Page 118 of Kylie

“It’s been a thing,” Travis admitted.

I’d heard them call him a variety of things that had the word Pop in them over the past few weeks—Pop-tart, Popsicle, Popcorn, cake Pop, Blow Pop, Popinator, Popster. According to Kate, it didn’t make sense for both Travis and Gage to be called Dad, so they were trying to come up with something to refer to Travis. While she called him Daddy-O, the others rarely did. Since Travis and his brothers referred to Curtis as Pop, the kids were running with it. They had yet to come to a decision.

“You get Avery and Maddox,” Travis told Gage. “I’ll corral Kade and Haden.”

“Deal.”

Both men flashed me a smile before heading out of the kitchen. I remained there, silently wishing they had kissed me the way they used to whenever they left the house. Unfortunately, there wasn’t any kissing going on. While I had heeded Dr. Briggs’s suggestion to have the conversation with them, I hadn’t yet figured out how to do that. Or I was being a chickenshit. I wasn’t sure which it was at the moment.

With a sigh, I stood. It took a moment to get my balance. It was getting better. There were even a few instances when I stood up and didn’t get dizzy. That was progress.

Fifteen minutes later, the house was empty except for Kate and me.

“You didn’t want to wear a costume?” I asked as we worked together to fill the giant plastic pumpkin with candy.

“Nah.”

I hesitated for a second before asking, “What did you wear last year?”

Kate peered up at me, clearly thinking back. “I was a skeleton.”

“I bet that was cool.”

“Yeah. I glowed in the dark.”

“Tell me you have pictures.” For the past three weeks, Kate had been regaling me with photos. It wasn’t the same as if I had experienced those moments for myself, but it was far more than I expected.

“Daddy-O does. He took us while Dad stayed with Haden and Maddox.” Kate wrapped her arms around the pumpkin and pulled it off the counter.

I helped her by grabbing the handle so she could release it and take over the task of lugging it to the front porch. When she had it firmly in her grasp, I grabbed my phone from the counter and followed her outside.

“Do you think we’ll get a buncha kids this year?” she prompted, setting the pumpkin down by the steps.

“I don’t know. It’s kinda nice out here. I bet we’ll get a good turnout.” I took my seat at the top of the steps while Kate sat on the opposite side of the pumpkin.

Talking to her, it was hard to believe she was only going to be eight in just over a month. She seemed so much older. Considering what she’d been through, I understood how she had matured too quickly. Being the oldest of five, she likely felt it was her duty to help out with her brothers and sister, to make sure they felt safe, even though things had been topsy-turvy for a while.

The next hour and a half flew by as kids in various costumes came to the house in search of candy. Kate knew many of them by name, as well as their parents. She talked to almost everyone, laughing and joking. She was like Travis in that way. Thankfully, she was so outspoken because the parents attempting to make conversation with me were awkward at best. There were a lot of “Hey, how are you doing?” spoken with a mixture of surprise and sympathy. When I responded, “I’ve been worse,” they usually chuckled like they were choking on a Skittle. Apparently, it was too soon for jokes.

During the lulls between visitors, Kate would tell me stories about things they’d done over the past two years, filling me in on what I’d missed. I didn’t tell her how much it pained me to hear about the picnics and barbecues they’d shared as a family. Instead, I kept a smile firmly on my face, asked questions when I felt like I should, and enjoyed every second I got to spend with her.

“I need to go to the bathroom. Will you be okay by yourself for a minute?” I asked Kate when there was another lull.

“Yep. I’ll stay right here. Promise.”

I offered a smile. It was my attempt to hide my anxiety. I didn’t like the idea of leaving Kate out there by herself, but asking my daughter to go with me to the bathroom seemed even more awkward. Plus, the bathroom was just inside, so I wouldn’t be far.

“I’ll hurry,” I told her as I got to my feet, going slow to maintain my balance.

Luckily, it was one of those times when the vertigo didn’t affect me. I headed inside, took care of business, and washed my hands. I was gone maybe three minutes tops and was mentally patting myself on the back as I headed for the front door.

“How’d I do?” I asked. “Was I fast en⁠—”

All the air in my lungs disappeared when I saw that the porch was empty. There were a couple of kids walking up the driveway, but my daughter was nowhere in sight.

“Kate?” I called, walking to one end of the porch.

No answer.