Page 129 of Strictly the Worst

“Of course I do.” I adore this woman.

More tears start to fall. “You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t love me. I’m a fucking mess.”

“Baby…” I wipe the tears from her face with my thumbs, leaving more smears on her cheeks. “Of course I should love you.” Then I frown. “You love me, don’t you?”

She nods and relief washes through me.

“I do,” she whispers. “But look at me. Your mom thinks I’m too old for you. I don’t know if I can have babies. And my period just started.”

My mouth drops open. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “What?”

She inhales raggedly. “I’m sorry, I feel like I’ve let you down.”

The driver starts to pull away, and I cup her face with my hands, feeling the dampness of her tears against my skin.

“You haven’t let anybody down. I should have prepared you better for my family. They’re a lot.” I’m kicking myself. Brooks was right, my family is like the fucking mafia. “Now tell me what’s happened.”

We’re crawling through Manhattan. I just want to get her home and make her feel better.

“My period started.” She swallows hard. “And your mom was crying.”

“She was? Where?” I don’t even want to talk about her right now.

“In the bathroom. I overheard her. She thinks I might not be able to have kids. And she could be right.”

I blink, suddenly furious. It’s starting to make sense. “You heard my mom bitching about you in the bathroom?” I say, my voice low.

“She wasn’t bitching. She was upset. You didn’t tell me the two of you had words.”

I wince. “No.” And I wasn’t planning to.

“She hates me. And I know you love her.”

I shake my head. “She doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t know you.” I run the tip of my tongue along my bottom lip. “And the kid thing?”

“My periods are getting worse. Ange said maybe I’m perimenopausal. Which could impact me having kids. And I don’t even know if you want them.”

“I want you,” I tell her honestly. “The rest is negotiable. And there’s more than one way to have children.” We’ve barely made any progress through the streets at all. The Saturday night traffic is insane.

“Can you pull over?” I ask the driver.

“What’s happening?” Tessa asks.

“Just wait here,” he tells me. “I’ll be right back.”

TESSA

I take a deep breath and try to center myself as Linc climbs out of the car and disappears into a crowd on the sidewalk. Maybe he’s had enough. Maybe he’s going back to the restaurant without me.

Maybe he’s calling his mom to tell her she’s right and he’s going to call it off between us.

I sit quietly in the backseat, trying not to look at the driver because I’m certain he must have heard my full meltdown.

I never meltdown. I’m so embarrassed.

Five minutes later, Linc climbs back into the car with a CVS bag in his hands. It looks full.

“Okay,” he said. “I think we need to attack this one thing at a time.” He pulls out a pack of painkillers. And a bottle of water. The car pulls away again. Then he pulls out two different packs of tampons – ones with applicators and ones without – and some pads.

---