Chapter 1

Kennedy

 

“Kennedy?”

I rub my eyes, trying to brush away the sleep that moments ago had me in a deep haze. “Yeah.” My voice is a garbled protest due to the early hour.

“What is that?” Kevin groans his own protest from beside me, then rolls over and shoves a pillow over his face.

“It’s my alarm,” I tell him, swiping at my phone to make it stop. “We have to get up.” I lean my head back onto my pillow, taking a deep breath and peer around my small bedroom. The shades keep the August sun muted as I soak in the sounds and details of my space—my home, my minor accomplishment, since graduating college.

The sound of Kevin snoring punctuates the emotions swirling through my thoughts. It’s a quiet nasally sound that he claims is due to sensitive sinuses.

I shove him to wake him back up. “I’m going to get dressed. When you get up, will you put the sheets in the wash?”

Halfway to the bathroom my phone rings, and Mom’s face appears on the screen.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, closing the bathroom door behind me.

“Hi, sweetie. I just want to make sure you’re up. You mentioned you had to be on the road by six, and I know you’ve never been much of a morning person.” She laughs quietly, gently as though understanding the emotional turmoil I’m experiencing.

I stare at my puffy eyes and the blonde hair in tangles around my head. Without my glasses, my reflection is as far as I can see clearly. “Thanks. I appreciate you checking on me. I’m just getting dressed before I pack the last of my things. I should be there early this afternoon.”

“Don’t rush,” she tells me. “Be sure to stop for lunch, and keep your gas tank above the half marker.” Mom pauses, but I don’t have the energy to assure her this morning, especially when I’m already feeling like my adult-card has been revoked. “We’re excited to see you.” Her voice turns gentle again.

“I’m excited to see you, too, Mom.” The trip from Boston to Haven Point, Virginia—the small town I grew up in—is only an eight-hour drive, but over the years, my excuses for not making the trip have increased, and it’s been a couple of years since I’ve been.

“Make sure you drive safely. If you get tired or anything, just pull over and get some coffee. You can also call me. I’ll be at the store, but I’ll leave my phone on.”

My fingers catch in my hair as I brush it back. “I’ll be okay,” I promise her.

“Well, let me know when you get close. That way we can be sure to be home.”

“I will.”

“I love you, honey.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

I hang up and strip out of my pajamas and into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Thoughts are wrapping around fears and twisting with memories, making this idea seem worse and worse by the second. What was I thinking when I decided to sublease my apartment and move back home for a couple of months? I’m going to be living with my parents, in a town that has less people than one square block in Boston.

Money, I remind myself. I need money. And at twenty-seven, I’ve stressed every option short of standing on a street corner. I’m taking the small savings I have left and heading back to Haven Point to work for my parents. I’ll continue applying for jobs here in Boston so I can return to my small apartment and the very large city that I love as soon as possible.

On my way back through my bedroom, I pause next to the foot of my bed, where Kevin is still curled in a ball, sleeping.

I clap my hands. “Time to get up!”

He shifts but doesn’t say anything.

“Kevin!” I say his name louder than necessary, and it feels good. Like yelling is releasing some of the worry and anxiety that has built like a storm inside of me.

The pillow he’s using to cover his head falls as he sits up and looks at me, blinking heavily against the lit room. “What’s going on?”

“I have to go. It’s nearly six.”

“You’re really going through with it?” Under his short blond hair, his eyes are bleary.

“Yes!” I cry. “I’ve been telling you about this for weeks.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “I know, but who wants to move back home with their parents? I figured you’d come up with an alternative. Are you sure this is the best option?” he asks, remaining in my bed.

“You really want to discuss this now? The people who are going to be renting this place are arriving soon.”

Blue eyes the color of steel widen with my harsh tone. “Why are you upset with me? This wasn’t my idea.”

“I’m not!” I brush a stray tear from my cheek, feeling defensive, though I know it’s slightly irrational. But I need support, not reminders of how I’ve officially failed at adulting.

Kevin raises his hands in the air in mock surrender and stands. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I just thought maybe you’d realize how bad of an idea this is.”

I lower my eyebrows and pull my chin back in anger. “What do you propose I do instead?”

Kevin spreads both hands between us, calling for peace. It’s a gesture he does anytime I don’t agree with him. At one time I thought it was cute, but right now it serves as a slap in the face. “Maybe you could stay with Violet?”

“How am I going to make or save money by staying with my best friend?”

He smiles warily and approaches me. Warm arms embrace me, the heat from my bed emanating from his chest. It doesn’t feel comforting, though, it feels suffocating. I want to get on the road and get this day over with.

I pull back, forcing him to release his grip.

“Remind me how long you’re planning on staying there?” he asks.

“At least two months.”

“Two months?” His steel-blue eyes sweep over me as I nod, and then he lifts his shoulders in a shrug and expels a deep breath. “Well, let me know when you get back in town, I guess?” It sounds more like a question rather than a suggestion.

Months ago—probably even weeks ago—him saying this would have made me consider cutting my trip back so I could rush home. I had a crush on Kevin Christensen for months before he noticed me, and then once he did, it still took a few more months before he asked me out. Except it wasn’t for a date.

“Is that how no-strings-attached relationships work?” My tone is goading.

He draws his shoulders back. “I told you, Kennedy. I don’t do the whole boyfriend–girlfriend thing. It’s just not for me. I’ve told you this from the beginning. Besides, what we have is great.”

“What we have is sex!”

“Great sex!” His eyes grow wide.

I drop my head back and run a hand over my tired eyes once more, knocking my glasses out of place. The time to argue over this is neither here nor now. “I have to go.” I right my glasses before taking another look at him.

Steel-blue eyes plead with me to never have the argument about defining our relationship again. It’s a discussion we’ve had on three separate occasions over the past six months since our arrangement began. Each time it’s led to Kevin disappearing for days, sometimes weeks, without a call, text, or stopping by on his usual weeknights.

While I’m not looking forward to leaving, I’m considering if this time and space will be good for me, forcing me to quit Kevin cold turkey.

I gather the bedding, and without acknowledging my worst habit, I head to the small washer/dryer combo in the bathroom. I drop my sheets into the washer—along with my towel from showering last night—and turn it on. The directions for everything have been posted, my fridge and closet cleared. My small apartment is immaculate, verging on empty because of how much I’ve packed to take with me.

“Are you ready?” I ask Kevin, who’s still standing in my bedroom.

He nods, his face relaxed as he scrolls through notifications on his phone, like he does each morning that he stays. “I just need to take a shower, and then I’ll get dressed and head to the office early.”

“I’m leaving now.”

“You haven’t even showered.” He still doesn’t look up from his phone.

“I showered last night.” He wouldn’t know because he fell asleep right after we slept together, but it seems like he should because I shower straight after every time.

Slowly his eyes lift to consider my tone or maybe my words. “So you want me to leave now?”

I stare at him. “Yes. I have to go!”

He looks back to his phone for a moment, thinning my patience; then he drops it and reaches for the clothes he wore last night when he arrived. While he dresses, I head back into my closet and retrieve my final suitcase. I wheel the bag down the hall, catching sight of myself in the long mirror in my bathroom. I freeze. My light eyelashes need mascara, and concealer would do wonders for my blotchy skin tone this morning, but I disregard both thoughts as quickly as they arrive. I’m going to be in the car all day, and tears of defeat would likely stain my cheeks with mascara, leaving more evidence of how terrible this idea is.

I tip the suitcase forward and continue to the living room, where Kevin is waiting at the front door.

One final heavy sigh.

One final glance around my small but cozy space.

One final memory of this apartment before I turn toward the front door with one final bag of stuff and leave.

Six years ago, I crossed the stage at my college graduation wearing cords of gold to celebrate my honors. I graduated in the top of my class, held dual degrees, and was promised by so many family members, classmates, and professors that I would face an entire world of opportunities. I was going to go places—fast. Success was my handbag, confidence my makeup, and determination my attire when I applied to job after job, attended interview after interview. My small apartment was supposed to be my starting point here in Boston—my beginning to adulthood. After, I would move into a large apartment, one with a balcony, a full kitchen, and a spare bedroom that I’d convert into an office. Then I’d buy a condo. A bigger one, with more amenities that I would definitely need, like a nursery, an additional office for my husband, and a view of the city I love that would put this place to shame.

However, rejection call after rejection call filled me with doubt. Defeat wore me down and gutted my dreams of owning a high-rise. I instead started focusing on how I would pay for basic essentials such as rent, groceries, and electricity. Still trying to remain confident, I began broadening my scope of places I wished to work.

More declines. More doubt. More résumés.

Eventually I landed my first job since graduation, only it was the same as before I spent the time and added tens of thousands of dollars of debt to my name: retail.

The click of the lock makes everything seem so final. I release a quiet sigh, unaware of what I should say to Kevin as we get into the elevator and descend to the garage level. Do I apologize for being impatient? Do I consider asking him to come visit? Do I volunteer to call him when I get there?

Do I want any of that?

Kevin reaches forward, hitting the round “L” button, indicating the lobby. “Drive safely,” he says before I can settle on a thought. “I’ll see you when you get back.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to my cheek as the doors pull open, leaving behind the tickle from the five-o’clock shadow he always wakes up with. Then he’s gone. My emotions are entirely too raw to consider his at this time, but I try to—try to understand if I maybe hurt his feelings with my attitude and brashness this morning. He stays over three times a week, never more. Mondays, Thursdays, and Sundays are our nights, and each one is followed by an early morning when he is up by six thirty a.m. It’s a cycle. A routine. One that I can count on and know.

The elevator doors open to the garage, the musty scent filling my lungs. With my nerves strung tight, I pull my suitcase across the garage, heading toward my marked parking spot. Then I swear at Kevin for not having volunteered to help me get my suitcase into the trunk of my car—and again at myself for not having the balls to ask him for help.