In Love and Diplomacy

Chapter Forty-Five: House of Kennedy

"When Miss Independent walked away
No time for love that came her way
She looked in the mirror and thought today
What happened to miss no longer afraid?"

- Kelly Clarkson, "Miss Independent"

Chapter Forty-Five

Kennedy sat across from me at her dining table.

Oliver was out of sight; he'd excused himself upstairs after giving me a hug and taking my bags to their guest room. He'd taken one glance at Kennedy's expression, and one glance at my own, and booked it.

Rolo whined at my feet as I absentmindedly rubbed his head. I'd covered him in kisses the second Kennedy opened the door; Rolo had immediately bounded out in all of his clumsy, slobbery glory. A mass of brown fur, butt wiggles, and frantic exuberance had barreled into me and almost knocked me down. I'd been overjoyed to see him too, but the thrill of reunion hadn't lasted as long as I would've liked.

I had to face the music. Kennedy had been stone faced, barely speaking as I'd fumbled over my words. I'd prattled about my assignment ending and thanked her for watching Rolo. I'd explained I wanted to ask if I could stay, but I understood if I couldn't. I'd babbled some half-formulated excuse of a delay in D.C., and that I'd need to make some calls but I hoped to be out of her hair soon.

Why didn't I just tell her the truth?

Was I ready for the truth? Was I ready to admit the truth? What the hell even was the full truth?

Kennedy hadn't hesitated when she'd heard I needed somewhere to stay. She'd yanked me in and called Oliver for help.

I knew even if I had a place to go, and I was just dropping by for Rolo, she would've forced me inside anyway; there was no way she would've let me leave. And on the other hand, even if I had someplace to be, I would've come inside if given permission. Her home wasn't a dog boarding facility, and I couldn't just swoop by with no explanation of my whereabouts. I didn't want to, either.

It was just the actual explaining part I was finding difficult.

Kennedy sat silent, looking blankly at me as I fidgeted. The dining room table had forms and papers spread out over the top, a disorganized compilation of wedding work and planning. My eyes took in the work there was left to do. A collection of menus to finalize and lists organizing vendors. Various bills and booking confirmations. A list for those who would be coming, those who couldn't, and those who hadn't responded.

I wondered which list I was on.

"Thanks again for taking Rolo. It was a last minute... thing, and uh, I didn't get the chance to call." I cleared my throat nervously. Kennedy's lips twitched and flattened.

"I'll always watch him. You don't ever have to worry about that," she said plainly. Her gaze was intense. It made me edgy. Kennedy was not the kind of person who held back or hid her emotions, so the quiet was more terrifying than if she'd vocalized her anger. Way scarier than if she'd yelled, or cried, or kicked me out and told me she was keeping the dog.

"But," she started, and I winced and prepared, "You do have to explain why you look like that."

I frowned. That wasn't what I was expecting. My pride spluttered in protest as my mouth hung empty in shock.

It took a moment to muster a self-conscious response. "What I look like? What do you mean? What do I look like?"

She doesn't know but I've been through hell. I'm sure I don't look great, but is that really the point she wants to make here? That I look like a mess?