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Eli throws a fit because he wants hot dogs instead of hamburgers but Kenna calms him down, putting his hamburger on a hot dog bun and adding ketchup and mustard.
I would have had no idea how to deal with a tantrum like that, but she’s perfect with the kids. She always has been.
I look at Eli and Maggie, the way they beam at her, how she can calm them down at a moment’s notice, and I feel sick to my stomach, thinking that in a couple of weeks, she won’t be here.
“Kenna’s leaving,” I burst out, trying to keep the slur out of my words, and Kenna glares at me.
“No, I’m not,” she assures the kids.
“Never?” Eli asks, munching on his hamburger/hot dog.
“Not never,” Maggie says matter-of-factly. “One day, she’ll get married and have her own babies.”
Kenna barks out a laugh that sounds a little bitter. “I don’t know about that.”
“Of course you will,” I murmur, a dark feeling washing over me. “You’ll meet some guy at college who will sweep you off your feet and be pregnant within a year.”
Kenna stares at me, frowning. “Derek, what is wrong with you?” she hisses under her breath.
Maggie and Eli finish eating and run upstairs to play and Kenna grabs the dishes off the table. I take her wrist in my hand.
“You don’t have to do that. Cecilia is coming tomorrow morning.”
“It’ll give her less work to do,” Kenna snaps.
“Maggie’s right, you know? Even if you weren’t going to college, eventually, you’d leave them.” I know I’m digging a hole I can’t get out of, but despair has settled over me like a storm cloud.
“You’re drunk,” she accuses. “And you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I? You’re a beautiful young woman, Kenna.”
“Is that so? Is that why you want nothing to do with me?”
“I’d lose you,” I mutter, slumping down in my seat. “Lose you to some asshole college frat boy. You’d leave me.”
“Shutup, Derek,” Kenna says irritably. “You should go to bed.”
I snort and look down at my watch. The numbers swirl around and I blink at it. “It’s not even dark,” I argue.
“Well, then you shouldn’t have drank so much.”
“I didn’t drink that mu—” I look toward the trashcan and she’s right, there’s six bottles in there and one in my hand. I shrug. “It’s Sunday,” I defend myself.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” she says, exasperated and loading the dishwasher, slamming it closed.
“Shouldn’t I?” I shoot back. “It’s one of the last weeks I’ll have help.”
“I don’t know what you want from me, Derek,” she sighs, walking back over toward the table to pick up my half a beer. I grab it from her and chug it defiantly before putting it back down on the table. Empty.
She scoffs and takes it, throwing it in the trash.
I sit there at the table, looking at her.
“I don’t want you to go,” I say finally, and thereisa slur in my voice now and I know I should shut up, close my mouth right now.
“I know. You need help with the kids. You’ll find someone else,” she says easily.
“No,” I say stubbornly. “Not that. I don’twantyou to go,” I repeat, upset that I can’t make her understand what I’m trying to say.
