Page 15 of Bad Love

My job wasn’t to counsel them. It was to make tea, or play with their kids, or sometimes just tosmile.

Implicitly, it was to set an example. Not so my parents could say, “You should be like Kendall,” because being better than other people wasn’t thepoint.

It was about being good. Always, there’s some standard of goodness. Being polite. Well-dressed and neat. Even when you didn’t feel likeit.

Especially when you didn’t feel likeit.

But there were days I wished I could shut mydoor.

"The house next door's up forsale."

I snap back to attention. "The Mings aremoving?"

"Across town. But they've told your father they'll continue coming to church. Their daughter, Leah, has been doing so well inschool."

I watch my son preparing vegetables in the kitchen, one of his favorite tasks. "Rory's doing well too. His reading is veryadvanced."

"Andmath?"

Rory measures out a cup of fresh-grated parmesan cheese from the market. "Fractions areexcellent."

Rory visits them for a weekend every three months or so. I take the train there and back with him. But in the six years since we've been here, they’ve never come to thecity.

Even though my brother moved across state lines to be with his family, they visit at least once amonth.

"When was the last time you heard fromBlake?"

My thoughts come to a screeching halt. The B-word has my hand gripping the phone. "Monthsago."

This year he didn’t even send Rory a Christmas gift. Maybe he felt guilty about being behind on the child support he owes according to the divorce settlement we reached two years after Rory and I moved to thecity.

"It helps to have a masculine influence in Rory's life. It’s natural,Kendall."

I bite my cheek. Probably to avoid saying something like, “Rory’s father isn’t a man. He’s an overgrown child with no sense or responsibility orintegrity.”

That’d end a conversationfast.

The one time I mentioned Blake was behind in his child support, she only said, “I’m sure he’ll catch up soon. Besides, isn’t money the reason you moved to thecity?”

Which isn’t true. Not atall.

But the reality is she still thinks the sun rises and sets out of Blake’s ass. Both my parentsdo.

"Kendall, someone's at the door. You know how Saturdays are. I need to run. We loveyou."

I swallow the knot in my throat. "Of course. We love you too,Mom.”

I return to the kitchen and pull up next to my son, who’s moved on from chopping with the small knife with the safety guard the salesperson assured me was both capable and appropriate forkids.

He’s not organized. But about cooking, he’s disciplined. That’s partly why I can’t say no when he wants to throw all of himself into the kitchen, even if I sometimes try to get him to diversify hisinterests.

It’s why I let him do things—with supervision—that I’m sure Nadine would throw a fit if her kiddid.

You can’t protect kids from the world. You can only equip them as best you can to go out and faceit.

“What can I do to help?” Iask.

“Pasta,” he says, nodding toward the fresh noodles hanging to dry in the corner. The ones he set to making from scratch when we got home from the park. “Nooverlap.”

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