“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 meanit’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 screamswhat 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’sfather, 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 waseven 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 onthe 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.
