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I point my fork at the heaping square of layered pasta on my plate. “Uh, this states otherwise. Not sure if Gavin snuck it in, but there’s meat in this.” Now, Cora giggles and confuses the hell out of me.
“Nope. No meat. In fact, this lasagna is one-hundred-percent vegan. You like it, don’t you?”
I startle with a slight shake of my head. “No denying it, but you better tell me what I’m eating before you expect me to eat more.”
Gavin full belly laughs before shoveling another forkful in his mouth. Traitor. Not that I expect anything else. He loves Cora enough to eat whatever she cooks.
“Pasta, red sauce, plant-based meat, and cheese.” She says the ingredients as if everyone eats them.
“And how exactly do plants equal meat or cheese?”
For the next half hour, Cora goes into a long drawn-out explanation of plant-based substitutes. Although it’s not something I see myself switching to, I don’t dismiss it either. If I would have eaten this lasagna anywhere else, I’d have guessed it was traditionally made.
The rest of our night is filled with light conversation and talks about upcoming projects Cora and Gavin have. And when I leave their house after watching something other thanLord of the Rings, I feel a little lighter. My relationship with Autumn may not be better, but sharing with my friends has helped. Plus, Cora reaching out to Autumn is perfect. Although Autumn has Penny, sometimes talking with someone outside of the situation makes a difference.
I hope it does. Hope it helps Autumn look at the case and us in a different light. That being with me won’t hinder her chances. Hell, it might help.
But most of all, because I need her, maybe more than she needs me.
NINE
AUTUMN
Swiping the dampness from my cheeks, I slip out of bed and tiptoe out of the room. I have another thirty minutes before Clementine has to be up. I intend to use the time to shower away the tears staining my cheeks.
Steam billows throughout the bathroom as I step under the hot spray. Under the stream, I cry for the umpteenth time since this nightmare began. I cry for my daughter—who has been affected in this whole scheme, although she still has no idea what is happening. I cry for the man who cares more for me than anyone, who cares for my daughter as his own, and who I have sidelined.
Damn, I miss Jonas.
I miss the way he presses me against his chest and holds me close to his heart. Miss the warmth of his lips on mine, kissing me breathless and waking up my soul. Miss the fire in his magnificent eyes and the inferno he creates when we are skin to skin. But most of all, I miss having him beside me. His strength and heart and smile.
I am sick and tired of crying. Sick and tired of being punished for someone else’s choice. Why the hell am I the one who suffers in all this? Why do Clementine and Jonas have to suffer? None of us have done anything wrong. I may be far from perfect, but I am a good person. Do good things. Make good choices.
The tears stop flowing as I rinse the suds from my skin. Before the bubbles swirl down the drain, anger replaces the tears. Anger for a man who has no right to disrupt my life. To insert himself after abandoning me and his unborn daughter. Uprooting the life we have built.
I crank the shower to cold and allow the frigid water to diminish the fire boiling beneath my skin. Because I need to remain as levelheaded as possible around Clementine. Even if just for show. Once I cool down to a simmer, I shut off the water and towel dry. Wrapping the towel around my torso, I tiptoe back into the bedroom.
As I tug a shirt over my head, the alarm clock buzzes on the bedside table. Clementine groans, rolls over, and slides under the comforter, as if hiding will make the need to get up vanish. I laugh under my breath as I turn off the alarm.
“Time to wake up, pumpkin,” I singsong. “Gotta get ready for school.” I rub the comforter where her back is and she wiggles.
“I don’t want to get up.”
“Neither did I, but we both have things to do today.”
“Why can’t I stay home from school today?” Clementine never stays home from school unless she feels sick, which is next to never.
“Because you can’t stay home unless you’re sick. Those are the rules,” I remind her.
Beneath the comforter, Clementine starts coughing. “I don’t feel so good, Mama,” she croaks.Nice try, kiddo. I whip the comforter off of her and she yelps. Then, I tickle her. “Stop.” Giggle. “Please, Mama. Stop.” Snort laugh.
I pause the tickle fest. “Are you going to get up and get ready?”
Who knew a seven-year-old could scowl? Not me. But Clementine scowls for two beats before replacing it with another forced cough. “But I said I don’t feel good.”
“And you didn’t mention not feeling well until I told you it was the only reason to miss school. Plus, you don’t have a fever and you wouldn’t be laughing if you were sick, even if I tickle you.”
In the same fashion as she has for the last couple of weeks, Clementine jerks upright and storms out of the bed. She heads straight for the bathroom without a word. At least I convinced her early on to not slam the doors with Penny sleeping. My daughter may be upset, but she isn’t heartless.
