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She tears up and nods frantically. “When I went to the doctor this morning for my ‘flu,’ he gave me the news. I wanted to surprise you after work, but when you got the letter about Evan in the mail, you seemed so tense and then… Well, we came here and started talking about family. And I couldn’t think of a better way to tell you that you’re going to be a father and we’re widening our circle than to share the excitement with everyone we love.”
Maxon still looks stunned when Griff pats him on the back with a grin. Britta kills the music, then hugs Keeley with a little squeal. I look at Harlow and my gut twists. She’s pasted on a smile for her brother. She’s happy for him and his wife. But I know she’s screaming inside.
“Well, since good news is going all around,” Griff begins with a conspiratorial glance at his bride, “we’ll add ours. Britta took a home test this morning. Looks like Jamie will be getting a brother or sister early next year.”
Keeley gives asqueeof excitement. “Did you get pregnant on your honeymoon?”
“I think so. I didn’t want any more of a gap between Jamie and the baby, so I’m super-happy.” Britta beams.
“Keeley and I have been trying since we got married. We didn’t want to be too far behind you,” Maxon quips.
“Congratulations.” I hold out my hand to both brothers. After hearty shakes, I hug their wives and give them a congratulatory kiss on the cheek. The fact that they’ve included me in their family circle tonight makes me hopeful that Harlow’s brothers no longer see me as the guy banging their sister, but instead as the man who hopes to marry her.
I turn to Harlow. Even as she’s flashing a smile to Britta, she looks as if she’s holding herself together by a thread.
The merriment lasts another agonizing hour. After a few toasts, the other couples leave for private celebrations of their own. As soon as I shut the door behind everyone, I turn to seek out Harlow. She’s gone, racing up the stairs as if she can’t get alone fast enough. I run after her.
* * *
When I reach Harlow’s portal, I shove my foot in the doorway of her bedroom before she can slam it in my face. “Baby…”
“Go, Noah.”
“I’m sleeping beside you tonight. We made a deal.” And if I’m right next to her, maybe she’ll feel close and open up to me.
“Trust me, you don’t want to be with me tonight.”
I hear the tears in her voice and I’m more determined than ever. “Let me in, Harlow.”
She jerks the door open with a frustrated sigh. Tears streak silvery paths down her face. “So you can tell me I’m a horrible human being? I don’t know why I’m so happy for my brothers and their wives while I’m so miserably fucking sad for myself. I don’t do pity parties, and I can’t even understand why I’m blubbering like an idiot.”
“You want a baby.” In truth, she craves love and acceptance and an adoring family, but she’s not ready to admit that.
“And it’s not like I’m approaching menopause. It will happen when the time is right. I really am happy for them. Thrilled. My brothers deserve every bit of happiness they’ve got. I’ll get over my shit. Just give me tonight alone.”
Being alone is the last thing she needs.
“Why don’t you come here, let me hold you?” I try to pull her in my embrace.
She twists away and wraps her arms around herself. “I don’t want you feeling sorry for me.”
I don’t pity her because she’s not pregnant. But this woman cries out for love and connection, even as she closes herself off. That hurts like hell. She’s convinced herself a baby would fill her heart and satisfy her needs. Now that I’ve come to know Harlow better, I’m convinced she needs the picket fence, a passel of kids,anda smitten husband.
But I’ll play it low-key for now. “I don’t. How about a movie or a swim?”
“What’s that going to solve?” Harlow scoffs.
Then she begins to eye me up and down. There’s something going on in her head.
Suddenly, she whirls around and marches into her bathroom. She emerges seconds later, wiping away her tears with one hand and clutching a flat, rectangular container of plastic in a white-knuckled grip with the other. “Yes.”
I’m confused, but the resolution blazing from her eyes tells me she’s not agreeing to a flick on the 4K TV or a dip in the pool.
My heart pounds. “You’ll marry me?”
“Yep. Let’s do it. The sooner, the better. And these?” She opens the lid on the peach-colored container to reveal neat rows of tiny pills. “They’re going in the trash. Last chance to back out.”
Excitement grips my belly. This is fucked up; I know. Harlow becoming my wife for reasons that have more to do with my sperm than my heart isn’t optimal, but I proposed to buy myself time. She’s giving it to me, and I’m running with it. I’ll figure out how to make this marriage about us and not just a baby after the vows are spoken.
