Reminders of Him

I forgot today was Mother’s Day. I woke up next to Kenna this
morning and said nothing to her about it. I feel like an asshole.

---

“I need to put these in water before I go,” Grace says. “Want to buckle
Diem into the car for me?”
I grab Diem’s hand and walk them across the street. Patrick is already
in the car waiting. Grace walks the flowers into the house, and I open the
back door to buckle Diem into her car seat. “What’s Mother’s Day?” she
asks me.
“It’s a holiday.” I keep my explanation brief, but Patrick and I trade
glances.
“I know. But why are you and NoNo giving Nana flowers for
Mother’s Day? You said Robin is your mother.”
“Robin is my mother,” I say. “And your grandma Landry is NoNo’s
mother. That’s why you’re going to see her today. But on Mother’s Day, if
you know a mother that you love, you buy her flowers even if she isn’t your
mother.”
Diem crinkles up her nose. “Am I supposed to give my mother
flowers?” She’s really been working through the whole family tree lately,
and it’s cute, but also concerning. She’s eventually going to find out her
family tree was once struck by lightning.
Patrick finally chimes in. “We gave your nana her flowers last night,
remember?”
Diem shakes her head. “No. I’m talking about my mother that isn’t
here. The one with the tiny car. Are we supposed to give her flowers?”
Patrick and I trade another glance. I’m sure he’s mistaking the pain on
my face for discomfort at Diem’s question. I kiss Diem on the forehead just
as Grace returns to the car. “Your mother will get flowers,” I say to Diem.
“Love you. Tell your grandma Landry I said hello.”
Diem smiles and pats my cheek with her tiny hand. “Happy Mother’s
Day, Ledger.”
I back away from the car and tell them to have a safe trip. But as
they’re driving away, I feel my heart grow heavier as Diem’s words sink in.
She’s starting to wonder about her mother. She’s starting to worry.
And even though Patrick assumed I was just reassuring her by saying
Diem’s mother would get flowers, I was actually making her a promise.
One I won’t break.
The idea of Kenna going through the entire day today without her
motherhood being acknowledged by anyone makes me angry at this whole

---

situation.
I sometimes want to place that blame directly on Patrick and Grace,
but that’s not fair either. They’re just doing what they need to do to survive.
It is what it is. A fucked-up situation, with no evil people to blame.
We’re all just a bunch of sad people doing what we have to do to make it
until tomorrow. Some of us sadder than others. Some of us more willing to
forgive than others.
Grudges are heavy, but for the people hurting the most, I suppose
forgiveness is even heavier.
I pull up to Kenna’s apartment a few hours later and am halfway to the
stairs when I spot her out back. She’s cleaning off the table I lent her when
she notices me. Her eyes fall to the flowers in my hand, and she stiffens. I
walk closer to her, but she’s still staring at the flowers. I hand them to her.
“Happy Mother’s Day.” I’ve already put the flowers in a vase because I
wasn’t sure if she even had one.
Based on the look on her face, I’m wondering if maybe I shouldn’t
have bought her flowers. Maybe celebrating Mother’s Day before she’s
even met her child is uncomfortable. I don’t know, but I feel like I should
have put more thought into this moment.
She takes them from me with hesitation, like she’s never been given a
gift before. Then she looks at me, and very quietly, she says, “Thank you.”
She means it. The way her eyes tear up immediately convinces me bringing
them was the right move.
“How was the lunch?”
She smiles. “It was fun. We had fun.” She nudges her head up to her
apartment. “You want to come up?”
I follow her upstairs, and once we’re inside her apartment, she tops off
the vase with a little more water and sets it on her counter. She’s adjusting
the flowers when she says, “What are you doing today?”
I want to say, “Whatever you’re doing,” but I don’t know where her
head is at after last night. Sometimes things seem good and perfect in the
moment, but when you get hours of reflection afterward, the perfection can
morph into something else. “I’m heading out to the new house to get some

---

work done on the floors. Patrick and Grace took Diem to his mother’s, so
they’ll be gone until tomorrow.”
Kenna is wearing a pink button-up shirt that looks new, and it’s topped
over a long, white, flowy skirt. I’ve never seen her in anything other than a
T-shirt and jeans, but this shirt reveals the tiniest hint of her cleavage. I’m
trying so hard not to look, but holy fuck, it’s a struggle. We both stand in
silence for a beat. Then I say, “You want to come with me?”
She eyes me cautiously. “Do you want me to?”
I realize the hesitation pouring from her may not be because of her
own feelings of regret, but rather her fears that I have regrets.
“Of course I do.” The conviction in my response makes her smile, and
her smile breaks down whatever was keeping us separated. I pull her to me
and kiss her. She immediately seems at ease once my mouth is on hers.
I hate that I even made her doubt herself for one second. I should have
kissed her as soon as I handed her the flowers downstairs.
“Can we get snow cones on the way there?” she asks.
I nod.
“Do you have your punch card?” she teases.
“I never leave the house without it.”
She laughs and then grabs her purse and pets Ivy goodbye.
When we get downstairs, Kenna and I fold up the table and chairs and
begin hauling them to my truck. It works out that I’m here today, because
I’ve been meaning to move one of these tables to the new house.
I’m carrying the last armful of chairs to the truck when Lady Diana
appears out of nowhere. She stands between me and Kenna and the truck.
“Are you leaving with the jerk?” she asks Kenna.
“You can stop calling him a jerk now. His name is Ledger.”
Lady Diana looks me up and down and then mutters, “Ledgerk.”
Kenna ignores the insult and says, “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
I’m laughing when we get in the truck. “Ledgerk. That was actually
really clever.”
Kenna buckles her seat belt and says, “She’s witty and vicious. It’s a
dangerous combination.”
I put the truck in reverse, wondering if I should give her the other gift
I have for her. Now that we’re here in my truck together, it feels slightly
more embarrassing than when I got the idea for it, and the fact that I spent

---

so long on it this morning makes it that much more awkward, so we’re at
least a mile from her apartment before I finally work up the nerve to say, “I
made you something.”
I wait until we’re at a stop sign, and then I text her the link. Her phone
pings, so she opens the link and stares at her screen for a few seconds.
“What is this? A playlist?”
“Yeah. I made it this morning. It’s over twenty songs that have
absolutely nothing to do with anything that could remind you of anything
sad.”
She stares at the screen on her phone as she scrolls through the songs.
I’m waiting for some kind of reaction from her, but her face is blank. She
looks out the window and covers her mouth like she’s stifling a laugh. I
keep stealing glances at her, but I eventually can’t take it anymore. “Are
you laughing? Was that stupid?”
When she turns to face me, she’s smiling, and there might even be
burgeoning tears in her eyes. “It’s not stupid at all.”
She reaches across the seat for my hand, and then she looks back out
her window. For at least two miles, I’m fighting back a smile.
But then somewhere around the third mile, I’m fighting back a frown
because something as simple as a playlist shouldn’t make her want to cry.
Her loneliness is starting to hurt me. I want to see her happy. I want to
be able to say all the right things when I tell Patrick and Grace why they
should give her a chance, but the fact that I still don’t truly know her history
with Scotty is one of the many things I’m afraid might prevent the outcome
we both want.
Every time I’m with her, the questions are always on the tip of my
tongue. “What happened? Why did you leave him?” But it’s either never
the right moment, or the moment is right but the emotions are already too
heavy. I wanted to ask her last night when I was asking her all the other
questions, but I just couldn’t get it out. Sometimes she looks too sad for me
to expect her to talk about things that will make her even sadder.
I need to know, though. I feel like I can’t fully defend her or blindly
root for her to be in Diem’s life until I know exactly what happened that
night and why.
“Kenna?” We glance at each other at the same time. “I want to know
what happened that night.”

---

The air develops a weight to it, and it feels harder to breathe in.
I think I just made it harder for her to breathe too. She inhales a slow
breath and releases my hand. She flexes her fingers and grips her thighs.
“You said you wrote about it. Will you read it to me?”
Her expression is filled with what looks like fear now, like she’s too
scared to go back to that night. Or too scared to take me there with her. I
don’t blame her, and I feel bad asking her to, but I want to know.