Kensley

 

I’m nervous.

I don’t know why; I have no reason to be. Just because I know some radio host frequents the same park as me, doesn’t mean I’m going to see him.

But all the same, my hands have the slightest of trembles to them.

My girls can’t tell though.

London, in all her four-year-old glory, is skipping beside me happily, chattering away about how she wants to go down the slides “twenty-eleven times.”

She knows her numbers; she knows her letters.

Heck, she can do simple math.

She just has half a foot in make-believe and likes to make up numbers and words.

And with the way life has been?

Make believe, child.

Keep making believe.

Her sister, Sawyer, is my much more reserved child.

By eighteen months, London was all about throwing herself on the ground when she didn’t get her way, while Sawyer…

She just looks up at me with her big blue eyes, as if she’s contemplating crying or smiling, before going on her merry way.

The two of them look so much alike, both mini-mes, even though Sawyer has dark hair to mine and London’s blonde. Sawyer’s hair is finally getting long enough to do more than just a waterspout ponytail to, and today she’s rocking pigtails, where London has a need to have French braided pigtails daily.

Currently, Sawyer is playing with the neck line of my V-neck shirt and if she does anything more than just fingering it, I’m going to have to correct her. Right now, though, she’s not doing any harm.

I bounce her up my hip a little more, causing her to giggle which, in turn, makes me smile.

I live for these two, and for the littlest one in my belly.

“Mama, I see the slides!” London says excitedly, and I smile down at her.

“I do too, baby. Stay close until we get there though, please.”

I don’t know why, but since finding out the truth about Mark, my now ex-boyfriend and father to my kids, I’ve been slightly worried about losing my girls.

I shouldn’t be.

Mark doesn’t want them.

Just like he’s never really wanted me.

I should have realized…

I should have figured it out well before I did, but I didn’t.

It was in the late nights. The long trips.

He even missed the girls’ births.

Heck, the first time I met his extended family, he barely introduced me! His mother did the honors, while looking absolutely flabbergasted at her son’s rudeness.

I’ll miss his mother being a constant presence. I hope she’ll continued to want to watch the girls. This week she hasn’t said anything, but I fear the day that she says ‘no more’. I may not want Mark to have fifty-fifty custody of the girls—more for their sakes than for any ill-will toward him—but that doesn’t mean I should punish his parents.

They love the girls. They’re the very best grandparents…

If I’d paid attention to the signs Mark showed before, where would I be now?

Probably not carrying sweet Sawyer on my hip, that was for sure.

I turn my head to press a kiss to her pudgy cheek, making her giggle again. “Mama!”

Smiling wide, I drop my head to her neck and blow a raspberry. Shrieking out a giggle, she pushes against my shoulder but when I raise my head, she yells, “More! More, mama!”

God, I love my girls.

“How about I put you down to play,” I tell her instead, which does nothing for her smile but make it bigger. “Alright, ladies,” I continue as we near the edge of the playground, “go do your thing.” I put Sawyer down gently and immediately she’s off, chasing her sister. I park myself on the nearest bench, the one that has the best viewing of the slides that London plays on the most. From here, I’m close enough to keep a hawk’s eye on the two of them, close enough to scramble up to rescue if needed, but also far enough where I’m not stilting London’s newfound independence.

That girl…

She’s going to give me a run for my money. I just know it.

Smiling, I settle back into the bench and refrain from looking around the park for a familiar face. Familiar, though, only because I looked him up online…

The nerves this afternoon have nothing to do with the fact I didn’t know when Mark was going to be back in town and he could be at this very park, a park we play at once a week…but for the open invitation that was spoken nine days ago.

It was Saturday, though.

Maybe he changed up his schedule on the weekends.

Maybe he’d long since forgotten about me.

Maye, just maybe…

He offered the same to every jilted woman.

I shake my head and sigh.

God, I can be so stupid.

First Mark.

Then the constant thoughts about the voice on the radio…

I mean, who does that? Who offers—not so subtly, mind you—to ‘chat’ with someone you don’t know? Right after hearing some not very nice things about her?

Stupid?

No.

I was embarrassed.

Mortified.

It’s a good thing I did what I did on the radio, and not on some televised segment. Could you just imagine? My face plastered everywhere? With the things Mark told the entire San Diego area?

I’d never have sex again!

Not that I was looking to anytime soon.

I mean, eventually.

Maybe when this little one was in school.

Maybe then I’d find time for myself again.

Until then?

No, sirree.

Me and my babies. That would be enough.

It would have to be enough.

Surprisingly, the thought doesn’t give me the same heart palpitations it did last year, back when I first suspected Mark of cheating on me.

Really, the first inkling should have been when Mark’s mom, Sharon, brought up marriage shortly after London was born.

Why ruin a good thing? He joked. We don’t need a piece of paper; we’ve been together for four years.

As if four years was some major milestone.

“Mama! Watch!” London’s voice brought me back to now.

Smiling, I nod as my eyes lock in on her, standing atop the slide. “I’m watching, baby.” Quickly, I scope out Sawyer; she was never too far from London. I hate not having her right next to me, but she’s at that age where she wants to copy London in everything, including doing things without her mama by her side.

We come to this park at the same time, every Saturday—well, other than last weekend, when we were moving. This is our routine; giving London and Sawyer a little bit of room to grow was a little new still, but every week, I get a little bit better at letting them.

Out of Saturday and Sunday, Saturday’s are the least crowded…at least, during San Diego’s off-season. It was only a matter of weeks before the crowds would start and then I’d have to rethink my Sawyer strategy.

I smile at that.

Sawyer strategy.

From the slide, London carefully sits and, leaning forward to reach dang near her knees, grips the side of the slide…

And races to the bottom.

Every time.

Every darn time, and I think she’s going to end up head-over-feet down the slide or, worse, over the side of the slide.

She’s going to be my daredevil.

She already is.

London laughs as she jumps off the bottom of the slide. “Can I bring Sawyer?” she asks excitedly.

There’s no question in my answer.

“No.”

“But mama—”

I shake my head. “No, London.” These slides are too high. Way too high for Sawyer. “If you want, we can walk over to the little play area, and you can bring her down a slide.”

“But that’s for babies.”

“Sawyer kinda is a baby, though.” Sawyer hears this and quickly looks up from her woodchip pile.

“Nuh-uh!” Her face is comically screwed tight, like she understands completely what’s being said.

She probably does.

“Well, fine,” London huffs. Then, without another word, goes on to another attraction at the park.

I stand, always aware of where London is, and move toward Sawyer. “You want to swing?”

Sawyer’s face brightens as she stands, woodchips falling from her lap. “Swing!”

I scoop her up and we head toward the set of swings. She reaches for the chains as I lower her into the baby swing that is beside a vacant big-girl one. It will only be a matter of moments before London sees, demanding she be pushed too.

From behind the black rubber-type seat, I gently push Sawyer even though she yells to go higher. My mama’s heart can only take so much and as sturdy as this swing set is—it’s no aluminum special from the early nineties—Sawyer is okay going the height she’s going now.

Again, my eyes dart around the playground.

Looking for the voice.

Looking for…

Liam Hardt.

I’d finally let curiosity win me over, Googling his name yesterday afternoon.

The man was gorgeous.

Like, so ridiculously pretty that it had me second guessing his intentions in asking me to the park.

But then I remembered—clear as day, his voice echoing in my mind—This is incredibly forward and a lot crazy…

“Higher!” Sawyer pulls me from my thoughts again.

What am I even doing?

I literally just came out of an eight-year relationship!

It wasn’t much of a relationship, and you know it.

“Relationship” felt so much better than “breeding factory,” though.

I knew why Mark wanted a boy.

Mark was the last chance at carrying his family’s name.

He had no cousins to do it. No siblings. It all rests on his shoulders.

It’s not even like his name means anything. He may not have sons to carry the name, but he has daughters! They may marry someday, but his family’s legacy could continue. His parents, his grandparents…their stories could continue.

“Mama!” Again, Sawyer hollers at me.

“Sorry, sis,” I say, and grab the back of the swing in the cutout area for legs, if a child were facing the other direction.

“You ready?” I ask, lifting the seat a fraction.

Sawyer giggles.

“One…” I lift it a bit more and gently lower it, never letting go.

“Two…” I lift it again, slightly higher. Sawyer’s hands are shaking the chains now, she’s so excited.

“Three!” I lift the swing a little bit more and let her go.

She’s hardly swinging more than three, maybe four, feet off the ground, but her giggles say she thinks she’s flying.

“I want to be pushed!” London comes running over, diving for the still-open swing beside Sawyer. Like Superman, she swings forward on her belly, her laughter contagious. I can’t help but smile, and Sawyer, watching her big sister swinging on her belly, laughs along with her.

“Just a couple of pushes,” I say, reaching forward to send Sawyer’s swing going again. “Then maybe we can go get ice cream!” We don’t stop for ice cream every Saturday, but the girls had been so good this week.

That, and maybe I was bribing London a little.

She didn’t take too well to our rushed move out of the only house she’d known, and into an apartment.

You’d never guess it now, though, looking at her playing at the park. Then again, this was something we did every week.

It was important to keep routine.

“Oh!” London stood up and turned, standing on tiptoe in her gold sparkly sneakers as she shimmied up into the swing. “I want sprinkles today!”

“You want sprinkles every day.”

“But chocolate ones today!”

“Mmm, that sounds good.” I push Sawyer again before moving behind London, grabbing the chains above her hands. “What flavor ice cream though? You can’t just have sprinkles, silly girl.” I pull the swing back and hold her, suspended there, until she gives me an answer.

“Orange!”

“Orange?” I exclaim. “Orange sherbet with chocolate sprinkles?”

London continues to giggle. “Yes, mama! Now swing me!” She rattles the chains and looks over her shoulder at me, her blue eyes so full of mischief but her smile…

Why the hell doesn’t Mark want this?

You know what?

I’m going to be enough for my babies.

More than enough.

I love them so, so much, that they’ll never need another person to dote on them.

“You know…? Maybe that sounds pretty good,” I say, releasing her swing and smiling.

Yes, it sounds good.

My plans…

They all sound good.

I was going to be enough.

I am enough.

 

*   *   *

 

As we walk back through the park, ice cream in my girls’ bellies, I listen to London chatter on. Once again, I’m holding Sawyer, but now she’s zonked out in my arms, her head resting heavily on my shoulder.

I should have brought the stroller.

Like clockwork, every Saturday she’s ready for her afternoon nap thirty minutes before her regular timed one.

Next time…

Next week, I’ll bring the stroller.

I smile; I think that every week.

“Can we do arts and crafts at home, mama?” London asks, switching from her story about her dolls.

“Nothing too messy today, London.” The apartment is still in shambles from the quick move last weekend; I don’t think I can handle glitter and paint all over, too.

“Maybe stickers!” With that, London starts chattering on about what kind of sticker project she’s going to make, and how she’s going to give it to daddy, and he’s going to love it so much.

I swallow hard and focus on putting one step in front of the other.

One step…

The next…

I haven’t even begun to think about how to fix my daughter’s little heart. What if Mark doesn’t want to ever see her? She’s—sadly—accustomed to only seeing him for a few weeks at a time before he leaves for another “trip” but eventually she’s going to catch on.

Sawyer? She may ask for him once or twice, but that’s what she does now. She doesn’t know his schedule like London does.

God, my heart is breaking for my oldest.

I reach down and run my hand down one of her braids, tugging slightly at the bottom. “Love you, baby girl,” I say, interrupting her story.

She just smiles wide up at me. “Love you, mama girl. And after stickers, we can—oh! Mama! A puppy!” She points a finger out across me and I look where she’s…

Oh my God, the dog is coming right for us!

I halt to a stop and pull London in against my legs, far rougher than I intend. She fights it for a moment because the girl loves animals, but we don’t know this dog and with how it’s running…

“Guinness!” a male voice yells out, but the camel-colored dog doesn’t stop, just keeps bounding toward us.

The dog is right in front of us now. Maybe five feet away.

And showing no signs of stopping.

“Guinness! Heel!”

Like a cartoon dog, this Guinness—who I now recognize as a boxer—slides to a stop.

Right.

In front.

Of.

London.

“Guinness! Oh my God, Guinness!” the male is still yelling, and I take my eyes off the dog for the smallest of moments to see where this owner is.

There he is.

Running just as full-speed as his dog was.

Guinness though, now he plops to a sit in front of my daughter, his face directly in front of hers, his tongue out and, darn it, the dog looks like he’s smiling at her.

London must think so too, because she pushes away and reaches for the boxer’s face. “London!” I reach for her hand.

“Shit. I’m so sorry,” the man says, coming to a stop behind his dog. Immediately, he reaches down to grab the dog’s leash. “He’s normally well-mannered. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” The man is out of breath from his sprint. My eyes take him in as I keep London close, thankful that Sawyer slept through it all.

He’s wearing shorts even though it’s barely fifty degrees; at least he’s in a long-sleeved shirt, too. On his head, he wears a backward baseball hat, old snap-back style, that’s gray. A tuft of dark hair flips out through the hole.

“It’s… It’s fine,” I say with a disbelieving shake of my head. “I guess.”

I have the smallest feeling of recognition, like his face is familiar, but I know I don’t know this man.

“Mama, the man said a bad word,” London pipes up.

“It’s okay, baby,” I manage. “He was worried about his dog. Just like I get worried about you if you run too far.”

“But he’s a dog, not a kid.”

“He’s kinda like my kid though,” the man cuts in. “He’s my responsibility. I have to keep a better eye on him. He saw something and got really excited,” he explains to her, “and started sprinting before I was ready. He didn’t mean to scare you. And I’m sorry for saying a bad word.”

London offers him her blinding smile. “It’s okay. Mama uses bad words sometimes too.”

My face heats and my chest feels itchy. “London,” I murmur under my breath before trying to offer the stranger a shaky smile. “I’m sorry. Um. Thank you.” I laugh nervously and shake my head. “I don’t know what I’m thanking you for. Well. Goodbye.” I push at London’s shoulder, and, while she’s reluctant to move, she does.

We take three steps. Four.

London’s new story is about the dog—and will probably be about the dog for the entire drive to our apartment.

Seven. Eight.

Nine. Ten.

Finally, I give in and look back over my shoulder.

The man and his dog are staring after us; the dog with a look of sadness, and the man?

Like he’s confused.

I swallow hard and pinch the corner of my lips. It’s an attempt at a smile, but I know that even if he catches it through the distance, it probably comes off as a grimace.

Then I push the pair from my mind, take London’s hand, and cross the parking lot for our car.

That was enough excitement for one day.