal of adoption?”
    â€œMe?” Miranda’s hopes lifted briefly at the thought before they came plummeting down again. How could she even consider adopting a baby? She had no husband, no boyfriend even, and an already-demanding job that was about to become even more demanding.
    â€œYes, you,” Judge Waxman was saying. “I think you’vedemonstrated a remarkable attachment to this infant already. How many times have you been to see me about her? And how many times have you been to see
her
?”
    â€œWell, she’s such a darling little thing, and of course I was concerned about her, having found her and everything—” She was babbling, babbling like an incoherent fool. She took a deep, centering breath and began again. “Doesn’t it all take time?” she said. “Aren’t there
protocols
?”
    Again that shrewd, raking look from the judge. “Of course there are. But in cases of urgent need, and this certainly qualifies, I have ways of . . . expediting things when I need to. We could conduct a home visit, and if everything is found to be in order, we could place her with you and begin the adoption proceedings. It would take a few months, but in the meantime you’d be fostering her and getting to know her better.”
    I already know her,
Miranda wanted to say. But that seemed, well, crazy. So she kept quiet.
    â€œWhy don’t you sleep on it?” Judge Waxman asked. “Think it over. Talk to your family. Your friends. And give me your answer in the next few days.”
    Miranda nodded and left. Isn’t this what she’d been hoping for, wishing for, in some way
scheming
for since the first time she’d shown up in front of Judge Waxman? Now that the offer was actually on the table, though, she was petrified, and she walked out of the building bathed in a pure, icy panic. Rather than take the subway, she decided to walk for a while; she needed to clear her head.
    The day was sunny and not too cold; there were lots of people on the pedestrian path of the Brooklyn Bridge. Miranda had to maneuver past power walkers, joggers, women with strollers, old couples with thick-soled shoes and Polarfleece jackets, and an excited, noisy bunch of school kids, all wearing identical neon orange vests. Below, the water shifted and sparkled; a flight of birds—she had not a clue as to what they were—sliced the sky above.
    The new Web site about to launch at
Domestic Goddess
meant that in addition to her current workload, Miranda would now be overseeing all the online food content—more recipes that needed testing, more features that needed assigning, more deadline-averse writers. It was a step-up in responsibility, prestige, and scope. It would also mean a lot more work, especially in the beginning. How would she manage all that, on her own, with a brand-new baby? And the baby looked to be black. Maybe she would be better off with a different sort of family—a family with two parents, or a family in which at least one of them had skin her color.
    Once across the bridge, Miranda walked west until she reached Greenwich Street and started heading uptown. Assuming she could clear the racial hurdle—Judge Waxman, after all, had not even raised the issue—could she afford to hire a sitter? Or would she need to resort to daycare? What would her father say? Her landlady and her colleagues at work? Her friends? She had a hunch that Courtney was going to rain right down all over her parade. What