More Than I Could (83)

I spin a million thoughts in a few seconds, conjuring up every person who might’ve called Megan and every reason. This is not helping.

“I had the pleasure of meeting Principal Walding and Mrs. Falconberry today,” Megan says.

It’s the nonchalance for me. I lift a brow and look at my daughter.

My goodwill is gone. The hourglass is empty, and I’m left clutching the back of a chair for support.

I hang my head and will myself to stay calm. Dammit, Kennedy. “I know you’re being facetious because I’ve met both people, and it wasn’t pleasurable either time.”

If it were a different day, I would look at Megan and wink. But it’s today, and I don’t have it in me to be coy.

“I’m suspended for three days, Dad.”

My head whips up. “Excuse me? Please, say that again because I just thought I heard you say you are suspended.”

Kennedy doesn’t balk. “That’s what I said.”

I switch my gaze between them. I don’t even know where to start.

Every nick, scrape, pulled muscle—they all burn. It’s as if the thread holding me together snapped and smacked me in the face.

“What did you do?” I ask my child.

“So it’s automatically something I did?”

“Well, yeah, considering you were suspended. I’m going out on a limb here and assuming they weren’t picking random kids at lunch to go home for three days.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Ken, now isn’t the time.”

She groans into the air as if I just ruined her life. The audacity kills me.

I march across the room, leaving Megan standing with her jaw hanging open, and swing the refrigerator open. It’s stocked with food—containers of whatever they’ve been snacking on while I was away stacked neatly next to the milk, juice, and tea.

It only serves to frustrate me more.

For once, I didn’t just feel like I was surviving. There was a reason for me to come home beyond taking care of my daughter, and that was really fucking nice.

And instead of sitting down with the two of them, piecing a meal together, and listening to them tell me about their day, I’m grabbing a beer out of the fridge and figuring out why Kennedy is suspended.

Fucking hell.

The more I think about it, the more the frustration adds to my exhaustion.

I slam the fridge closed and pop a beer open with more force than necessary. “So someone better talk.”

“Mrs. Falconberry wrote Kennedy a disciplinary action for stealing a cupcake,” Megan says.

My eyes bulge. “A what?”

“One of those individually wrapped things that taste like garbage,” Kennedy says. “I wouldn’t eat that if I had to—especially when Megan made the best cupcakes the other night.”

I rub my forehead. Make it make sense.

“She also said that Kennedy engaged in a verbal altercation with her,” Megan says warily.

I pace the room and try to figure out what to do. I’m at my wit’s end. Somehow, I had convinced myself that she was doing better—that she could manage two days without blowing something up.

But I was wrong. And I find out about it when I get home.

“What did you say to her?” I ask. “What kind of verbal altercation did you engage in?”

“Chase, listen, I don’t think—”

“I want to hear her take responsibility for whatever she’s done to get thrown out of school for three days.”

My voice rises as disbelief in what I’m saying takes over.

“You want to know what I did?” Kennedy asks, her voice shaking. “I’ll tell you what I did. Mrs. Falconbury said if I had a mother, I’d know how to behave.”

What the fuck? I set my beer on the counter.

My blood runs cold as I force myself to remain calm. A fucking adult said this to my child?

Heads are going to roll.

“And I told her that …” Her bottom lip trembles. “I told her that not having a mother had nothing to do with my behavior because I have the greatest dad ever.”

She turns on her heel and bolts toward the hallway.

“Ken!” I shout.

“Leave me alone!”

Her feet pound against the stairs. The sound is punctuated by her bedroom door slamming.

“Fuck,” I say, rubbing a hand down my face.

Megan comes to me. She burrows the side of her face into my chest. She holds me tight despite the mud, dirt, and oil all over me.

“Give her a second,” Megan whispers. “Let her have a minute to herself.”

I close my eyes and focus on steadying my breath. Megan’s embrace helps. It centers me. And I’m sure it helped Kennedy today too.

“She’s a good girl, Chase,” Megan whispers.

I wrap my arms around Megan and kiss the top of her head.

Thank God she was with Kennedy today. I’m eternally grateful that my daughter didn’t have to battle the school alone. But I wonder … how long has this been going on? Has this happened before? Why has she never said anything to me?

Have I been wrong this whole time? A stream of memories floods my mind. No, I haven’t. She’s snuck out, stolen my truck, gotten detention—gotten suspended.

Is this a stage? Are there layers to all of this that I haven’t seen? Have I been focusing on the wrong thing?