The Good Daughter (14 page)

But Kit was serious about adoption, and after letting herself into her house, she changed into sweats and dug through the caddy on her bedroom desk to find the fat adoption application, which she carried to the kitchen table.

It was a sixteen-page document and she’d filled out the easy stuff already: name, address, age, height, weight, language spoken at home, employment history, residential information, personal history (Arrested? Felony? Psychological/psychiatric treatment?), ten references from your community—thankfully that had also
been easy, as she’d filled in her teacher friends’ names, and then all the short essay questions…

Tell us about the people who raised you. Who were they, and did you get along with them?

She’d smiled reading that. The
people
. Dad and Mom, Tom and Marilyn Brennan. The best of the best and her very own parents and she absolutely got along with them, saw them every other weekend still.

How did you get along with your brothers and sisters when you were growing up?

Great. Awesome. Loved my three sisters and brother. I was the one who got along with everyone.

Which of your family members are you still close to? How often do you see or speak with them?

All of them. My family gets together at least once a month for dinner, and I talk to my sisters almost every day. My sisters remain my best friends.

Has any member of your family ever been arrested or charged with a violation of the law?

That one had given Kit pause. Brianna had been arrested twice…once demonstrating for or against something at city hall, and then there was the night in New Orleans when she had one too many Hurricanes on Bourbon Street and ended up spending the night in jail.

Kit had ended up answering that her fraternal twin sister, now an infectious disease nurse in Congo, had been a free spirit in college, and did have two arrests for disorderly conduct during that time, but now ran one of the most respected medical clinics in Central Africa.

Has any member of your family/household ever been in foster care?

No.

And then all the childhood questions, and there were many. Some she breezed through, like:
Growing up, which family members were you closest to? And what made them special to you?
And:
What were you usually punished for, and how were you punished?
To the one that had tripped her up last time:
What was the hardest part of growing up for you?

She hadn’t known how to answer. Compared to most people, she’d had an idyllic childhood and had grown up knowing she was loved.

But that didn’t answer the question.

What was the hardest part of growing up for you?

Not feeling good about yourself. Feeling bad. Feeling ordinary.

She hadn’t been gifted or special at anything…well, except for reading. She did win Reader of the Year in fourth grade by turning in the most book reports. When Kit was awarded her blue ribbon by Sister Sylvia, her fourth-grade teacher, on the last day of school, Brianna had laughed so hard she’d been sent to the principal’s office.

Kit smiled crookedly, remembering. She and Brianna had been such opposites all through school. Kit was studious. Bree couldn’t care less. In junior high, Brianna disappeared with boys, while Kit would steal away with books. But it hadn’t mattered. They were all different in her family, each one unique. Bree was fierce and funny. Meg, driven and ambitious. Tommy, athletic and popular. Sarah, smart and beautiful. And Kit…well, Kit had simply been good. As her dad used to say, it made Kit happy to make everyone else happy.

Kit sat down at the table, picked up the pen, and wrote in the lined section,
I was a middle child and very ordinary and not special at anything, with the exception of reading. But being a good reader isn’t something you brag about, and I desperately wanted to able to brag about something.

She reread her answer, wondering if it was the wrong one, then felt frustrated by how little she’d accomplished and moved on to the next dozen questions.

Finally she reached the section called “The Single Applicant,” which she was, and skimmed the pages of questions about her sexual orientation, her partners, her dating patterns, the history of her relationships, her social life the past six months, her sex life, her views on men, her views on women, her views on homosexuals, heterosexuals, her views on race, religion, everything.

Kit had just finished filling in the part about her sex life and views on men when Sarah called. She answered the phone, happy to take a break from sharing her sexual history with complete strangers. “Hi, Sarah.”

“Heard you had a date last night,” Sarah said brightly.

No secrets in their family, Kit thought, leaning back in her chair and stretching. “I did.”

“And…?”

“It was fine.”

“Just fine? So you won’t see him again?”

Kit’s gaze fell on the question
Do you want to be single or is there an ideal partner you’re still looking for?
She rolled her eyes, pushed the application away from her. “I doubt it.”

“Why not?”

“He’s married.”

“What?”

“Correction. He’s going through a divorce, but it’s not final, won’t be for another couple of weeks.”

“But you like him?”

“Not sure.”

“What does he do?”

“He works for Chevron. Is an engineer, I think.”

“How old?”

“A little older than me.”

“Attractive?”

“Very.”

“Tall?”

“Extremely.”

“Build?”

Kit laughed and shook her head.
“Athletic.”

“Nice, Kit!” Sarah said warmly.

“You are as bad as Mom and Dad,” Kit groaned.

“No, I’m not. They’re discussing a June wedding. I personally think you should insist on a yearlong engagement—”

“You’re all going to be disappointed, then. I’m not into him. And I certainly would never think of him as marriage material.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Kit’s voice drifted off as she pictured Michael—tall, dark blond, blue-eyed—and then thought of how she felt after the date. Annoyed. Played. And it bothered her still.

“Because…?” Sarah prompted.

“He was just okay, and I’ve been there, done that. Richard was a warm body and it wasn’t enough. I don’t want to be with someone just to be with someone. It doesn’t make you happy. And I’m not going to settle, not ever again. If I’m going to get married, he’s got to be amazing. I want to have what you have with Boone…from the first time you guys met, it was fierce and intense, and it’s still that way with you guys today. I love that. I love that you have so much passion and sex and crazy love—”

“Be careful what you wish for, because intense love and crazy love can make you crazy, too. Since I fell for Boone, I’ve never been the same.”

“Better intense and crazy than to feel nothing.”

Silence stretched across the line. “I guess it depends on how much you need control. I need it, Kit. I miss it. I’m sick and tired of crazy.”

“But you love Boone.”

“I do. So much that sometimes I find myself wishing I’d never met him.”

After they hung up, Kit reached for the application, pulled it back toward her.
What do you think the hardest part of raising a child on your own will be?

Her eyes suddenly burned. This had never been her plan. Never.

She shook her head, gathered the pages, put them back in order. She’d had enough questions and reflection for one day.

F
iona popped by Kit’s classroom Monday morning, juggling hot tea and a stack of papers and a big pink-frosted cupcake. She placed the cupcake on the corner of Kit’s desk with a flourish. “Six days until your birthday!” she sang. “Six days until we spoil you rotten!”

Kit followed her into the hall, called to her departing back. “Six days is a long time, Fiona.”

Fiona lifted a hand and waved. “Not when we’re celebrating all week!”

“We’re not!”

“Oh, yes we are. You know we Irish like a good party!”

Back in her room, Kit eyed the tall, heavily frosted cupcake all morning, determined to save it for after school, but it smelled so good, the vanilla in the frosting tantalizing her taste buds, and she ended up eating half at break and then the other half at lunch. It was delicious and decadent and probably a thousand calories.

“I loved the cupcake,” she told Fiona after school as they stood in the parking lot, monitoring traffic and making sure everyone was following the rules, including the younger student drivers who tended to race toward the exit, thrilled to be behind the wheel. “But don’t bring me any more. I can’t resist them. I’ll be fatty pants soon if I’m not careful.”

* * *

K
it hit the gym on her way home, ran the mandatory two miles and, once home, showered, put on her pajamas, and sat down at her kitchen table with a Lean Cuisine, intending to answer a few more questions on the adoption application, but the more she thought about the questions, the less motivated she was to fill out the paperwork.

Was she crazy, wanting to adopt? Was she crazy, thinking she could do it on her own?

Tommy and Cass were the ones who should be filling out the application. They were the kinds of people adoption agencies wanted—loving, strong, stable, committed. They’d be far more likely to be approved, too, than a forty-year-old teacher who couldn’t keep a man.

In the end, Kit chose to grade papers instead of filling out more of the application. Meg called while she was eating and working.

“I hate trying to figure out what I’m going to make for dinner every night,” Meg said, the sound of pots and pans banging in the background. “Is it meat loaf, chicken, pasta, steak? Bleck.”

Kit grinned and stretched. “So what is it tonight?”

“Spaghetti.”

“I’m eating spaghetti, too. But mine is frozen and out of a little box and is about as big as my palm.”

“Not for me, thank you.” Meg was an incredible cook and didn’t nuke anything. “So, hey, this weekend. Your birthday.”

“Not you, too!”

“Knock it off. You’re such a spoilsport. We’re all so happy to celebrate your birthday and you’re being no fun at all.”

“Meg, when you turned forty you were married, a mother to three kids, and in the best shape of your life. When I turn forty Saturday, I’m a single bookworm with aging ovaries.”

Meg gurgled with laughter. “Oh, Kit, the visual on that one! You’re too funny.”

“Yes,” Kit answered drily, “hilarious.”

“So what is happening this weekend? Are Polly and Fiona still taking you out Saturday?”

“They are.”

“Can I join you guys?”

“Yes!”

“You really don’t mind? I know I’m the boring older sister—”

“Shut up. You know I love hanging out with you. I’ll have Polly call you and she can tell you the plan since they’re keeping it secret from me.”

“They haven’t told you anything?”

“Just that we’re meeting up at seven, but I don’t know where—” Kit broke off hearing the beeping sound of another caller on the line. “It’s Michael,” she said. “The guy I went out with Saturday.”

“I thought you weren’t sure about him.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, take the call, tell Polly I’m in, and I’ll see you Saturday.”

Kit said good-bye to Meg and answered Michael’s call. “Hello?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, his deep voice practically purring in her ear. “I hope you’re thinking about me.”

She rolled her eyes. “How are you?”

“Great. Better now that I hear your voice.”

He was very slick with his lines. “I wish I could believe that.”

“I’m totally sincere.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and I want to see you again.”

“You’re still married, Michael.”

“We’ll go as friends.”

“We’ll go as friends after your divorce is final.”

“I’m lonely.”

“Maybe you should call Jon Coleman.”

“That’s mean.”

“I’m not being mean. I’m trying to be helpful.”

“Let’s have dinner Wednesday, and you could invite your girlfriends so it wouldn’t be a date.”

“I’m busy Wednesday.”

“You don’t have to play hard to get with me.”

Kit laughed, uncertain whether she was amused or annoyed by his persistence. “I’m not. I promised my freshman girls that I’d go to their basketball game Wednesday evening.”

“Can’t you miss the game?”

“No.”

“There’ll be other games.”

“I’m looking forward to it and they know I’m coming.”

“Tell them you got sick.”

“I’m not going to lie to them. I’m their teacher. What kind of example would that be?”

“It’s not like they’d know.”

“I’d know.”

“You’ve got to put yourself first, Kit.”

She sighed, realizing she was definitely annoyed instead of amused. “I can’t. And you need to take a hint.”

“That’s harsh.”

“Then stop putting me on the spot—”

“I thought you were compassionate.”

Kit gritted her teeth. “I need to go. Have a good week—”

“Why are you being a bitch?”

Wow. Kit pulled the phone from her ear and looked at it, blinking in shock. Did he really just say that? She shook her head, appalled. “I’m sorry, Michael. I need to go.”

She hung up.

And then she was mad. Who did that? Who acted like that? What kind of man had a tantrum when he didn’t get his way?

K
it was late to school the next morning due to a series of nonevent events and her students were already gathering outside her room when she reached her door. They heckled her for being tardy and Kit laughingly pleaded guilty and unlocked her door.

Turning on her lights, she headed for her desk and stopped short at the ridiculously enormous floral arrangement filling her desk. They were the kind of flowers a girl died to get—the most romantic mix of pink and coral tulips, lilies, and roses. Had to be another birthday gift, Kit thought, opening the card.

Instead, it was an apology from Michael.

Forgive me,
he wrote.
I’m an ass. Go to dinner with me tomorrow night and let me make it up to you.