#fairhewitt

Mennedy:

Kennedy was standing in their dining room, gawking at the front door that Micah had just slammed shut. He never yelled; he never walked away; he never made her cry. But just now, he had done all three. He had snapped but she wasn’t crying because he had yelled or walked away. She was crying because she couldn’t help him; she wasn’t able to quell his fears this time. She had failed.—-“Kennedy! We can’t do this! We can’t get married without our families here, without anyone we know around us. Well, scratch that, we can’t do it again. Because we already screwed up once! And now we’ve got this baby on the way. Ken, we can’t do this alone!”

“Micah…I…”

“I know, I know. I don’t know how to change what we did. We always say the same things when we talk about this…and it always ends the same way. But Ken, we can’t.”

And with that, he ran his hands through his hair, as he always did when he got flustered, and started for the door, pulling it swiftly behind him. Tears welded behind her eyes and fell over. And she brushed her palm over her cheek to try and wipe them away.

Kennedy was standing in their dining room, gawking at the front door that Micah had just slammed shut. He never yelled; he never walked away; he never made her cry. But just now, he had done all three. He had snapped and she wasn’t crying because he had yelled or walked away. She was crying because she couldn’t help him; she wasn’t able to quell his fears this time. She had failed.

“Micah!” she whimpered, grabbing her keys and reaching for the door to pull it open. And when she did, she stepped into the hallway to find Micah on the ground with his knees to his chest, sobbing. “No, no…baby…no…” Kennedy pleaded, rushing to his side. “Micah…please…no…shhh…” she cooed softly, not wanting it to sound like she was patronizing him. Because honestly, that was the last thing she was doing. He was so upset he was crying, in the hallway, alone. “Please…come back inside…” she begged, tugging on his arm slightly.

But Micah shook his head, the rest of his body quivering as his sobs came without restraint. “I love you…I’m so sorry…”

“It’s oka—“

“No…no, it’s not…I’m never walking away again…I’m never raising my voice…I hate myself…Kennedy, I hate myself…I hate myself for what I did to you…I stole your entire life from you…” But when he reached to pull her close, his hand found her belly, just round enough to be felt and Kennedy smiled. “No, Micah…you gave her life…you gave us something incredible. You are incredible.”

Cooper ran her hands swiftly over her chest and down her backside as she followed the guitarist she had seen so many times before back to the back. Girls reached for him and he waved them off or lifted his head interest at them. Cooper wasn’t bothered by it – that was their life. They got to pick and choose who they wanted and no one was ever a stable figure in their lives, not even their parents. But they were all old enough now for that to not really matter.

She had watched girls come and go in true band groupie fashion: in one night and out the next. But somehow, she had managed to continually slip backstage or into the tour bus and just sit with them. And maybe she’d on his lap…if he wasn’t being a complete jackass. And the other boys would give them a hard time and she’d throw a pillow or he’d roll his eyes. But somehow, she always managed to be backstage with him. And despite their often cold demeanor toward each other, there was something to be said about consistency in a business and the day in age of which they were in.

The boy leading her pushed the door open carelessly and other giggles emitted from the small room. Apparently he already had other girls back here. Time to put on her game face. When she broke the plane and was in full view, she shifted her red hair to part the other way, long tendrils falling against her back and shoulders in a way that spoke volumes. She caught her bottom lip, painted in red, between her teeth for just a moment, scanning the room briefly before finally locking eyes with him.

“Mommy! Mommy! Look!”

“Shhh, Coope, not now. Mommy is reading…”

A five-year-old Cooper Hewitt was waving her latest creation in front of her face, praying that her mother would look up from whatever trash romance novel had consumed her this time. But, much to her dismay, her mother waved her off again. Cooper slumped her shoulder and sighed, turning on her heels to slowly drag herself back to her Little Tykes Create-A-Masterpiece-Station.

The piece of paper, slowly crinkling between her curling fingers, depicted Cooper holding hands with her mother next to a rather large sunflower. But Cooper, in her fit of anger, ripped the half of the paper containing her mother from the half with her drawn on, and threw it to the ground. She slathered glue onto another piece of paper and stuck her half onto it. She covered the new piece of paper with flowers. Flowers above her, below her, surrounding her. Her crayons dug into the paper with such force that the paper ripped, splitting her new creation into pieces.

And then. Then she cried. -- “Damn it, Coope, shut up!”

A seventeen-year-old Cooper Hewitt shut her mouth quickly and gritted her teeth.

“You know I hate when you sing along with songs on the radio…”

Cooper nodded silently and straightened her back out against the seat. Her boyfriend of six months had a temper that she didn’t dare spark for fear of the bruises he had left on other girls. But he was different. If he wasn’t different with her, she’d end it. But he would be different with her, right?