Page 82 of 3 Daddies to Go

“And what? Tell her that you’ll keep it up long distance? How long will that last, when you don’t have the sex to keep you together?”

“What part of ‘this is different’ don’t you understand? I already told you, it’s not just about the sex this time.”

“It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourselves it’s different. I don’t think you’ve changed as much as you think.”

“I think you’re being a jerk about this.”

“Maybe I am, but you guys need to be straight with Kendall. Tell her you’re leaving and that it’s over.”

I’m seething. Herbie is never going to understand what Kendall means to us.

“You just don’t get it,” I say. “We like her.”

“If you liked her, you wouldn’t have done this to her in the first place,” Herbie says calmly. “Kendall has never had a boyfriend in her life, did you know that?”

We suspected. That doesn’t matter, though.

“Kendall doesn’t know what a relationship is supposed to feel like. You guys are giving her all this attention, and I’m sure the sex is great and all, but is she truly happy with how this is going? Does she really want to date or do whatever this is with you guys?”

She hasn’t said anything to the contrary, but we haven’t really talked about it. We’ve talked about almost everything but our relationship with her.

“Does Kendall know she’s not the first girl you’ve done this to? That you do it a lot? Have you told her that she’s not the first woman you’ve shared in bed?”

“No,” I say. “We screwed up.”

“Yeah, you have,” Herbie says. Marriage has given him a confidence he didn’t have before. Maybe Kendall was right about Trudy. “You need to go talk to her.”

Herbie is right. We should’ve had this conversation with Kendall. “Guys, we have to go.”

Tag and Trace nod.

I meet Herbie’s eyes.

“I’m sorry to cut this short, man, but there’s somewhere we need to be.”

He smiles. “I get it. I’m sorry for being so hard on you, but—”

“No, you were right. Now we have to hope Kendall will forgive us.”

Herbie picks up the bill, and we race to the hotel. We still don’t know where Kendall lives. I dial her number. Her phone rings a few times before going to voicemail.

“Kendall,” I say, out of breath. “Meet us at the hotel. We need to talk to you.”

I hang up and consider trying again, but I don’t want to scare her. People only call twice in a row if it’s an emergency. While this is important, I don’t think it warrants that kind of fear just yet.

We finally get to the hotel and head for the elevator. The concierge greets us, and we offer her a quick wave. I’m not sure what we plan on doing when we get to our room. Maybe google Kendall’s address.

I check my phone. It’s only been thirty seconds, but I’m disappointed that she hasn’t called back.

The elevator is slower than ever.

When we get to the top floor, we see Kendall, standing outside our room.

And she does not look happy to see us.

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