by S. L. Scott
“I am. I missed a day but made up for it the next. I just . . .” She sits back down on the toilet again. “I don’t have an explanation, Harrison.” Picking up one of the sticks, she stares at it a minute before breaking down in tears.
Quick to kneel before her, I bring her to my shoulder, holding her and letting her comfort me. “It will be okay, Tate. I promise it will be.”
It takes another minute before she swipes toilet paper to wipe under her eyes and looks up. I hate that her makeup is messed up, knowing that will only add to her upset.
“There’s a house full of people out there waiting to see me, and I’m a mess—my face and my emotions,” she says.
“We don’t have to stay. We’ll go. Everyone out there will understand.”
“They’ll understand because I just announced to everyone that I’m pregnant. Oh God.” She drops her head into her hands again. Speaking through her fingers, she says, “I can never leave this bathroom again. Just have my mail forwarded. Do you think I can get food delivery in here?”
As much as I like that her sense of humor is intact, I worry that she’s not fully processing what’s happening. “If Natalie is the delivery person.” Taking her hands away from her face, I then ask, “Did you know at dinner? Is that what was on your mind?”
“No. If I had, I wouldn’t have announced my pregnancy to a room full of people.” Her arm flies out. “I don’t even know who’s out there. Please tell me not my parents.”
“I don’t know.” I take her spot on the toilet, needing to get my thoughts on this situation together. When I scrub my hands over my face, I feel her standing against me.
She takes one of my hands and opens it to expose the palm. Her lips press to the skin, the kiss unhurried, her lips lingering. I watch her kneeling before me with her eyes closed, taking in everything about me, and notice how our roles have changed.
When she looks up, she asks, “Are you okay?”
“You’re pregnant, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”
“Yes.” Worry weaves through her eyes as she stares into mine.
How can she even think of me at this time? I caress her cheek, seeing the change in her happening before my eyes. “I’ll be okay. How about you?”
“A little numb. A little okay.”
It’s not what I expected from her. This news is . . . well, not what I thought I’d hear for years. “What do you want to do?”
“I’m thinking I need to face my demons and join the party. They already know, so maybe I should join the party and have a laugh with them.”
“Laugh?” I ask before realizing who they really are to her. “Maybe so. They’re your friends who care most about your well-being.”
A beat doesn’t pass before she picks up on what I said. “Friends, not family?”
“I don’t know, Tatum. I didn’t put the party together.” Angling toward the door, I add, “I can go do reconnaissance.”
Nodding, she adds, “And can you ask Natalie to bring some of her makeup?”
“Sure.” I open the door and look out. Natalie is leaning against the wall with a clear bin in her hands. I still close the door behind me, needing to talk to Natalie alone for a minute. “Are her parents here?”
“No,” she whispers. “I got a card, though.”
Hrm. I’m not sure how she’s going to feel about that. Yes, she’s embarrassed over the pregnancy announcement, but I’d like to know what their excuse is for missing her birthday? That seems like a lot to deal with at this moment, though. “She wants makeup.”
Holding up the small bin, she grins—not full of happiness like it should be on this occasion but sympathy instead. “I got her covered.”
I see Nick across the way. He’s sitting like a nervous soon-to-be dad in a waiting room.
“Is she sure she wants to have this party? Everyone will understand if she wants to leave,” Natalie asks.
“I don’t know. Whatever she wants is probably best.”
I exhale when my chest gets tight. Rubbing over the knot with my fist, I take another breath.
“Are you okay, Harrison?”
“Me? I’m fine.” I hate that she felt the need to even ask. That makes me wonder what clues she picked up on. I move out of her way. “I’m going to talk to Nick while Tatum gets ready.”
Before I slip across the entry into the other room, I feel her hand on my back. When I turn, she says, “It’s all right not to know how to feel. It’s a surprise for both of you.”
My throat feels thick when I swallow, and my mind is muddled. I nod, but I’m not sure why. I just know I need fresh air. When I head for the front door, Nick says, “What are you drinking?”
I could be good and order a bottle of water or even a soda. But I know damn well that I need something stronger. “My usual.” When I step onto the stoop, it feels like a lot of night has passed though it’s still young. I sit on the top step and look down at the sidewalk, trying to wrap my head around the facts of what just happened.
Tatum’s pregnant.
I’m going to be a dad. Or maybe she chooses something else . . . That’s a discussion for another day, or at least, not in the middle of her surprise birthday party. I pull out my phone and flip to a few photos taken before I left California. It was an impromptu going away dinner with just my family.
It didn’t matter that I reminded them I’ll be flying back and forth. My sister took the lead and organized for all of us to get together. A photo of my niece and baby sister smiling like goofballs fills the screen. A lot has happened since Catalina, and I need to figure out how best to handle this.
“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.
23
Harrison
How is she so calm when I’m freaking the fuck out inside?
And I’m the one who had the whiskey. She’s thriving off water alone.
Tatum’s lying in a lukewarm bath covered in suds, and I’m researching getting pregnant while taking birth control pills. Sure, I always knew it wasn’t 100%, but what the fuck? I still trusted it.
As tempting as it is to pour myself a drink, I need to get her fed properly. Natalie sent the entire pot of soup back with us, and it’s just hot enough to serve. I find the bowls and ladle the soup inside. I can’t find a tray to carry it on, so I load up my hands and tuck the crackers under my arm. When I turn around, she’s standing there. Her straight hair hangs over her robe-clad shoulders. A makeup-free face brings attention to her bright eyes that are filled with amusement. She giggles. “Need a hand?”
I must look like an idiot trying to juggle everything. “Maybe more.” I set everything down on the island when she comes into the kitchen.
“You did all of this for me?”
“I can’t take credit for the soup. I’m just the reheater.”
Running her finger along the island, she stops it beside me, and then she slips her arms around me. “But you reheated it for me. I don’t even know where you got the crackers.”
“Whoever does your shopping thought it was a necessary staple. Who does your shopping for you?”
“A company we found through STJ. Two sons wanted to take the burden of grocery shopping off their mom for a year when she was going through chemo. They didn’t live in New York, so they contacted us for help. We found a great startup for just that thing. It was nice to do something that can make a real impact on someone’s life. We didn’t charge them because it allowed us to open a division that focuses fully on helping those in need.”
I’ve not been privy to this side of the business or of Tatum. There’s an excitement in her eyes as she speaks, yet until now, I knew nothing about it. “I haven’t heard about this, not from Nick or Natalie.”
A self-deprecating expression fills in the features of her pretty face. “Feels like we’re bragging so it’s not something we really advertise. It’s through word of mouth. We’re not looking for pats on the back.”
“How does it work?”
“Through the submission process. We have someone in the office who narrows it down to five and then presents them to the company, and everyone has a vote that counts. Sometimes it’s one, sometimes two a month.” She pulls her hair over her shoulder, the silky strands instantly returning to where they came from. “Anyway, I work with that company who grocery shops for people who don’t have time, mobility, or interest.” Raising her hand, she adds, “I fall into the last category. No shocker. They stock the staples, and then you give them your likes, etcetera.”
There are a million businesses who can shop for you, but that this one has the charitable angle definitely makes it more interesting. I’ll have to watch for investment opportunities. That aside, she has me wondering if New Yorkers even have grocery stores like the ones back home. “Have you ever grocery shopped?”
She’s quick to answer. “I’m sure I have. There’s a fruit stand down the street, and the shops for the other things are just past that.”
“I’m talking about a large grocery store where everything’s all in one place?”
“I’m not sure I have.” She shrugs indifferently, taking a cracker from the wrapper. “Does it matter?”
“No. Not in the scheme of things, but what about the baby?”
She starts choking with cracker crumbs stuck to her lips as she grabs for the water. Chugging some down, she clears her throat and then shoots me a dirty look. “What about the baby?”
Wow, that’s a trigger. I need to avoid those landmines in the future, if possible. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She clears her throat once more and takes another drink. “What did you mean what about the baby?”
It was a dig. I know it, and she knows it. Now the baby knows I’m an asshole. I can’t help wondering how Tatum’s going to manage this. “I know you can take care of yourself, but this is bigger than you or me.”
Offense widens her eyes and has her jerking away from me. “Excuse me? I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”
Insinuating . . . What the fuck am I doing? “Fuck. I didn’t mean you’re irresponsible or anything.”
Moving to the other side of the island, she says, “That’s not sorry.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t have an ego that keeps me from apologizing when I’m in the wrong, and on night one, I’m in the fucking wrong. Lesson learned.
She crosses her arms over her chest, looking at me like she doesn’t know me at all. “What’s wrong with you?”
I’m coming to realize that I can’t stay silent on this topic. “I need to talk about this. I thought we’d come home to do that.”
“Home. This is my home, not yours. Yours is in Los Angeles. I don’t know if you live in an apartment or a house, near the beach, or above Sunset. I don’t know any of that.”
“But you could. I want to take you there. I want to introduce you to my family.”
“The family that shuffled you off on a bunch of nannies?”
The low blow hits its intended destination—below the belt. I’m not saying it’s not owed, but I’m starting to see some of the old Tatum returning. And that won’t bode well for me.
I stare at her, cautious like I’m trapped in a cage with a pacing tiger. Is it going to eat me alive or let me live? One thing I won’t accept is a dig toward my family, at least not from anyone else. “I joke about the nannies. The stories are true, but I find them funny. If you want to know the real reason I had so many, it�
��s because my mom was working at the time. Four kids is a lot to handle with a full-time job. My dad wasn’t the kid-rearing type. Still isn’t.” The happiness in her eyes escaped as soon as I screwed up and opened my mouth. But the fire that now resides inside means this isn’t going to be resolved with an apology.
There are lines we don’t cross, and my family is mine. “The sacrifices fell on my mom’s plate. Instead of putting us in a daycare, she hired nannies to keep us home. They would take us to our sports and make our meals instead of having to eat from a drive-thru. So if you want to punch me with what a handful I was, go right ahead, but be careful when you get too close to dragging my mom into this.”
Tatum doesn’t seem to understand that when I speak of my family, she’s now a part of it, a member I’m willing to do anything to protect.
The breath she sucks in is harsh and not taken easily. Her hands release the edge of the island, and she takes a step back. “I’m not sure what just happened, but I don’t want this.”
“This or us, Tate?”
“Are they one and the same?” There’s no spite in her tone, and the fire is starting to simmer. The question still stings, though, and I have a feeling I’m witnessing her pattern. Push me away to save herself the pain from another day. At least I know what she thinks of me.
“I know my answer, but what is yours?” I ask.
“This isn’t a tit for tat, Harrison. I’m not mad. I’m learning. Natalie once told me that she and Nick had to learn how to fight. They had to understand where the other came from instinctually. I’m trying to fight my own habits and give you the benefit of the doubt.” She exhales in a huff and then sighs, coming back around the island.
Holding the hem of my shirt, she adds, “I’m trying for you.”
I see it in her eyes, the sincerity shaping her expression, and the way she holds my shirt like she’s trying to hold on to me.
“It’s going to take more than an argument about nannies and grocery stores to scare me away.”
A soft smile hangs on her face. “I had teachers during the day when I was little and a nanny who was also the housekeeper. She still works for my parents, maintaining the Manhattan property. So I get it. We come from similar backgrounds even though things were different.”