35
A few days later, we’re knee-deep in setting up the nursery, putting the final touches on what’s shaping up to be a pretty cosy room. Xavier and Michael came over to help, and the place is buzzing with ideas about where to put stuff and a lot of furniture-shifting.
Xavier grabs the crib. “Nah, it’d look better by the window. Get some light on it.”
“Yeah, and every morning the sun’ll smack the baby right in the face. Great idea, mate.” I shake my head.
Michael sighs from the corner, arms crossed. “Maybe leave the crib where it’s been for the last ten minutes?” His tone is deadpan. “You two want to move the tallboy next?”
“Fine, smartass,” I mutter, grinning at him. Xavier and I keep on bickering, shifting the crib an inch one way, then two the other, like it’s going to make any real difference. He grunts, nudging the crib left again.
“Trust me, man. A little closer to the window makes it feel less cramped. Feng Shuii or some shit.”
“Oh, now you’re an expert? Babies don’t need Feng Shui—they need to not get roasted by the morning sun.” Between the two of us, we’ve got one brain that never fully agrees. Meanwhile, Michael’s just standing there, the voice of reason, letting us wrestle it out.
“Alright, enough,” Michael says. “Leave the damn crib. Let’s sort the changing table. Last thing we need is you two turning this place into a maze.”
Meanwhile, Isla and Imogen are in the lounge, folding baby clothes into neat piles. Every now and then, the smell of baby detergent hits me, and I’m reminded how close we are to having a little one in the house. I wander in as they’re folding tiny socks and onesies. I pick up a sock, holding it up. “You sure this isn’t a joke? Pretty sure only a possum could fit into this.”
“Triple-checked the tags. Baby-sized.”
“Gosh, it’s tiny,” I mutter, shaking my head.
Isla scoffs. “Yeah, you’re not gonna be saying that when it’s coming out—”
“Ay, ay. Alright. We’ll get to that when it happens.” My body shudders.
“Men,” she mutters under her breath.
Imogen giggles beside her, and Isla adds, “Trust me, they’ll outgrow it all faster than you can blink. Callie was out of newborn stuff in no time.”
“Are you sure we need this many?” I nod at the mountain of clothes on their laps.
“Better too many than not enough,” Isla says, neatly stacking another set. “Believe me, you’ll appreciate it at three a.m. when you don’t have to wash a onesie in the sink quickly. And let’s be real, Harrison, you’re in this for the long haul.” Isla chuckles, nudging Imogen’s shoulder. “You’ll be right there at three a.m. becoming a master at late-night nappy changes—if you can handle it.”
“Oh, really?” I cross my arms. “You’re doubting me already?”
“We’ll see how tough you are after two nights without sleep, Mr. Confident,” Imogen retorts.
“Piece of cake, Immy.” I wink, trying to keep up the bravado. “You’re looking at the best teammate for this job. I was made for this.”
Imogen
My legs are on fire.
The stupid muscles in my back are about to snap in half, and yet here I am, desperately trying to blow-dry my hair like some kind of normal person. The irony doesn’t escape me—me, a hairdresser, sitting here like a useless mess, unable to even do my own damn hair. I reach behind my head, trying to grab a thick lock of wet hair, but my arms are already cramping up.
Fuck, my entire body feels like it’s shutting down. The blow dryer slips from my hand, landing softly on the bed. My breath catches in my throat. And that’s it. I’m done.
Tears. Why the hell are there tears?
I press my hands to my face, hoping no one hears me fall apart over something as ridiculous as this. But no, this stupid, infuriating thing is going to make me go to bed with my hair wet. The very thing I can’t stand. And now, I’m crying because I can’t even handle that.
“Immyyyyy, girl. I’m home!” Harrison’s voice drifts in from the front door, cheerful, like I’m not sitting here losing my mind. “We brought snacks. Mikey’s here.”
A strawberry thick shake and hot chips. Ice cream and chips. They stand frozen in the doorway, eyes wide at the sight of me, tears streaming down my face. I cry harder. This is so stupid. Fuck you, hormones.
Harrison’s by my side in a second, his hand brushing my shoulder gently. “What’s wrong, baby? What happened?”
“Nothing,” I croak, trying to suck it up. “It’s stupid.”
“No. Nothing is stupid when it comes to you. Tell me.” He’s persistent, his eyes so soft as he kneels in front of me. “Why haven’t you dried your hair yet?”
That’s it. That’s the problem.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “My back is killing me, and every time I lift my hands up to blow-dry my hair…” I choke on the words, the sobs wrecking me. “Th-they cramp up…”
I see Harrison’s jaw tighten. He stands up, glancing at Michael, who’s still stuck in the doorway, confusion plastered on his face. “Yeah, she’s yours, man. I’ll be inside.” Michael’s out of there faster than I can blink. Harrison doesn’t even waste a second. He’s right in front of me again.
“Turn around, sugar.”
“Wait, why?” I ask, dazed.
“Because I’m gonna blow-dry your hair for you, that’s why.”
I stare at him, unsure whether to laugh or cry harder. “What?”
“You heard me.”
I sniffle, feeling ridiculous, but I turn around, anyway. What else can I do? This is it. I’m that tired.
He powers on the blow-dryer, the rush of heat almost making me flinch as he holds it too close.
“Fuck, sorry,” he mutters, his voice soft as he adjusts it.
“Hold it back a little. Move it side to side quickly over the ends.” My voice cracks slightly, and I can’t stop it. He doesn’t say anything. Just moves the hair dryer exactly like I told him. He’s slow and unsure, but he’s doing it. Harrison is blow-drying my hair.
It takes longer than I would’ve, but hell, he’s trying. He’s doing something as simple as drying my hair, and I’m too tired to even mind that he’s not perfect at it. I don’t even care. I close my eyes for a second, focusing on the warmth of the dryer, the smell of it mixed with the faint scent of strawberry from the thickshake he brought. I’ve got no idea why, but my chest tightens.
A stupid, simple moment, and I feel like I could cry all over again. Harrison finishes drying my hair, the sound of the blow-dryer finally turning off, and I’m left with the soft hum of my thoughts. He runs his fingers through my hair, smoothing it down, and I can’t help but smile.
“You reckon I should fill in for you while you’re on mat leave? Not bad if I do say so myself,” Harrison chirps.
“Oh, shush,” I mutter, wiping my eyes. “I’m sorry for freaking out. I was just—”
“Hey, hey,” he cuts me off, his hand brushing over my face. “Never apologise for being sad or frustrated, okay? I’m here to help you, remember?” He presses a soft kiss to my nose.
God, this man.
“You won’t ever make me forget.”
“Damn right I won’t,” he says, guiding me to my feet. “Come on. We’re gonna sit in the lounge, watch whatever movie you want, and eat all the snacks.” He leads me inside, where Michael’s already lounging on the couch like he’s the king of the world.
I sink down into the couch, relieved to finally sit, and Harrison immediately shifts to sit behind me. His hands are on my shoulders before I even have a chance to relax, his fingers working into my stiff muscles with surprising tenderness. He presses into my shoulder blades, and the tension I didn’t even realise I was holding starts to melt away. I let out a soft sigh, leaning back into him. His arm wraps around me, pulling me in close as his hands move to my upper arms, massaging the tension from my muscles with slow, steady pressure.
“I appreciate you so much,” I sigh contentedly. “Thank you.”
Harrison tilts my chin up with one finger, pressing a kiss to my lips. “Anything for you, Immy-girl.”
“Yeah, yeah, I love you, too.” Michael rolls his eyes dramatically, looking at us like we’re both nuts. I snort, the sound of Michael’s sarcasm more soothing than I thought it would be.
Harrison picks the movie—The Holiday—and for the next few hours, that’s it. The three of us are in our little bubble. Harrison’s arms wrap around me, holding me close, while Michael sits on the other end of the couch, cracking jokes every now and then about the movie.
And the snacks. Can’t forget the snacks.