Page 43 of The Jilted Lovers Club
“You really want to do this?” I ask, and her eyes immediately move back to mine.
“What? Oh, yes. Lottie. I think it would be fun. I mean, I can’t go anywhere since my car is parked downtown. But she and I can hang here, or maybe even take a walk in the field and visit the cows.”
Her face turns serious then, and she looks down at her hands. “I know it’s irrational,” she adds quietly. “But maybe ifI can handle one morning, it’ll remind me that I’m not broken forever.”
I’m not really worried about Jordy watching my kid. She’s been around us long enough that Lottie knows her. I’ve seen my daughter light up when Jordy comes in the room, though Lottie loves anyone she recognizes. And Jordy seems to understand Lottie’s stilted language, knowing the difference between “kunchies” (crackers) and cheese, which sounds almost the same when she reaches hyperventilation stage. Jordy still doesn’t pick her up or play with her, but she’s no longer taking the seat furthest away from her when we eat, either.
And honestly, I get it. I think of the ways I’ve protected myself from hurt, how I’m still doing that now because I can’t go through that kind of pain again. But it’s nothing compared to how it must have felt for Jordy to lose her child.
This is a big step for her, and while this is all her and not me, I can’t help feeling proud of her.
“I think the two of you will have so much fun together,” I say.
The next morning, I awake to Jordy stirring in the kitchen. I peek over the couch, watching as she locates the coffee grounds in the cabinet and sets up the coffeepot. You know what’s better than Jordy in jeans and a t-shirt? Jordy in sweats. Her ass fills out those grey sweatpants like they have no business doing. I sit there in the dark of the living room, watching her move, pretty sure I could spend a lifetime doing this.
What. The. Fuck. The girl has been here less than two weeks—not nearly enough time to have forever kind of thoughts.
“Oh, did I wake you?”
I flick my eyes to hers, then shake my head, hoping she didn’t catch me checking her out. “No, I need to get up soon, anyway. I should get Lottie ready before I go.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” she says, pulling two cups out of the cupboard while the percolator brews. “I can do all of that. You can even sleep in, if you want to.”
“Well, that would be a dream,” I say, even though I know I’m not going to fall back asleep. Still, I burrow back under the covers and just listen to Jordy move around my kitchen, wanting to memorize the sound so I’ll remember it when she’s gone.
I actually do drift off again, long enough that I awake to Jordy placing a cup of black coffee on the table next to me, just as Lottie starts to babble from the bedroom.
“I got her,” Jordy warns as I start to get up. “Enjoy your coffee.”
I sit back, not even fighting my grin as Jordy eases open the bedroom. I pick up my cup, taking a cautious first sip, reveling in what it’s like to wake up with coffee instead of getting a fussy toddler first. I love my daughter, but I also miss the slow pace of childless mornings.
Jordy comes out, holding my sleepy little girl wrapped in a blanket. Lottie’s hair is all over the place, and I fight the urge to go wash and oil it before putting it in braids, just so it will be out of her face.
She’ll survive one day of messy hair.
Jordy sits in a chair across the room from me, just like I always do with Lottie in the morning. She keeps my daughter on her lap facing away from me, but the little girl twists, trying to find me. When she finally succeeds, she pushes against Jordy, trying to get down.
“Okay, fine,” Jordy sighs. She loosens her grip, and Lottie slides out of her lap and runs to me. “I tried.”
“She’ll warm up once I’m gone,” I promise. At least, I hope she will. I’ve never left her with anyone else besides Bec and Bob, so this will be an experiment for all of us.
Lottie must know something is different this morning, because she clings to me like a sticker weed. As I shave in the bathroom, she plays at my feet while Jordy hovers nearby. When I get dressed, she insists on staying in the bedroom, shutting the door between Jordy and us. And as I move to the door, Lottie flings herself forward until Jordy swoops her up.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” I ask over Lottie’s shrill wails. My daughter is like an octopus in Jordy’s arms, her hands stretched out for me while Jordy gets a mouthful of her poofy hair.
“She’ll probably stop crying once you leave,” she assures me. I don’t miss the anxiety on her face.
I also know I cannot get in the way of this huge step for her, even if my daughter screams the whole time.
God, I hope she doesn’t do that.
So I give my daughter a quick kiss on the cheek while dodging her flailing arms. Then, I lean in and kiss Jordy’s cheek before I can think too hard about it. Her skin is warm against my lips, and I pull away fast—before I give in to the urge to linger.
She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes follow me all the way to the door.
And I leave—my gut full of guilt over the sounds of my daughter’s muffled cries behind the closed front door, and my heart trailing behind me.
What the Hell are Zowies?
