Page 48 of Claimed By Rage

Here we go.

“Maybe this one will stick, honey. The boyfriend. Have you talked about marriage at all?”

“I’m not dating anyone,” I reiterate, grinding my teeth. “I already told you that, Mom.”

“Mikhail says you’re dating again. He wouldn’t lie to me. He knows how important it is for you to settle down. You’re almost thirty, Celia.” The chastisement stings a little less than it did the last time she reminded me of my status as a single—no,divorced—woman.

In my mother’s eyes, I may as well have had the affair myself and ended my marriage. She blames me for it more than she blames Ted.

“What are you doing for your birthday? You should throw a party. You were always so good at throwing parties. Invite your new boyfriend. I want to meet him. Does he want kids?”

This time when I sigh, I’m not nearly as good at hiding it.

My mother goes silent across the line. “If you do that while on the phone with your boyfriend, he’s going to take it the wrongway. I know you don’t mean to offend me, honey, but it’s rude to make that sound when someone is talking to you. I’m sure Ted told you that, too.”

My heart beats a little faster as the urge tofleeslams into me. “I’ve got to go, Mom. I’m getting another call.”

“Tell your boyfriend that I want to meet him. Goodbye, dear.”

I hang up and stare at thecall endedscreen. A minute goes by. Then two. I take a deep breath and pour another glass of my favorite sparkling wine, all the way to the rim. Maybe I’ll finish the bottle, too. It’s the weekend. I’m allowed to indulge.

Gulping a mouthful, I try to decide what to do next. The house is eerily silent, like it’s mocking me for being alone. In the first few months after the divorce, I let it creak and moan without much thought. We were doing it together—falling apart. Only after I heard that Ted was dating again—from my mother, of course—did I pick myself up and get back to business. Mikhail happily invested in my clothing line, and getting the proper licenses for the shop was a cinch with all of our connections within the city. The process was expedited at every level, the universe likely hearing of my downfall and deciding to throw me a bone.

I thought the sudden invitation toMidnightwas another one of those gifts from the universe. A chance to start over. To reclaim something I’d lost.

It sure as hell feels more like a curse than a blessing.

Cell phone in hand, I open my contact list and scroll down to theR’s.There are only three names listed—Rage, Rebel, and Ruin—in alphabetical order. Possibly chronological order, now that I think about it. How much older is Rage than the others? Is Ruin the middle brother or the youngest?

Where does that other guy, the half brother, fit into the mix?

It’s probably a good thing that I don’t know more.

I might think that Icare.

I put all threeR’sinto a group message, but once my thumbs hover over the keyboard, I’m not sure what to say.Thanks for making my mom think I’m a shit daughter for not telling her about my nonexistent boyfriend?I can’t truly blame them for my mother’s low opinion of me. I’ve been a cyclical disappointment to her my entire life.

When Ted and I announced that we were trying for a baby, she was elated. But the longer it took to conceive, the more critical she became. What positions are you trying? Are you temping yourself? Tracking your ovulation? You know, your father and I had to pray every Sunday for three months before we got pregnant—why don’t you speak with the pastor? Or better yet, why don’t you speak with God?

Sometimes I think that the reason my marriage fell apart isn’t because Ted had an affair—it’s because I didn’t have Faith—the one with a capital F. If I believed in God, he’d bestow gifts upon his humble follower, wouldn’t he?

A happy marriage?

A healthy baby?

A womb that works?

I swallow two more hearty mouthfuls of wine and type out a message for the group.

Do any of you want children? Answer honestly.

I hit send before I lose my nerve. If they say no, then I know that the universe—or God—is still punishing me for my lack of Faith.

If they say yes, it might be an even greater punishment…

Having a baby with a Russian criminal is probably on a list of sins somewhere. People are born with sin—isn’t that something I’ve heard from a Sunday sermon? Does that mean that the child inherits the sins of the parents?

My stomach churns.

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