Chapter 18 Lottie #2
But my sister-in-law ignores her, pressing for more answers. “Seriously, what happened? That book club was so important to the town, and not to mention what it did for you when—”
I kick her under the table, trying not to bring up how that it basically helped save my sister’s life through the darkest point of her depression. It’s what got her out of bed during a very low low.
“I—” Bonnie coughs. “I mean, I thought you were really into it.”
But the book club shutting down isn’t upsetting just because of what it could mean for my sister.
It’s also huge for our small community. You wouldn’t believe it, but it has become the lifeline for so many of the women in this town over the years.
For some, Touching My Shelf is the only place they feel safe enough to blow off some steam and get some space from the people they see every day—a necessity in Ceres Cove.
“Of course I was into it,” Adri sighs. “But you know Melanie? Melanie Miller? Well, she met this rando online on some Discord channel for train model collector’s and fell in love.
Now she’s moving down to Florida, which means we can’t keep the club going.
Out of all of us, she was the only one who could host the meetings.
So we have to shut down since we have nowhere else to go. ”
“What?” I scoff. “How is that possible? None of you can host?”
“Well, there’s no way I can host,” she snorts.
“We live in a two-bedroom with three boys and a husband who watches sports on loud from the very second he gets home, in case you’ve forgotten.
There would be absolutely no peace and quiet.
And honestly, one way or another, it’s kind of the same situation for all of us.
Touching My Shelf isn’t just about reading books and discussing them.
It’s—was—our girl bonding time. And now it feels like we lost the safe place to do so. ”
“Are you telling me Melanie was the only reason this club could keep going?” Jenn asks.
“Kind of. She’s divorced and has no kids. The only other one that could work is Casey’s house, but she has three cats and two of the girls are super allergic to them.”
“I find it really difficult to believe that eight women can’t find a safe space to talk about books and blow off some steam. Like, can’t you ask your husband to take the kids for like three hours or something? Or find anywhere else to do it that isn’t one of your homes?” Bonnie asks.
“Where? Tell me if you can think of anything, because we’re stumped,” she says, looking defeated.
“What about our place?” Bonnie asks.
Adriana grimaces. “No offense, girl. But your house, though bigger, is busier than mine. Don’t your girls always have friends over from their soccer team or any one of their other extracurriculars and stuff?
” I open my mouth to volunteer my loft but—“And before you offer up your place, do you really think you could comfortably fit eight women in your tiny living area?”
I puff, wanting so very badly to find a solution. “What about a restaurant? The bar?”
“No, no.” She shakes her head in frustration.
“The restaurant is too family-friendly and we don’t particularly like to filter ourselves.
And the bar is too seedy. Like, I don’t think it would be all that great to talk about the hot guys we read about with the gross ones from town or even passersby hitting on us, the smell of stale beer drenching our clothes. No. No, thank you.”
“What if you admit a new member? Someone who’d be down to give you guys the space to participate?”
“Lottie, sweetie. We tried. A lot of people don’t think Touching My Shelf is cool anymore.” Adri frowns.
“It did originate during the Fabio days,” Bonnie says.
“Who?” Jenn looks around at us like we’re speaking Klingon.
“Oh, honey,” Bonnie whispers, patting the back of her hand.
But I ignore them, looking back at my sister. “I just think—”
“Can we stop talking about this, please?” Adri says, putting her foot down, final.
We sit on this news for a beat, quiet as I’m sure we all process the information.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Truly. I feel like our town is just…
” I sigh. Shit, is what I want to say. But there’s something keeping me from saying it, holding me back.
Because while I realize I may not like it here, so many people still do.
And based on my brother’s reaction from earlier, I should probably start keeping some of those opinions to myself.
Plus, Jenn already stated the fact. No need to bum everyone out by expanding on it, right?
“Yeah, it’s definitely lacking a few necessities. We should at least have a cool hangout, for one. It’s kind of ridiculous that we had to drive over forty minutes to get here just so we could have a night out at a decent place.”
Adriana takes a sip of her drink and shrugs. “It is what it is.”
“I know what you mean,” Bonnie sighs. “Adriana’s right. I love my girls and I’m so happy they’re happy with their friends and their goddamn soccer team. But I just want to take some time to myself. Have a place where I can relax.” She downs her drink. “God, I’m a terrible mother.”
“No,” I tell her. “You’re a human with perfectly normal needs.”
Bonnie nods, but looks away guiltily.
Always with the perfect timing, Jenn swoops in to steer the conversation elsewhere: “I think we should get back to a more cheerful topic. To the reason why we’re all here tonight. I’d like to raise a toast to the uterus we hate the most!”
“This is more cheerful?” my sister mutters, rolling her eyes. She hasn’t kept her opinion on my hysterectomy a secret.
Jenn ignores her comment and raises a shot glass in the air, laughing. Bonnie and I follow suit, but Adriana is slow to join.
My favorite redhead reaches out to clasp my hands in hers. “I know you’ve postponed the surgery while we finish this project, but I want to congratulate you for taking charge of your body, for being brave. I’m so happy you’ll finally find some relief.”
My eyes water at Jenn, my little Gen Z firecracker. I’m going to miss her so much when I’m gone. When we’re both gone.
“Thanks, Jenn. Seriously. And though I thought this whole thing was weird as hell, at first, I’m so glad you planned this for me.” A bit teary-eyed, I raise my glass a little higher in the air. “Thanks for the memories, uterus of mine. I can’t wait to get rid of you.”
And with that, we all take a sip of our drinks. Except for Jenn, of course, who knocks back another shot.
I chuckle at her puckered face after she downs her lemon drop, shaking her shoulders.
She’s so young.
“How are you even drinking, by the way? You’re nineteen.”
“I gave the hot bartender my fake ID,” she shrugs. At my mock-disappointed face, she rolls her eyes. “Chill, Mom.”
Adriana sucks in a breath. “You can’t call her that, Jenn,” she practically hisses.
“Especially not tonight.”
I roll my eyes at my sister and sigh. “Thanks for coming to my ‘defense’,” I air-quote, “but it’s unnecessary. I can take a joke.”
“It’s just sad. And this whole night is fucking sad and stupid. No offense, Jenn. I know you organized this thing thinking it would be cool and fun and a way to make things easier on Lottie. But I just think this whole night is depressing and never should’ve happened.”
“Adriana,” Bonnie warns.
“Seriously. How is this even okay? I don’t want to celebrate the fact that you’re sterilizing yourself.
I don’t want to celebrate the fact that you’re giving up.
And I sure as hell don’t want to celebrate you securing yourself a lifetime of loneliness and solitude just from a little pain, some silly, little cramps. ”
Rage strikes my body like lightning, coursing through my veins, lighting my skin on fire.
“A little pain? Silly, little cramps? Are you fucking kidding me?” I struggle to keep my voice down, to keep from losing my ever-loving shit on her.
Still, a few people in neighboring tables turn to shoot me a wary look.
“Did you know that the pain from endometriosis has been compared to labor pains? Do you even realize what that means? And it’s not like it happens just when I’m on my period.
It’s almost all the time now. Almost every goddamn day.
Debilitating, exhausting pain. And the bloating, the sick joke of looking six months pregnant when several doctors have told me that while it isn’t impossible for most women with endometriosis to have children it is for me.
It’s sick and fucked and I. Am. Tired. I am…
I’m done. That, combined with the PCOS? I’m over it.
I can barely stand it anymore. The surgery won’t cure the endo, but maybe it will help. ”
Bonnie and Jenn pretend to look anywhere but at us, successfully predicting where I’m about to go with this.
“I just—I just think if you hold on, if you just hold on for the right man or do some more fertility treatments, if you just wait, then—”
“I held on for as long as I could. I did all the fertility treatments. I’ve done three endo surgeries to remove the tissue and every time it comes back.
I put my body and myself through hell. And I am so fucking tired of it controlling my life.
Moreover, I no longer feel like my world is going to end because I can’t have kids.
I look at it as having an entirely new window of opportunity open for me. ”
“But you won’t get to have a family, and what if you meet a man who—”
“I don’t need a man in life. I want to focus on my health getting better, on getting my career back on track after everything I’ve been through.”
She shakes her head vigorously, tears running down her cheeks. And it makes me angry.
I should be the one crying. I should be the one throwing a bitch fit right now.
But I’ve done my time. I’ve cried my tears. I’ve been through all the stages of grief several times. I don’t need this.
“Who’s going to take care of you when you’re older, huh? You’re going to die alone.”
“Having kids shouldn’t be about breeding a future caregiver,” I hiss.
“You know what I mean.” She grimaces. “I think you’re making a mistake by quitting like this—”
“I’m not quitting!” I throw my hands in the air, frustrated.
“I am doing the opposite of quitting, Adriana. I am taking back control. Of my life, of my body. Of my goddamn future. For way too long I focused on one thing, on one image of what my life was supposed to look like. But I can’t keep holding on to that because it is just not in the cards for me.
Having kids is not in the cards. And you know what?
That’s okay. Me having this hysterectomy?
It doesn’t feel like giving up. It feels empowering.
It feels like taking lemons and making lemonade.
I have choices now. I can focus on myself.
I can stop having to think about another’s person’s wants other than my own. ”
Her lower lip trembles, and I can tell she’s just bursting with more words I can’t stomach right now. It’s taken a lot for me to be “okay” with my situation. But I am. And I will not let myself be dragged down again by whatever conventional ideals my sister has for me.
“I feel so sorry for you that you think this is okay.”
“Adriana,” Bonnie bumps her shoulder, shooting her a look. “Stop.”
“No, don’t try and shut her up. I know exactly how she feels about this whole thing—it isn’t a secret.
I was devastated when I finally realized I couldn’t have kids.
And trying wrecked me for years—we all know this.
But I love being an aunt. I love not having to deal with the kids after we’re done playing.
But instead of supporting my decision, of trying to understand it, you keep pushing these ideas when I’ve already come to peace with my decision. ”
“How can you come to peace with the fact that you’re going to spend the rest of your life alone?
You just told us you won’t date another man because of what happened with Finn, because they’ll want something you can’t give them.
You won’t even try to date a guy who tells you he doesn’t want kids because you’re scared he’ll take it back. ”
Because that’s what Finn did. He didn’t want kids, and then he took it back.
“You’re going to be alone for the rest of your life.”
I chew on my lower lip, shaking in anger, wishing I could suddenly develop magical powers to get out of here with the blink of an eye. “I’m not going to die alone. And it’s not like I’m done with men forever. I can still have flings.”
She scoffs. “Honey, you won’t even go out for coffee with Knox, a man who seems like a prime candidate for a fling. You really expect me to believe you can handle that? You’re too scared. And don’t you dare deny it because I can see it in your eyes. You’re not strong enough.”
It’s like a record scratch cutting through all the noise in the lounge, like an atomic bomb in the shape of a single sentence. It cuts through the room like a samurai sword, leaving everyone speechless.
“Dude,” Jenn whispers, dropping her face in her hands.
“I’m not strong enough?”
We’ve garnered the attention of everyone in the room by now, the patrons of the place having overheard the most intimate details of my life thanks to my sister’s stupid outburst. And I am done. So fucking done.
Her lips tremble, eyes teary as she shakes her head.
“I think you lack resilience.”
I scoff, and if I wasn’t seething with rage, I am now. “I keep resilience in fucking business, Adriana. If there’s someone at this table who truly knows what that is, it’s me.”
I fist my hands at my sides, a million more rebuttals running through my head.
I want to tell her where she can go, I want to tell her to mind her own business.
I want to tell her all about the judgments I can also make about her life but choose to keep quiet everyday because it’s her life, not mine.
Instead, I choose to do the right thing: I pick up my bag, my coat, and walk away, my head held up high.
I’ll show you just how strong and resilient I can be.