85. Kendall
Kendall
“Okay,” I hear myself reply.
Okay okay okay.
You know how if you repeat a word enough times it sounds warped, unusual, other worldly?
That’s how I feel walking out of his apartment, my heart obliterated and my body numb.
I’m a little detached from reality. Like this is all a terrible nightmare I would eventually wake up from.
He’s been brutalized, traumatized, his world ripped apart.
He’s lost the career he spent over a decade trying to achieve almost overnight.
That is too much for any person to handle and I don’t want him to have to deal with it on his own.
But I don’t know how to reach him or get through to him like this.
I lean with my back against his front door, fingers gripped tightly around my mouth and jaw as wailing sobs shake my chest. The sounds I'm making are primal. Guttural. Raw. I haven’t cried, truly cried, in a while.
Not when I got the call from Anela. Not when I saw him for the first time after his attack.
And just like that, the dam breaks loose.
Hard, fast, uncontrollable. The kind of crying that makes your diaphragm ache and robs you of oxygen.
I knew this was coming, I could feel it. This divide that just kept growing and growing until it became impossible to cross. The distance, the separation, walls being put into place before I can even figure out what they’re for.
Is he trying to keep others out or keep all his hurt and suffering in?
I’m sure it’s both. Before all this had happened, I was envisioning our future together.
A house, a dog, going back to school, marriage.
Maybe another baby, one we had planned for.
A life that we built around each other. A beautiful, chaotic, messy, wonderful life bursting with love.
And now, when I think about the future, my stomach turns.
Because I don’t want it if it doesn’t include Kai.
***
The next two weeks happen on autopilot. I stumble through them in a heartbroken fog that infiltrates my pores and tears at my insides.
I keep my head down and stick to my routines.
I drop off Akio at daycare. I go to work.
I pick him up. I do exactly what I need to do to survive and nothing more.
Finally, when I get home and Akio is asleep, I break out a carton of ice cream and let my emotions consume me for an hour while rewatching mindless television.
An hour of sulking is all I get, that’s all I allow myself.
Because Akio requires structure and stability, and an emotionally available parent.
Because the bills need to be paid and someone has to do all the things that need doing.
I don’t deviate from this norm, this script.
I only open the Kai box for one hour a day.
Anything more and I’m certain the walls will close in on themselves along with my heart.
It’s not until a week later that Kai calls me.
Three weeks of no contact, without seeing his gorgeous face, feeling his lips on mine.
Weeks without hearing his voice. They go by in a similar haze.
It’s like trying to see without sunlight, trying to breathe without air.
His absence annihilates me. I’ve been wandering around aimlessly with a cavity in my chest, missing the other half of my heart.
By the time I pick up his call, I'm desperate for any scrap of him I can get.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Hey,” he clears his throat. “How are you?”
Miserable. Lost. Drowning.
“I’m okay. How are you feeling? How’s your leg?”
“It’s okay. Getting a little stronger every day.” There’s a short pause and then, “I miss you guys. I was wondering if maybe I could visit Akio soon. Or rather if you could bring him to me since I can’t drive?”
“We miss you too,” I admit. He’s sacrificed so much. Everything. I’m not going to withhold the truth from him too just to save my pride. “I think we can make that happen. How about this weekend?” I suggest.
“Sure. Just let me know what time.”
“Okay. Will your mom or someone else be there? I’m sure it will be hard to watch him and chase him around alone.”
“Oh, you aren’t going to stay?” he asks.
Is that disappointment I detect in his voice?
“I don’t think I should, not when...” Not when I can’t touch you the way I want to. Not when you aren’t really mine anymore. Not when the sight of you with our son is going to cause my heart to fracture even more. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” I finally say.
“Okay.”
“Okay. I’ll send you a text with better timing later this week,” I respond curtly.
There’s so much I want to say, but I can’t.
I feel like I’m dying without you. I haven’t slept right in weeks.
The ghost of us is haunting me. And I can’t make it stop and I can’t let it go because it’s all I have left.
“This isn’t forever, Ken. I just think for right now it’s best,” he explains, reading my thoughts.
“I know,” I reply before abruptly hanging up on him. He doesn’t sound broken. He doesn’t sound anything like the way I’m feeling. And I have the grim realization that the longer we spend apart, the harder it will be to find our way back to each other.
But for him, I can be patient. For him, I can try. He’s waited longer than he ever should have for me. I could give him that same grace and understanding.