Page 57 of Doughn't Let Me Go

“Oh my gosh.” Kyrie drags two jugs of milk into the kitchen. She bends, her hands on her knees, wheezing dramatically. “These things are heavy.”

“This is what happens when you skip your workouts, Kyrie. Should have gotten up with your dad yesterday and hit the gym.” I flex my muscles. “These guns could carry gallons easily.”

Dory barks out a laugh from inside the pantry, and I hear her hand smack over her mouth. “Sorry, just read something funny on this…soup can!”

“We didn’t even buy any soup,” my daughter mumbles, shaking her head. She walks over and pulls open the fridge, grabbing a coconut water and holding it out for me to open. “Use your big muscles to open this.”

“A please would be nice.”

“Please?”

I crack it open. “And?”

“Thank you.” She snatches the carton out of my hands and takes as big a drink as she can. She exhales dramatically—apparently it’s the only way the kid knows how to function—while wiping her mouth. “Ah, that’s the stuff. Get those ’lectrobrights in.”

I smother a laugh at her mispronunciation. “Go grab the rest of the groceries, weakling.”

“Ugh. You aresobossy.”

“Tell me about it,” Dory complains.

“If I’m not back in five minutes, I’m dead because you’ve exhausted me to death.Death!”

Kyrie walks out of the kitchen, dragging her feet like she’s worn out already.

“Should have gotten up for your workout!” I call after her.

“Do you make her work out?”

I glance to Dory, irritated she’d even think I’d force my seven-year-old to exercise. “Of course not. She makes that choice. She actually loves going to the gym with me. It’s our bonding time, the few minutes during the day where we can be sure I’m not bothered by work.”

Dory nods, grabbing another box from the grocery bag, and I can see she feels guilty for assuming things.

I flex my muscles again. “If you think these are sweet, you should see hers.”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s right—you are exhausting.”

She disappears back into the pantry, and I head to the fridge with my own collection of things to stash away.

We work in silence for a minute or two.

“You’re not buying me a car, Porter.”

I sigh. I was hoping she’d let it go, just accept it. But she won’t.

I turn to find her standing in the open doorway to the pantry, staring at the box in her hands.

My feet take me to her, and before I know it, I’m standing mere inches away. She looks up at me.

We’re so close. All it would take is one step closer, a slight bend of my knees, and our lips could be touching.

“I’m not offering to buyyoua car. I’m just offering to buyanothercar. You can use one to take Kyrie anywhere you want to take her, and I’d still have one available too.”

“What did you do when you were living in California? Did you have two cars then?”

“No, but I had Mel, and she was all I needed. Now that I don’t have her anymore and we live a little more remotely than in California, I think two cars is necessary. I mean, shit, I have to drive two towns over for meetings. Me buying another car just makes sense.”

She thinks on it for a second. Purses her lips. Then, “No.”

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