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I have to make a choice. And I have to make it fast.
27
Kenzi
I can’t sleep. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling.
Every now and then, I glance at the window. I think part of me keeps hoping Jason will climb through it again. That I’ll run off with him and Donovan to someplace where no one will ever find us. We could take Donovan’s boat. Leave and never come back.
Wishful thinking. But when I touch my belly, tracing the place where there’s a seed of something springing to life, I know that they’re just that. Wishes.
I climb out of bed. I shuffle down the hall to where Pearl and Four share a room. When I open the door a crack, I can see them in bed together, washed in nighttime blue. Four is snoring loudly. Pearl—somehow—is fast asleep in her nightie beside him.
Which, on closer inspection, probably has something to do with the earplugs in her ears, the eye mask covering her eyes, and the sound machine going beside her bed. Not to mention whatever sleeping aid she took with a wine chaser.
There’s a good chance a herd of elephants wouldn’t wake her up, but it’s worth a shot.
I stand about a foot from her bed, holding my arm awkwardly like an injured animal, and gently try: “Mom?”
Maybe it’s the rarely used M-O-M word that activates some primitive response in her brain, overriding all else. Immediately, she stirs, peeling up her sleep mask and peeking at me with one bleary eye.
“Kenzi? What’s wrong, darling?”
“It’s…um. I have something to tell you.”
“What is it?”
But the words are stuck. A lump in the back of my throat.
Pearl sits up and pats the mattress beside her. “Come. Sit.”
I do. She winds her arms around me, and I crawl into her. I curl up in her lap and sniffle. I don’t want to be eighteen. I want to be eight. No, younger. I want to be a fetus, curled up inside my mother’s womb.
“Oh, darling,” she murmurs, “whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. I promise.”
That breaks the dam. I tell her.
Everything.
28
Kenzi
Donovan,
Hey. I suck at letters. So this is going to suck. That’s got to be something with our generation, right? No one writes letters anymore. I feel like I should be writing this with a quill by candlelight or something. Haha.
Anyway. Pearl and I are leaving Hannsett Island today. I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you. Everything just happened really fast. It’s hard to explain right now. I WANT to explain it. Of all people, I want to talk to you. Tell you everything. And I will. One day.
Don’t stress. It’s good, I think.
The point of this letter is this: this has been one of the best, wildest summers of my life. For the first time, I felt like I fit in my own skin. And I feel like that’s all because of you. You’re one of the bravest guys I know. You’re YOU, unapologetically. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard. I admire that. Never change.
Keep being you. Keep being amazing. You were my favorite part of the summer and I hope I was, at least, a bright spot on yours.
Tell Jason I’m sorry. Tell your dad he’s raised a good kid. Tell that muskrat…squeak-squeak.
Maybe we’ll find each other, ten years from now, and laugh about all of this.
