Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
claire
With my forehead resting on my knees and my arms wrapped around my shins, I release another body-wracking sob.
Oscar whines as he waddles over to meet his brother and plops down beside the bathtub. But I can’t offer him any reassurance right now, not while I’m still mad at Frankie for puking everywhere, and not while I suspect my uterus has taken over my brain.
Because everything is a mess. My whole life is one big, stinky dumpster fire.
I’m all alone, and I will be forever. I can’t do anything right, like staying married, writing grant proposals, picking the right men, or even remembering to grab a clean towel before I get into the bathtub.
I’m an ugly, obnoxious, overweight, failure … an altogether unlovable slob. Not to mention, I’ve been a bad influence lately and practically ruined my chances at a lasting friendship with some pretty great people.
It’s no wonder someone like Rowan has had a hard time justifying his attachment when my own body can’t help but betray me. I mean, of all the dumb, selfish, unfit women in the world who get pregnant on a daily basis, how come I could never manage to get it right?
Another loud wail pours out of me as I think about my ex-husband with his new family.
Not that I was devastated to see him happy with someone new, because I honestly couldn’t say I felt anything for the man anymore, one way or the other.
But the tiny fissure in my heart feels more like a complete fracture after hearing the toddler in his arms call him “Daddy.” Sure, he’s not her biological father, but the fact that he was willing to fulfill that role cuts deep, especially since the only contributions he ever made toward my efforts to start a family were the occasional “deposits.”
And it certainly doesn’t help that I’m expecting my period any minute now.
The sound of claws skittering across the floor stirs me from my moping, and I lift my head to find I’ve been abandoned before I drop it again. Even Oscar and Frankie think I’m too pathetic to bother with at this point.
“Claire?”
I freeze, my heart leaping up into my throat when my name echoes down the hallway.
“Claire?”
This time I realize my intruder isn’t approaching with malicious intent, not with that much concern lacing his tone. I wipe my eyes with the heels of my hands and blink to clear my vision, letting out a relieved exhale once I see Rowan and my dogs standing in the open doorway.
Then I panic again when I remember that I’m a naked, weepy, premenstrual bathtub goblin, sitting here in my most vulnerable state while my crush simply stares back at me.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, and I pull my knees in tightly to my chest.
“What are you doing here?” I reply, my voice still thick.
“I told you I was coming over to check on you, but you quit answering my texts. I knocked on the front door for a good five minutes.”
“I’ve been busy,” I reply stupidly. “How did you even get in here?”
He shrugs. “I remembered the code.”
“So you thought you’d just let yourself into my house? What the hell were you thinking?”
His face flushes. “I was worried about you.”
I sniffle. “Well, I’m fine, except now I have to add changing the locks again to my to-do list.”
“You don’t look fine,” he mumbles then cringes. “I mean, you look like you’ve been crying.”
“So what if I have?” I retort. “I’m entitled to a good cry after a shitty day.”
He clears his throat and looks away. “I know. That’s why I, um, brought you some supplies. And I thought maybe you could use the company.”
“All I need is privacy,” I say, pouting. “So I can finish crying in peace.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking again,” he fumbles, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “Is there anything I can get you before I go?”
My bleary eyes run over him. “Did you really drive all the way from Baton Rouge?” He shrugs again, and I sigh. “I can’t exactly send you back home now, can I?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m getting used to the drive.”
“Well, you might as well get me a towel from the closet while you’re in here.”
Rowan nods quickly and fulfills my request, setting a clean towel beside the bathtub. My chin trembles as I stare down at it.
“Actually, could you just …” But my voice breaks off before I can finish, and he hurries to pick up the towel and spreads it open.
“Claire?”
I choke on another sob, unable to answer him.
“Come on, I’ve got you,” he offers in a soothing tone.
“Promise you won’t look at me?”
“My eyes are already closed,” he declares, but I nod anyway.
He holds the towel out for me as I step out of the tub, then he wraps me up and immediately pulls me in for a hug.
My shoulders shake as I continue bawling my eyes out, but he only molds his body more closely to mine, alternating gentle shushes and whispering, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” I fist his shirt in my hands as he strokes my back.
“I’m getting you all wet,” I wail.
“Are you more worried about the tears or the bathwater? Because I couldn’t care less about either,” he muses, and I smile in spite of my mood. But he pulls back and narrows his eyes as he studies me with mock concern when I don’t continue our banter with an even cruder joke.
“I know, I know. Missed opportunity,” I say, making him laugh.
“Do you need me to get your clothes?” he ventures once my weeping finally evolves into sniffling.
“My robe is hanging behind the door.”
He flashes me a dimpled smirk before he turns to pluck the robe from a hook, then squeezes his eyes shut again as he unwraps the towel and waits for me to dress.
“Thank you,” I say with a sniff once I’ve tightened the belt around my waist, and he opens his eyes. “Wait for me in the living room?” I ask shyly, and he nods and leaves me in the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Once I take a few minutes to tend to my lady business and throw on some of my comfiest pajamas, because of course Aunt Flo has decided to make her grand entrance, I wrap myself up in the robe and venture out to find Rowan resting on the couch with Frankie and Oscar. I can’t help the small tug on my lips.
“Hey,” he greets me. “She lives.”
“You know, every four-to-six weeks I have this day where nothing goes right, and I’m so depressed and disgusted with myself that I can’t even fathom going on …
then my period arrives, and suddenly everything doesn’t seem so bad.
But I’m somehow taken completely by surprise when it happens again a month later,” I explain, crossing my arms over my middle.
He stands, his smile growing wider. “Those hormones are tricky, from what I hear.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I wasn’t sure what usually makes you feel better, so I kind of grabbed a little of everything,” he says, gesturing toward the small grocery haul on the kitchen counter.
He goes over to pull out a few different pints of ice cream, a tub of hot chocolate mix, and a wide selection of candy, some of which include peanuts.
I swallow hard when he shows me a bag with a variety of tampons and pads next.
“I didn’t tell you it was my period when we texted earlier.”
“You didn’t have to,” he whispers conspiratorially.
I roll my eyes through a smile and select a pint of salted caramel ice cream while Rowan retrieves a pair of spoons from a drawer.
“You’re having ice cream, too?” I ask.
“Figured you wouldn’t want to eat alone.”
I nod and turn to push myself up onto the countertop, and he hands me a spoon.
“You didn’t have to do this, you know,” I tell him after I dig in.
He shrugs and rests his hip against the counter before he opens up another pint of ice cream with a nut-free label. “This is the kind of stuff friends do for one another, right?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I say thoughtfully. “I’m sorry about all that crap I said earlier, though. If I’d have known—”
“Don’t be sorry,” he cuts me off to say. Then he leans in to look me in the eyes as he adds, “I can handle you, you know.”
I don’t know if he’s referring to the physical affection I joked about a while back or my hormonal mood swings, but I’m still left squirming and trying to hide the way his statement makes me shiver.
“Besides,” he continues after a while. “I’m always looking for a good excuse to hang out with you.”
I frown at that. “Are you working in Camellia tomorrow?”
“Yeah, so I’d have made the drive either way.” He takes another bite before he goes on. “I’ll actually be working out here more often from now on, at least a couple days per week.”
“Oh.”
“Tenley and Dr. Simms asked me to help by picking up a few extra maternity patients in addition to my high-risk cases,” he explains shyly.
“That’s great. I mean, if you’re good with seeing their regular patients and all. I imagine you won’t make as much money or get to pick and choose your caseload, though.”
“That stuff doesn’t bother me,” he remarks, so I drop it. “Anything else new with you?”
I sigh. “I saw my ex today.”
“Really?” he asks hesitantly. “Is that part of the reason …”
“No … and yes. It’s not like I miss him or anything. But he had his stepdaughter with him, and well, you can probably figure out the rest.”
He flashes me a rueful smile. “I’m sorry. That had to be hard for you.”
“I guess it could have been worse. Doesn’t look like his new girlfriend is pregnant yet,” I say with a shrug.
He digs around in his ice cream for a while before he speaks again. “Did you ever find out why you couldn’t conceive?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I had surgery to clean up some endometriosis about a year ago, but it didn’t seem to help. And I couldn’t convince Jeremy to run any tests on himself.”
“Sometimes it just doesn’t happen, even without a good explanation,” he says softly, but it does nothing to temper my resentment.
“I never could understand how God could allow people who didn’t want kids to keep having them and not give them to someone like me. I mean, I’m far from perfect, but how is this fair?” I demand, my tone bitter. “I’m sorry if you don’t like the way that sounds.”