Sighing, I approach Bethany, who’s so excited she’s bouncing. As soon as I’m within arm’s reach, she hugs me. “Oh my god! You’re the best!”
“I take it you guys had a nice talk?”
“The best!” She gives my phone back. “Because of you, I got to talk to both of my idols!”
“Oh, well, I'm not sure the Serena thing was my doing.”
“But when she showed up the other day, she was asking about you, so I'm totally giving you credit.”
“The other day?” It strikes me when I ask—the night she showed up at my apartment. “Wait, she was asking about me?”
“Yeah, she asked if anybody knew a lady named Kennedy. It's kind of funny, because she didn't even know you worked here! She just knew you were from Bennett Landing, and the store was really the only thing open. She wanted to know where she might find you, so I sent her to the apartments.” Bethany's eyes widen. “Wait, should I not have done that? I didn't know… I wasn't sure… I was just so excited, and she didn't even mention Johnny, so I didn't realize… oh my god, are you having any affair with her husband?”
I shake my head, my fist tightening around the crumbled up confidentiality agreement. I don't even know what to say to any of that, so I just walk away.
Before I can slip the phone in my pocket, it vibrates with a message.
I glance at the screen.
It’s from Jonathan.
That girl is crazy. She asked me to describe my cock.
I laugh at that, despite everything else going on. What did you tell her?
Seriously? What do you THINK I told her?
I start to type ‘that she’s lost her mind’ when another text comes through.
I told her it was the most beautiful nine inches in the fucking world, baby. ;)
“Daddy! Daddy! Guess what!”
Maddie runs right for him the second we’re safely inside the apartment, too excited to even notice the police officer lurking outside, a patrol car parked cockeyed not far from my front door to keep everyone at a distance.
Jonathan’s in the kitchen cooking again—or well, he's trying to. I smell something burning. I don’t think he’s any better at it than I am. He shuts a burner on the stove off, shoving the pan aside before looking at us. “What?”
“Today, at school, Mrs. Appleton said that we’re gonna do a play!”
He raises an eyebrow. “A play?”
She nods excitedly. “It’s about the weather outside and water and stuff! We got to pick parts, but we did it with a hat, ‘cuz everyone wanted to be the sun, but not me! I get to be a snowflake!”
“Wow, that’s awesome,” he says, grinning at her. “I think I’d want to be a snowflake, too.”
“It’s not ‘till the end of school,” she says. “Will you come watch?”
“Of course,” he says. “I’ll be there.”
She runs off, saying something about needing to practice, even though ‘end of school’ is still over a month away. I lean against the kitchen counter beside the stove, my eyes settling on the food. “Hot dogs.”
“Yeah, I fucked them all up,” he says with a laugh. “I walked away for one second and all hell broke loose in the pan.”
“We like our hot dogs like that around here,” I say. “The more burnt, the better.”
“Good,” he says. “Because they’re so burnt they’re pretty much black.”
He starts looking through the cabinets, pulling out a box of Mac & Cheese to make to go with them. Other than the stove, the apartment is scrubbed spotless. I can tell he’s been cleaning, even though it wasn’t messy to begin with. The domesticity, although appreciated, stirs up an unsettling feeling.
He’s growing restless.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Many reasons.”
He starts boiling the macaroni and ignores my question for so long that I don’t think he’s going to answer it. Eventually, though, he says, “Been one of those days.”
“You want a drink.”
He cuts his eyes at me. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I’m not okay. It’s just…”
“You want a drink.”
“Yeah.” His eyes go back to the stove, like he doesn’t want to look at me. “Disappointed?”
“Depends,” I say. “Did you get drunk while I was working?”
“Of course not,” he says.
“Then I have no reason to be disappointed.”
“It doesn’t bother you that I’m weak?” he asks. “Everything to lose, and still, I’d give my left nut for just a sip.”
“That’s not being weak, Jonathan. I’ve seen you weak. I’ve seen you so drunk you couldn’t stand, so high I doubted you’d ever come down, but here you are.”
He looks at me again.
“The only way you’re going to disappoint me is if you show up here drunk,” I say. “Or, you know, if you don’t show up at all.”
“You don't have to worry about that,” he says, switching the subject. “So, how was your day?”
My day? “Honestly, I’d give both your nuts for a drink after the afternoon I had.”
He cringes. “That bad?”
Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out the paper I’ve been carrying around all day. It’s folded into a small square now, wrinkled and torn. I’ve smoothed it out and crumpled it up multiple times, reading the words over and over to the point that I have passages memorized. I’ve agonized over whether I’m doing the right thing and I’m still not sure.
“What’s that?” he asks.
I hand the paper to him.
Brow furrowing, he unfolds it, his eyes scanning over the unsigned confidentiality agreement.
“I’ll sign it,” I tell him, “if that’s what you need.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I hope you know I’d never sell you out,” I say. “I’d never sell your story. I’d never even tell your story. It’s not mine to tell.”
He shoots me an incredulous look, one that stings, before he says, “It’s just as much your story, Kennedy. You have every right to tell it.”
“But I wouldn't do that to you.”
The incredulous look gives way to something else. Suspicion. “Is that why you stopped writing? I know Cliff had you sign one of these a long time ago.” He shakes the crumpled paper at me. “Is this what made you stop telling our story?”
I hesitate. I want to say no, because it isn’t—not in the way he’s thinking. But yet, it is. It’s one of many things that veered our story the direction it went, making it end the way it ended. But I don’t know how to explain that.
His expression changes again, my silence upsetting him. There’s anger in his eyes and tension in his jaw, almost like someone hit him—someone he trusted, someone that’s supposed to care for him, someone that’s never supposed to cause him harm. My chest gets tighter as my eyes start to burn, my vision blurring. I’m trying not to cry, but his expression is breaking me.
He tears the paper up, ripping it to tiny pieces before throwing it in the trashcan. “I don’t need you to sign it.”
I reach for him, worried, because I’ve seen him do this before. I saw it so many times when we were younger, him withdrawing. I touch his arm but he pulls away, putting space between us.
“Jonathan…”
Before I can say anything else, before he can react, Maddie runs into the kitchen, announcing she’s hungry. Jonathan’s expression changes again, the shift so abrupt it nearly takes my breath away. He smiles, not letting her see he’s upset, the actor kicking in. He gets her a hot dog, finishing making the Mac & Cheese, settling her in at the table and kissing the top of her head before turning to me, the shift happening again. Anger.
He walks past me, out of the kitchen, saying, “I need to take a walk,” as he heads straight for the front door.