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“Harry, I need your help?” my sister says. It sounds like she’s crying though, which isn’t like her.
“Are you okay?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
I try to shake the memory of that night . . . and let what’s happening right in front of me guide my reaction.
This is about the woman I’m dating being pregnant with mine. We may have been doing it like rabbits, but none of this makes sense. The door opens behind me, and I’m quick to shove my phone back in my pocket. “Was that Madison?” Nick asks, closing the door.
“And Harlow.”
He knows why I was looking. They’d be the first people I’d think of after Tatum in this situation. Handing me a glass of whiskey, he sits on the other side of the landing, leaning against the concrete balusters. I take several sips noticing the soda is on the lighter side. I don’t mind and take another. “So Tatum’s pregnant.” We might as well just get it out there.
A slow exhale then has him replying, “So I heard.”
“Everyone did.” I roll my eyes. If I embarrassed easily, this would be the time. Fortunately, I don’t. “I think I would have preferred being told in private first.”
“Sorry you had to hear it that way. It won’t change things, but there are not that many people. Natalie kept the list on the smaller side. A few left, thinking it best to call it a night like Jackson and his date, a few co-workers of theirs. Look, Harrison, a lot can happen—”
“A lot has happened.” My confusion wrinkles my brow. I’m not stupid. We may have been doing it like rabbits but none of this makes sense. I say, “We’ve been driving this relationship at warp speed like we wouldn’t get a second chance.”
“This is your second chance. You’re in it.”
Looking down at the glass in my hand, I nod. “Second chance.” I glance over at him. “I’m not sure what Tatum will do . . . I just . . .” I take a long pull from the glass and rub my hand over my head as I swallow the liquor. “What do we do?”
“I’m no expert. I’m just some old married guy, but take it day by day, hour by hour if you need to. This isn’t about anyone but the two of you.”
“I don’t know if she’ll keep the baby or . . .” I empty the glass. Maybe I shouldn’t have had a drink when Tatum doesn’t have the luxury of numbing her thoughts the same way, but I’m considering another. “My heart is fucked up over this. I don’t want to be put in the position—”
“Minute by minute if that’s what it takes, brother.” He stands, taking a sip of his drink before looking up at the night sky. “I think we should shut down the party.”
“It’s not my call.”
We go back inside to find Tatum holding a glass of water in one hand and a steak fry in the other while talking to Andrew and Juni. Natalie is bustling around with the remaining guests mingling, the conversations and laughter overshadowing the music playing in the background.
By looking at the scene, no one acts as though anything happened out of the ordinary. I’m struck by the casual mask everyone’s wearing as if they didn’t just find out Tatum’s pregnant at the same time I did.
Tatum looks back and sees me. A gentle smile graces her lips before she sets her drink down and comes over, her hand resting against my chest. She looks up, her cheeks slightly pink from the cry she had earlier. “Are you okay?”
Nick squeezes my shoulder as he walks through to the other room.
I cover Tatum’s hand, wrapping my fingers around hers, and then slowly nod. “I’m . . . confused.”
“So am I.”
Wanting to reassure her, I force a smile. “Surprise. It’s your birthday party.”
Her expression softens. “You listened to me gripe about that and didn’t say a word. You’re very good at keeping secrets, Mr. Decker.”
“So are you.” I don’t intend it as a jab, and nothing in my tone would say otherwise.
That doesn’t stop the slight cringing I see around her eyes and mouth. “I think we need to talk, and this,” she says, glancing back over her shoulder at the other guests, “this isn’t the place.”
“If you want to stay, we can.”
“I feel like a rain check might be in order. They’ll understand.” She pulls away to leave, but I keep holding her hand. It’s not that I only like the feel of it in mine. I need this connection. I need her.
Turning back, she gives me a smile. “It’s okay, Harrison.”
I’m not sure when the roles we played reversed, but I feel better as if we’re in this together.
I release her hand, but when she walks away, my gut twists, still unsettled.
