Reminders of Him

Those words hit me in the gut, because I’m terrified she might be right. It’s been my biggest fear since she showed back up and I started viewing her as the woman Scotty was in love with rather than the woman who left him to die.

I stand up and leave Kenna alone in the grass. I walk to my truck and open my console. I get my phone and take it back to where Kenna is sitting.

I sit down next to her again and open my photo app and then open the folder where I keep all the videos I’ve taken of Diem. I pull up the most recent one I took of her at dinner last night, and I hit play and hand the phone to Kenna.

I never could have imagined what it would be like for a mother to lay eyes on her child for the first time. The sight of Diem on the screen steals Kenna’s breath. She slaps a hand over her mouth and begins to cry. She cries so hard, she has to set the phone on her legs so she can use her shirt to clear her eyes of tears.

Kenna becomes a different person right in front of my eyes. It’s as if I’m witnessing her become a mother. It might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I feel like an absolute fucking monster for not helping her experience this moment sooner.

I’m sorry, Scotty.

She watched four videos while sitting in the grass on the side of the road. She cried the whole time, but she also smiled a lot. And she laughed every time Diem would speak.

I let her hold my phone and continue to watch more of them as I drove her home.

I walked her upstairs to her apartment because I would have felt too bad taking my phone away from her, so she’s been watching videos for almost an entire hour. Her emotions are all over the place. She’s laughing, she’s crying, she’s happy, she’s sad.

I have no idea how I’ll get my phone back. I don’t know that I want to.

I’ve been in her apartment for so long Kenna’s kitten is now asleep in my lap. I’m on one end of the couch and Kenna is on the other, and I’m just watching her watch the videos of Diem, full of pride like a father, because I know Diem is healthy and articulate and funny and happy, and it feels good to watch Kenna realize all these things about her daughter.

But, at the same time, I feel like I’m betraying two of the most important people in my life. If Patrick and Grace knew I was here right now, showing Kenna videos of the child they’ve raised, they’d likely never speak to me again. I wouldn’t blame them.

There’s just no way to navigate this situation in a way that I don’t feel like I’m betraying someone. I’m betraying Kenna by keeping Diem from her. I’m betraying Patrick and Grace by giving Kenna a glimpse of Diem. I’m even betraying Scotty, although I don’t quite know how yet. I’m still trying to figure out where those feelings of guilt are coming from.

“She’s so happy,” Kenna says.

I nod. “She is. She’s very happy.”

Kenna looks up at me, wiping her eyes with a crumpled-up napkin I handed her in the truck. “Does she ever ask about me?”

“Not specifically, but she is starting to wonder where she came from. Last weekend she asked if she grew in a tree or in an egg.”

Kenna smiles.

“She’s still young enough that she doesn’t really understand family dynamics. She has me and Patrick and Grace, so right now, I don’t know that she really feels like anyone is missing. I don’t know if that’s what you want to hear. It’s just the truth.”

Kenna shakes her head. “It’s fine. It actually makes me feel good that she doesn’t know I’m missing in her life yet.” She watches another video and then reluctantly hands me the phone. She pushes off the couch to walk to her bathroom. “Please don’t leave yet.”

I nod, assuring her I’m not going anywhere. When she closes the bathroom door, I move Kenna’s kitten and stand up. I need something to drink. The last couple of hours have somehow made me feel dehydrated even though Kenna is the one who has been crying.

I open Kenna’s refrigerator, but it’s empty. Completely empty. I open her freezer and it’s empty too.

When she steps out of her bathroom, I’m looking through her empty cabinets. They’re as barren as her apartment.

“I don’t have anything yet. I’m sorry.” She seems embarrassed when she says that. “It’s just . . . it took everything I had to move here. I’ll get paid soon, and I plan to move eventually, to somewhere better, and I’m getting a phone and—”