3. Kendall
Kendall
We arrive at music playgroup at our local library ten minutes late.
I rush in the door, Akio in my arms, in one of Kai’s old threadbare hoodies and black leggings.
I could never force myself to get rid of this sweatshirt and no matter how many times I’ve washed it, it still carries the faint scent of him.
Along with memories I don’t want to think about but can't let go of either. Ms. Candace, the eccentric, overly enthusiastic teacher has already passed out instruments to the kids and their family members. Everyone is staring at us, but we’re used to it by now, having never made it on time to playgroup.
“Oh, come in, come in,” she says, welcoming us and clapping her hands together from her wooden rocking chair. “We were just getting started, Kendall. We’re so happy you and Akio could join us today!”
I head over to the bench and drop our belongings while Akio toddles over to the group.
His favorite instrument, the maracas, are clutched in another pair of chubby fists.
I watch as Akio’s lower lip begins to tremble.
Ms. Candace hands him a chime, which he stares at with disdain.
Before this evolves into a tantrum, I sit down on an unclaimed rug and pull him into my lap.
Shortly after Ms. Candace starts the music, Akio throws the instrument on the floor with a frustrated shout.
He then crosses his arms and refuses to participate.
He isn’t the only feral two-and-a-half-year-old in the group.
Lincoln, bless his heart, is currently licking the carpet in front of him and high energy Ava is running laps around her nanny, while shaking a tambourine above her head.
And Maddox has not followed a single instruction that the teacher has given, and appears to be fast approaching a meltdown.
To be fair, he is the youngest here. Luckily, Ms. Candace is kind and patient.
She coaxes Akio out of my lap and tells him he can be her special helper for the next song if he uses the chime for the rest of this one. Eventually he comes around.
When the playgroup is finished, Veronica Leonne waltzes over to me, her daughter following close behind her, with what I know is going to be unsolicited advice.
Veronica and her atrocious attitude, expensive athleisure outfits, perfectly blown out hair, and Pilates ass is the kind of mom that other moms band together to collectively hate.
At least I imagine they would. I wouldn’t know, seeing as how I don’t have many mom friends.
Christ, she is the last person I want to talk to right now.
She clears her throat to announce her arrival, and it grates on my already frayed nerves.
“You know if you guys made it on time and came to the playgroup more consistently, I’m sure he would be a little better behaved,” she tells me with a sneer, her glacial blue eyes narrowed at me. Somehow I resist the urge to roll my eyes all the way back into my head.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. We just had a busy morning and his schedule was thrown off yesterday. I’m sure that’s part of it.” Wait, why was I explaining myself to this Lululemon bitch, who showed up to playgroup twenty minutes early looking like she just came from a high end salon?
“Yeah, I’m sure it’s hard for you guys, you know, being a single mom and all,” she responds, looking at me with what I think is pity. Fuck her.
“We’re doing just fine.”
“Good. Well, it was nice to see you guys,” she says.
“Uh huh. You too,” I mumble while I pick up Akio and hurry out the door. As we walk to the parking lot, I hear footsteps behind me. I palm the small canister of mace on my keychain just in case.
“Hey Kendall, right?” Maddox’s mom says brightly, shifting him from one hip to the other.
“Yeah,” I pause, staring at her. I really hope she wasn’t here to scold me too. One can only take so much playgroup hostility.
“Don’t pay any attention to Veronica. She used to give me crap about Maddox all the time. I’ve just learned to ignore her,” she explains.
“Thanks. I appreciate that. Glad to hear I’m not the only one who's been victimized by her,” I joke and hope it lands. “It’s Emma, right?” I ask.
“Yup, Emma! And I’m sure you know this little heathen here is Maddox,” she states, turning towards her son. “He’s not always like this I swear.”
“No explanation needed,” I say, smiling at her. She looks like she wants to say something else and then she asks me something I was not expecting.
“Not sure how far you guys live from the library but maybe we could get the kids together for a play date if you wanted?”
“Sure, that sounds great. Want to give me your phone? I'll put my number in,” I respond while putting Akio on the ground. “You can just shoot me a text so I know it’s you.”
“Okay cool,” she replies, passing it over.
***
We have a little time to kill after leaving the library, so I decide to take Akio grocery shopping with me. We stop in the pasta aisle first and get some Kraft mac n’ cheese and spaghetti.
“Cheese, cheese!” he shouts excitedly when I nod at him, giving him the silent go-ahead. He places it in the cart—or more like throws it.
We make our way over to the produce section and pick out bananas and apples. I notice an older woman near the strawberries openly staring at us and not being subtle about it. She starts pushing her cart towards us and up close, I realize she isn’t as old as I initially thought she was.
“Um, can I help you?” I ask in bewilderment.
“I’m sorry. I was just wondering where you adopted your son from? He’s so adorable,” she purrs.
What in fresh hell?
“Excuse me?” I respond defensively, in utter shock.
“Your son,” she repeats, nodding at him, “Isn’t he adopted?
” Apparently the universe was playing a joke at my expense today, testing me.
I stare at Akio, who is very much biologically mine, and realize how much he resembles his father.
This would actually be a great time for his dad to be here.
But he isn’t here and that’s entirely on me.
Akio continues to play with his red matchbox car oblivious to the uncomfortable situation we have now found ourselves in.
Someone glancing quickly between Akio and I would be hard pressed to believe we were related, that much I knew.
I didn’t like it but I accepted it. My hair, long dark corkscrew curls, with caramel highlights was lighter than his.
My skin tone, a shade below almond, was much darker than his olive complexion.
And while the color of our eyes were similar, they were still distinctly different.
Mine, a combination of green, brown, and gold that most would call hazel, and seemed to shift based on the weather and my clothing choices.
Akio’s were a permanent and stunning forest green.
The shape of Akio’s face and the contours of his cheeks were an exact replica of Kai’s.
To the point where it was almost painful to look at him without remembering how much I loved his father.
He had also acquired his father’s dark shaggy hair, his serious contemplative gaze, and I always thought, his breathtaking smile.
But I hadn’t seen it in so long up close, it was hard to be certain.
The woman clears her throat and I’m anchored back to this awkward moment.
My rage incited by this woman’s obscene, intrusive comment and perhaps my longing for everything that was Kai spurs me forward.
Fuck it.
I had today and tomorrow off. I’ve had two coffees already, and I was still fired up from my conversation with Veronica.
I have time for it today.
“I could see how you might think that,” I begin while stepping in front of the shopping cart to shield Akio.
“But if you look at the half-moons of his fingernails and the ridges of his hands, those are definitely mine. The way his mouth crinkles when he’s happy and his gorgeous green eyes he inherited from me too. ”
I can tell the woman knows she’s made a mistake but isn’t sure how to course correct.
Her cheeks start to redden as she looks from me to him with embarrassment.
Good. She should be uncomfortable. And I don’t feel one ounce of shame.
I refuse to do mental gymnastics to protect her ego because honestly, fuck her feelings.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“You know what else I hope he gets from me?” I ask rhetorically, cutting off her apology. She swallows.
“The confidence to stand up to ignorant, small-minded people, people who believe they are entitled to information because of their privilege and whiteness. It is incredibly insensitive and rude to make assumptions just because you can’t see the physical similarities between us and more importantly, it’s absolutely none of your fucking business. ”
“I—”
But I turn my back to her before I can hear her response and I push our cart away as fast as humanly possible.
The fucking audacity of that woman, the brazenness.
It wasn’t the first time I’ve encountered micro aggressions or people just being assholes but it was the first time I’ve encountered it with Akio.
Have people started speaking to me in Spanish because they assumed I was Latina?
Yes. Have random strangers asked to touch my hair or if it was real, because to them I was foreign, or other?
Also, yes. But never has anyone suggested that Akio and I weren’t related even if their judgmental stares signaled that’s exactly what they were thinking.
And it fucking hurt. It made my momma heart bleed.
The overwhelming need society had to look at a person or people and be able to label them, define them, understand them in a way that made them comfortable was unbelievable.
It wasn’t even that she thought he was adopted.
It was more that she felt she had the right to know.
That she was entitled to our life story to satisfy her own curiosity.
That she assumed we couldn’t possibly be related to each other by blood.
That she needed to be able to put us in a category, in a box that could be wrapped up tightly in a bow.
Maybe it also struck a chord because I was a child of adoption and I’m sure my moms got looks and questions like that all the time while raising me.
As if my day couldn’t get any worse, I glance at my phone and watch a call from an unknown number light up my screen.
Buzz buzz buzz. Silent alarm bells start ringing in my head.
I don’t recognize the number but instinctually, I know it’s him.
Buzz buzz buzz. I let the call go to voicemail, my heart pounding like a steel drum.
I was still on the other side of this—the side where he lived his life and I lived mine and they never ever intersected.
And if I listen to his voicemail, I know with certainty that they would.
After last night, there’s no way I could retreat into my illusion of safety, a world where Kai and I coexisted independently.
I had known this would be a possibility and yet I went anyway, guns blazing.
Maybe my heart had recognized something my head wasn’t ready to accept.
It was time to finally pull that trigger.
Akio has been asking recently about a dad, his dad.
He knows our family looks different from others, even at his age.
And I don’t have answers for him, not any that make sense.
Ultimately, Akio needs a father and he deserves to have Kai in his life.
Even if I don’t. After my last relationship ended in disaster, I realized there were some feelings that were too loud to ignore.
It doesn’t matter how much time has passed, Kai would never truly be out of my system.
Once we reach the car and I buckle Akio in his car seat—fighting with the tangled seatbelt like it's the universe's last fuck you for the day—I allow myself to listen to the message. He wants me to meet him at the diner today. Less than two hours from now.