Page 46 of The Jilted Lovers Club
“I’m not familiar,” I say.
“Count yourself lucky.”
I do, in more ways than one. Even if it still sucks to know he has his perfect little family, and I just have me.
But then I look at Lottie, and looking at Lottie makes me think of Ashton. Suddenly, I don’t feel sorry for myself. Even if there’s nothing between us, I still feel more of a spark with him than I’ve ever felt with anyone else.
Just knowing that makes me believe I can find this feeling again … but with someone who makes more sense.
Ashton makes the most sense.
“We also play peek-a-boo,” Nina says, and I realize she’s still rattling off ideas while I’m drifting into daydreams.
By the time we get off the phone, I have a small list of things I can do to occupy Lottie until it’s warm enough to go outside.
We start with getting her dressed and changed. I realize quickly just how full a diaper can get, because this one is like a big wet balloon spilling out of her pajama bottoms.
“Okay, Lottie. Let’s do this together.” I lay her on the bedroom floor like I’ve seen Ashton do, a pad under her body. Then I strip off her wet clothes and full diaper, turning my head when I catch a whiff of strong urine.
“Plan B, baby girl. Let’s get you in the bath.”
Lottie has no problems taking a bath. I stay right there at the edge, my eyes never leaving her, so afraid that she’ll slip under the water if I even blink. She doesn’t though. She splashes and plays in the water, and even lets me wash her hair.
I’ve never seen hair quite like hers. I recognize the afro-texture she’s inherited from her father, but the color is this amazing dark red that I know she got from Sasha, as I remember from the photos.
I also know that hair like hers requires different care than mine does. So, once her hair is washed with her baby shampoo, I dare a peek at Google on my phone about how to care for her hair.
Oil, comb, leave-in conditioner. Got it.
Lottie is easy to get out of the bath. Even snuggly. She burrows into her towel, feeling like a sweet squishy package in my arms as I carry her to the bathroom countertop. My god, she feels so good in my arms. I hold her for a moment, looking at the two of us in the mirror. I’m a total mess. My hair is all over the place and my face definitely looks tired. I don’t think I’ve even had a drop of water to drink today, and my skin will let me know tomorrow.
But holding Lottie, I like the way we look together. I squeeze her closer, and she fits into me like she’s returning the embrace—even swaddled as she is.
“I love you, baby girl,” I murmur. For the second time today, tears spring to my eyes. It feels like I’m not just saying it to her, but to the baby I lost—and to the girl I’d been in that hospital room, to the girl I was when my engagement ended, when I booked a flight to Italy, and when I opened the door to my New York apartment for the first time.
Even to the girl I was when I stood on Main Street in Lahoma Springs, wondering how the hell I was going to cross that picket line.
“We can do hard things,” I say, this time to Lottie as I sit her down. But then I look at my reflection in the mirror again, look myself right in the eye, and nod.
We can do hard things.
I watch about a half dozen TikToks on textured hair until I feel confident. Lottie doesn’t act like I’m doing anything wrong as I comb through her hair. It’s so much longer than I expected, but once the curls take shape in my hands, it shortens up into these sweet little spirals.
The sun is shining bright through the windows, so I dress us both in shorts and t-shirts, plus sweatshirts to make up for the lingering fog.
My shoes are soaking in soapy water, but I find a pair of women’s shoes in Ashton’s closet that are only a half size too small.
“Thank you, Sasha,” I whisper.
We head outdoors just as Bec is walking up with a plate of cookies.
“There’s my girls,” she coos. Lottie reaches for her in my arms, and I trade Bec for the cookies. “How’d the morning go,” she asks.
I shrug, not sure I want to reveal all the disasters. But one look at Bec, and I know I can’t keep it from her.
“Well, she screamed for half the morning. Then tossed Cheerios, which I discovered are actually Zowies, all over the floor. She also threw my shoes in the toilet.”
“Oh no, poor you,” Bec says, landing a hand on my arm.
