47. Kendall
Kendall
After music playgroup, Emma and I are giving each other the play by play of our weekends.
The boys are occupying themselves with toys in the kid’s section.
After Emma tells me about her birthday weekend from hell, I explain how Kai took care of me when I was sick.
That’s all I really have to report—my weekend was uneventful to say the least.
“You’re lucky, Kendall. They don’t make guys like him anymore you know,” she says.
Seeing as how she spent the weekend suffering with her terrible ex-husband and his narcissistic family, I do not take her comment lightly.
Her ex is the epitome of if he wanted to he would.
If he wanted to get better, he would. If he wanted to work through the issues in their marriage he would.
If he wanted to treat her with kindness and compassion he would.
But he didn’t. He doesn’t. He’s an arrogant bastard, who—on more than one occasion—has been verbally and physically abusive to her.
And I know even without using her relationship as a comparison that Kai is the exception, an outlier.
He’s one in a million. It’s evident in his words, his touch, and the way he looks at me.
Even in especially hard moments, he has always treated my heart with care.
He isn’t perfect but he’s perfect for me.
Flawed but still whole. And that’s the kind of love Emma deserves.
She absolutely deserves better than the very little her ex had to offer.
“They really really don’t,” I respond, sitting in the red velvet chair across from her.
“Excuse me, I don’t mean to barge in on your conversation, but are you talking about Kai as in Kai Matsumoto? The professional hockey player?” Veronica asks and I already know the words that follow will be dripping with venom. That and I’ll be unlikely to forget them.
“Yes, we are. But with all due respect, Veronica, this is a private conversation,” I reply flippantly. Emma and I try to angle our bodies away from her but she stalks closer instead.
“Well then maybe you shouldn’t be having it in a public place,” she sneers. “I was just surprised to hear you're dating him, that’s all. You aren’t really his type.” God, I wish I could slap that smug look off her face.
“And why is that?” I bristle, simmering with rage and disbelief.
“I mean everyone knows he’s a notorious fuckboy who doesn’t do monogamy. And the last serious relationship he had was with a super model. I should know, Leighton’s practically family.”
“Right.” I mean, what else could I say? Our relationship isn’t a secret but it isn’t exactly public knowledge either.
But I can’t understand why I feel like I even owe her an explanation.
And she isn’t entirely wrong, the slate of women he’d been with while we were broken up were painfully beautiful, devastatingly gorgeous, and sex personified.
“I mean no offense, Kendall, you’re very pretty but you’re not exactly a supermodel,” she observes snidely.
“Yeah, imagine a handsome professional athlete dating a mere mortal like me, who’s at worst a California 5 and at best a Boston 7,” I scoff. But our relationship doesn’t need defining and it certainly doesn’t require an explanation—not to her of all people.
Still, her words reverberate throughout my head and rattle around in my skull hours after I leave the library. Not to mention I keep getting tripped up on that name. Leighton. Leighton, Leighton. Why did that name sound so fucking familiar?
After Akio falls asleep, I type in the name into Instagram. I choose the second certified Leighton, Leighton Carraway, and everything clicks into place. The ball of unease churning in my gut starts to solidify.