#mennedy

Kennedy’s heart was in her throat and her stomach felt like it was never going to unknot itself from the mess it had created. She was laying when her belly exposed, jaw tight with fear, and her hand squeezing Micah’s harder than she ever had. The technician had just left to retrieve the doctor and she was physically unable to keep still; her toes were curling in the stirrups and her left calf was beginning to cramp. “Micah...I can’t do this...what if something’s wrong? What if...I...what...” Her breathing was irregular and she was beginning to feel light headed. 

This was the first ultrasound they had scheduled after the initial appointment where the doctor had confirmed that Kennedy was pregnant. She was just shy of 8 weeks pregnant now and despite being healthy, the doctor insisted that she come in early for her ultrasound. With her mother’s history of complications during pregnancy, the doctor was taking no risks with the young mother. Kennedy had obliged but was now regretting the decision. “I feel fine...the baby is okay...Micah I want to go...” she said, using his hand to help push her forward.

Micah and Kennedy had never been anything but honest with each other and now, she knew she wasn’t telling him everything. She couldn’t tell him that she wasn’t ever not hungry. She wanted to eat everything and yet, at the same time, the smell of food made her feel like vomiting. She felt horrible if she told him she felt sick because he couldn’t help her despite his best efforts. Everything about her pregnancy was contradicting something else that was happening with her body. And Micah was trying to accommodate her but her thought process was irrational to the point where she was noticing it. 

Micah Wolkow did not drink. He didn’t get a little tipsy at the bonfires that Kennedy would drag him to. He didn’t lose control. Except for tonight. Tonight, Micah had been given Arnold Palmer and they had sworn it was straight - no alcohol, no nothing. And Micah had sipped and not tasted a thing. And now? Now he was drunk. Kennedy had scooted off with her girls and left Micah with his buddies but when she glanced over and saw Addie McGuire trailing her hand down Micah’s cheek, the seventeen year old felt something inside her snap. Gripping her red solo cup in her hand, she marched over, the heels of her tattered boots crunching into the soft clay ground of Sugarland, Texas.

When she reached her boyfriend, his hand was wrapped around her waist and he was laughing lightly at something she had said. His friends, though, they were wide eyed and, yes, they were terrified. While Kennedy was small, she was a spitfire that people, but clearly not Addie, knew not to mess with.

But then she heard it.

“Come on, Ken, let’s go home...I’m tired...” And he reached for Addie’s hand and began leading her off. Kennedy reached forward and grabbed Addie’s shoulder. “Addie...he thinks you’re me...you know that, right?”

The similarities between them were enough that a drunken boy might mistake them, but a sober Micah would whimper over it for days. Their long brown hair well in swollen tendrils around their faces; their eyes were both a dark hazel, nearly brown; their frames, small and light. But Kennedy carried herself with more dignity than this girl; Addie McGuire was known for stumbling home with a different guy from every bonfire.

Addie tripped over her own feet and shook her head. “Don’t know...what...what you’re talking about...” she said, trying to regain her footing, but failing and dipping into one of Micah’s friends. The boy caught her and shook his head. “Kennedy...just get Micah home, okay? We got him to drink the tea...we told him it wasn’t mixed…” his friend confessed, sighing at their mistake. “Good going, you f---” but she bit her tongue and shook her head. “Thanks…” she finally settled on, wrapping her arm around Micah’s waist. “Ken…” he said softly, nuzzling his face into her hair. “I love you…” Kennedy forced a small smile as she rubbed his hair with her free hand. “I know, Micah…” she answered.

Fifteen minutes later, she had him buckled in the passenger’s seat of his car and laid him back. She was waiting for her buzz to wear off: two drinks an hour and forty five minutes ago...she didn’t feel it anymore but she wanted to make sure before she started the engine of the car. The police would be at their usual spots, waiting to pull over any car that looked even slightly as if it was weaving. While Kennedy was fully capable of driving in her current state of sober, she wasn’t going to give anyone a reason to question her.

So, fifteen more minutes.

Kennedy pushed the seat back to lay back just like Micah and she turned onto her side. He was breathing quickly but not irregularly; his heart rate was elevated from the alcohol, she told herself. When Micah wasn’t fully with it, it stressed Kennedy out. He was always the one who knew what to do. He always knew what to say, how to act, who to call. But now, now he was asleep in the passenger’s seat, sweating out three cups of only God knows what. Kennedy jumped when Micah shifted slightly. “Damn it…” she muttered, clutching her hand to her heart instinctively.

She reached forward and brushed some of his dirty blonde hair from his face. “You’re perfect, you know that?” she whispered, inching forward to place a single kiss on his temple. And Micah’s lips turned upward into a smile as she pulled back and Kennedy’s heart jumped into her throat. “Three years with me, mister...how do you do it?” she continued, smiling at herself. “You’re mine, Micah…and I’m yours.” And Micah rolled his shoulders briefly. “Now, always, and forever.” he muttered, barely audible over the sound of someone’s truck roaring to life in the field somewhere near them.

Micah and Kennedy had always been safe – from day one it was birth control AND condoms, not just either or. So when she pulled the toilet paper from between her legs to see dark brown matter, she furrowed her brow. I’m not due to even spot for another week…I started that pack of birth control a week before we even went to Vegas…it’s been…barely two weeks? I just started the third week of pills last night… She shook her head and unraveled more paper from the dispenser and repeated her actions, revealing more brown mire yet again. She exhaled, repeating herself for a third time, this time, coming up clean. She pulled the handle down, flushing the toilet and stood to gingerly slide her leggings back up.

Once situated in front of the sink, she rolled her sleeves up and pumped two droplets of soap onto her hands. Lathering before turning the sink on, the thought popped into her head for a split second. But she quickly beat it down.

There's no way.

They were always safe.

It was 3:30 in the afternoon and Micah would be home soon, after another long day of searching through town for any possible open job for him or Kennedy. It had been nearly four weeks since the morning they had woken up in the small, beat up car from Sugarland, Texas filled with way too much money and far too little clothes. They had decided to take a couple of weeks to settle down, buy what they needed for the apartment and plant their roots quickly before searching for jobs. They money from the casino was still plentiful and could carry them for quite some time, truth be told. But Kennedy and Micah had been raised to save and never take a penny for granted.

Oh, gosh…that casserole from last night does not seem to be sitting well…

Kennedy Kapernick. Wait, Kennedy Wolkow, was fighting back the urge to vomit as she wavered slowly in front of the toilet bowl.

Come on, Ken, come on. Don’t do it…don’t – oh, too late.

Just a second later, she was clutching her hair behind her head with one hand and resting her hand on her forehead as she choked on the vomit that was escaping her mouth. She quickly tied her hair up with a ponytail and lowered her free hand to her thigh.

Oh…

“Oh, goodness…this is…” And again, chunks landed in the toilet and splashed small droplets into her face. For a brief second, the thought that it wasn’t the casserole crossed her mind but for heaven’s sake, there were chunks of it in the toilet! Of course it was the casserole.

Micah was going to be home soon…and if he found her like this, regardless of the reason, he would feel responsible. Kennedy pushed herself up onto her knees but immediately regretted it as she lost control of herself and disposed of more vomit in the toilet.

This has to be the casserole.

“Shit…” she muttered, automatically cowering behind the toilet for cussing like that. Her hair was falling from the bun she had haphazardly thrown together moments ago and her brow was slick with sweat.

She felt the urge to bolt up when she heard the heavy front door of their small apartment close but she was unable to. She felt defeated. And she knew. She knew.

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.”