Page 28 of Kings Don't Break
“Nothing’s too good or expensive for my girls. Don’t I always give you the best of everything?”
I give a stiff nod. “Yes. Always.”
The answer is sufficient enough. He steps away without another word. I let out the breath I was holding, my chest heaving as if I’ve undergone strenuous activity.
Dinner is no less frustrating.
We sit down as a family to the meal I’ve prepared. Mama thanks us for inviting her over for dinner (never mind that she lives here) and mentions how she’ll need to get going soon to avoid traffic on her drive home. Neither of us correct her. Ken's too busy criticizing the food, and I’m preoccupied pretending I’m not breaking apart on the inside.
“What a delicious meal you cooked, baby.” Mama reaches over and pats my hand. “But I really should get going. Where’s my coat and purse?”
“You live here, Mama. Did you mean you’re ready to go upstairs and rest?”
“Oh. I do?” She blinks a few times. “I guess… maybe that’s what I meant.”
I take her upstairs to do just that.
Mama lets me help her into the shower and change her into PJs. She settles into bed next to her reading lamp, clutching a good book. I kiss her cheek and remind her to use the alert button if she needs to call me back up.
Ken's on the phone when I return. Honestly, it’s a relief, meaning less direct interaction.
I begin collecting the dinner plates and loading them in the dishwasher. Traces of his conversation travel into the kitchen.
“Of course you’re not interrupting anything, lieutenant. Any call of yours is important.”
My chest constricts tighter. I freeze with a plate in one hand and an empty glass in another.
“No need to worry. My family’s well taken care of. You… did, did you? No, she didn’t mention it.”
He’s stopped in the hall, his phone pressed up to his ear, his head turned in the direction of the kitchen’s open doorway. I’ve resumed sorting the dishes into the dishwasher, urging myself to act cool. Stay calm. Be normal.
I pretend I don’t notice him. I don’t feel the prick of the invisible daggers he’s throwing my way.
“You know how women get,” he says in a stilted tone. “They cry over everything. What’s that about the promotion? Is there anything I can do to change your mind, lieutenant? But I thought—isn’t there some other way—hang on, lieutenant, I’d like to talk about—hello? Hello?!”
Deafening silence follows.
It’s like the world falls mute. It’s like time stands still. I can’t bring myself to move. I clutch the bottle of dishwasher detergent and I become stuck.
Tension overwhelms my body to the point that every bone goes stiff. I’m physically incapable of doing anything except remaining in place and praying I’m wrong.
Praying he’ll walk away just this once.
But I should know better by now.
His shoes clack on the kitchen tiles. My heart rate climbs through the roof. I force myself to make conversation. Maybe create a distraction.
“Did you… do you want to watch the… the game?” I sputter out. “I’ll pour you another drink and turn it on.”
Ken says nothing. He’s fixed me with a heavily lidded glare full of rage and loathing.
“Ken—”
“Tell me what I did, Kor,” he says. He takes a step toward me. “Tell me what I did to deserve this kind of treatment.”
“What… what kind of treatment?”
“What did I do to you, Kor? What did I do to you to make you this fucking difficult?”
