I don’t know how I found the strength to pull away from her long enough to go inside and get the floors started.
I figured she’d sit back and watch me, or write in her notebook, but as soon as I told her I needed to get some work finished, she asked how she could help.
It’s been three hours. We’ve mostly worked, with the occasional short break to rehydrate and kiss some more, but we’ve finished most of what will be the living room floor.
We’d be done by now if she weren’t wearing that shirt with that skirt. She’s been crawling across the floor, helping me lock the flooring into place, and every time I look at her I can see straight down her shirt. I’m so distracted I’m surprised I haven’t injured myself.
We haven’t discussed a single thing of importance since we exited the truck. It’s as if we left all the important stuff inside it and chose to carry nothing of weight with us into this house.
It’s been such a heavy day already; I’m doing everything I can to keep things light. We both are. I haven’t brought up the letter since we came inside. She hasn’t mentioned the restraining order, I haven’t mentioned Mother’s Day under this roof, we haven’t talked about what our new physical connection means or how we’re possibly going to navigate it. I think we both know the conversations will come, but right now it feels like we’re on the same page, and all we want out of today’s page is to ride the high of each other.
I think Kenna and I needed today. Kenna especially needed today. She always looks like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, but today she looks like she’s floating. She makes gravity seem powerless against her.
She’s smiled and laughed more in the last few hours than she has since the day I met her. It makes me wonder if I’ve been a huge chunk of the weight she’s been carrying.
Kenna locks the piece of wood in place on her end and then reaches for a bottle of water. She catches me staring at her chest, and she laughs. “You sure do have a hard time looking me in the eye now.”
“I think I have an obsession with your shirt.” She usually wears T-shirts, but this particular shirt is made out of a slinky material that dips down in the front, and now that she’s been working for three hours, it’s starting to stick to her in all the places where she’s sweating. “That shirt is fucking lovely.”
She laughs, and I want to kiss her again. I crawl over to her, and when I reach her, I press my mouth to hers so hard she falls backward against the floor. I kiss her through her laughter, until I’m on top of her.
I hate that I have no furniture. We just keep ending up on the hardwood floor we’ve been installing, and it’s nice, but I’d give anything to kiss her on something more comfortable. Something as soft as her mouth.
“You’ll never finish these floors,” she whispers.
“Fuck the floors.” We kiss for a few minutes, and we just keep getting better at it. There’s a lot of pulling and tugging and tasting, and it gets a little chaotic, and her shirt that I love so fucking much ends up somewhere on the floor next to us.
I’m admiring her bra now, kissing her skin right above it, when she whispers, “I’m scared.” Her hands are in my hair, and she keeps them there when I lift up just enough to look down at her. “What if they find out about us before you have a chance to tell them? We’re being reckless.”
I don’t want her to think about this today because today is good, and they’re out of town, so there’s no point in dwelling on it until they return. I press a comforting kiss against her forehead. “Worrying won’t make the situation any better,” I say. “They’re out of town. Whatever happens is going to happen whether we make out right now or not.”
She smiles when I say that. “Good point.” She wraps her hand around my neck and pulls me back to her mouth.
I lower myself on top of her, but then whisper, “What’s the worst that could happen if I have to hide you forever? You’ve seen my closet, Kenna. It’s huge. You’ll love it in there.”
She laughs against my mouth.
“I could install a minifridge and a television for you. When they come to visit, you can just go to your closet and pretend you’re on vacation.”
“You’re terrible for joking about this,” she says, but she’s laughing. I kiss her until we aren’t laughing anymore, and then I slide off her until I’m lying next to her, leaning over her.
It’s the first time we’ve really looked at each other without feeling like we have to look away. She’s so goddamn flawless.
I don’t say that out loud, though, because I don’t want to diminish any of the other wonderful things about her by giving her a superficial compliment about her face. It would take away from how smart I think she is, and how compassionate, resilient, and spirited she is.
I look away from her impeccable face and slowly trace the center of her cleavage until she has chills running across her skin. “I have to finish my floors.” I slide my hand over to her breast and gently squeeze. “Stop distracting me with these things. Put your shirt back on.”
She laughs at the same time someone clears their throat from across the room.
I quickly sit up, immediately scrambling to block the view of Kenna from whoever the fuck is in my house.
I look up to find my parents standing in the doorway, looking at the ceiling. Kenna immediately scrambles away from me and reaches for her shirt.
“Oh, my God,” she whispers. “Who are they?”
“My parents,” I mutter. I swear, embarrassing me is their favorite hobby. I raise my voice so they can hear me. “Nice of you to warn me you were showing up today!” I help Kenna to her feet, and my parents are still looking at everything but us as I help her back into her shirt.
My father says, “I cleared my throat when we walked in. How much warning do you need?”
I’m not as mortified as I probably should be right now. Maybe I’m growing immune to their shenanigans. But Kenna isn’t immune.
Now that she’s dressed and halfway standing behind me, my father motions at the work we’ve been doing. “Seems you’ve made a lot of progress . . . on the floors.”
“In more ways than one,” my mother says, amused. Kenna buries her face against my arm. “Who’s your friend, Ledger?” My mother is smiling, but she has a lot of different smiles, and they don’t always mean something sweet. This smile is her entertained smile. Her this-is-so-much-fun smile.
“This is . . . um . . .” I have no idea how to introduce Kenna to them. I don’t even know what name to use. They’d definitely recognize her name if I said Kenna, but I’m not exactly sure they won’t recognize her face, so lying to them would be pointless. “This is . . . my new employee.” I need to ask Kenna how she wants me to confront this. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and lead her to the bedroom. “Excuse us while we go coordinate our lies,” I say over my shoulder.
Kenna and I make it to the bedroom, out of their view, and she looks at me wide eyed. “You can’t tell them who I am,” she whispers.
“I can’t lie to them. My mom will probably recognize you once she gets a better look at you. She was at your sentencing, and she never forgets a face. She also knows you’re back in town.”
Kenna looks like she’s about to fold in on herself. She starts to pace, and I can see the weight of the world begin to return to her shoulders. She looks up at me with fear in her eyes. “Do they hate me?”
That question digs at my heart, mainly because she’s starting to tear up. And it’s only in this moment that I realize she assumes everyone who knew Scotty must hate her. “No. Of course they don’t hate you.”
I realize as I say those words that I don’t necessarily know if they’re true. My parents were heartbroken when Scotty died. He was as important to them as I am to Patrick and Grace. But I’m not sure that I’ve ever had a conversation with my parents specifically about their opinion of Kenna. It was over five years ago. I can’t remember what conversations were had or what their thoughts were on everything that happened. And we barely discuss it anymore.
Kenna can see that I’m processing, and she grows a little panicked. “Can’t you just take me home? I can sneak out the back and meet you at your truck.”
Whether my parents realize who Kenna is or not, Kenna doesn’t know what kind of people my parents are. She doesn’t realize she has nothing to be concerned about.
I cup her face with my hands. “Kenna. They’re my parents. If they recognize you, they’ll have my back no matter what.” Those words calm her a little bit. “I’ll introduce you as Nicole for now, and then I’ll take you home and deal with them and the truth later. Okay? They’re good people. So are you.”
She nods, so I give her a quick kiss and grab her hand and lead her out of the bedroom. They’re in the kitchen now, inspecting all the things Roman and I have added since they were last out here. When they notice our return, they both casually lean against the counters, anticipating this introduction.
I wave a hand at Kenna. “This is Nicole.” I wave a hand at my parents. “My mother, Robin. My father, Benji.”
Kenna smiles and shakes their hands, but then she sidles back up to my side like she’s scared to move too far away from me. I grab her hand that’s at her side, and I move it behind her back and squeeze it to provide her with a little comfort.
“It’s such a pleasant surprise that you aren’t alone,” my mother says. “We thought you’d be out here moping by yourself today.”
I’m scared to ask. “Why would I be moping?”
My mother laughs and turns to my father. “You owe me ten bucks, Benji.” She holds out her hand, and my father pulls out his wallet and slaps a ten-dollar bill in her palm. She shoves it in the pocket of her jeans. “We bet on whether you’d even remember you were supposed to be leaving for your honeymoon today.”
Why am I not surprised? “Which one of you bet that I’d forget Mother’s Day?”
My mother raises her hand.
“I didn’t forget. Check your email. I sent a gift card because I had no idea where to send flowers to this week.”
My mother takes the ten-dollar bill out of her pocket and hands it back to my father. She walks over to me and finally gives me a hug. “Thank you.” She doesn’t look at Kenna because her attention is stolen midhug by the patio door. “Oh, wow! It looks even better than I imagined!” She releases me and passes us to go play with the accordion-style door.
My father is still focused on me and Kenna. I can tell he’s going to attempt to be polite and include her in conversation, but I know how much she wants to be ignored right now.
“Nicole has to get to work,” I blurt out. “I need to give her a ride, and then I can meet you both at the house.”
My mother makes a hmph sound behind me. “We just got here,” she says. “I wanted a tour of everything you’ve done.”
My father’s attention is still on Kenna. “What do you do, Nicole? Besides . . .” He waves a hand toward me. “Besides Ledger.”
Kenna gasps quietly and says, “Wow. Okay. Well, I don’t . . . do . . . Ledger.”
I squeeze her hand again, because that is not what my father meant. But if we’re being technical . . . “I think he means what do you do other than . . . work . . . for me.” She’s looking at me blankly. “Because I said you’re my employee earlier, but then I just lied and said you have to go to work, and they know my bar is closed on Sundays, so he assumes you have a different job besides the bar, and he said what do you do besides . . .” I’m rambling now, and it’s just making the moment worse because my parents can hear this conversation, and I know they are enjoying the shit out of it.
My mother has returned to my father’s side, and she’s grinning with delight.
“Please take me home,” Kenna pleads.
I nod. “Yeah. This is torture.”
“It’s such a treat for me, though,” my mother says. “I think this might be my favorite Mother’s Day yet.”
“And here we were thinking he was going to be sad because he didn’t get married,” my father says. “What do you think he has in store for Father’s Day?”
“I can only imagine,” my mother says.
“You two are mortifying. I’m almost thirty. When will this stop?”
“You’re twenty-eight,” my mother says. “That’s not almost thirty. Twenty-nine is almost thirty.”
“Let’s go,” I say to Kenna.
“No, bring her to dinner,” my mother begs.
“She’s not hungry.” I lead Kenna out the door. “I’ll meet you both at the house!”
We’re almost to my truck when I realize what leaving my parents alone means. I pause and say, “I’ll be right back.” I point to the truck so Kenna knows she can go ahead without me. I turn around and walk back to the house, and then I lean in at the doorway. “Do not have sex in my house.”
“Oh, come on,” my father says. “We would never.”
“I’m serious. This is my new house, and I’ll be damned if you two christen it.”
“We won’t,” my mother says, shooing me away.
“We’re getting too old for that anyway,” my father says. “So old. Our son is almost thirty.”
I step out of the doorway and motion for them to leave. “Get out. Go. I don’t trust either of you.” I wait for them to join me outside, and then I lock the front door. I point toward their car. “I’ll meet you at the house.”
I walk to my truck and ignore their chatter. I wait for my parents to back out, and then Kenna and I both sigh simultaneously. “They can be a lot sometimes,” I admit.
“Wow. That was . . .”
“Typical of them.” I glance over at her, and she’s smiling.
“It was embarrassing, but I kind of liked them,” she says. “But I’m still not having dinner with them.”
I don’t blame her. I put my truck in reverse and then point to the middle of the seat. Now that we’ve shattered whatever line we had drawn in the sand, I want her to be as close to me as she can get. She slides across the seat until she’s right next to me, and I put my hand on her knee as I drive away from the house.
“You do that a lot,” she says.
“I do what?”
“You point all the time. It’s rude.” She sounds amused rather than offended.
“I don’t point all the time.”
“You do too. I noticed it the first night I came into your bar. It’s why I let you kiss me, because I thought it was hot. The way you kept pointing at things.”
I grin. “You just said it was rude. You think rude is hot?”
“No. I think kindness is hot. Maybe rude was the wrong term.” She leans her head against my shoulder. “I find your pointing sexy.”
“Do you?” I let go of her knee and point at a mailbox. “See that mailbox?” Then I point at a tree. “Look at that tree.” I tap on my brakes as we close in on a stop sign, and I point at the sign. “Look at that, Kenna. What’s that? Is that a fucking pigeon?”
She tilts her head and looks at me curiously. When I come to a full stop at the sign, she says, “Scotty used to say that sometimes. What does it mean?”
I shake my head. “It was just something he used to say.” Patrick is the only one who knows where that phrase originated, and even though there’s no huge secret or story behind it, I still want to hold on to it. Kenna doesn’t press me. She just lifts up and kisses me before I pull out onto the street. She’s smiling, and it feels so good to see her smile like this. I look back at the road and put my hand on her knee again.
She rests her head against my shoulder, and after a quiet moment, she says, “I wish I could have seen you with Scotty. I bet you two were fun together.”
I love that she admitted that out loud. It feels good to hear, because at some point, we’re all going to have to move past the fact that Scotty died the way he did. I think I’m at a point where I want his memory to be accompanied by only good feelings. I want to be able to talk about him with people, especially with his father, but in a way that doesn’t make Patrick cry.
We all knew Scotty, but we all knew him in different ways. We all carry different memories of him. I think it would be good for Patrick and Grace to get to hear the memories Kenna has of Scotty that none of the rest of us have.
“I wish I could have seen you with Scotty,” I admit.
Kenna kisses my shoulder and then rests her head there again. It’s quiet until I lift my hand and point at a guy on a bicycle. “Look at that bike.” I point at an upcoming gas station. “Look at those gas pumps.” I point at a cloud. “Look at that cloud.”
Kenna releases laughter mixed with a groan. “Stop. You’re ruining the sexiness of it.”
I reluctantly dropped Kenna off at her apartment two hours ago. It might have taken fifteen minutes for me to stop kissing her long enough to walk back to my truck, but I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to spend the rest of the evening, and possibly even the night with her, but my parents are assholes who don’t believe in schedules, and they’re always showing up at the worst times.
At least this time it was in the middle of the day. They once showed up at 3:00 a.m., and I woke up to my father blasting Nirvana in the backyard and cooking steaks on the grill.
My father made burgers tonight, and we just finished eating dinner about an hour ago. I waited throughout the whole dinner for them to ask me about Kenna. Or Nicole, rather. But neither of them brought it up. All we’ve talked about tonight has been their latest adventures on the road and my latest adventures with Diem.
They were disappointed to find out Diem and the Landrys are out of town. I suggested they call ahead the next time they feel like dropping in. It would make it easier on all of us.
My parents have always gotten along with Scotty’s parents, but the Landrys had Scotty later in life, so they’re a little older than my parents. I would say they’re more mature than my parents, but immature isn’t the right term to describe my parents. They’re just a little more carefree and unstructured. But even though I wouldn’t categorize the four of them as actively close, they share a bond because of Scotty and me.
And because Diem is like a daughter to me, she’s been like a granddaughter to my parents. Which means Diem is important to them, and they want the best for her.
Which is probably why, as soon as my father goes to the backyard to clean up the grill, my mother slides onto the barstool and gives me one of her many smiles. This is her “You have a secret, and you better spill it” smile.
I ignore her smile, and her, and continue to wash the rest of the dishes. But my mother says, “Get over here and talk to me before your father comes back inside.”
I dry my hands and sit across the bar from her. She’s looking at me like she already knows my secrets. It doesn’t surprise me. When I say my mother never forgets a face, I don’t say that lightly. It’s like a superpower.
“Do the Landrys know?” she asks.
I play dumb. “Know what?”
Her head lilts to the side. “I know who she is, Ledger. I recognized her the day she walked into your bar.”
Wait. What? “The day you were drunk?”
She nods. Now that I think about it, I remember her staring at Kenna when she walked into my bar that day. Why would she not say anything to me about that? She didn’t even bring it up when I spoke to her on the phone a few days later and told her Kenna was back in town.
“You told me she was leaving town last time we talked,” she says.
“She is.” I feel guilty when I say that because I’m hoping with everything in me that it isn’t true. “Or she was. I don’t know anymore.”
“Do Patrick and Grace know the two of you are . . .”
“No.”
My mother blows out a soft breath. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly.
“This isn’t going to end well.”
“I know.”
“Do you love her?”
I blow out a heavy, slow rush of air. “I definitely don’t hate her anymore.”
She takes a sip of her wine and gives this conversation a moment to settle. “Well. I hope you do the right thing.”
I lift an eyebrow. “What’s the right thing?”
My mother shrugs. “I don’t know. I just hope you do it.”
I release a short laugh. “Thanks for the nonadvice.”
“That’s what I’m here for. To tiptoe around this thing they call parenting.” She smiles and reaches across the bar to squeeze my hand. “I know you’d rather be with her right now. We don’t mind if you abandon us tonight.”
There’s a moment of hesitation on my part, not because I don’t want to go to Kenna’s place, but because I’m surprised my mother knows who she is, yet she’s still okay with it.
“Do you blame Kenna?” I ask her after a short pause.
My mother looks at me honestly. “Scotty wasn’t my child, so I felt sorry for everyone involved. Even Kenna. But if what happened to Scotty had happened to you, I can’t say that I would make a different choice than Patrick and Grace. I think there’s room in a tragedy this size for everyone to be both right and wrong. However,” she says, “I’m your mother. And if you see something special in her, then I know there must be something special in her.”
I let her words ruminate, but then I grab my keys and my cell phone and I kiss her on the cheek. “Will you be here tomorrow?”
“Yeah, we’re staying two or three days. I’ll tell your dad you said good night.”
