Ghosted

  “Go,” she says pointedly, “before I change my mind.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says, flashing her a smile before turning to me and nodding toward the stairs. “Join me?”

  I stare at him, not moving.

  He steps closer. “Please?”

  “Fine,” I mumble, glancing at Maddie, not wanting to cause a scene. “Hey, sweetheart, why don’t you have a seat in the living room?”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. McKleski says. “She can come help me cook. Teach her some responsibility. Not sure her father ever learned any.”

  Jonathan scowls before again motioning for me to follow him.

  “And no hanky-panky,” Mrs. McKleski calls to us as we start upstairs.

  “What’s the hanky-panky?” Maddie asks, following the woman to the kitchen.

  “She means the hokey-pokey,” I yell down before Mrs. McKleski can answer, because there’s no telling how that woman would explain it.

  “Oh, I like the hokey-pokey!” Maddie looks at the woman with confusion. “Why don’t you wanna play it?”

  “Too messy,” Mrs. McKleski grumbles. “All that turning yourself around.”

  Shaking my head, I go upstairs, stalling right inside the room as Jonathan sorts through his belongings to find some clothes.

  “I didn’t mean it, you know,” he says as he strips off his pants, standing in front of me naked. Oh god. I avert my gaze, trying not to look, but I see from the corner of my eye as he tugs on a pair of black boxers. “The Serena thing… I didn’t mean it.”

  I don’t say anything. What am I supposed to say? He pulls on a pair of jeans before grabbing a plain black shirt.

  “I’m serious,” he says. “I was half-asleep and didn’t know what I was saying.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say, trying to move away, but he stops me, one hand on my arm, the other cupping my cheek.

  “It does matter,” he says, making me look at him. “Serena used to get fucked up on coke and stay awake for days and drive everyone on set crazy. And she’d do shit like that whenever we tried to rest. She played games. So it wasn’t that I thought…” He trails off. “I know who I slept with last night. I know who I woke up beside this morning. And I’m sorry I said some shit in my sleep that made you think I didn’t know.”

  I’m still not sure what to say, so I just go with, “Okay.”

  “Okay,” he repeats me. “Just okay? That’s it?”

  I shrug.

  He lets out a laugh. “I guess that’s better than nothing.”

  He kisses me—softly, sweetly, his hand roaming from my cheek down between us, cupping a breast.

  I pull away. “No hanky-panky, remember?”

  He grins, moving his hand. “Okay, okay… breakfast.”

  We head downstairs, and as soon as we approach the kitchen I hear Maddie’s excited voice rambling about the convention. Quietly, I sit down at the table and listen as she goes on and on about how much fun she had and how great her daddy is.

  The whole time, Jonathan sits beside me, beaming.

  When breakfast is finished, Mrs. McKleski hands out plates, slipping one in front of me on the table before Maddie settles in on my right with her own plate piled high with bacon. Jonathan’s comes last, and I stifle a laugh as Mrs. McKleski shoves it at him, the food sloppily thrown on it, his toast burned and bacon extra-crispy.

  “Uh, thanks,” Jonathan says, picking up a piece of bacon and taking a bite, cringing as it crunches.

  “Don’t like it? Don’t eat,” Mrs. McKleski says. “Nobody likes a whiner, Cunningham.”

  She strolls out of the kitchen, and he watches her as she leaves, mumbling, “All I said was thanks.”

  “You didn’t say it with meaning,” she calls back at him. “It’s no wonder you haven’t gotten an Oscar. You’re terrible.”

  I stifle another laugh as Jonathan glares at the doorway.

  “Don’t worry,” Maddie says, munching on a piece of bacon. “You can get the Oscar someday.”

  He grins at her. “You think so?”

  She nods. “All you gots to do is get better at it.”

  This time, I do laugh.

  “Wow,” he says. “I can sure feel the love.”

  Maddie smiles, not sensing his sarcasm. “It’s ‘cuz I love you.”

  His expression shifts. I see it as those words strike him. “You love me?”

  Maddie laughs. “Duh.”

  Duh. She says that like he’s being ridiculous asking that question, like he’s supposed to just know, but love isn’t something he’s had a lot of.

  “I love you, too,” he says.

  “More than bacon?” she asks, munching on a piece.

  “More than bacon,” he says quietly. “More than everything.”

  She smiles at that and continues to eat her breakfast, satisfied by his answer. My chest aches, my heart feeling like it wants to burst. I sometimes wonder about his words, I question his feelings, his wishes, his wants, but from this moment on, I’ll never doubt that he loves her, because I know he means it. I believe it.

  We eat breakfast.

  They chat. They laugh.

  I mourn.

  I mourn the years they lost, the time that was wasted, the love that maybe just wasn’t quite enough to overcome his demons sooner. Every smile they share today is the product of years of tears, of years of fighting and struggling and hoping and mourning but never, ever, ever quitting or giving up, because we’re here. And maybe it won’t last, I don’t know. Maybe tomorrow something will happen and the tears will come back, but I’m grateful for the moment, knowing he loves her more than anything.

  “We should get going,” I say after breakfast is through, the plates piled in the sink. “I have laundry to catch up on.”

  Maddie jumps down from her chair at the table and looks at Jonathan. “Are you coming? You can have another sleepover!”

  “Not tonight,” he says. “You have school in the morning, and your mother has work.”

  Maddie frowns. “But will you come play tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, sure, if you want me to.”

  Maddie nods. “See you tomorrow!”

  “See you tomorrow,” he says when she walks away, heading for the foyer. He turns to me as he says, “Thank you, K.”

  “What are you thanking me for?”

  “Giving me a second chance,” he says. “And a third, and a forth, and a fifth…”

  “And a twentieth.”

  He laughs lightly. “And a twentieth.”

  “There won’t be a twenty-first,” I tell him. “I have to draw the line somewhere.”

  “I won’t need another,” he says, his hand grasping my hip and pulling me closer, between his legs. “I’m going to get it right this time.”

  “Aunt Meghan!”

  Maddie takes off running for the apartment the second I park the car and let her out, heading straight for Meghan, who lurks by the front door.

  “Hey, sugar-cookie, pecan-swirl!” Meghan says, snatching Maddie up and spinning her around. “How’s my sweet niece doing, still in her PJs even though it’s noon?”

  Meghan’s gaze shifts to me, suspicious. Yeah, it’s practically the walk of shame, family-style. I haven’t even brushed my hair. Ugh, I haven’t showered. Her brother’s DNA is all over me, all up in me, and Meghan’s the human equivalent of a bloodhound.

  The second I get close to her, she knows.

  “My daddy took me to the convention!” Maddie says when Meghan sets her on her feet. “And then we had a sleepover, but he slept with Mommy, and then we went to have bacon!”

  “Wow,” Meghan says, shooting me a pointed look as she repeats herself. “Wow.”

  I open the front door. Maddie runs inside, heading straight for her bedroom, but I linger there, knowing Meghan’s about to pelt me with questions.

  “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Meghan says, stopping short and glaring at the cardboard cutout of Breezeo still in my living room. She cuts
her eyes at me with disbelief. “Really?”

  “I had nothing to do with that.”

  “It’s in your apartment.”

  “Yeah, well…”

  I have no defense.

  “Unbelievable,” Meghan says, shaking her head. “A sleepover? Are you… wow, you're really doing this with him again?”

  “No, we’re not. I mean, we’re just… I don’t know.” I sigh, running my hands down my face. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Clearly,” she says, looking back at the cutout bearing her brother’s face.

  “I need to shower,” I say, “I’ll be back.”

  “Yeah, go do that. See if you can scrub him off of you.”

  Too late for that, I think, but I don’t dare say it. He’s all up inside of me right now—literally, figuratively.

  I shower, and dress, and once I feel human again, I gather some clothes to take them across the street to the Laundromat, since my washer is still broken. Meghan comes by sometimes on Sundays and spends time with Maddie to give me a reprieve, a few hours so I can catch up on housework without interruption.

  After the laundry is finished, I head to the grocery store and stock up on food, making sure to buy Lucky Charms for breakfast in the mornings. Afterward, I’m straightening up my bedroom and putting clothes away when my attention drifts to the ripped cardboard box hastily shoved back in the closet weeks ago. I pull it out again, shifting through the dusty mementos, and grab the old five-subject notebook. The cheap black cover is faded after all these years. I can only faintly make out my scratchy doodling.

  I flip through it. Two hundred pages, college-ruled, most of them full of my messy scribble. The notebook feels heavier than one ever should, but I know it’s not the paper weighing it down, but the memory of all those words. The notebook holds a piece of my heart, a piece of my soul, the piece I gave to him long ago.

  “You’re being an idiot,” Meghan says, popping up in the doorway behind me.

  I laugh to myself. “I know.”

  Chapter 18

  JONATHAN

  “You should buy a potted plant.”

  I laugh at that as I sit on the wooden picnic table at the park in the dark, listening to Jack ramble through the speakerphone beside me. “A plant.”

  “Seriously, hear me out—you get a plant. You nurture it, keep it alive, and wham-bam, that’s how you know you’re ready for this whole thing.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s a real thing. I saw it in that movie 28 Days.”

  “The zombie one?”

  “Nah, man, the Sandra Bullock one. You’re thinking about 28 Days Later.”

  “You steal your advice from Sandra Bullock movies?”

  “Oh, don’t you fucking judge me. It’s a hell of a lot better than that shit you keep making. And besides, it’s good advice.”

  “Buy a plant.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you buy one?”

  “What?”

  “A plant,” I say. “Did you buy yourself a plant to prove you’re ready for a relationship?”

  “No,” he says.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t need a plant to tell me what I already know,” he says. “I’m wearing a pair of emoji boxers and eating hot Cheetos in my basement apartment. Pretty sure the signs are all there.”

  “Emoji boxers?” I laugh. “Talk about a stereotypical internet troll.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he says. “This isn’t about me, though. We’re talking about you.”

  “I’m tired of talking about me.”

  “Holy shit, seriously? Didn’t think that was possible!”

  “Funny.”

  “Remember that interview you did on The Late Show two years ago?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You were stoned out of your mind, kept referring to yourself in third person.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Pretty sure that guy would never be tired of talking about himself.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  He laughs. “True.”

  “You get on my nerves.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Sighing, I shake my head. “Thank you.”

  “Now go buy yourself a plant,” he says. “I was in the middle of a game of Call of Duty when you called, so I’m going to get back to it.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Oh, and Cunning? I’m glad you haven’t drowned yourself in a bottle of whiskey.”

  “Why? Would you miss me?”

  “More like your fangirls might murder me if I let you destroy yourself,” he says. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they’re crazy. Have you seen some of their fan art? It’s insane.”

  “Goodbye, Jack,” I say, pressing the button on my phone to end the call. I slip it in my pocket when a throat clears behind me, catching me off guard. I turn, wide-eyed, seeing blonde hair shining in the moonlight. “Meghan?”

  “Your friend sounds like a real winner,” she says. “Jack, is it? What is he, the eight-hundred pound, acne-riddled, misogynistic president of the Johnny Cunning fan club?”

  I laugh dryly. “Not quite.”

  Meghan strolls closer, her expression hard, shoulders squared. She’s on guard, rigid, like there’s ice in her veins.

  My sister and I weren’t always so cold with each other.

  “You can say it, whatever it is,” I tell her. “Whatever you came to say.”

  She sits down on the picnic table beside me, staring out at the darkened water.

  “This is where Kennedy had Maddie’s first birthday party,” she says. “If you could call it a party. It was just her, me, Kennedy’s parents. No other kids, just family. Dad stopped by and it was… well, it was a disaster.”

  I tense. “I didn’t think he had anything to do with Madison.”

  “He doesn’t,” she says. “Kennedy’s father told him to leave, said he wasn’t welcome, so Dad dropped off his gift and left, never tried again.”

  “What was it?”

  “What?”

  “The gift.”

  I’m not sure why it matters, why I feel the need to know, but I wonder what he gave my daughter on her birthday.

  “A sterling silver rattle,” she says, rolling her eyes, “because that’s what a one year old wants. Kennedy threw it, plunked it right in that water over there.”

  “Good.”

  “Meanwhile, I bought her those little board books,” she says. “And diapers and wipes, because that was what she needed. Well, actually, what she needed was a father, but she got her Aunt Meghan instead. I think I’m a good substitute, but I’m not you.”

  “I should’ve been here.”

  “You should’ve.”

  “I fucked up.”

  “You did.”

  “I’m trying to do better.”

  “That’s what Kennedy says, but if you hurt her, I swear, I’ll hurt you.”

  “I’m not going to hurt Madison.”

  “I’m not talking about Maddie. If you hurt her, you’ll have a whole host of people ready to tear you apart. I’m talking about her mother. I’ve watched Kennedy try make a life for her and Maddie, and if you waltz your ass on in here and destroy that, if you knock her back down and then walk away, I’ll string you up by the nuts.”

  Ouch.

  I scrub a hand over my face. “You always were a ball-buster.”

  “I’m a woman in politics. I have to be.”

  The apartment door yanks open before I can knock on it, Madison standing there, clutching a piece of paper and a stubby pencil.

  “I need a T,” she says right away, glancing at her paper. “I gots a turtle, and a triangle, and a truck, but I need more.”

  “A taco?” I suggest.

  Her eyes light up, and she yells, “Tacos!” as she skips away to the kitchen. I hesitate before following, shutting the door.

  Madison settles i
n at the table and starts drawing a taco.

  “Table,” I tell her. “That’s another one.”

  “Table,” she repeats.

  “And tiger and teardrop and—”

  “And I’m pretty sure I told a certain little girl that she could manage her homework by herself tonight and didn’t need anyone giving her the answers.”

  My attention shifts to Kennedy when she walks into the kitchen, cutting me off mid-answer, giving Madison a pointed look. Right away, by looking at her, I know something’s off. Something has her in a bad mood.

  Madison scowls and keeps drawing.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know.”

  “It’s fine,” she mutters. “Look, I know you were hoping to spend time with her tonight, but things have been crazy today, work’s a mess—people are out sick and there’s inventory to do, so I have to go back in for a few hours, which means she’s going to have to go to my dad’s.”

  My stomach drops.

  “He can come,” Madison says.

  “I don’t think so,” Kennedy says. “Your grandpa doesn’t like visitors.”

  “But he likes us,” she says.

  “We’re family,” Kennedy tells her.

  “And he’s my daddy,” Madison says, “so that’s our family, too, right?”

  Kennedy hesitates. “Right.”

  She’s stuck between a rock and a hard place here.

  “It’s fine,” I say. “I get it.”

  “I’m sorry, really,” Kennedy says, pulling out her phone and dialing a number, sighing dramatically as she mutters to herself, “Answer the freaking phone, Dad…”

  He doesn’t answer.

  She tries again.

  He doesn’t answer that time, either.

  Groaning, she hangs up before dialing for the third time.

  “I could watch her,” I suggest when she hangs up yet again, getting no answer.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to,” I say. “Besides, she’s my daughter. I’m equally responsible for her.”

  “Never made a difference before,” she mutters as her phone starts ringing. Ouch. Sighing, she glances at it, answering, “Hey, Dad.”

  She walks off to talk to him, while I sit down at the kitchen table across from Madison, resigned. She’s busy drawing a table, her taco finished, the word written above it misspelled.