39. Kendall
Kendall
God, I’m so fucked.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” I shout into the abyss of the kitchen. “Traffic was terrible,” I lie.
My mom is standing at the oversized double sink washing dishes. “Traffic, huh?” she asks.
“Yes, that among other things,” I mumble as I kiss her on the cheek. She shoots me a look of skepticism, and I can tell she’s unconvinced. My other mom is playing with Akio at the kitchen table that is littered with Legos. He runs into my arms excitedly as soon as he sees me.
“Mama! Missed you!” he exclaims, wrapping his little arms around my leg.
“I missed you too, baby,” I respond, smothering his head and cheek with kisses. “We got to get going though, so we aren’t late for drop off,” I explain, hoping my moms are finished pestering me about my night.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, leaning down to kiss the top of her head while she continues picking up Legos.
“Hi, honey, how was your night?” she asks.
“It was good. A lot of fun,” I respond, intentionally vague.
“Ken, you’ve never been a very good liar. And you’ve only asked us to watch Akio overnight when you have a date,” she whispers. “Not to mention your shirt is on inside out,” she indicates, raising her eyebrows. “So, I’ll ask you again, how was your night?”
“Fuck,” I mutter underneath my breath.
What am I supposed to say, I spent the last 24 hours being absolutely wrecked by Kai, in the best possible way?
No, I have to handle this with care, finesse, and impeccable timing.
My relationship with Kai is still fraught with tension and filled with unknowns, but the relationship our family had with the Matsumotos was effectively severed once I decided to raise Akio by myself.
And everyone including me has paid for it dearly.
“Listen, you're right. I was with a guy and it’s pretty serious. But I don’t have time to talk about this right now.
How about we come over for dinner later and we can talk about it then, okay?
” I ask, trying to buy myself some time.
Any time at all would be preferable to explaining to them right now that Kai and I have gotten back together.
Or whatever it is we’re doing. That after vowing not to contact him, and asking them to cut ties with his family, I had been the one to reach out to him. God, this is not going to go well.
The drive to daycare is twelve minutes. Akio spends most of it talking about the pancake situation from earlier this morning.
"Grandma said one handful of blueberries but I did two."
"And?"
"She used the big voice."
"Yikes." I glance at him in the rearview. "What else?"
He thinks about it for two seconds. "Can we get a fish?"
"No."
"A small one."
"Still no."
He sighs deeply and stares out the window for the rest of the drive. I fix his backpack straps at drop-off, kiss his forehead, and he's already gone, running inside wearing his favorite Spiderman shoes.
I sit in the parking lot longer than I need to.
My phone buzzes.
How's your morning?
Kai. I smile before I can stop myself.
Just dropped Akio off. He wants a fish now.
Get the fish.
I'm not getting the fish.
I see the text bubble that tells me he’s typing pop up and then disappear a few times.
What if I kept it at my apartment?
Saves you the headache and he can still have the fish
You would do that?
You’re never home…
Of course I would and I have a housekeeper
Maybe
I laugh alone in my car and pull out into traffic.
Work keeps me busy most of the morning. I’ll take any distraction to stop me from thinking about how I’m going to break the news to my moms this evening.
By mid-afternoon, I've rehearsed eleven versions of what I'm going to say and scrapped all of them.
Kai texts once more around 2pm, a photo of a coffee cup, no caption, and I stare at it longer than I should before putting my phone face down.
The truth. Nothing else. Just the truth. That's all I've got.
***
We’re back at my moms’ house seated around the large oak kitchen table. Akio is sleeping in his room that’s been completely designed for him. I brought over a pizza and cannolis from their favorite restaurant, hoping it would put them in a good enough mood to soften the blow of my news.
My mom bites into a cannoli, powdered sugar exploding and falling on her plate. She grabs a napkin from the center of the table and starts to prod.
“So, this guy, who is he? Where’d you meet him?
” she questions. And even after perseverating all day, trying to figure how to best deliver this information, and triaging the situation with Jenna, I’m still terrified of their reactions.
The fallout. What happens after this admission—because these are words that can’t be unsaid, unheard once they’re out there in the open.
“It’s Kai,” I whisper quietly, holding my breath as if that could possibly help me. I glance back and forth between both of them. My mom drops her dessert abruptly and her face is lethally serious.
“What do you mean it’s Kai?” she asks, anger and shock creasing the edges of her voice.
“I knew it!” Mommy chimes in. I give her a pointed glare that screams what the fuck, Mom, you aren’t helping.
“We reconnected a few months ago.” I clear my throat. Water. I need water. I take a sip from my glass slowly, hoping it will cure my inability to string words together. “And we’ve been spending a lot of time together. The three of us,” I respond, treading carefully.
“You mean to tell me that you and Kai, Akio’s father, have been together for months and this is the first we’re hearing about it? Why?” she asks, noticeably raising her voice.
“I mean, it was new at first. We weren’t exactly sure what we were doing and if it would turn into anything.
We have a lot of history and things to work out still…
” It’s clear to me and probably them that I haven’t thought this through.
This is very obviously a mistake. But I have looked at it from every single angle and considered the consequences.
And the one conclusion I keep coming back to is that I have to tell them.
They would find out about Kai one way or another and I wanted it to be on my terms.
“We’re well aware,” she snaps, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest. “You told us before he was even born that you wanted to raise Akio without Kai for a lot of reasons—"
“I know,” I interject, wary of where this conversation is headed.
“And we supported you without question. Even if we didn’t agree with your choice.”
“Maybe we should all just take a beat,” Mommy suggests, her eyes moving back and forth between us.
“No, it’s time she heard this. Running away from your problems, moving to North Carolina, breaking up with Kai and lying to him. Perhaps none of those things were the right choices even if they felt like your only options at the time.”
Jesus Christ. How could she so callously rattle off my deepest regrets like they don’t haunt me every day of my life? The three slices of pizza I ate sit in my stomach like a brick, weighed down by anxiety and guilt.
“That’s not fair,” I observe.
“Maybe not but it’s the truth. You made difficult choices and now it might be time to accept that they might have had very serious, negative repercussions. You aren’t the only person who sacrificed something in this family, Kendall,” she presses.
My anger at myself, the situation, the pain I’ve caused the people in my life and the stifling unfairness of it all boils over and spills out in pure rage.
“You don’t think I know how much I fucked up? You don’t think I realize what I’ve lost, what I might never be able to fix?” I seethe, hot tears burning my eyes.
“Kendall,” Mommy says gently like she’s trying to approach a wild animal. “Let’s all just take a moment,” she suggests.
I sigh in defeat and frustration, swiping my hands down my face to try and regain my composure. “I never wanted your lives to change irreparably because of my mistakes,” I choke out on the verge of crying. “I didn’t know what else to do,” my voice cracks on the last word.
“I want to be super clear. I might be frustrated and a little disappointed, but I have never thought of Akio as a mistake.” Mom softens her voice the slightest bit. “We love him and adore him. Just as much as we love you.”
“May I?” Mommy asks, always the emotional buffer. I nod at her through barely restrained tears and Mom remains silent.
“When everything happened, when you found out you were pregnant and decided to raise Akio alone, it felt like all of us lost so much, especially you. And I think we all hoped that it would turn out okay.” She pauses to take my hand in hers gently.
“But honey, we know how much losing him changed you and broke you. We saw it. And when you came home, it was like you were a different person. That fire, that independence, that tenacity you once had were all muted. I knew all those pieces of you were still there, just buried underneath a lot of pain. So, I think what we want most is for you to be happy, to be whole, for you to live a bold, beautiful, unapologetic life. We just don’t want you to lose any more pieces of yourself. Okay?”
I’m ugly crying now, tears falling down my face.
Because they saw too much and at the same time not enough.
Because they had witnessed all the ugly, rotten parts of me that I had tried to disguise and mold into something resembling resilience.
The way good parents often do. Because they want the version of me that I was before all this had happened.
They longed for their daughter that had incredible dreams and a bright future.
And god dammit, so did I. I ached for the innocence that came with not knowing what it was like to lose the love of your life.
The person whose absence was so painful, whose loss so devastating it felt like the air had been ripped from my lungs.
I yearned for the ease of surrendering to happiness and light before I knew the lure of darkness and depression.
Both my moms have tears in their eyes too. I get up from the chair and crush Mommy with a hug and shortly after, all three of us are embracing each other.
“I don’t want to lose any more pieces of myself either,” I sob.
“But I think the only way for me to live my version of a bold beautiful life is to do that with Kai. I have to try. I have to know one way or the other or I will never be happy,” I admit.
They accept this quietly and both bob their heads in agreement.
“I’m sorry,” I press on. “I know I haven’t exactly lived up to your expectations of me.
” It’s all coming out now, everything. All my fears and insecurities.
Every thought I had formulated when I first got pregnant but couldn’t put into words.
There’s no other option. It’s a cleanse, a reckoning, a reset button for our family.
I didn’t know how badly I needed it until this very moment.
“Is that what you believe? That we think you failed?”
“Well, I’m not a lawyer.” I reply, sniffling. “I didn’t go to grad school and I’m barely making ends meet while supporting Akio and me. So, if that isn’t failing, what would you call it?”
“Living. Surviving. Figuring it out. You haven’t failed by any measure or stretch of the imagination, Kendall.”
I let out a long sigh. “I also haven’t told you everything,” I concede.
“What do you mean?” she asks, leaning forward in her chair.
So, I tell them the thing. The only thing that might close the chasm between what I did and where we are now.
The weight that’s been sitting on my chest for almost three years.
I explain how Kai’s dad had cornered me when I was at my most vulnerable and forced me into an impossible position.
That he had taken advantage of the fact that I was confused and powerless.
How ultimately, he added to the list of reasons I felt like my only options were an abortion or raising Akio without Kai.
I tell them the whole story from start to finish.
Only stopping to refill wine glasses and take out a carton of ice cream to pacify the ever-growing shitstorm I had created.
“That son of a bitch,” Mom barks. “I‘ll kill him.”
“I don’t even know what to say,” Mommy says, her mouth agape. “How could he do this? We were friends with them for decades!”
“I know, he was just being protective of Kai,” I respond.
“That’s not an excuse for this kind of behavior, Kendall. Does Kai know?”
“No, but I think I have to tell him, sooner rather than later.”
“Is this part of the reason you wanted to move and break off contact with Kai?” Mom asks, her brows knit together tightly. I nod, my gaze swinging between both of them. There’s an understanding there, a confirmation. I don’t want them to press me anymore on the subject and thankfully, they don’t.
Shortly after this, we retire to the couch, everyone in need of a good distraction. My moms sit down on either end and I nestle myself in between them. Mommy grabs the remote off the coffee table and starts an episode of Gilmore Girls.
“Gilmore girls, wine, and a gallon of ice cream can cure a multitude of ills,” she observes digging into the open container of moose tracks. “Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.”
“Aren’t you full of inspirational wisdom,” Mom quips, leaning back against the couch.
I laugh quietly to myself while wiping the remnants of my salt stained tears from my face.
I bring a spoonful of ice cream to my lips and finally, I can breathe a sigh of relief.
A thousand pound weight has been lifted off of my shoulders.
Now I just have to tell Kai.
***
Ileave my moms’ house the next day with a box of mementos I forgot had even existed.
They urged me to take it home with me now that they know about everything.
They claimed it was finally time to dig into the past and they’re probably right.
I peer into the box. Friendship bracelets Kai, Jenna, and I had made in second grade.
My senior prom corsage. Letters Kai had written me after I left for North Carolina, a framed picture of us at our college graduation, and an old sweatshirt of his.
My mom had tried to give me the letters while I was still pregnant with Akio.
I refused to open them then. I couldn’t. It would only have made things harder.
Now when I try to bring my trembling fingers to tear open the envelopes, I still can’t do it. Fear, regret, and shame all morph together to form a lump that perches in my throat. I hastily shove the letters back in the plastic crate and return my hands to the steering wheel.
I have to manage one fire at a time and I doubt what I need after last night is reading hate mail from Kai. I would read them eventually. But not now. Because the horrible, unfortunate truth is that Kai couldn’t despise the person I was back then any more than I despised myself.