Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
“For our final project, we propose to explore how early attachment patterns formed in childhood impact adult relationships,” Harper stated, her voice steady and confident as she addressed our psychology class.
“We’ll investigate how these patterns influence how we connect with others, our comfort with intimacy, and our ability to trust.”
I nodded, picking up my part of the proposal presentation. “Our research will particularly focus on how these patterns can change over time. With self-awareness and the right support, people can develop more secure attachment styles, and we want to examine the factors that facilitate that growth.”
From the back of the classroom, Professor Keene was nodding approvingly.
I’d been nervous about this presentation for days—not because we weren’t prepared, but because standing next to Harper in front of the entire class made me hyperaware of her in a way I wasn’t sure how to handle.
Every time our shoulders brushed as we switched slides, I felt it like an electric current going through my arm.
“Any questions about the proposal?” Harper asked, glancing around the room.
A classmate raised his hand. “So, would your research cover if becoming a parent could change your attachment style?”
I froze, feeling a wave of self-consciousness wash over me. Everyone knew about Rory by now—our campus was small and enough people had seen her around or heard about her existence.
But I still felt a little awkward about the whole situation, which was a new experience for me and not one I was particularly fond of, although I wouldn’t trade my daughter for anything in the world. I’d never known it was possible to love anyone so quickly, but I was sunk for that little girl.
Harper didn’t miss a beat.
“That’s actually a fascinating angle we’re planning to include,” she said, smoothly taking control of the question.
“Becoming a parent can create an opportunity for significant psychological growth. Someone with an avoidant attachment style might develop more secure patterns as they form a bond with their child.” She glanced at me, her expression supportive.
“The research suggests that parenting often activates caregiving behaviors that can heal previous attachment wounds, which would be one aspect of our project.”
I cleared my throat. “Right. And it goes both ways—part of our research will look at how the quality of attachment between parent and child shapes the child’s future relationships too.”
“Excellent proposal,” Professor Keene said, making notes on her clipboard.
“Drew and Harper have presented a compelling research direction for their final project. The way you’re planning to connect theoretical frameworks to real-world applications is particularly promising.
” She gave us both an approving nod. “Project approved. I’m looking forward to seeing your final paper and presentation at the end of the semester. ”
As we gathered our materials, I caught several classmates exchanging knowing looks. I wasn’t sure what they thought they knew, but the speculative glances made me uncomfortable.
“That went better than I expected,” Harper said quietly as we headed back to our seats. We’d started sitting next to each other; it just made sense given we were working together.
“Yeah,” I agreed, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders. “We make a pretty good team when we’re not trying to destroy each other.”
The corner of her mouth quirked up in a small smile that made my chest feel tight. It was still hard to reconcile this version of Harper—thoughtful, brilliant, kind—with the enemy I’d constructed in my head over the years.
After class, we walked out of the classroom together, stepping into the weak spring sunshine that had finally decided to grace Montana after months of frigid cold.
A few students huddled on benches wearing heavy jackets, faces turned toward the sunlight that occasionally broke through the clouds.
Patches of dirty snow still lingered in the shadowy corners of buildings, stubbornly refusing to melt completely.
“I need to head back home and check on Rory,” I said, adjusting my backpack. “Ava’s watching her, but she has class at two.”
Harper nodded, tucking a curl behind her ear in that way she did sometimes. My fingers itched with the desire to touch her curly strands and see if they were as soft as they looked—which was an absolutely next-level insane thought to have.
“How’s she doing? Sleeping any better?”
“Some nights are better than others,” I admitted, ignoring my temporary insanity. “Last night was actually not terrible—she only woke up twice.”
“Progress,” Harper said with a smile.
“Want to come see her?” The words were out of my mouth before I could think about them. “I mean, if you’re free. She lights up when she sees you.”
Harper’s eyes got bright as her smile spread on her face, and my breathing got a little shallower. “I’d like that.”
We walked across campus toward the hockey house, our conversation flowing more easily than it ever had before.
Harper told me about the piece she was preparing for her fellowship audition, and I found myself genuinely interested in the technical challenges she was working through.
There was magic in the way she talked about music—like she was describing a sacred language only she could fully understand.
When we reached the house, Ava was in the living room with Rory on a play mat, surrounded by the colorful toys that had taken over our once spartanly decorated space.
“There he is,” Ava said in that high-pitched voice people automatically use with babies. “Look who’s home, Rory! It’s your daddy!”
Rory’s face lit up with a gummy smile that still knocked me sideways every time I saw it. How was it possible to love someone so much after knowing them for such a short time?
“And look, he brought Harper,” Ava added, her eyes darting between us with barely concealed interest.
“Hey, Ava,” Harper said, setting her bag down and kneeling beside the play mat until she was face level with my daughter. “Hey there, little miss.”
Rory immediately focused on Harper, looking as mesmerized by Harper’s curls as I was.
“Looks like someone’s got a fan,” Ava said, handing Rory over.
Harper cradled her as if she’d been doing it Rory’s whole life. I found myself staring at the picture they made—Harper’s red curls falling forward as she talked softly to my daughter, and Rory’s tiny fingers reaching up to touch Harper’s face.
“Thanks for watching her,” I told Ava, finally tearing my eyes away. “How was she?”
“Perfect angel,” Ava said, gathering her things. “She drank all her bottle and took a good nap. Oh, and we FaceTimed Mom—she’s already bought more clothes from the baby boutiques in Meadowbrook and Missoula. It’ll probably be a mountain of stuff by the time she comes this weekend.”
I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. My mom had fallen in love with Rory just as fast as I had and had turned into an obsessed grandma in record time.
“I should get going,” Ava said, checking her watch. “I’ve got class in twenty minutes.”
As she headed for the door, she shot me a pointed look that I chose to ignore. She didn’t need to speak for me to understand. The twin thing was real. I knew exactly what she was thinking. The problem was I had no idea what to say to her or how to explain what the fuck I was doing.
With Ava gone, I sat down on the couch across from Harper and Rory.
Harper was making soft cooing noises that had Rory completely entranced.
Meanwhile, I’d completely forgotten to breathe once I saw the gorgeous smile that filled Harper’s face as she cooed and talked to my daughter like they were the best of friends.
“You’re really good with her,” I said.
Harper glanced up. “She’s got such a sweet temperament.”
“Not at three in the morning, she doesn’t,” I said with a laugh.
“Fair enough.” Harper adjusted Rory in her arms as the baby started to fuss. “I think someone’s getting hungry.”
“Probably,” I agreed, heading to the kitchen to prepare a bottle. When I returned, Rory was working herself up into a full-blown cry, her face reddening with the effort.
“Here,” I said, handing Harper the bottle. “Do you mind feeding her while I grab her blanket from upstairs? She’ll want it after she eats.”
“Of course not,” Harper said, taking the bottle and settling Rory more comfortably in her arms.
When I came back downstairs with the soft pink blanket Ava had bought, I paused in the doorway. Harper was singing softly to Rory as she fed her, that same lullaby she always sang. Her voice was low and sweet, wrapping around the words like she was casting a spell.
Something twisted in my chest, a feeling I couldn’t name but that stopped me in my tracks.
I must have made a sound, because Harper looked up, a slight flush coloring her cheeks when she realized I’d been watching.
“Sorry,” she said. “Force of habit.”
“Don’t apologize,” I said, moving into the room. “She loves it when you sing to her.”
I sat down beside them on the couch, close enough that our shoulders were almost touching. Rory’s eyes were heavy-lidded as she finished her bottle, milk drunk and content.
“Do you want me to burp her?” I asked, reaching for a burp cloth.
“I’ve got it,” Harper said, expertly shifting Rory to her shoulder and patting her back with gentle rhythm.
The domesticity of the moment struck me—sitting beside Harper on my couch, watching her care for my daughter with such natural ease. If someone had told me a month ago that this would be my life, I would have laughed in their face.
“So,” Harper said after a moment. “I think our proposal went over well today.”
“Definitely,” I said. “Professor Keene looked genuinely impressed.”
“It’s funny,” Harper mused, still patting Rory’s back. “A few weeks ago, I was dreading having to work with you on this project. Now it doesn’t seem so bad.”
The admission hung in the air between us, loaded with implications neither of us seemed ready to address.
“Well, we’ve got the whole rest of the semester to work on it,” I pointed out. “So you’re stuck with me for a while yet.”
Harper smiled, but it seemed kind of wistful. “True.”
Rory let out a surprisingly loud burp for such a tiny human, and we both laughed, the tension broken.
“That’s my girl,” I said proudly. “Already mastering the hockey player skill set.”
Harper shook her head, but she was still smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Part of my charm.”
“Is that what you call it?”
Our eyes met, and for a moment, it felt like electricity pulsed between us. Then Rory squirmed, breaking the moment, and Harper carefully handed her back to me.
“I should probably go,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “I’ve got some practice time booked in the music building.”
“Right, okay,” I said, settling Rory against my chest. “Thanks for hanging out with us for a bit.”
“Anytime,” Harper said, and I had the strange feeling she truly meant it.
As she gathered her things, her hand brushed against mine when we both reached for her music folder that had fallen partially under the coffee table.
The contact was brief but unmistakable—a jolt of awareness that had nothing to do with static electricity and everything to do with the way her brown eyes widened slightly when our fingers touched.
“Sorry,” we both said at the same time, then laughed awkwardly.
I walked her to the door, Rory still cradled against my shoulder.
“See you later.”
“See ya, Tinsley,” I echoed.
After she left, I stood at the window watching her walk back toward campus, her curly hair catching the afternoon sunlight. Rory made a soft sound against my neck, and I bounced her gently.
“Yeah, I know,” I murmured to my daughter. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”
Rory cooed in response, and I smiled, suddenly struck by how quickly everything had changed. And maybe I wouldn’t be the villain in Harper’s story after all.