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Otto jumps up and down like an excited squirrel. “Pizza, pizza, pizza!”
Pearl shrugs. “The boy has spoken. Go have fun. We’re having a pizza night.”
GROUP TEXT: Donovan, Jason, Kenzi
Kenzi: Okay. I’m in. Where?
Jason: Our place. I’ll drop a pin.
36
Kenzi
To tell him or not to tell him?
That is the question.
In the summer of 2005, I met two boys: Jason King and Adam Donovan. One, a cocky, king-of-the-world jock. The other, a loner with a bleeding heart. I fell in love with both of them, in my own way. An innocent love—something not meant to last, maybe, but something meant to burn hot and bright for a summer so that when I’m ninety and on my death bed, I can smile to myself and think, Well, at least I’ll always have the summer of 2005.
We became glued at the hip. We called ourselves “the Three Muskrats,” after an incident with a furry beast at the back of a boat. And that summer, I lost my virginity with Jason buried inside me and Donovan petting my hair, coaxing me to previously unknown heights of pleasure with his words. It’s a moment I’ll cherish forever—and one I’ll never forget.
It was also the night I got pregnant with Otto.
I don’t regret anything that happened that night. I do regret the way I handled it. Eighteen, naïve, and scared out of my mind, I’d gone to Jason’s father for help. Leonard King was (and still is) the most powerful man on Hannsett Island, plus the richest. I wasn’t thinking about any of that at the time, though. I was just thinking, Jason’s dad is a doctor. He’ll know what to do.
But bullies don’t fall far from the tree. Mr. King proceeded to harass me and tried to bribe me into getting an abortion. So I did the only thing I could think of to do.
I ran. Far. All the way to England.
I’ve stayed hidden for over a decade, but now that I’m back at Hannsett, I have some decisions to make.
I can’t avoid Jason forever. So I’m going to go to dinner. I’m going to do this the way I do everything these days: logically, weighing the pros and cons. It’s been forever ago since we saw each other. I have no idea what kind of man he is now. I have to see it for myself. Assess the situation. And then decide how—and when—to tell him that he has a son.
A sick son. A son who needs his help.
And, all the while, try to do so while keeping my heart in check.
Because the real, honest truth is that seeing Donovan yesterday opened up a floodgate of emotions I didn’t know I still had inside of me.
Nostalgia. Affection. And—yes—desire. The desire for someone living, pulsing between my legs, instead of my go-to silicone friends.
Which is probably why I spend way too long getting ready.
Otto and I packed minimally for our trip over. Depending on how my meeting with Mr. King went, we could either be staying for a few days or a few months. I change my clothes three times before I leave the house.
First option: a navy pantsuit, to show that I’ve grown up and I’m a professional.
Second option: a purple dress with black thigh-highs to show I’m still as fun as I ever was.
Seeing Donovan yesterday was a stark reminder of just how long it had been. He’s changed so much. Have I changed?
I check a lot of the same boxes: black Irish with thick, dark hair, green eyes, a small nose, and a round face. My eyebrows are a little too intense, but I’ve always liked that about them. I’ve lost some of my baby face and replaced it with single-mom-face—ever prevalent dark edges underneath my eyes, worry marks at my forehead.
Not quite the devil-may-care, precocious teenager they once knew. I can’t help but hope they like this grown-up version of Kenzi, too.
I go with my third and final option: the best of both worlds, a fitted pair of black pants with a tie around the middle, a loose button-up, and a faux leather jacket for warmth.
I tie my hair back into a ponytail, apply my makeup, and reapply deodorant because my pits are sweating.
