Page 36 of Glass Wings

She nods, her eyes glossy, and for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t look like a wedding planner calculating costs. She looks like my mother.

My parents drop me off at home, and they don’t have time to stay for coffee because mom has a wedding to plan or something.

That night, after Kennedy goes to bed, I sit at the kitchen table with the ultrasound photo spread out in front of me and Easton’s latest letter unfolded beside it. I stare at both until the tears blur everything again, then reach for a pen.

August 1st

Easton,

I heard our baby’s heartbeat again today. Strong and steady, like it’s keeping time for us. The doctor said everything looks good. I saw our baby kick on the screen, a little flash of movement that made me cry right there on the table. I wish so badly you could’ve been there. I wish you could’ve heard it with me.

My parents came. Mom cried, which shocked me. Dad too, though he tried to hide it. For once, it felt like they were seeing what I see and not a mistake, not a scandal, but a life. Our little life.

Court earlier was brutal again. Rick fought hard, he did admit the case is messy though, and that means something, right? That means there’s a crack in their story, a chance for us to break through. Rick says plea deals will be floated soon. I don’t know what that means for you, but I hate the sound of it. You don’t deserve to be painted guilty just because it’s convenient.

Kennedy wants to start working on the nursery. She says you would want me to get it ready, so I’ll keep building this life until you can come home to it. I promise when you walk through our door, there’ll be a place for you, for us, for our baby.

With love always,

Harley

I fold the letter, slide it into the envelope, and tuck the ultrasound printout inside with it. My hands shake as I seal it, but when I press it closed, I feel steadier than I have all day.

Maybe he can’t be in the room with me. But he’ll be home soon. He’ll get to hold our baby and help me through the sleepless nights.

For now, that will have to be enough.

Twenty

EASTON

Three Years Ago

I thought Harley was kidding the first time she told me she wasn’t just named after Harley-Davidson, but had a bike of her own. And that she knew how to ride it.

For some reason, I was so sure she was bluffing in an attempt to impress me. Harley likes to throw little jokes out like that, test me, see if I’ll take the bait. I figured this was another one of those moments.

Turns out I couldn’t have been more wrong.

It’s late summer, the kind of night where the air hums with leftover heat but smells faintly of cut grass and honeysuckle. She takes me past the edge of town, down a gravel road I never paid much attention to before, and up to a row of storage units lit by a single buzzing streetlight.

When she tugs the lock open and rolls up the door, I freeze.

There it is: a bright pink Harley. Well, technically, it’s a Sportster, but it might as well be dipped in bubblegum. Pink paint, pink trim, even a pink saddlebag.

“Holy shit,” I mutter, trying to keep my voice level.

Harley’s cheeks are scarlet, and she bites down on her bottom lip the way she always does when she’s nervous. She wheels the bike out slowly, like she’s unveiling a secret part of herself I haven’t earned the right to see yet.

“You really have a bike, huh?”

“Told you.” Her voice wobbles, but she lifts her chin anyway, proud. Then, grinning, she tilts her head toward me. “Wanna go for a ride, or are you a bit rusty?”

I can’t help but laugh. “You got a helmet to cover that pretty head of yours?”

She pops the kickstand, rolls her eyes, and ducks back into the unit. When she returns, she’s carrying not just a helmet, but a whole matching set. Pink helmet, pink jacket, and pink riding boots are slung over her arm.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say, smirking.