Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
rowan
“Tell me she doesn’t know?” I ask Claire quietly, and she shakes her head.
“And now that you’ve finally left Jeremy, I was looking forward to having you back again,” Mrs. Bergeron continues and swipes a tear off her cheek. “We love you, and we miss you. That’s all.”
I clear my throat. “With all due respect, ma’am, I think you’ve said enough.”
Everyone’s eyes turn to me, and I realize it came out harsher than I intended.
“I don’t doubt you love Claire, because it’s impossible not to, but you don’t understand the damage you’re doing to her heart right now,” I add by way of explanation.
“Maybe you’re right,” Mrs. Bergeron concedes. “Seems you know her better than we do, after all.”
My thumb strokes Claire’s wrist as she seethes, and the dogs whine at her feet.
“If there’s something we don’t know, it’s because you won’t let us in,” Aunt Verna’s voice breaks the silence after a while. Then she surprises us all by gasping and reaching out to backhand Claire’s shoulder. “You little … That’s why you asked about Reg and me not having kids before, isn’t it?”
She nods, keeping her eyes trained down on our intertwined hands.
“You never told us you couldn’t have children,” Verna holds. “You can’t fault us for putting a foot in each cheek when you keep everything so damned secretive!”
Claire shrugs. “I never said anything because I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t get pregnant. And the last thing I needed was your pity.”
“Of course you needed our pity, you stubborn-ass girl. That’s what mamas and crazy old tantes are for, taking care of you, and giving you advice, and pissing you off and making you feel better at the same time!” Verna argues, her bangle bracelets tinkling enthusiastically.
Claire sniffles. “You’re right, I’m a tête dur. So there’s nothing any of you could have done to convince me not to move in with Jeremy, and you certainly couldn’t have helped me with the infertility stuff.”
“But I would have given anything for the chance to hold you while you cried about it,” Claire’s mom says, her eyes welling over with tears. “Even though I bet you were so tough and so strong that you never let anyone see you shed a tear over it.”
Claire looks back at me, her bottom lip trembling. “That’s only because I prefer to cry in the bathtub … like a lady.”
Because of course her priority is lightening our spirits and making the rest of the room laugh, even in what must be one of the most difficult moments of her life.
I can’t help myself when I bring her hand to my mouth for a kiss, and she flashes me another grateful smile before she reclaims her hand.
Mrs. Bergeron gets up and walks around the table to wrap her up in a hug, and not only does Claire let her, but she even gives her a good sob, the kind she only lets out the week before her period. And Aunt Verna shoots me a conspiratorial wink when I have to clear the emotion from my throat.
Once the ladies finally pull away, laughing and wiping their tears with their bunny-themed napkins, Claire accepts a hug from her dad and another from Aunt Verna.
“Now, you, Martha Ann, you’re gonna simply roll your eyes and ignore the next crude joke you hear. And you, Daphne Claire, you’re gonna mind your mama’s sensitive constitution. See, was that so hard?”
“I’m sorry, hang on a minute,” I say, interrupting Aunt Verna’s speech. “Did you just call her Daphne?”
Claire crosses her arms. “So what if she did, Athanasius?”
My mouth tugs up on one side. “You do know what this means, right?”
“Jeepers, Fred, should I?” she retorts.
“Daphne shrubs make beautiful flowers,” I drawl, grazing a finger over her tattoos and making her do that fluttery-eyelash thing I love so much.
“It’s my great-grandmother’s name, the one you met at the sixtieth anniversary party,” she declares in a gravelly voice, pulling her arm out of my reach and lifting her chin.
She’s probably thinking no one’s noticed the way I affect her, but I know the truth. And I’m hoping that by helping Claire work out some of her issues with her family, I’ll have finally earned her trust. So she might actually believe me once I work up the courage to tell her I love her.
Then again, I could be wrong.
The ride home is much too quiet. I’m not sure what I’ve done, but Claire’s barely acknowledged me since we packed Frankie and Oscar into the truck. And although she doesn’t seem angry with me, I can tell I’ve hit a nerve at some point tonight.
“Is everything okay?” I ask after a while.
“Fine,” she says shortly, scrolling on her phone.
I sigh. “You’re not fine. Can we please just cut to the chase so you can tell me what’s really bothering you?”
“No,” she replies. “I’d actually prefer not to leave you with the impression that you’re the answer to all my problems.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She growls and puts her phone down. “It means you need to butt out. You forced me into so many uncomfortable situations today that I lost count.”
“Are you mad at me for convincing you to see your parents, even after you had that big breakthrough?” I ask incredulously.
She hesitates before she says, “I am. I’m also annoyed because you can’t keep your hands to yourself every time we’re around your family—or mine, for that matter.
They all think we’re some mushy, lovey-dovey couple, which also means they assume I’ve been seducing you and treating you like my sex slave. ”
I bite my lip to stifle a laugh, although the urge to tell her I’m not opposed to any of that is just as strong. “So you’re upset because I like you.”
“Yes, because I told you not to. And because you basically gave your niece ‘the talk’ and left her with the false hope of serving in our imaginary wedding.” She has to pause for a minute and collect herself before she goes on.
“Then you practically did the same thing at my parents’ house, right before you helped them figure out that I can’t have kids.
You know Verna’s never going to let me live any of this down. ”
My expression falls. “I’m sorry. Well, not about liking you or flirting with you, but I am sorry for the last part. I should have been more careful not to out you to your family, and I could have spoken more kindly to your mom. I guess I got a little too overprotective.”
“But I’m not yours to protect!”
“That’s not how I see things,” I mumble.
She growls in frustration. “You’re not getting it, Rowan. You can’t keep wasting your time with me. For all we know, you’re missing out on finding the girl you’re supposed to marry because you’re chasing a dead end.”
“The time I spend with you is never wasted,” I reply evenly, determined to show her how patient I can be.
“Your sisters were right, and you know it,” she mutters.
“I don’t know exactly what you overheard earlier, but my sisters don’t know anything about us, and neither does your Great-Aunt Verna,” I argue.
“I’m here with you because I want to be near you, because I enjoy your company, not because I feel sorry for you or for myself, and not because I’m trying to trap you in a relationship with me.
But I honestly think you like me, too, even if you’re too afraid to admit it.
And I don’t know when you started caring so much about what people think, anyway. ”
She crosses her arms and stares out the window. “I’m sorry. I enjoy your company, too. But that’s not enough, and I don’t see the point in torturing ourselves when we both know how this ends.”
I huff and shake my head as I turn into her driveway. “There you go again, putting words in my mouth because you want me to say something that will make you feel better about keeping your heart locked away.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. But I keep saying the same things, and you’re not hearing me.”
“No,” I tell her with a sardonic laugh. “I’m listening, but I’m paying attention to more than just the words you’re saying.
And the way it feels every time we’re together, the look in your eyes when you finally let down your walls for me, the way you kissed me last night—it all says the opposite. I think you’re not hearing yourself.”
“Then maybe we shouldn’t hang out anymore,” she says, cringing in the dark.
“No,” I repeat. “You promised last night that we’d still be friends.”
“You promised me you’d stop trying to …”
“Trying to what? Prove that I can handle you? Convince you to let me love you?”
Her head whips around, and I see her eyelashes flutter as she blinks away her shock. It’s not the first time I’ve used that word in the last few days, but you’d swear it’s the first time she’s ever heard it.
“Why do you want this so badly, anyway? All we ever do is argue and bicker,” she replies, sounding breathless.
“We’re not arguing. It’s just that you’re always making me beg, which I already told you I don’t mind. And I honestly thought the bickering was your preferred method of flirting, since you outlawed the mushy crap,” I say, pouting, and I could swear the corners of her mouth turn up.
“Fine. We can be friends, but that’s it. I mean it this time,” she concedes after a while.
“Okay,” I agree, and we each grab a snoring wiener dog from the back seat.
“Are we still the kind of friends who send selfies and kiss from time to time?” I venture once I set Oscar down inside the house.
She snorts. “Only in case of emergency. So any selfies you send must include a ‘guess this rash’ caption or a wiener of the four-legged variety.”
“Can we still bicker?”
“I guess,” she says on an exhale.
“Family road trips?”
“Henceforth banned.”
I grunt. “Sleepovers?”
“The minute I say no, you’ll find yourself in some strange predicament, and I’ll have to eat my words. So I’m putting sleepovers back on the in-case-of-emergency list, with a caveat for slutty PJs.”
“What about slutty glasses?”
She growls. “Good night, Athanasius.”
“Good night, Daphne,” I say, grinning. “See you later this week. I’ll make sure I pack my glasses.”
She rolls her eyes and shoves me out the door, practically slamming it in my face. I turn around and lean against it, sighing to myself when her head thumps against it from the other side.
“I heard that, Claire Bear,” I call out, and she pounds on the door with her fist this time.