That’s just not me. I think the most romantic thing I’ve done in my life was bringing flowers to Denise right after she gave birth to Christian. And if I’d known then that she’d bolt at the first sign of difficult times, I’d have reconsidered it.
Not only that, I don’t want to do anything to scare Kenna away. Like coming on too strong. Anyway, if her crashing into that pole was some kind of fate or cosmic intervention, then whatever happens is meant to happen and nothing I do can change it.
Right?
I park in the driveway, use the keypad to open the garage door, and smile when I see my car has obviously been driven. There are water puddles under each tire. I’m glad she was able to go out and get whatever she needed.
On the other hand, that most likely means we won’t be eating together again, which wipes the smile right off my face.
Opening the rear lift gate, I’m happy to discover she didn’t try to lug the heavy boxes downstairs. I consider pulling the carout of the garage and further down the side driveway, closer to the basement door, but I really don’t want to play musical cars with the clunker I drove home. Instead, I pile one box on top of another and carry them into the kitchen.
Christian looks up from where he’s sitting at the table doing some homework. “They’re downstairs. Haven’t seen them all day.”
“I didn’t even ask.”
He grins at me. “But you were going to.”
I don’t touch that comment with a ten-foot pole.
After setting the boxes down by the basement door, I remove my coat then knock. When there’s no response, I knock louder. Still nothing. I press my ear to the door, not wanting to open it even though there’s still no lock—something I’ll remedy later. I hear noise. The television perhaps. Maybe she just doesn’t hear me and I should at least open the door and call down to her. But when I knock once more and Kenna still doesn’t answer, I resolve to give her the privacy I promised, and head back to my room for a quick shower.
“What’s for dinner?” Christian asks when I return. “Want me to get it started?”
I glance at the door to the basement, wishing I’d be cooking for four. Heck, if I’m wishing for things, I might as well wish that Kenna was standing in front of the stove, swaying her hips like she was last night. Hell, watching her do that was part of the reason I was up all night.
I’ve seen women do things like that before. In bars. At parties. I’ve even danced with some myself over the years. So why did the sight of Kenna moving her body to the beat of the soft music cause such a carnal reaction within me?
“Dad?”
I spin back around. “Yeah, um, how about I grill some steaks? You can choose what we have with them.” I thumb to the boxes. “I’m going to take their things downstairs first.”
Back at the door, I press my ear against it and no longer hear anything. Except for a giggle echoing up from below. Amelia’s giggle. It makes my heart soar. I haven’t even known the little girl for thirty-six hours, and she already has me wrapped around her little finger.
Denise wanted a girl. She was actually upset—as in she pouted, rolled her eyes, and declared ‘boys are disgusting’—at the ultrasound. That should have been my first clue that she was going to be a shitty mom. But I was young and didn’t know any better. And while having a kid before I’d even graduated from high school wasn’t on my list of life plans, I didn’t have any gender preference whatsoever.
Another giggle filters up, and I swear to God my whole heart melts.
Looking back at Christian, who’s shoving his precalculus book into his backpack, I wonder for the first time what kind of big brother he’d have been, and if he ever gets sad that he’s an only child.
He catches me staring. “You’re acting weird, Dad.”
I ignore his statement and knock on the door. A moment later, Kenna’s voice shouts up. “Come in!”
I open the door, pick up the boxes, and navigate my way down the steps. Nobody is around when I reach the bottom, so I place the boxes next to the couch. As soon as I straighten, I’m hit with an amazing smell wafting through the air. My eyes immediately go to the small kitchen counter where I see—a pot? On a cooktop? Neither of those things were here before.
Stepping closer to the kitchen area, I notice there’s also a toaster. And a coffee maker that looks like it could rival one at any coffee shop.
Examining the stack of empty boxes by the French doors, I notice not only did she get the aforementioned appliances and cookware, she got an air mattress and—Shit. Is that a new PlayStation?
Standing here staring at the boxes, I try to calculate in my head what she must have spent. Nearly a thousand dollars for sure. I don’t get it. She’s only going to be here for a week or so. Why get all this stuff?
“I didn’t know where you wanted me to put the trash.”
Kenna and Amelia come from the bathroom. Kenna walks by me on the way to the counter and that same flowery scent that I swear I smelled all night long trails behind her.
“Kenna, you didn’t have to get all this stuff. You could have used my kitchen.”
She stirs whatever is cooking in the pot. “I told you I didn’t want to be a bother. We’re fine down here.”
