by Vivian Wood
“Alright. Well, an art gallery it is. I’ll start putting out some feelers. I know a lot of people in the art gallery world here. There’s plenty of overlap with the tattoo industry.”
“I never thought about that,” she said. Although of course it made sense. Art was art, whether it was on a canvas or a body. “But you don’t have to do that,” she said quickly. “I can figure it out.”
“You told me that you love me,” Sean said pointedly. “And I told you the same. We’re living together, even if the circumstances that brought us here aren’t that great. Or orthodox. As far as I’m concerned, we’re a team. When you’re happy, when your life’s a little easier, I feel the same. So, you’re right. I don’t have to do anything. But I want to.”
A warmth spread through her. Harper leaned across the table and pressed her lips to his. She could taste the sweetness of the juice on his tongue as it mingled with her own. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? she asked herself as he pulled her onto his lap. Real love?
Sean cradled her in his arms and for once she didn’t flinch or suck in her stomach when his hand moved across her abdomen. Briefly, she wondered if he knew. If the offer of juice wasn’t just because he was sober, but because of what they’d created.
You need to tell him, she reminded herself. But not now. Not when everything was so perfect and it was like every possibility was an option spread out before them.
15
Sean
The soothing sound of the charcoal on thick paper put Sean into a nearly meditative state. He’d started his first drawing of her. Harper was curled up on the couch. She painted her nails, lost in her own thoughts. She looked up just as he’d finished the rough outline. “Stop,” she said as she wrinkled her nose.
“Absolutely not,” he said. “You agreed. As long as you don’t have to ‘pose like one of those French girls’ I get to draw you.”
She rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t being serious,” she said.
“Doesn’t matter. A deal’s a deal.”
“You already made a bunch of drawings of me,” she said. “They’re still covering the walls in your room I believe.”
“Those are different,” he said. “Those were from memory. Having a live model—and a real model at that—is an elevated experience. Didn’t you ever model for a class before?”
“No,” she said. Harper blew on her nails, which she’d lacquered in a cherry red. “Holding still and naked in front of a bunch of people wasn’t really my idea of a solid career move.”
“You mean you could be naked right now?” he asked with a smile.
“Don’t press your luck,” she said as she playfully shook the little brush at him.
Harper was perfect in this light. Silhouetted against the window as the sun set behind her. Magic hour, that’s what directors called it. Her hair was loosely plaited and fell down her back. She looked like something out of a vintage world, a better world. If he could get it right, it would be the kind of drawing that made everyone who saw it think they’d stumbled into an intimate, secret moment.
“Can I ask you something while you draw?” she asked as she screwed the lid onto the bottle.
“Sure,” he said as he replicated the shadows that danced at her collarbone.
“Have you ever thought about the future?”
“That’s a loaded question,” he said. Briefly, he looked her in the eye. “In what regard?”
“Like, as it applies to you and me.”
Sean raised his brow and continued sketching. “A little,” he finally admitted. “Honestly, when we first met, I was intoxicated by you. I was more than happy to live in the moment, especially when I wasn’t sure you’d have me once you knew … well, you know.”
“What do you see for us, then?” she asked. “Now, I mean. After everything.”
Sean paused. “What do you mean?” he asked, though his question was directed at the sketch pad.
“I mean, do you see like a white picket fence? A house, dog, two and a half kids? What?”
“If you’re asking me to move to the suburbs, this is a weird way to do it,” he said.
“I’m asking how you see things going for us! That’s all,” she said. There was a touch of impatience in her voice, but Sean had needed to buy that time to think. He knew this conversation was coming, but hadn’t expected it to happen so bluntly. However, with the safety of the sketch pad between them, it gave him permission. Permission to be open, honest and let transparency unfold between them. “I don’t know,” he said. It was true. “I’m not a white picket fence kind of guy,” he added. “And, really, I don’t think we’re a white picket fence type of couple.”
“Oh,” she said. Harper looked crestfallen, like he’d shattered everything all over again.
“Hey,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong. I definitely see us together.”
“You do?” she asked, hopeful.
“Of course. For the rest of our lives. But … do you really see us as the typical suburban couple?”
“For the rest of our lives?” she repeated. Her eyes were wide.
“Well, yeah,” he said. “Don’t you? I kind of thought we were on the same page with that. Now, at least.”
“I … I’d hoped so, I guess,” she said. “But you have to admit, we haven’t really had the most traditional of beginnings.”
“Exactly. So why should we have a traditional ending? Is that what you really want—a mortgage, an SUV, some dog with a paisley handkerchief collar? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I like dogs, and I like some SUVs. I just never saw myself living out some clichéd American dream. And if I’m honest, I don’t see you in that role either. At least not happily.”
She blushed. “You’re right,” she said. “And that’s not what I had in mind. The whole suburban dream. It’s just the best way I knew how to explain what I was talking about.”
“So we don’t need to move to the suburbs to be happy?” he asked. “Because I’ll be honest, I’ve never been a fan of Pasadena.”
Harper laughed. “This city might have chewed me up good, but I do love it,” she said. “So I guess my answer is no. We don’t have to move to the suburbs. I don’t even want to.”
“And the dog?” he asked. “Is that a dealbreaker?”
“I don’t particularly have strong feelings about pets one way or the other,” she said.
Sean began to fill in the details of the drawing with snippets of glimpses at her. They both knew they danced around the serious subject, those two and a half kids. But it was also a delicious way to tease out the situation.
“I didn’t have any pets growing up,” he said. “My dad didn’t like them, and my mom hated the idea of animal hair, even though we had a daily housekeeper. I always thought it would be kind of cool to have a pet.”
“What kind,” she asked.
“When I was younger, an English bulldog,” he thought. “But now, a pit rescue. You know pitbulls used to be considered nanny dogs by wealthy families? They were so loyal to their families, especially the kids, they’d die for them.”
“That’s sad,” Harper said.
“I don’t think so. To be willing to die for your family, for the people you love, I think that’s kind of beautiful.”
Harper smiled. It radiated the room even in the fading light of the day. “I can see that,” she said. “But I thought pitbulls were illegal in California.”
“A lot of things are illegal in California,” he said. “Sodomy’s a crime in California. Doesn’t mean it’s bad, or that people don’t do it anyway.”
He smirked when he saw Harper’s face go pink. Even after all this time, and after everything they’d done, it was still so easy to make her blush. “Can you keep that color in your face?” he asked. “It’s really inspiring.”
“Shut up!” she said with a laugh. “Or I’m moving.”
“You know, you’re right. You really would have made a terrible figure model.”
She stuck her tongue
out at him. “Thanks.”
“Are you going to tell me more about this SUV?” he asked. “Is that your way of saying you don’t like my old muscle car? What did Debbie ever do to you?”
“Debbie?”
“That’s her name.”
“You named your car?”
“I think every guy names his car.”
“Why Debbie? Is that like an ex or something?”
“No,” he said slowly. “How old do you think I am? Do you know any Debbies in their twenties or thirties? Debbie was one of the most popular names the year the car was made. I picture a Debbie as a video vixen from the early eighties. The kind who would be riding in one of Whitesnake’s cars.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But now all the Debbies are middle-aged and middle management.”
“Is that what this is all about? Are you trying to get rid of Debbie and replace her with some gas-guzzling SUV?” he teased.
“No,” she laughed. “I actually don’t care that much about cars. I mean, you’ve seen mine.”
“Your little sedan is cute,” he said. “Like you.”
“Yeah. And like me it has a few too many miles on it.”
“Nothing’s sexier than experience,” he said. “But Harper? Seriously, whatever you need to be happy, I’ll do it. And not because I feel like I should or it’s my responsibility or something. It’s because I want to.”
“Really?” she asked. Harper looked at him, her eyes full of questions.
“Really. You want to get married? Let’s get married,” he said.
“Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not. You want to have a huge wedding? Let’s do it. Sam specialized in wedding planning before she got pregnant. She’d be thrilled to help you figure it out. A huge cathedral, three hundred people, an eight-tier cake, whatever you want.”
“That seems a bit excessive,” she said. Still, she’d perked up on the couch. Sean felt a stirring in his jeans as his button-up shirt slipped off one of her shoulders.
“You want to elope?” he asked. “I’m good with that, too. We can book a slot at some little chapel in Las Vegas and let Elvis marry us.”
“I have to admit, that’s always been kind of a fantasy,” she said. Harper began to unbutton the white shirt to reveal the tantalizing creamy flesh beneath. Sean’s charcoal flew across the paper.
“You want to have five kids and buy a farmhouse in Vermont? I’m down with that,” he said.
“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to churn my own butter,” she said. Harper released the last button and shrugged off the shirt.
“If you want to move to a hut in Tibet, I can do that, too,” he said. “I’ll go wherever you want to go. Do whatever you want.”
Harper stood up and tossed the shirt onto the floor. He could barely make out anything beyond the unbelievable curves of her body’s outline. The last of the day’s sun hugged her silhouette like a halo.
“What are you doing?” he asked as he swallowed his desire.
“After what you just said, I’m going to fuck you like never before,” she purred. “I’m going to fuck you all the way until dawn.”
16
Harper
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sean asked desperately. He was almost impossible to hear over the beeping machines and the stern orders of the doctors and nurses.
Harper was being wheeled down a hallway with long tubes of fluorescent lights in the ceiling. “She’s losing a lot of blood,” the matronly doctor said. “I don’t know if we can save—”
I wanted to tell you. I tried to tell you. She opened her mouth, but the words wouldn’t come out. Sean looked down at her, confused and terrified.
“Are you her husband?” one of the nurses asked him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sean asked her again.
“Sir! Are you her husband?”
“What? No, I’m—”
“If you’re not immediate family, you need to stay in the waiting room.”
Harper opened her mouth again to tell them he was wrong. Just confused. He was her husband, how could they prove otherwise? “It’s not yours.” She didn’t know where those words came from. It didn’t even sound like her voice. But as soon as the words spilled out of her mouth, she could see his heart crack in two.
“It is mine,” he said, though his voice was small.
It is yours, of course it’s yours. It was too late. She’d already been wheeled through a wide pair of double doors. The last she saw of Sean, he was held firmly by overbearing male nurses or hospital security guards. He’d stared after her, open-mouthed and unbelieving.
This side of the hospital looked decades older. Harper’s head lolled to the side and she caught sight of dirt and grime buried into the tile. As she swung her head back to the ceiling to stare at the unforgiving lights, she saw that her swollen belly was uncovered. Four perfectly formed hands pressed against her stomach like they were trying to escape. But they were larger than a baby’s should be and awkwardly shaped. The fingers were twice the length of the palm and even through her flesh she could see they came to dagger points.
“What is that?” she asked. “What’s inside me—”
“You need to be quiet and stay calm.” The doctor leaned over her, a purple face mask obscuring the lower half.
“What’s inside me?” Harper yelled as tears ran down her face. They’d pulled her into a cramped room with a single ugly light overhead.
“Strap her down,” the doctor barked. Harper felt cold hands at her ankles and wrists. Someone jerked her knees upward and spread her legs apart. The chilled bite of metal on her bare skin shocked her. Am I naked?
“What’s inside me? Where’s Sean?” She tried to look around the room and realized one of the straps had been placed against her neck. All she could do was whip her head side to side.
“Who’s Sean?” someone out of her line of vision asked.
“The baby’s father—” she tried to explain.
The doctor let out a mean laugh as she picked up a pair of long scissors that looked more like hedge clippers. They seemed dark and rusty. “Sean’s not the father,” the doctor said. She tsked disapprovingly at Harper. “And those aren’t babies.”
“What?” Harper strained to see her stomach. Surely those long fingers and talons at the tips hadn’t been right.
“We’re going to have to remove the parasites,” the doctor said. “Unfortunately for you, no anesthesia is possible for such a procedure. Bite down on this if you need to.” Somebody shoved a ball gag in her mouth. It was too big and instantly she couldn’t breathe. “Hold her legs open,” the doctor said. The purple mask leaned over Harper once again, this time from between her legs. “This is going to hurt.”
Harper woke with a start, her body drenched in sweat. She reached down to inspect her stomach, but it was flat and smooth. “Jesus,” she whispered. Sean shifted next to her in bed. She could tell by the light that it was early morning.
Quietly, she slid from bed and padded to the living room. Harper clicked the door shut behind her and grabbed her phone. It was five o’clock in the morning. She tiptoed to her own en-suite and locked the bedroom door. P would kill her for this, but she had to talk to someone.
“Fuck, bitch,” P moaned into the phone. “This better be important. Like, you better be dead.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into the phone. “I didn’t have anyone else to call.”
“Harper?” he asked, suddenly awake. “What is it? Do I need to help move a body? Is camouflage required or will black suffice?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“You’re what?”
Why couldn’t you be that succinct with Sean? “I’m pregnant,” she repeated. “And I … I don’t know what to do.”
“Is it Sean’s?”
“Of course it’s Sean’s! Who else’s would it be?”
“I was just checking! God, the pregnancy hormones are already raging, aren’t they? So … what
are you doing to do?”
“I … I think I want to keep it.”
“If you want to keep it, you need to stop dieting,” he said.
“That was blunt.”
“That was real. And you’ll probably need some help to get there. Professional help, I mean.”
Harper chewed her lip. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe this is all a big mistake. Maybe I’m being a fucking idiot. I’m already jobless. Being jobless and fat at the same time might not be the best idea. Isn’t that how most women get dumped?”
“Bitch, shut the hell up,” he said. “First of all, there’s a big difference between being pregnant and being fat. You need to get your pretty little head around that. You hear me?”
“I hear you,” she mumbled. She knew P was right, but her logical side and every other part of her were at strong odds.
“Really?” he said. “Because I don’t think you do. Look, baby, I’ve thought for a long time you needed a little expert intervention. I mean, it wasn’t a huge deal when you were twenty years old. A little excessive dieting, maybe even a few bumps at a party to keep your appetite quiet—”
“I never did coke,” she said.
“Oh. Maybe that was me. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is back in the day you didn’t have any responsibilities. And your body was so young, it could take a little abuse.”
“So you’re saying I’m old? Being old and pregnant isn’t exactly the best combination either.”
“Bitch, if you’re old then I’m geriatric. And I’m not geriatric or old, you got me? All I’m saying is … maybe it’s time to start taking a little better care of yourself. And that baby if that’s the path you’re taking.”
“Do you think I’m making a mistake?”
P breathed into the phone. “No,” he said. “If you’re asking if I think keeping the baby is a mistake, then no. What is a mistake is if you keep abusing your body like that. Baby or no baby.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I know.” Harper’s ears perked up. In the kitchen, she heard Sean start the blender. “Hey, P, I need to go.”