Chapter 23 – Kenna-Present
Chapter Twenty-Three
A HANDSHAKE TO A HUG
KENNA-PRESENT
The air feels thick in the room, almost to the point of suffocation.
I don’t know why it feels so heavy right now.
Maybe it’s because I’ve finally opened myself up to Cole fully.
I’ve been imagining this day for nine years—wondering how I would tell him about Cohen, how I would tell him everything that’s happened in the years that he’s been gone.
But now that he’s here, standing in front of me, I don’t know where to begin.
I glance at him, taking in his expression.
His eyes are wide, waiting, unsure. The Cole I remember from high school is gone, replaced with this grown-up version of him, one that has been through more than any other 27-year-old guy should go through.
I can see the uncertainty in his posture. I know he’s scared.
There’s something about the way he carries himself now—a subtle stiffness, a guardedness that wasn’t there before. Prison leaves its mark, not just in ink or muscle, but in silence. In the way a man forgets how to be soft.
He’s been in prison for so long and now after only being out for a few months, he’s being thrown into the middle of a life he didn’t know existed—a life with a son, a son who doesn’t know him, a son who’s spent his life thinking his father was a story, a distant memory.
A bedtime whisper. A photograph in a drawer. A name he heard but never fully understood.
“Cohen is a lot like you,” I finally say, my voice steady, but there’s a catch in my throat. I’ve been holding this all in for so long, and now, finally, it’s coming out in one long breath. “He’s got your smile. And your eyes. But he’s got my sense of humor. He’s clever, Cole. So clever.”
I watch as Cole swallows hard, his jaw working. He’s quiet still, listening. I can tell that this is hard for him. Harder than he expected, probably.
His hands are trembling just slightly. He keeps folding and unfolding them like he’s trying to hold something in—grief, maybe. Or guilt. Or both.
“He asks about you sometimes,” I continue, my voice quieter now, as if I’m speaking only to him, only to Cole. “I don’t know if he understands completely why you haven’t been around. I’ve tried to explain it, but I don’t know how much he’s actually absorbed.”
There were nights Cohen would curl up beside me on the couch, asking questions I didn’t know how to answer. ‘Why don’t I have a dad?’ ‘Was he a soldier?’ I’d always tell him the same thing: ‘He loved you so much, he had to go away.’ It wasn’t a lie. Not really.
Cole rubs his hand over his face, and I can see how much this is weighing on him.
I know what he’s thinking. He’s wondering what it would’ve been like if he had been there.
If he had been part of Cohen’s life, if he had been part of ours.
But I’ve had nine years to adjust to the idea of being a single mother, to the idea that Cohen’s father would never be there.
And now here he is, standing in front of me, wanting to know about the little boy that’s part of both of us.
“He knows you had to leave before he was born,” I say, my voice softening. “But I tell him you love him. And that you’re coming home soon. I tell him all the time, Cole. He’s so excited for that day. He doesn’t understand everything, but he knows about his father. And he wants to know you.”
I pause, remembering how Cohen once drew a picture of our family—just the two of us and a figure he labeled ‘Dad?’ in shaky crayon letters. That one broke me. I didn’t let him see it, but I cried for an hour after he went to bed.
Cole’s expression softens, but there’s still a visible storm in his eyes.
I can see the guilt, the doubt. I know how much he regrets what happened, but this?
This is a chance to change things, to do things differently.
He doesn’t have to be the man who disappeared from our lives. He can be the man who shows up.
Feeling the weight settle in my chest, I take a deep breath.
“I want you to be in his life, Cole. I want you to be a part of it. But I also know that it’s going to take time.
I know that I’ve had nine years to get used to the idea of being a mother, and I know you’ve only had a few days to adjust to the fact that you have a son.
I’m not expecting you to jump in and know everything all at once. ”
He nods, but I can tell he’s still somewhere in the past, sifting through the wreckage. I wonder how many nights he spent behind bars wondering if I’d moved on.
He looks at me, his eyes searching mine for something. Maybe for permission, maybe for reassurance. Maybe for both.
“I want to take it slow,” he whispers, his voice rough.
“Not just for me. But for Cohen too. I think it’s better if I meet him with no expectations, without the pressure of him knowing that I’m his dad right away.
That way, we can get to know each other.
I don’t want him to feel overwhelmed or confused.
I just want him to see me as someone he can trust.”
I nod, relieved. "Cole, I think that’s a good idea. I really do.”
My stomach unclenches just slightly. For the first time in days, I’m not bracing for a fight, or a breakdown, or another goodbye. I’m just here—with him—and it feels...like a beginning.
There’s a pause, and for a second, it’s like time slows.
The tired eyes, the temple scar, and the way he flexes his hands is what I see as I study his face.
I know this isn’t easy for him. I know he probably didn’t sleep last night.
And yet, he’s here. He showed up. And that counts for something. Maybe it counts for everything.
For the first time, I feel like we’re on the same page. For the first time, I’m not holding everything together on my own.
It’s Sunday now. Cohen and I have always shared this day. Our special day.
There’s always been something sacred about Sundays. No distractions, no interruptions—just us, having fun, making memories. It’s the day that I’ve always looked forward to. But today is different. Today, Cole is here. And I’m unsure how to balance all of this.
I keep glancing at him from across the room, unsure if I’m more nervous for Cohen or for him. Cole’s sitting on the edge of the couch like he doesn’t quite belong on the furniture, like he’s trying not to make a footprint.
I look at Cole as we sit in the living room, both of us silent, lost in our own thoughts.
He tells me he crashed at Reuben’s place the past couple of nights, and I can’t help but wonder what that was like for him.
Reuben has been a part of my life for so long, and I’m sure Cole needed a familiar face to lean on.
“Reuben told me Sundays were your day with Cohen,” Cole says, his eyes looking toward the window. “Where is he?”
I smile softly, feeling the warmth in my chest as I think about my son. “My mom’s on her way with him. They’ve been spending the weekend together, and Cohen loves that. He always gets so excited when she comes. It’s their little tradition.”
Cole nods slowly, but his gaze stays fixed out the window. “I was thinking about what you said. About how he doesn’t know everything yet. It scares me—how delicate this all feels. Like if I move too fast, I could ruin it. But I want to get it right, Kenna.”
“You will,” I breathe. “You already are, just by being here.”
He exhales a shaky breath, and I watch the way his fingers drum against his knee, like he’s trying to ground himself in the moment. I know that feeling all too well. The sensation that if you let go for even a second, the whole thing might slip through your fingers.
There’s something heartbreakingly vulnerable about him in this moment. This isn’t the boy I used to sneak kisses with in the back of his truck. This is a man who’s survived loss, confinement, regret. And he’s trying—really trying—not to let it all swallow him.
I glance at the clock. I know they’ll be here soon. Cohen will be so happy to see me. He always is. And the thought of introducing him to Cole without him knowing the full truth is making my heart race. I hope it’s the right decision. I hope Cohen can handle it.
Before I can say anything else, I hear a car pulling into the driveway. I stand up, feeling the excitement in my stomach. I can already hear Cohen’s voice, yelling for me.
A moment later, the door opens, and my mom steps inside, holding Cohen’s hand. He doesn’t see Cole at first—he’s too busy looking up at me, his face lighting up the moment his eyes meet mine.
“Mom!” he exclaims, running straight into my arms. “I missed you a zillion times!”
I laugh, hugging him tight. “I missed you too, baby. More than a zillion.”
I kiss his head, holding him close, breathing in the scent of his hair. He’s getting so big. My little boy is growing up, and it’s hard to keep up sometimes.
Cohen pulls back slightly, his eyes scanning the room. That’s when he sees Cole. His expression shifts, confusion clouding his face. He looks back at me, then at Cole, then back at me again.
“I remember you. You were at Uncle Reuben’s restaurant.” he asks, his voice small but curious.
I take a deep breath, kneeling down to his level. “Cohen, this is a friend of mine from high school. His name is Cole. He’s visiting, and I was wondering if he could come on our adventure today.”
Cohen tilts his head, studying Cole for a moment. And then, without missing a beat, he sticks out his hand and says, “Hi, I’m Cohen. Do you like comics?”
Cole blinks, taken aback by the question, but then smiles, clearly relieved by Cohen’s warm and easygoing nature. “Yeah,” he says, shaking Cohen’s hand. “I like comics.”
“Well then, you can come with us,” Cohen announces, as if this is the most natural thing in the world.