Page 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Kenzie

The plane touches down with a dull thud, the wheels screeching against the tarmac like fingernails on a chalkboard.

I release a slow, shaky breath, my fingers loosening their grip on the armrest for just a moment before I let go entirely.

Ohio.

I've finally arrived.

But as much as I longed to leave behind my troubles in Minneapolis, doubt creeps in, whispering if this escape was worth it.

I retrieve my worn duffel bag and navigate through the bustling airport. With a sense of determination, I claim my rental car, slide into the driver’s seat, and wrap my hands around the cold, hard steering wheel.

Peering out at the dull, gray sky, I notice the familiar roads stretching endlessly before me.

Everything appears unchanged since my last visit. The small gas station on the corner, the cozy little diner I frequented after school, and the neat rows of suburban houses with their perfectly manicured lawns.

I had always promised myself a longer break from this place.

Yet here I am, easing into my parents' driveway.

My childhood home stands before me, with its white siding and blue shutters, and the flower bed my mom meticulously tends each summer, a place untouched by time.

As I ascend the porch steps, a moment of hesitation grips me before I finally knock on the familiar front door.

The door swings open almost immediately, and my mom pulls me into a hug that’s warm but stiff, her floral perfume enveloping me with its thick, familiar scent. Dad gives my back a solid pat, his hand firm but only briefly resting there.

"Kenzie, sweetheart, you're here!" Mom exclaims, her face lighting up with a bright smile as she ushers me inside.

Crossing the threshold feels like stepping back in time. The same beige carpet stretches underfoot, the same wooden cross hangs solemnly in the entryway, and the air carries that familiar smell of lemon cleaner. It’s as if nothing has changed.

We head directly to the dining room, where a spread of steaming meatloaf, fluffy mashed potatoes, and crisp green beans awaits on the table.

Mom’s signature Sunday dinner, even though it’s only Friday. Despite the nerves swirling in my stomach, the aroma makes my belly rumble in anticipation.

I take my seat, plastering a polite smile on my face as I lift the glass of sweet tea to my lips, the cool liquid providing a momentary reprieve from my anxiety.

"So," Mom begins, her knife slicing neatly into her meatloaf, "Peter was really disappointed you didn’t call him after church. He’s such a nice young man."

I sputter, laughing while drinking, nearly sending the tea spraying across the table.

Dad doesn’t react, calmly spooning mashed potatoes into his mouth as if nothing happened.

"Mom," I protest, setting my fork down with a soft clatter. "I met him for five minutes."

"He’s got a steady accounting job, Kenzie. Owns his own house, drives a luxury car, both are completely paid off. What more could you ask for?" she presses, her tone insistent.

I rub my temples, feeling the tension gather there. "I don’t know, Mom. Maybe someone I actually want to date?"

Mom huffs, her knife slicing through the meatloaf with a touch of irritation. "Well, maybe the kind of guys you want don’t want you. That’s why you’re still single," she remarks, her words sharp as the knife in her hand.

The words hit me like a slap, a scorching wave of embarrassment spreading across my cheeks. I set my fork down with a soft clink and press my napkin firmly against my lap, forcing a tight, humorless laugh to bubble up from my throat.

"Wow, okay. Thanks for that, Mom," I manage to say, trying to keep my voice steady.

She just shrugs casually, as if she hasn't just sliced open a fresh wound, and takes another slow sip of her chamomile tea. The steam curls lazily from the cup, contrasting sharply with the sharpness of her words.

"I’m just saying," she continues, her tone dripping with a syrupy sweetness that only adds salt to the injury, "you’re not getting any younger, Kenzie. And it’s not like you have men lining up at your door. Maybe it’s time to stop being so picky."

I grip my napkin so tightly that the fabric strains against my knuckles, a slow ache spreading through my hands.

Dad finally looks up from his mashed potatoes, sensing the tension thickening the air around us. "Now, honey, " he begins, his eyes flicking to my mom in a silent plea for peace.

Mom dismisses him with a wave, her hand slicing through the air. "I’m just being realistic. She doesn’t want to end up alone, does she?"

My stomach twists uncomfortably, the delicious aroma of the roast and vegetables from minutes ago now turning sour in my mind, sitting like a leaden weight in my gut. I push my chair back abruptly, the legs scraping loudly against the polished hardwood floor, a sound that echoes my inner turmoil.

"Excuse me," I say, my voice strained and barely above a whisper, "I need to use the bathroom."

I don't wait for any response, my feet already carrying me away from the table, the pulse pounding in my ears drowning out any other noise.

I knew this trip was a mistake.

I step into the cramped hallway bathroom, the door closing behind me with a soft click that echoes in the silence. My fingers curl around the edges of the porcelain sink, its surface cool and unyielding beneath my touch.

I draw in a deep breath, releasing it slowly, as I attempt to unravel the tension that twists tightly in my stomach like a coiled spring.

Then, I hear them.

Their voices seep through the thin walls, muffled but distinct enough to make out.

"You pushed too hard," Dad says, his voice quieter than usual but carrying a firm edge. "Kenzie’s barely been here an hour, and you’re already trying to shove her into some guy’s arms. Let her breathe, for goodness sake."

I blink at my reflection, my eyes wide with surprise. Dad never stands up for me when it comes to Mom’s relentless pressure.

"I’m just worried about her!" Mom's voice cuts through the air, sharp with a mix of desperation and frustration. "She’s twenty-four, Douglas! Twenty-four and completely alone! If she doesn’t settle down soon, she’s going to be a spinster. Or worse…a single mother from some fling!"

I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest.

Dad lets out a scoff, filled with disbelief. "Kenzie would never do that. She’s responsible. She’s not one of those girls."

A wave of nausea hits me as my stomach clenches tight.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, my cheeks flushed a deep crimson, my chocolate eyes slightly glassy with unshed tears. I take a deep, shaky breath, willing my racing heart to slow its feverish pace.

I can’t keep this bottled up anymore. I refuse to.

Without a second thought, I pivot sharply, my hand gripping the doorknob with determination, and I stride back into the dining room.

As I reenter the room, my parents' heads snap up, their eyes widening in surprise.

I stand there, trying to steady my breathing, my shoulders pulled back with a resolve I barely feel. My hands, clenched into fists, tremble slightly at my sides. Before I can control it, the confession tumbles from my mouth.

"Mom. Dad. I’m pregnant."

The room falls into an unsettling silence, as if even the walls are holding their breath.

My mom’s grip on her cup slackens, and it slips from her fingers. The cup shatters against the hardwood floor, sending shards and tea skittering in all directions.

"Jesus Christ, Margaret!" Dad exclaims, rising abruptly from his chair.

Yet, Mom seems oblivious to the mess at her feet, her hands flying to her mouth, eyes as wide as saucers filled with shock and disbelief. "What did you just say?" she demands, her voice barely a whisper.

I swallow, feeling the dryness in my throat like sandpaper. "You heard me."

The color drains from my father’s face. He runs a hand through his graying hair, his expression tightening into a tense line.

"Kenzie," he says, trying to keep his voice steady, "who’s the father?"

A bitter laugh escapes my lips, void of any humor. I cross my arms, feeling defensive. "That’s…complicated."

His brow creases in confusion. "Well, I’d like to meet the man who’s going to marry my daughter."

That pushes me to the edge of my composure. I laugh again, the sound verging on hysteria. "Yeah? That’s gonna be a little difficult."

Mom grips the edge of the table as if to steady herself against an impending crash. "Kenzie, what are you talking about?" she asks, desperation tinging her voice.

I take a deep breath, feeling the room spin around me.

"Because, Mom…I don’t know who the father is."

Silence hangs heavy in the room, an oppressive weight that fills the air. Then, Mom's voice slices through it like a razor.

"YOU WHAT?" Her words are so sharp, so piercing, that I can almost feel the vibrations shuddering through the walls.

Dad's reaction is immediate and stark. He looks as though someone has landed a physical blow to his gut. His face drains of color, leaving it ashen. His jaw clenches so tightly that the muscles quiver, and his eyes narrow into thin slits of disbelief and anger.

"Kenzie." His voice is low, simmering with a dangerous edge. "That is not funny."

"I’m not joking." I lock eyes with him, refusing to look away. "I don’t know who the father is, because…I’ve been seeing three guys."

Mom staggers backward, her hand flying to her chest like I've just confessed to something unspeakable.

"Three?" she shrieks, her voice cracking with distress.

Dad's hands clamp down on the back of his chair, the wood creaking under the pressure of his white-knuckled grip. "Jesus Christ, Kenzie."

"They’re all really good men," I try to explain, desperation lacing my words. But Mom lets out a harsh, bitter laugh, her head shaking in disbelief.

"Oh, I’m sure they are! Good men don’t pass women around like a bottle of beer at a frat party!"

Frustration coils inside me, my teeth grinding at the accusation. "It’s not like that."

"Then what is it like?" Dad demands, his voice clipped and as cold as ice. "Are you going to tell me you love them? That they love you?"

I open my mouth to respond, but the words falter, dissolving before they reach my lips.

Because I don’t know.

I feel something deep inside…but I don’t know what it truly is.

And that’s what scares me the most.

Mom shakes her head slowly, her expression contorted with a mix of disappointment and disgust. "This is not how we raised you, Kenzie."

"No," I whisper, my voice barely holding together as tears pool at the corners of my eyes. "It’s not."

I sit there, my heart pounding like a relentless drum, and my palms leaving damp marks on my thighs as they sweat profusely. I brace myself for the wave of shame that I expect to crash over me at any moment.

I anticipate the crushing guilt, the overwhelming surge of regret. I wait for that small, insidious voice in my head to whisper that I've ruined my life.

But it never comes.

Instead, something else entirely begins to unfurl within me—something lighter, warmer, like a gentle sunrise breaking over a horizon.

It's excitement. I blink, almost disbelieving, as the realization dawns on me.

I'm excited about this baby.

I press my hand to my stomach, my fingers spreading across the soft fabric of my sweater.

It's still flat, for the most part, still just me, but soon it won't be. Soon, a little life will be growing inside me.

A part of me. A part of them. And that thought? It no longer fills me with fear.

It makes me happy.

I lift my gaze to my mom, whose face is still pale with shock, her eyes wide and unblinking. My dad sits beside her, gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles are white, and I half expect to hear the wood crack beneath the pressure.

For the first time since I walked through the door, a sense of calm washes over me like a soothing balm.

"I don’t feel bad about this." My voice comes out steady and certain, a surprising contrast to the chaos I had anticipated. "Not even a little."

Mom’s jaw drops, and she stares at me as if trying to process my words. Dad shakes his head, his expression a mix of disbelief and concern. But I continue, driven by a newfound conviction.

"I love them," I say, the words flowing with unexpected ease, like a dam breaking. "I don’t know why I fought it so hard. But I do. And I want this baby."

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of my past fears lifting away like dark clouds dispersing in the wind. And for the first time in a long time, a profound sense of freedom envelops me.

Mom’s eyes narrow, her brows knitting together as if I’ve just sprouted an extra head.

Dad lets out a heavy sigh, his fingers pressing into his temples with a force that suggests he's trying not to explode.

But their reactions don’t faze me in the slightest.

A sudden clarity washes over me like a tidal wave breaking against the shore, and I know exactly what I need to do.

“They are wonderful men,” I declare, lifting my chin defiantly, my voice steady and clear. “They’re talented, kind, and they care about me deeply. You’ll have to adjust because you’re going to meet them and see them.”

Mom’s eyes widen, her lips parting in disbelief. “Kenzie, you can't be serious,”

“I am.”

With determination, I stand up straighter than I have all evening. I can do this. If I can sit here and tell my ultra-religious, conservative parents that I’m pregnant and in love with three men, then apologizing to the guys and making things right seems like the next logical step.

I should have never hidden this truth from them. I allowed fear to dictate my actions, let the shadow of my upbringing cloud my judgment. But that stops now.

I glance at my mom, her hands trembling ever so slightly on the table, and my dad, whose weary eyes speak of exhaustion. A smile breaks across my face, a genuine, heartfelt smile.

“Thanks for dinner.” I scoop up my purse and keys from the table, the leather straps cool against my fingertips. “I have to go home now.”

With that, I stride confidently out the front door, my head held high, my heart brimming with newfound resolve.

It’s time to go to my real home.

To my men.