Page 63 of Love Wells Kept

“Okay, I’ll tell you my favorite one. I was six or…seven? Mom, how old was I?” She glances toward the door.

“I don’t know what story you’re telling.” Kate shakes her head, straightening her spine and rapping her fingers across the doorway. “Anyway, your age doesn’t matter. I have to go swap the laundry, then I’ll be back to tuck you in.”

“Okay, whatever, my age doesn’t matter. But I know I wasn’t eight when this happened.” Makes sense, given I remember the days since she turned eight. “It was a hot summer day, and I fell in love down by the stables. It was love at first sight.”

She sighs dreamily, and I exchange a confused look with Rhett.

“Her name was Banana, because she was a black cat with a white patch shaped like a Banana.”

This story is heading nowhere fast. I can feel it. “You fell in love with a cat…got it….”

“So Banana and I wanted to get married. It was perfect because for our year-end fun day at school, we had a competition to make dresses with toilet paper and I was pretty good. Mom wouldn’t let me take enough T.P. to make a dress for me—but that’s okay because I have a lot of princess dresses—but I made a dress for Banana.

“But then I remembered from Uncle Austin’s wedding that we needed somebody to tell us we were married. Rhett couldn’t talk yet, so you did it.”

I snort. “I officiated a wedding between you and your cat?”

“Banana isn’t my cat. Clementine is. Banana lives in the barn because she’s an independent woman.”

Every muscle and tendon aches as I hold back the urge to laugh. And the more I restrain myself, the harder it is to fight that bubbly feeling rising in my body. When it finally bursts free, the kids join in with me, and all the awkward tension finally leaves my limbs.

“You gave us a piece of paper for getting married and played fancy-sounding music on your phone so we could dance.” She sighs fondly at the memory. “And we had ice cream after the wedding except you said cats can’t have ice cream, so Banana had tuna.”

Rhett proudly beams at me. “I was a ring bear.”

“Bearer,” I quietly correct. “That all sounds…fun. Are you and Banana still married?”

“Yes, but I haven’t seen her lately.” Tiny brows furrow with a frown that consumes her face and instantly brings down the energy in the room.

Here I thought I was playing along with the story. Engaging. Connecting. And I fucked up by asking what is evidently a triggering question.

I cautiously press on. “Why not?”

“Because…” Her lips rock side to side as she mulls over a response. “Because she always hangs out in the rafters above one of the stalls in the barn, and I don’t like going there anymore, so”—her hands clap together and, as if she broke herself out of a trance, her eyes light up again—“I’m pretending she’s away on a long work trip and I’m writing her letters, but cats can’t read, so I’ll read them to her when I see her again.”

“That’s a great idea. I’m sure she’ll love the letters.”

Odessa gives a single nod. “She will.”

“That was a great story time, O—Dess….” My voice stumbles as I try out the nickname I hear Kate use for her.

“Can I tell a story?” Rhett asks right as Kate reappears in the doorway.

“Tomorrow you can have a turn. It’s time for bed.” She hooks a thumb toward the doorway, indicating he needs to get to his own room.

But first, he wraps tiny arms around my neck, letting his entire body weight hang limply. And I hug him back, though it feels weird, mostly to keep his tiny hands from wrenching on my neck and hurting me.

“Night,” I say, slowly peeling him off me and steering his small body in Kate’s direction.

Before I can grab Odessa’s ankles to move them so I can stand, she wraps her arms around my neck. Similar to her brother, but less aggressive. She smiles thinly—sympathetically—at me, then hugs me so tight a groan slips out.

“You don’t ever call me Dess,” she whispers in my ear mid-hug. “You always call me Princess.”

In their wake, her words leave scars on my heart.

I force myself to swallow. It hurts.

I think I don’t deserve this family. I think I’m a horrible fucking father for forgetting her nickname. I think my kids would be better off without me.