Page 70 of Worth the Try
“Rosie’s birth mother.” It comes out as a growl.
Sharon stiffens. She’s a second grandmother to Rosie and has seen us through more than even my own mom thanks to her proximity. “Did Rosie see her?”
I shake my head, my entire body shaking with adrenaline. “I can’t—I need?—”
She immediately understands. “Go,” she says. “I can take care of them. It’ll be a play date for Rosie and Dolly.”
“I can’t go inside.” I’d either burst into tears or I’d punch holes in the walls. Either is possible right now. I can’t let Rosiesee me like this. Elodie, either. This is exactly the kind of mess she doesn’t need be involved in.
Sharon nods. “It’s okay.”
“Thank you.” With that, I climb back into my car and reverse out of the driveway.
Chapter 24
Elodie
IDIDN’T KNOW what to think when Sharon came over last night and declared it “girls’ night for Rosalie and Dolly,” but it was clear enough that she’d come at Ansel’s request, and that I was free the rest of the evening. The good part was that Rosie was beyond thrilled. The bad part was that I’d really been hoping to talk to Ansel.
So I texted him.
Hey—everything okay? Sharon came over, and she and Rosie have plans for the rest of the night.
ANSEL
Thank you. Lots on my mind, and I just needed some time to myself. I know I owe you an explanation.
I swallowed down the lump of emotion that threatened. For whatever reason, Ansel’s particular brand of honesty and earnestness really got to me. In a good way. Even though I was getting more and more frustrated at not knowing what was going on.
It’s okay
ANSEL
No, it’s still not okay.
Well, he wasn’t wrong. Since it was obvious he wasn’t in the mood to talk—he wouldn’t have taken off if he actually felt like discussing whatever was bothering him—I didn’t respond.
Instead, I blackened my screen and turned back to planning Allyson and Jake’s honeymoon. I had plans on plans on plans for them to choose from. Who knew that after eight years of working in corporate, I’d find my calling as a honeymoon planner? I ended up falling asleep with the light on, and this morning I woke up to Cleocatra attempting to shred the spreadsheets I’d printed out at Ansel’s the other day.
Clearly, my cat has no issues with giving me her thoughts on the formatting I spent way too long on. And honestly? Valid. No one will ever see those spreadsheets but me.
After feeding her, cleaning the litter box, and taking a shower, I finally let myself think about the past couple of days.Reallythink. Rosalie and I were followed and photographed, and Ansel hasn’t given me any sort of explanation. In fact, he’s done the very opposite and avoided the heck out of me. This, from the man who’d practically glued himself to my side over the past weeks whenever Rosie was out of sight. And who’d cherished me with his body and mouth night after night after putting her to bed.
And last night, instead of coming home and finally telling me what in the world was going on, he just…bolted? And sent the neighbor over?
I think I might be mad.
No, IknowI am.
I blink, spitting my toothpaste into the sink and rinsing. As I grab the mouthwash and tip back a capful, I try to decide if it’s weird to be proud of myself for getting mad. After all, New Elodie is trying very hard not to be so nice all the time. Look where it got me. So yeah. I’m mad.
“I’m mad,” I say to my reflection.
It sounds ridiculous coming out of my mouth.
“I’mmad,” I repeat.
Then I giggle. Because only I would try sayingI’m madas some kind of affirmation. Still, the feeling of anger…it’s kind of nice. Nice in that I actuallyfeelit.
