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Fishing Kendrick out of his activity center is an easy task for me. He gravitates toward me more than his daddy did when he was a baby.
“He looks just like you these days,” Felicita says as Kendrick starts fiddling with my black leather jacket. I forgot to take it off, and I know his mom doesn’t like it when he comes into contact with outdoor jackets. I hand him to his aunt while I remove my jacket and hang it outside the playroom. Then I come back inside and take Kendrick back into my arms.
He’s a heavy little kid, and he’s very big for his age, too. He’s got all of that from us, his daddy, and I. The only thing he got from his mom is his pitch-black eyes. We thought they’d start changing at some point, but they never did.
“Say a little something for me, my young king,” I say to the baby. He giggles in response. His tiny fingers trace my hoodie. He grabs the fabric, fascinated with its soft touch. He’s too young for numbers or letters, but he clutches the clothes his daddy sends over more than anything else.
Kendrick doesn’t say anything, but he keeps making his cute little noises. He’s more expressive than Penelope Jade was. She was always a quiet little baby, and it felt like a reward when she responded to our silly baby talk.
I let the baby do its thing. My sister glances at us, and I see the love in her eyes. “Do you want to do something for yourself today?”
“What?” she asks as if she didn’t hear me.
“Do something. Go shopping. Have a spa day. What do women do in their free time?”
A sad smile coats her face. We have packed lives, but they’re not our lives. It’s like we’re raising kids all over again. We don’t have to do it, but both my sister and I keep ourselves busy because, quite frankly, our social lives are a mess.
“Remember when you and Travis used to take me to that diner with the horrible soup? Who sells soup in a diner?” she says, and the image pops up in my head. We were kids back then, and Felicita had bad aches whenever she was on her period. I hated when her teal eyes filled with tears. Pain painted an ugly picture of my little sister. Travis and I took her to the movies, parks, anything to distract her. She hid behind us everywhere we went, the baby of the family.
“Are you okay?” my sister asks.
I nod. “Yes, of course. I remember everything.”
We were innocent back then, Felicita and I. My foster sister and I hadn’t lost ourselves just yet. Of course, I didn’t know about my foster sister’s past back then either. It helped upkeep the image of innocence in my head.
“I can’t go back to that,” Felicita says. Kendrick reaches out for his aunt, and she picks up his little finger with her hand. “He’s gone.”
“It’s been five years,” I remind her. Five fucking years since Travis stepped in front of a bullet that aimed at Kamila. “He wouldn’t want you to—”
“Don’t be such a hypocrite.” She sniffles, and the sound rips me apart. The fact that I’m holding Kendrick calms me down. “You’re doing the same thing as I am… He would’ve loved the kids so much. He would’ve done the exact same thing.”
“That’s very true, but he didn’t love you like that,” I remind her. “He had that boy Kamila has hired. He would’ve found comfort there. You don’t have anyone.”
“Are you giving me a lecture on how to be a single widow?” she asks, a faint smile on her face. “Besides, I don’t need comfort. I’ve had intimate relations with almost every man on this island, and I’m confident I don’t want any of that action right now. What about you? You wouldn’t even touch any woman with a ten-foot pole. You’ve got offers. Every woman in this palace would love a piece of—”
“Not in front of my grandchild,” I warn her. Kendrick chuckles and plays around like nothing’s wrong.
“Stop worrying so much about me. Get your own life,” Felicita suggests.
“I don’t need alife.” Clearing my throat, I add, “I’ve got a family and a country to keep safe. My plate’s full.”
“You don’t get any comfort, though,” Felicita says, winking at me. She’s trying to hide her tears, but they’re there. She was always dedicated to Travis and being his widow has taken a toll on her.
“I don’t need comfort,” I argue.
Felicita raises her eyebrows. “Everybody needs comfort. You’re in the land of comfort. Perhaps we should get you a stripper for your birthday. Pay her a little extra, you know. Get you a sweet deal and all.”
“Hey. My grandson’s not allowed to know what strippers are,” I tell her, tickling Kendrick to distract him from registering our discussion. I hiss in a whisper. “Strippers dance. They don’t providecomfort.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Felicita responds. “Not on Katantia, brother. Here, everything is possible. And besides, since Alex can’t be here, we should host you a birthday bash with all the ladies invited. I’m sure thegiftswould be endless.”
I’m not the best parent out there, and it’s debatable whether I have a right to demand that my son comes home for my birthday. But he’s in the playoffs, which means no flying across the world to meet his family’s needs. Kamila flew to LA, where my son had an obligation when she and Fylox found out the baby’s gender, and even that was too much. We don’t even call Alex right now so that he can focus on the game.
“I know you’re growing up on Katantia,” I tell my grandson. He yelps. “But women aren’t objects. You treat them with respect, okay, young king? Be like your pops and ignore thegiftsthis country has to offer.”
“Don’t listen to your grandpa,” Felicita says, kissing the top of his hand. “I’m still throwing you a birthday bash.”
“I won’t attend!” I threaten her.
