Page 8 of Shane

“Purposely?”

“You’ve got to understand who this kid is. He gets sick satisfaction from playing games and doesn’t want to make anything easy for me.”

“And what would make this situation easier for you, Kennedy?”

“If my dad would dump Shane’s mother and they’d both vanish from our lives forever.”

“You know what I’m thinking, don’t you?” Dr. Torres crosses her legs, tapping the pen against her chin.

“Yes, I know, I haven’t set a realistic expectation for the situation.”

“Exactly.” She offers me a small smile of approval. “Have you talked to Shane about how you feel?”

“Share my innermost feelings with Shane?” I respond, mortified by the question. “Hell no!”

"Kennedy, families are complex, and so are feelings. It’s important to acknowledge your emotions rather than suppress them. But it’s also crucial to set boundaries that you are comfortable with."

“What boundaries are left? They’ve already been crossed. I want to spread my legs for a guy who will be my stepbrother, Dr. Torres. In any family, any culture, that shit is wrong. And what’s worse is I know that he kissed me the other day to prove some point.”

“What point is that?”

“The one he’s been trying to make since the day that we met.”

“Why don’t you tell me more about that.”

kennedy

FRESHMAN YEAR

Nerves flutterinside my stomach as I set foot on Valencia City University’s campus. I’m not exactly sure this act of creating distance is the smartest decision I’ve ever made, but it’s a little late for regrets now. Nevada is my new home for the next four years, period.

I applied to twelve universities, was accepted into seven, and selected this little-known, liberal arts college because it’s the furthest place away from everything and everyone in Philadelphia.

As I scan the main yard of my new campus, there are large white tents lined up in several neat rows, each offering information and goodies to convince newly accepted students and their families to make their final decision. It’s supposed to be one of the most exciting days of my life post-high school, but it feels somewhat bittersweet now that my parents refuse to be in the same room together. This is a milestone moment, and my Mom should be here too, but I guess divorce doesn’t permit space for grown-ass adults actually to act like ones.

“It’s a decent campus,” my father comments as he swivels his neck to survey his surroundings.

“Dad, you say that as if you’re surprised that there are nice universities in places other than back home.”

“Well, to be fair there’s nothing like the heritage schools you were accepted to on the East Coast.”

I let out a heavy sigh in protest. He’s been like this ever since I made my decision.

“But even though the buildings look brand new here, the architecture is at least tasteful,” he adds as if throwing me a bone.

My father can be a bit of an elitist regarding higher education, believing that universities in Boston, Philadelphia, and New York are inherently superior to schools in other parts of the country just because of their age and reputation.

“Did you expect VCU to look like the Vegas Strip or something?” I ask sarcastically.

“Can we have a simple day together without all of the snark, Kennedy?” he sighs. “It’s incredible how you look exactly like me but act so much like your mother.”

That’s supposed to be a dig in more ways than one. He thinks I’ve chosen this “inferior” university because I’m running from my problems, and I’ll admit, there’s some truth to that. My parents have become one of those problems.

They are newly separated, and it’s been a weird space to maneuver since they told me the news. That’s why my father is here with me today on a final decision tour, and it will be just my mom who will come back to help me move to Nevada later.

If I reflect on my childhood with brutal honesty, I think my parents have always had marital problems. They were never outwardly affectionate with each other and seemingly disinterested. I remember overhearing my mother once telling my aunt that even though sheloved things about him,she and my father were an unfortunate mismatch. I didn’t think much about it at the time, chalking their conversation up to being what women do when they’re pissed with their significant others.

But I was wrong.

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