I’ve always looked at Kennedy and this situation as a child with a fantastic family. She has love out the ass. Her behavior, I’ve decided, is just typical teenage crap.
But is it?
I’ve never considered having to ask a man for tampons or help when starting your period for the first time. Or how to do makeup. Or wanting pretty bras and panties—how does she manage that?
What about boys? Dating? Oh my gosh—birth control?
“Do you have a boyfriend?” I ask, testing the waters.
She laughs at me. “Right. Like Dad is going to go for that.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t.”
She smiles coyly.
“Look, Ken, I’m not naive. I know what it’s like to be fourteen. You’re getting attention from boys. But are you giving them yours?”
She bites a cookie and watches me curiously. “I don’t know. Are you asking me as my friend or my babysitter?”
“I’m not your babysitter.”
“Yeah. You kind of are.”
I grip the edge of the counter. “Well, whatever you want to call me—I’m here. If you want to talk to someone, not your grandma or aunt, you can talk to me.”
“But you’ll tell my dad.”
“Tell him what?”
She grins. “Nothing. There’s nothing to tell.”
I shake a finger at her before taking another piece of banana. “You’re cute.” I head to the refrigerator to get a drink.
She sighs behind me. “You know what would make me happy?”
“I have no idea.” I take out two bottles of water and let the door slam shut. “Do you want to tell me, or do you want me to guess?”
She takes the drink I offer her. “It would make me happy if I could be seen just for me. Just Kennedy Marshall, a fourteen-year-old girl from Peachwood Falls, Indiana. A girl who loves beauty supplies and hates math.”
“Okay. Seen for that and not as … what?”
Her face falls, and she looks down at the board.
My heart immediately hurts for her. I want to reach out and hug her, but I don’t. I don’t know how she would take it. Besides, I don’t want to disrupt her from talking to me.
“Do you know about my mom?” she asks softly.
“Yes. Your dad told me.”
The corner of her lips rises before her eyes do. “And that’s what I am before I’m anything else.”
She holds my gaze with a decade of pain and frustration floating through the green orbs. It’s a shot to my soul because I know that pain. I’ve felt it too. Maybe differently, but I know what it feels like to carry a burden I did not create.
“Can I tell you a story?” I ask, hoping that if I open up to her, she’ll feel more confident in opening up to me.And hopefully trust me because I know what it’s like to have few people to trust.
“Sure.”
I walk around the counter and join her at the island. I slide onto the stool next to her and get comfortable.
