I cringe at the thought and nod to the TV, welcoming the idea of watching basketball over having another weird-ass conversation. He gets the remote and turns the game on, keeping the volume low so it doesn’t disturb the ladies.
An hour later, we’re heading home. The four of us. Like a family.
It’s strange, yet oddly satisfying.
In my head, I’m seeing bits and pieces of a future I never imagined. One where Kenna and I are walking side-by-side, holding hands. Where Amelia is a few years older and joking with Christian about something she did at school that day. Where Christian has become a big brother and mentor.
Jesus.
Inside, Kenna tries to guide Amelia to the basement door, but her stubborn daughter resists. “I’m not tired. And Christian promised to play a game with me.”
Kenna holds up a finger. “One game.”
Amelia dances over to the game closet in the living room. She opens it and stares inside just like I stare in the refrigerator most nights, contemplating what I want for dinner. After a minute, she pulls out Chutes and Ladders.
Aaaand… there’s the signature shake of the Kenna’s head. The one that tells me she’s not pleased but is going to allow it anyway. I’m going to guess she was assuming they’d play Go Fish again. This game, however, has been known to go on for thirty minutes or more.
I gesture to the kitchen table. “Care to join me for a glass of wine? It won’t be as good as what you had next door, but it’s red and it’s wet.”
Why the fuck did I just say that? Who the hell calls wine wet? I’m an idiot.
“No, thank you.”
She’s quiet as I pour myself one anyway then sit. I can’t see the kids from the table, but I can hear them. Kenna, however, hasn’t moved from the archway.
“I can watch her for you if you want to go downstairs.”
Again, I’m an idiot.Why would I suggest she go somewhere I’m not? I’m alone with her for the first time tonight, and I’m swinging and missing every goddamn time.
She hesitates. There’s a moment of awkwardness when she’s obviously trying to decide if she wants to leave her daughter under my care. It’s like we’re this dysfunctional family, but we aren’t. We aren’t family at all. Far from it. And I guess she’s not about to go downstairs while her kid is up here.
“I just have to go down and use the bathroom real quick if that’s okay.”
I point to the hallway. “There’s one right there. It’s clean.”
“That’s okay.” She glances through the large arched doorway where Amelia and Christian are playing. “I’d rather use mine… I mean, the one downstairs. I’ll be right back.”
I smile after her, loving the way she called it hers.
While she’s gone, I sip my drink and listen to the laughter coming from the other room. Christian has surprised me with the way he is around Amelia. Most kids his age think little kids are brats, or an inconvenience to be ignored or avoided. But he’s talking to and treating her like an older brother would, with a sense of patience, care, and interest like he’s known her since she was born.
When Kenna comes back and takes a seat at the table, I get a whiff of spearmint.Did she brush her teeth?I lean back in my chair.Is that a sign she’s hoping I’ll kiss her?
She fiddles with her fingers anxiously.
I sense tension building inside her. At the same time, it occurs to me that while most people might scroll endlessly ontheir phones to busy themselves in awkward moments like this,shedoesn’t even have her phone with her.
“I have a question,” I say. “Why aren’t you always looking at your phone like most twenty-somethings?”
She shrugs. “Social media can be toxic. I’m trying to set a good example.”
There aresooooomany things I’m itching to ask. Because every time I find out something new about her, it just raises more questions. But she’s sitting here at my table, and I’m not ready for her to walk away. Digging into her past, present, and future is not something she’s likely to stick around for.
Instead, I say, “You and Allie seemed to get along well. If you like her, you’d like Mia too. They’re two peas in a pod. You know, if you take away the fact that Mia lives paycheck to paycheck and Allie’s family is richer than God.”
She picks at a thread on her shirt sleeve. “God isn’t rich. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. While He ‘owns’ heaven and earth, His wealth is measured in mercy, grace, wisdom, and love. And Jesus lived a life of poverty. The Bible doesn’t exactly condemn wealth, but warns that money is the root of evil.” She stares blankly out the window. “Andsomewould argue it’s difficult for the wealthy to enter the kingdom of God because money makes them too self-sufficient and arrogant.”
“Some?” I raise a brow at the odd emphasis she put on the word. “You mean your father.” I chuckle when she gives a slight nod. “Then definitely don’t introduce him to any Montana, McQuaid, or Ashford. The collective wealth between those families is greater than the GDP of most small countries.” I tilt my head. “And isn’t theloveof money the root of evil? Not the money itself?”
