Claire? Are you home?
I’m worried about you.
Missed Call — Rowan LaFleur
I’m coming inside. Don’t shoot me, okay?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
claire
With my foreheadresting 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 himhappy 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.”
