“Only Clem.” She avoids any eye contact with me and looks at Clementine.
I’m all set to protest but stop at the last minute, giving way to Clementine.
My tenant hesitates. Of course, she does. After the lecture I gave her last week about boundaries, she is destined to doubt me.
“Please,” I plead.
Once Clementine is in, Mere immediately shuts the door, leaving me on the other side.
It’s been an hour since Clementine stepped inside Mere’s room, and other than some soft, inaudible conversation, I hear nothing. As much as I want to burst inside and make sure my daughter is well, I know it’s best if I stay put.
Finally, the door opens.
Giving me a kind smile, Clementine says, “Mere is just embarrassed.”
“What is she embarrassed about? I’m her dad.”
Clementine’s lips quirk up in a small smile. “Give her a little time. Do you have a heating pad?”
“Yeah.” I dash into my bathroom and return with the gray, electric heating pad. “What else can I do?” I scratch my neck in frustration and helplessness.
“Maybe you can get her some food. She…didn’t have any breakfast.”
My stomach tightens in guilt, knowing it’s because of me that my daughter left for school with an empty stomach. “Yes. I’ll bring her mac and cheese and a strawberry slush. She loves it.”
Clementine grimaces. “Maybe not the cold slush.”
I hit my fist over my forehead. “Yeah. I’ll get hot cocoa.” As I pick up my car keys from the kitchen table, my gaze lands on Clementine’s leopard-print handbag near the door. “Is it possible for you to, ah, stay with Mere for a while? I’ll be back soon.”
“Of course. I can ask for a day off, but only if you don’t mind?” She hesitates before adding, “I’m so sorry about the other night.”
“Don’t. Please. It’s not your fault. I was…somewhere else that day,” I utter a bullshit excuse and leave for the diner.
While driving, my mind goes back to Clementine. I was upset with her just because she was spending time with my daughter. A time which I believed was my wife’s.
But today, without hesitation, she jumped into a nurturing role. I don’t know what she said to Mere, but I can imagine it’s something filled with care and affection with a touch of her Clementine humor.
I remember how she hugged Mere while they were talking about Melanie.
How did I not see that?
Does Mere often talk about Mel?
For the second time, I have misjudged Clementine. Yet she is in my house, guiding my daughter on her first day of womanhood.
While waiting for my order in the diner, a woman next to me orders a cheesecake. My gaze drops to the glass display, and I remember Clementine’s first day. At the last minute, I ask the cashier to pack me three pieces of cheesecake.
14
CLEMENTINE
“Please tell me it’ll get better.” Merida lies on her bed as I hand her the heating pad.
“It’ll get better.”
“Liar,” she growls, and I burst into laughter.
“You’ll get used to the pain. Better?” I brush some of those red curls away from her forehead.