Jett
Kennedy opens her apartment door wearing a cropped T-shirt and tiny panties. I quickly avert my eyes. “Oh my god. You answer the door like this? Go put some damn clothes on. I’m scarred for life.”
She lets out a laugh. “Okay, but should the random, nameless guy in my bed leave before you come inside?”
I suck in a breath, drop the grocery bag I’m holding, and rush into her bedroom to beat senseless whoever is in there.
When I open the bedroom door, her bed is empty. I hear her cackling. “I’m yankin’ your chain, Dad. I’m suffering through a dry spell right now. My vagina is on a temporary hiatus.”
I rub my temples. “Can you please watch how you talk to me? The word vagina should never come out of your mouth in front of me.”
“Okay, my ass is on hiatus too.” She bats her eyelashes, loving nothing more than pushing my buttons. She waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry. I might not have anyone rocking my world right now, but at least I don’t have anybody ruining it.”
I exhale a deep breath. “I will wait in your micro kitchen while you put some clothes on, and you will never again answer your door in this state of undress. What if I were a stranger? A deliveryman or someone like that?”
She shrugs, seemingly unaffected. “Then I would have done a public service by giving him the best damn day of his life.”
There are many good things about having a confident, beautiful daughter. There are also a lot of really fucking bad things. This falls into the latter.
I grumble, “Just get dressed,” before I stomp back into her doorway area, pick up the grocery bag, and squeeze myself into the smallest kitchen in existence. I search for a kettle with no luck and then shout out, “Where’s your kettle?”
She shouts back from her bedroom, “Don’t have one.”
I swear, she lives like a frat guy. There’s only one pan in this entire kitchen, though not that much more can fit in here.
“If you don’t have a kettle, how do you make hot chocolate?” I yell.
“Microwave,” she responds.
I fill two mugs—the only two in the cabinet—with water and set the microwave timer. Pulling out my phone to see if Fallon texted about our plans for later, I see I have no reception. I yell out, “What’s your Wi-Fi?”
She yells back, “My network is G-Spot. My password is not found exclamation point. The N and F are in caps.”
I roll my eyes at her ridiculousness. I’m not putting that into my phone.
As the microwave is heating the water, she walks into the kitchen wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt that reads, Moister than an Oyster, with a giant, pink, open oyster on the front.
I sigh. “Really?”
She shakes in silent laughter. “It was a birthday gift from Shay. Classic lesbian humor. Sulley had a little birthday party for me last night.” Shay and Sulley are two of her teammates.
I smile. “I’m happy you’ve made some nice friends. You all seem close.”
She nods. “Yep. It’s a good crew.”
“Happy birthday, sweetie.”
“My birthday was yesterday.”
We share bemused looks at our ongoing joke. Kennedy was born on February twenty-ninth, meaning she only has an actual birthday every four years. We’ve always had a debate on whether it should be celebrated on the twenty-eighth of February or on March first.
“Yeah, yeah. I brought some hot chocolate to celebrate. I don’t know if we can both fit in this kitchen to drink it. Why is it so damn small?”
She shrugs. “I can afford either a big kitchen or a big closet. Not both. Guess which one I chose? I can’t cook for shit anyway. I can shop like a motherfucker though.”
“Watch your mouth,” I command to deaf ears. “And speaking of your extensive wardrobe…” I hand her a generous gift certificate to one of those high-end boutiques she likes. She won’t take cash from me. This is the only way I can help her in a manner she’ll accept.
She looks at it. “Thanks, Dad. I know this is your way of trying to give me money. I appreciate it.” She leans forward and kisses my cheek.
I nod then pour the hot chocolate packets into the hot water and place three big marshmallows in her mug. She gives me an uncharacteristically soft smile. “Thanks for always remembering the extra marshmallows.”
“Of course I remember.” I clink my mug with hers. “Happy birthday. I love you.”
She pinches her lips together. “Thanks,” she says quietly.
Kennedy hasn’t uttered those three words to me since she was a little girl. I didn’t expect it in return, but, at Fallon’s suggestion, I want to be better at expressing myself to her. She should always know I love her, even if she can’t return the sentiment. Maybe one day.
I nod toward her living room. “Can we sit in there so I don’t die of claustrophobia?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not that bad, drama queen, but sure.”
We go to sit on her sofa as I hesitantly pull a small box from my pocket and hand it to her. “This is from your mom.”
She takes it, stands, and immediately throws it into a nearby waste basket without bothering to open it.
I sigh. “Won’t you give her a chance?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. Not happening.”
“Don’t you miss having a mother?”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Let’s be honest, Dad.
We both know I never really had one. It’s probably why I’m so fucked up.
It’s not easy growing up being second fiddle to the adults in your life.
Feeling insignificant to the people who should make you feel the opposite doesn’t make for a healthy upbringing. ”
I nod in understanding. “I’m sorry for my role in that. I’m trying to make up for it.”
“I know you are, and I’m trying my best, Dad. Ginny is a non-starter though. If you want to stay, I suggest not bringing her up again. It will never happen with her. Accept it and move on.”
I want to ask why she’s willing to let me in a little and not her mom, but I know not to push her right now. I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
Deciding to switch topics, I ask, “Are you excited for Vegas?”
Vance told me Kennedy and some of her friends are joining the Camels on their annual trip there.
She smiles widely. “I’m so excited. I’ve never been. Layla has been planning it for months. I might use your gift certificate to grab a few more things I need.”
“Perfect.” I take a sip of my hot chocolate. “Are you…seeing anyone?” I ask in a pathetic attempt to engage in normal chitchat.
She snorts a laugh. “Do you really want to sit here and talk about my sex life, Dad?”
“Dating and sex aren’t the same.”
“Well, I’m only interested in sex, not dating. Care to continue this conversation?” she challenges.
My kid needs a mother so badly.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Right. What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
“Would it…bother you if I dated?”
She scrunches her face in confusion. “Of course not. I assume you date. You’ve got a lot going for you, and you’re not a fucking priest. Why wouldn’t you date? Or sleep around. Or whatever floats your boat.”
“Watch your mouth,” I mumble. “Your brother doesn’t want me to date.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re a grown, single man. It would be weirder if you didn’t.” She pinches her eyebrows together. “Have you not dated since your ex-ball and chain?”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
Her eyes widen. “No wonder you’re so uptight. You should get laid.”
“Kennedy,” I warn as I scratch my head. “Let’s change the topic.” Fuck, why am I so awkward? “Tell me about basketball.” It was always the one thing we could effortlessly talk about.
Her face lights up. “I’m working hard on my vertical. I’ve never been able to dunk and desperately want to. You know I’m a little undersized for the position I play.”
She’s a power forward and is, in fact, undersized at about six feet one inch.
“Theoretically, but you play bigger than you are,” I assure her.
She smiles. “Thanks, but I want to dunk. Our team is good. Really good. I think we have a chance at winning it all this year. It’s some of these small things that make the difference. I want to contribute even more.”
“You’re the reason Sulley was so successful last year. That’s a fact. Your rebounding, defensive play, and ability to help her get open are the reasons she won rookie of the year.”
She uncharacteristically lowers her eyes, almost as if not believing the compliment. “That’s what Sulley says, but she still had to sink all those threes.”
“Threes that were uncontested because of you. They’re much easier to drain when a defender isn’t in your face.”
She shrugs. “I guess I’m pretty awesome, aren’t I?”
I chuckle. “Always have been. When do real practices start?” I know right now the practices aren’t team sanctioned. It’s just the girls getting together to shoot around.
“Right after we get back from Vegas in a few weeks. I’m looking forward to it.”
Just then, I hear a key in her front door. It opens, and Pierce’s best friend, Rooster, walks in. What the hell?
“Rooster? What are you doing at Kennedy’s apartment?” I ask. “Why do you have a key?”
“He’s my intern,” Kennedy announces proudly.
“Intern?” I question.
He nods. “Yes, I help Queen Jeffries with scheduling, laundry, apartment cleaning, food shopping, picking up her dry cleaning, and then I help at practices with things like fresh towels and water.”
“Why do you call her Queen Jeffries?”
Kennedy smirks. “That’s what I told him to call me. And I call him Booster because sometimes I’m not sure he can see over the steering wheel when he’s chauffeuring me around.”
I bite back my smile. Rooster is very short. Even when they were little boys, Pierce towered over him.
“Queen, should I start your laundry?”
She nods. “Yes please. Don’t forget to separate out my delicates this time. You ruined my favorite thong last week. I had to go commando the other night.”
He hangs his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Queen. I’ll buy you a new pair.”
“Not necessary,” she responds. “Just be careful moving forward.”
He disappears into her bedroom before reemerging moments later with a laundry basket. He then exits the apartment as if it’s totally normal for him to be doing her laundry.
She shakes her head. “Good help is so hard to find.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “Explain.”