The important thing now is this baby. I need to be an adult, and maybe that means not trying to make it work with Daniel. Maybe it means taking a step back and using my head so that we both don’t end up a disaster. Or worse. Married. And then a mistress comes along. Not that Daniel would ever do that, but, well, there are other things. Life. Work. There are lots of other ‘mistresses’ out there.
I know I should wait. I know I’m having an emotionally melted down moment here. I should shut off my phone so that I’m not tempted to use it to text Daniel the way that some people are tempted to drunk text their ex’s. It’s equally as dangerous right now.
But still.
I’m reaching for it.
I’m pulling out my purse from behind the counter. I’m digging in it. Grabbing my phone.
Annnnnddddd a few minutes later, I’ve sent off a text.
Annnnnddddddddd a few minutes after that, I already regret it.
I feel sick. Not the kind of sick that is just being slightly nauseated, but the I might projectile hurl all over the place at any second and make a godawful mess that would be impossible to clean out of expensive designer clothing and all the cracks and crevices of this desk, especially the keyboard, kind of sick.
I slowly back out from behind the counter, my phone still in my hand. I use it to try and get someone to come in and cover, but since most of my employees are in college or have families, I can’t get anyone short notice. I don’t want to close the boutique down, since that would be just the worst. I want to stick it out. I know I’m not physically sick. I’m emotionally sick at the moment.
There’s only one person who I can think might make it better. Just one.
I’ve already made piss poor use of my phone, so I might as well use it to make a good decision now and call her.
Chapter 15
Leandra
Half an hour later, my granny is walking in the front door. She does what I can’t because it goes against my work ethic, and locks the door, shutting off sign aright after. Without asking my permission, she walks over to the counter with the register, grabs a piece of paper, a pen, and some tape, and makes a quick BE BACK IN FIVE BLOODY MINUTES sign. Yes. It really does say that. I can see it from where I’m standing.
“So. Now. Please tell me this isn’t your brand new cursed soulmate who has you this upset.” Granny knows me. She can tell that I’m a wreck without me even saying a thing or giving it away with chewed lips, bitten down fingernails, or tears.
“I don’t know,” I say and let out a shuddery sigh that is thick with moisture. Oh yes. Tears are definitely on their way. “I- I…”
“Tell me where to find him. I’ll go kick his batudy into shape and make him sorry for ever doubting the curse and for hurting you.”
“No,” I gulp. I’ve never bitten at my nails before, but I think this might be a fine time to start, even if I’ve always found that kind of nasty. For one, I’m wearing nail polish, and I’m sure it wouldn’t taste good. For two, I hate really short nails because they’re painful and hangnails are worse. For three, right the sanitary stuff. For four- bloody hell, forget your nails and tell her what you’ve done. “I- I might have done it,” I stammer. “I panicked and sent him a text saying it wasn’t working out and- and- just- yeah.” I can’t tell her that I said that we could still co-parent, he could still attend appointments, and that we’d get good lawyers to draw up a visitation schedule that we’ll both stick to, because that would mean telling her I’m pregnant, and I’m just not ready to have that conversation yet.
Granny gives me the granny stink eye. It’s quite unnerving, just so you know. Also, she’s wearing hot pink. Hot enough to scald the eyes. Pinker than Deb and Donna’s outfits both were combined. If Deb hadn’t bought that dress, I bet Granny would have spotted it and got it. She has a thing for all things bright pink.
“Pah! You think you wrecked things just because you had a moment of panic?”
“It might not be the first. I guess that’s all I’ve been having.”
She crosses her arms. Her dress rides up a little. It’s cut very low and exposes a healthy amount of granny cleavage. I know my cousins and brothers would all wretch right there if they noticed, but I’m made of sterner stuff. Also, I’m a woman and other women’s breasts, no matter how old and wrinkly, don’t scare me. Plus, I love Granny, even if she’s eccentric, wild, meddlesome, proud to be sexually active at an advanced age, wears retina burning pink most days, and often wears bright pink hair bows to match, which she has her white curls tucked up into and fastened with today.