14. Kai #2
Holden comes over to Daisy, giving her a kiss on her cheek, right as Lily comes back downstairs. She gives him a hug before taking the chair next to Daisy.
Daisy takes a bite of toast. “Can Hockey Kai do hair?”
I pause.
Lily’s eyes sharpen with interest. “Can you?”
“I can do a ponytail.”
Daisy looks skeptical. “A good one?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“My sister.”
Lily points her spoon at me. “Harlow?”
“Yeah. Harlow used to make me practice when we were kids.”
Holden shoots me a look that screams “good luck,” before grabbing his bag and heading out the door with Justin.
Daisy twists around in her chair. “I want braids.”
“I didn’t say braids.”
“Can you learn?”
“Not in the next eleven minutes.”
She sighs like I’ve failed her deeply. “Fine. Ponytail. But high.”
“Understood.”
This is how I end up standing in Wren’s kitchen with a hairbrush in one hand, a hair tie between my teeth, and Daisy sitting backward on a chair while Lily judges my technique like a tiny pageant official.
“Higher,” Daisy says.
I adjust.
“Not that high.”
I adjust again.
Lily circles us. “There’s a bump.”
“I know.”
“You have to brush under the bump.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Wren uses water.”
Of course she does. Walking to the sink and getting the brush wet, I do the best I can. The end result is not perfect. I can admit that, but it is centered, secure, and high enough that Daisy swings her head twice and declares it “good enough.”
Lily lets me do hers next, with far more instructions.
“Not too tight.”
“Okay.”
“But tight enough where it won’t get in my eyes when I play at recess.”
“Okay.”
“And no bump.”
“I’ll do my best.”
She studies me in the reflection of the microwave. “Wren says boys don’t listen.”
“Wren is usually right.”
I smooth Lily’s hair back carefully. My hands are bigger than they were when Harlow used to sit on the bathroom counter and complain that I was pulling. For a second, my chest tightens with an ache I don’t see coming.
This feels domestic in a way that should scare me more than it does. Lunches lined up. Kids eating toast. Hair ties on my wrist, the twins trusting me with their hair like I didn’t disappear from the edges of this family years ago.
It should feel foreign.
It doesn’t.
It feels too easy to slip back into.
That is what scares me.
Wren finally comes back downstairs at 7:05, freezing when she reaches the bottom step.
Daisy is eating toast with a finished ponytail. Lily is standing in front of me while I wrap the tie around hers. The counter is wiped down. The water bottles are filled. Shoes are mostly on feet.
Wren blinks.
Once.
Twice.
“What happened?”
Daisy lifts her hand. “Hockey Kai did my hair.”
Lily tilts her head so Wren can inspect. “Mine too.”
Wren looks at me, not annoyed, just stunned.
I tie off Lily’s ponytail and step back. “Is this okay?”
The question is for more than the hair.
Wren hears it.
Her eyes soften for one dangerous second before she hides it by looking at Lily. “It’s good.”
Lily nods. “Thank you.”
Daisy slides off her chair and runs for her backpack. “Can Hockey Kai come every morning?”
“No,” Wren says quickly, and I can’t help but chuckle.
Daisy stops. “Rude.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
Wren points toward the hall. “Everyone move. Shoes, backpacks, folders. We are not late today, but we still have to put your boosters into Kai’s car.”
The next eight minutes are a controlled disaster. I carry lunch boxes to the car while Wren finds Daisy’s library folder under a couch cushion.
We finally get everyone buckled and ready to go, Wren hopping into my passenger seat. Pulling out onto the road, we head toward the twins’ school, my mind replaying the last thirty minutes that felt more like an hour or more.
I used to know this version of Wren in pieces.
Morning Wren, running late with wet hair and too much sarcasm.
Passenger-seat Wren, bare feet on my dashboard until I told her for the hundredth time to put them down.
Family Wren, answering three people at once and somehow knowing exactly who needed food, who needed a ride, and who needed someone to pretend not to notice they were scared.
I lost access to all of this.
No, I gave it up.
That distinction sits heavy in my stomach.
By the time we pull up at the elementary school, the twins are louder than they were when we started. I park along the curb, and Wren unbuckles. “Come on, gremlins.”
Daisy climbs out, then turns back to me. “Are you going to be there when we get home?”
The question hits before I can prepare for it.
She asks it like I am part of the morning now. Like I might be part of the afternoon too. Like showing up once means I could show up again, easy as that.
Lily peers around her sister. “Because Wren burns our snack after school too sometimes.”
“I do not,” Wren says.
“You burned waffles.”
“That was one time.”
“Two times.”
“Out.”
Daisy keeps looking at me.
My throat tightens.
I can feel Wren watching from the curb, her hand on Lily’s backpack strap.
“I don’t know,” I say, because lying to a six-year-old feels worse than being hit. “But I’ll see you again soon, okay?”
Daisy considers that, then nods. “Okay. You can practice braids.”
“Good plan,” Lily says.
Wren’s face does something soft and panicked before she turns away. “Inside. Now.”
The twins follow her toward the school entrance, both ponytails bouncing. Daisy slips her hand into Wren’s. Lily walks on Wren’s other side, talking up at her.
I sit alone in my car and watch them walk into the school, unable to stop the thoughts spinning circles in my mind.
Daisy asked if I’d be there when they got home, and for one terrifying second, I wanted to say yes.
I wanted my place in their chaos back.
My chest tightens until breathing takes effort.
I look down at the pink hair tie around my wrist and let out a quiet, helpless laugh.
Yeah.
I’m completely fucked.