5. Kai
Kai
The Olympus Diner had an old school retro vibe, heightened by the weathered sticky jukebox tucked in the front corner, the metal tables, and large glass windows that spanned the entire front half of the restaurant.
Kendall and I had come here for hundreds of dates, drunken late night food runs, and hungover brunches before, well before everything went to shit.
This restaurant has been around far longer than we’ve been alive and is a staple in the surrounding community.
I knew if I told her to meet me at the diner, I wouldn’t have to specify.
I sit down in a small booth near the window, the red worn leather squeaking underneath my weight.
I shift uncomfortably not knowing what to do with my hands, so I run them through my hair—realizing I hadn’t even bothered to shower this morning.
I was so preoccupied with the idea of seeing her and finally having her undivided attention, that basic hygiene hadn’t crossed my mind.
I probably look disheveled and unhinged, which is exactly how I feel.
An older waitress, probably in her sixties with graying hair pulled up tight in a bun and a stained white apron around her waist, stops by the table to ask if I need anything.
I order a black coffee even though I know I’m not going to drink it.
Not yet anyways. I’ve already suffered two panic attacks since seeing her yesterday and the last thing I need is caffeine buzzing in my veins during one of the most intense conversations of my life.
I glance at my watch, 12:02. Maybe she isn’t even going to show up and all my panicking was for nothing. Maybe I already got my one shot and blew it yesterday when I cornered her at work.
And then like a fucking tidal wave, she comes crashing into the diner. She chats with the hostess briefly. I watch as she scans the restaurant for me, her hazel green eyes flicking from table to table, her dark curls bouncing around her face.
She’s painfully beautiful, even more stunning than the day she left, the last time I saw her.
Really saw her. Because yesterday was a fluke, an anomaly.
A happy accident depending on who you ask.
It probably never should have happened and yet I find myself thanking whatever god that exists that it did.
Yesterday I didn’t have the opportunity to appreciate her beauty because I was flustered and momentarily knocked off course.
The mere sight of her had shaken me to my core.
Today though, today I have the time to admire her and it nearly steals the breath from my lungs.
She locks eyes with me as she approaches the table, and something clenches around my heart. The hustle and bustle of the restaurant ceases to exist, all the noises and chatter fading into the background, as if her walking in could stop the entire world from spinning on its axis.
“Hi,” she says. “Is it okay if I sit?”
“Hi, of course,” the words tumble out of my mouth. “I wasn’t sure if you would come after yesterday,” I admit.
“Neither was I,” she responds, fidgeting with a loose straw wrapper.
“I’m really happy you did,” I reply, covering her hand with mine. It grants me a small smile, but she still pulls away. She’s hesitant, guarded like she still hasn’t fully committed to being here in this diner with me.
“So,” I clear my throat, “Like I said, I saw you at the game the other night, right before I got my ass handed to me by the other team.”
She looks down at her hands but doesn’t say anything. I press on, figuring it’s better to rip the Band-Aid straight off.
“You were holding a boy on your hip, smiling at him.”
Still no response.
“Why does he look like me, Kendall? Why does he look like the perfect mix of both of us?” I ask sharply.
Surely it had been a trick my mind was playing on me.
I was exhausted from the game, crumbling underneath the pressure, my head conjuring things, seeing things that weren’t there.
Because the alternative, keeping a lie that big? That’s so much worse.
I watch her swallow, but she won’t meet my eyes. And I know instantly without her saying a word.
“Is he mine?” It comes out as barely more than a whisper.
“Yes. He’s yours. His name is Akio.” And I feel the world shifting beneath my feet, my heart starting to come apart at the seams.
“Why…how could you keep this from me?” I raise my voice, on the verge of yelling in this cozy diner with elderly couples and families surrounding us.
“I don’t expect you to understand my reasons or my choices, but I was trying to protect you,” she states as if that’s some sort of rational explanation.
“Protect me? You have been hiding my son from me for two and a half years, Kendall. How the hell is that protecting me?” I demand.
It doesn’t make any sense. Why hide him?
Why lie about having the abortion and why is she telling me about him now?
Pain, confusion, resentment all fight for space in my head.
I never thought she was capable of this kind of betrayal.
And I really want to hate her for it, for everything she’s put me through.
Every lie, every secret, every bit of darkness I succumbed to over the past couple years.
Every time I put a bottle to my lips hoping to drown out the memory of her.
I’m so fucking tempted to walk away from her without a second thought and never look back.
But it’s not just about me anymore. I owe it to myself and my son to get answers.
Holy.
Shit.
I.
Have.
A.
Son.