So Much More - Kim Holden Page 0,68

positive into a negative.” It sounds cryptic.

I don’t have the time or patience to sift through his bullshit. I open the door and climb into my car. After I start the engine and slam the door, I roll down the window. “I wouldn’t wipe my ass with your distorted perspective.”

I drive away, only stopping for gas and food until I reach home.

Baking a new pie

present

I traded in my two-seater, me, convertible for a massive, them, SUV. I got choked up when I handed the keys over to the salesman. If my identity is a pie, it was sliced and a generous portion was served to the smarmy salesman, complete with whipped cream on top. And goddamn sprinkles. I discovered I don’t like sharing my pie, especially with whipped cream and sprinkles. Because once it’s gone, it’s gone. And then I have to bake a new pie. A new me. Sonofabitch. Nothing scares me more than change, evolution. I feel it coming. I thought I was somewhat ready. I’m not. It’s paralyzing. I’ve just been placed on a small piece of glass and slid under a microscope for the world, and me, to analyze. I already don’t like what I see. I’m looking away.

I packed up the kids and a few suitcases of our clothes, and we said goodbye to Loren’s estate this morning. The rest of our things will be shipped when I find someplace permanent to live. Surprisingly, leaving wasn’t as traumatic as I thought it would be, given this whole change-is-a-motherfucker thing. Maybe it’s the new meds the doctor put me on a few days ago. Loren hugged us all, which was an uncharacteristic, considerate gesture. I think he was so giddy to return to his former state of bachelorhood that the hugs were more celebratory than civil. I was torn seeing his arms wrapped around Kira. Half of my black heart smiled, the other half wept. It’s probably the one and only time it will ever happen. Could have been…should have been…right…wrong…it’s all goddamn bittersweet.

We’ve been on the road for three hours. We’ve stopped twice for emergency bathroom breaks and once for food. This trip is going to be the death of me. I don’t do well on road trips. I prefer the seemingly instant gratification of flight over the drudgery of confinement in a car where eighty miles per hour feels like slow motion.

At five o’clock I tap out, exhausted, and exit for the gleaming Marriott sign. I’ve never been so grateful for a bed and fluffy pillow.

I sleep in one bed, the kids share the other. I ask Kira if she wants to share mine. The offer feels forced and foreign, and I’m sure that’s how she deciphers it. They’re much more perceptive than I once gave them credit for. She opts to sleep in between her brothers. I don’t blame her. They’re a little pack of wolves who protect their own. I’m an outsider.

The next morning everyone wakes rested and ready for California. Showers for us all are followed by a big breakfast. It’s my attempt to plump them up and keep them satisfied for more than two hours before hunger puts the brakes on geographical progress. We all order pecan pancakes. I’m not one who puts much stock in things happening for a reason, or divine intervention, but I can’t help but feel like our eating my favorite food in harmony is a coincidental, symbolic step in the right direction. I feel like one of their pack instead of an outsider.

A few hours into the drive I glance in my rearview mirror. Kira is sitting in the middle. She’s sleeping with her head resting on Kai’s balled up coat in his lap. Kai and Rory are both awake looking out their respective windows. They’re different, these two. So different that arguments are inevitable and frequent, but their love for each other is fierce. It’s Seamus’s ability to love that was passed down to his kids, and it resonates amongst all of their other personality traits.

As if sensing my eyes on him, Rory locks his gaze with mine in the small rectangle of reflective glass. He’s the most headstrong of the three, bold in both word and action, which is unnerving in a nine-year-old. I shouldn’t be intimidated by a child, but his stare is truthful and judgmental and searing. It’s the same look I wear most of the time, minus the truthful part. Seeing myself mirrored isn’t flattering, it’s unsettling.

“Are you taking us