“Do you always have to be such a prude?” Claire drops her fork and demands of her mother.
“Claire,” her father calls her name gruffly.
Mrs. Bergeron lifts her chin indignantly but refuses to make eye contact with any of them. “There’s nothing wrong with being modest and appropriate.”
“There is when you’d rather offend your own family than risk saying something a stranger doesn’t want to hear,” Claire insists, and I give her knee a squeeze. She responds by sliding her hand over mine, so I flip it over and interlace our fingers.
“Don’t you want your guest to feel comfortable?” Mrs. Bergeron gestures toward me this time. “I imagine he’s important if he’s still hanging around.”
Claire tries to tug her hand back, but I don’t let her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks.
“Well, to be honest, I’m worried. Rowan, you seem like such a great young man. But …” Claire’s mom trails off when her voice cracks. “I was hoping you’d give yourself a little more time before shacking up with someone else. I don’t want to see you get your heart broken again so soon.”
I tighten my grip on Claire’s hand. “It’s okay,” she whispers to me. “It’s not worth it, right?” And I can only imagine the restraint it’s taking her to stay sitting in that chair.
“You’ll understand one day, if you ever have kids of your own,” her mother adds, and I watch the woman I love deflate before my eyes.
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 oldtantesare 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 atête 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.
