Page 51 of Embers in the Outfield

“My parents died about an hour or so before the first plane hit the North Tower.” She pulls her gaze to look at me, probably to gauge my reaction.

I’m stunned for a second as I look at her. All these years, and our parents died on the same day. I’ve met people who lost family members in those towers, but I don’t think I’ve met one who passed away in a manner not related to the horrific events of that terrorist attack yet on the same day.

I stare at her, my eyes locked on hers. One lone tear falls down her cheek, and I grab it with my thumb.

“I never wanted to tell you,” she confesses.

“Why not?” Why wouldn’t she want to feel a connection with me where I could at least feel her pain in a deeper way?

“I mean, for so long, we just pushed one another to the point of anger. I never wanted you to think I was trying to take away from your pain. I never tell people what day my parents passed. Obviously, my family knows, but it feels like the moment the horrific nature of that day continued, the details of how my parents died were swallowed in the sadness of the country. I mean, one minute, the pain of losing my parents was only mine, but then the world shifted, and everyone felt some sort of pain that day, especially in New York.

“I started to keep it to myself because the day they died doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t change the outcome of their fate. They died, much like thousands of others. My pain is not more important than someone else’s,” she says, and I can feel the pain she still harbors is such a huge part of the armor she holds against her chest; she is trying to keep people at a distance.

“Kennedy, your story isn’t less than just because it happened on the same day so many other lives changed so drastically though. You deserve to know your pain is valid and recognize that it happened to you.” I push her hair off her face and keep my eyes on hers.

“It was easy for me to just lump my pain with the pain others were feeling. I never really had a reason to confess when they passed. So I keep it to myself, even now,” she whispers, and my heart hurts for her.

“But when we went to the memorial, you didn’t say a thing. Clay and I made it all about our dad, and you were grieving the anniversary just the same as us.” I feel the guilt creep in that her loss was amplified that day, and none of us knew.

“I, um, you know that moment I left you and Clay at the hotel for a bit?” I nod, and she continues, “I went to their grave to leave some flowers. I wasn’t there long. I used to go every anniversary with my grandparents until they passed a few years ago. I hadn’t been back much since, but I just had my time talking to my parents and updating them on my life. I don’t feel like I need to be there each year though. That’s not how I view my loss of them, especially now that I live far away and can’t just hop in a car or subway to visit.”

This is a new side of Kennedy, quiet and reserved. She’s always so fiery and ready to battle with whoever throws verbal punches that I haven’t seen her cower in any way toward any part of life. But this is different. And this side of her is something I haven’t gotten to witness until today.

“I think you’re brave, and I am so glad you told me.” I move so that she’s now below me, and I’m caging her in. I press my lips to hers and try to give her as much of my tenderness as I’m capable of sharing with another human. There’s nothing sexual about my connection with her in this moment. My lips simply kiss her softly to show that she isn’t alone.

For so many years, I misjudged Kennedy. And I assume my actions, my words, didn’t really make her want to open up to me. I can’t help but feel like I pushed her further into this version of herself where she felt she had to shield herself from others, including me.

“Just know you can grieve without feeling guilty, if that’s even the emotion you’re feeling,” I tell her, my lips close enough to kiss her again but just hovering over her lips.

She moves her hands up and through my hair. I close my eyes at the feeling, leaning in much like Lola did with Kennedy’s caress.

“Thanks for letting me tell you. Thanks for not feeling like I was trying to take your pain and make it about me. I just needed to let that out.”

I lean down and kiss her softly again. I bury my face in her neck and breathe her in. If this were another time, I’d have the ability to pull her in with me, to open my heart in a way where we were talking about our next steps in this relationship. But for now, this is as close as our hearts can give to one another, and I’ll savor this space we’ve made for each other.

Too bad it’s just that, a temporary space to savor and not one to stay and hold on to. That wasn’t the pact we made when we started this weeks ago. I can’t go changing the rules now.

* * *

The next morning, I make sure to wake up earlier than Kennedy. She rarely sleeps in, but last night must have wiped her out. She’s still turned on her side, her frown lines evident as she dreams about something serious.

Lola and I move through the room quietly, and once we close the bedroom door, Lola starts moving in circles as I grab her leash. I keep shushing her, hoping she’ll keep the morning madness to a minimum.

Once Lola has done a quick stroll in the neighborhood and checked the morning newspaper—sniffing the bushes in the surrounding block—we make our way back home. The moment we return, I get Lola fed, and then I start to evaluate my fridge for something to cook up. My work schedule has been so chaotic that I haven’t restocked in some time.

I know Kennedy has attempted eggs, but I think maybe a little French toast will do the trick. The things Kennedy confessed last night felt like she was letting go of a heavy weightfrom her chest, making me feel a little closer to her. Having this little window into her life, one that she doesn’t let others see, makes me feel like I’m holding onto something special that I don’t have to share with anyone else.

I’m in the middle of mixing the eggs when my bedroom door opens, and a sleepy-faced Kennedy emerges.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” I say, and she smiles. She reaches over and wraps her arms around my waist. I took my shirt off to avoid getting it splattered with food while I cooked, so she soaks up that fact by kissing my back, right along my spine.

“There’s really nothing sexier than waking up to this view in the kitchen.” I feel her smile against me. “These muscles, River, are simply everything.” Then she bites me, and I flinch in surprise.

“Did you just bite me?” I turn my head slightly to sneak a peek at her.

“Yes, of course I did. I’ve never been with a man who has muscles on top of muscles. Is that even normal?” she asks, and I throw the fork I am mixing the eggs with and turn to face her.

“I don’t think we should be talking about other men you’ve been with while you’re touching me. It’s an instant boner-kill, baby.” I grab her cheeks and kiss her. She leans into my touch, and I can’t stop myself from opening up and sliding my tongue in her mouth to intertwine with hers.

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