Page 12 of Stealing It
“Everyone has shit in their life,” she says, shrugging. “My shit just happens to be one-half of the pair that gave me life.”
“Don’t curse,” I say. “It’s not lady-like.”
Kendall smirks. “He is shit, though.”
Shaking my head, I pull her back in for another hug. “He is,” I admit. “But good or bad, he is your father and you’ll have to deal with him at some point. I’m not saying now, because that’s bad form on his part, but eventually, Kendall, you will have to look at him, and despite everything he’s said and done to you, you’ll have to forgive him. Not for him. For you. For you, honey.” I sigh. If only I could take that advice. Only minutes ago, I was basking in the glow of the possibility with Aidan and once again Paul has dragged me back down to planet earth. Reality.
“Maybe on my death bed. Or his,” Kendall replies, pulling out of my grasp. She sits on my bed hard, bouncing, her hands tucked under her thighs. The eyes on the Mickey Mouse shirt move up and down as she bobs, and the pit returns to my stomach.
Swallowing hard, I tell her, “Go get dressed. We can stop by the coffee shop for tea and pastries before we go to the hardware store. That sound okay?”
Kendall wipes under her eyes. “Thanks, Mom. I’m sorry I had to tell you that. I didn’t want him to spring it on you. Better from me than him.”
“When did you get so old and wise?” I ask, smiling sadly. Approaching her, I tuck her hair behind her ears like I did a million times when she was a wild toddler. “I’m okay, honey. I promise. My stomach wasn’t feeling good all night. I think it’s why I slept so poorly.”
“My therapist says it’s part of the process. Putting my feelings aside to think what others might be feeling. And since there’s no way I’m putting myself into his smelly shoes, I’d rather put myself into yours. I’m sorry, Mom. I was so wrapped up in what I saw,” she looks off and enters the dark place I hate with a violent passion. “And how that made me feel, that I didn’t stop to think how awful it would feel to actually be married to a man who did that.”
There are moments when your children speak, and you realize a level of maturity developed that wasn’t there only days, perhaps moments, before. This is one of those moments and I’m not prepared for it. Not prepared for it because Kendall is moving through the grief process more eloquently than I am. Sure, it was my marriage, but for all intents and purposes, she lost the father she thought she had. “I love you, baby. Thank you for that,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “I’m doing great. Don’t worry about me, okay? I’m so over it. The past is the past.”
She hops off my bed and skips out of my room, lighter than when she entered. My heart is a little darker for it, but that’s okay. I’ll take it if it means she doesn’t have to carry it. I allow myself to cry in the shower, the hot water splashing around me to hide the emotions I’m trying to bottle up. Pamela didn’t just take my husband, she stole the happiness I thought I had. I take my time cleaning my body. With every glide of the razor on my legs, I find new resolve. A steely mission to not let their marriage affect my life.
I paste the smile on my face, the one that tells everyone I’m okay, when I meet Kendall in the kitchen. Then again when I order our drinks at the cafe, and still when I’m at the hardware store. I pretend to be okay while I laugh and paint the float with my daughter. I tell her how beautiful she looks as I zip up her cheerleading uniform in the locker room and watch her board the parade float. I smile and wave to her and her friends, my grin wide and encouraging. When Kendall sets off, the float disappearing into the distance to the sound of the marching band, the charade ends. I know Kendall is safe with her friends and heading to Jenny’s directly following the conclusion of the parade. I retreat to Magnolia’s Steals and surrounded by thousands of stories from the past both happy and sad, I fall apart completely.
