Chapter 41
SPENCER
SEVEN YEARS AGO
It’s been six weeks since Harlow’s birthday and we’ve found it damn near impossible to keep our hands off each other.
We’ve been careful every single time, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m sitting on her bed waiting for her to come out of the bathroom with a pregnancy test. My palms are sweaty.
A baby is not part of our plans right now, but her period is late, and since she says it’s always regular there seems to be only one possible explanation.
My heart races when the toilet flushes in the bathroom. The sink runs and then the door creaks open and she joins me back in her room, shutting the door behind her. Her parents aren’t home, but they could be any time.
She sets the test down on her end table. Staring at it for a moment, she turns and paces back and forth a bit before she sits beside me, our legs and hips touching.
I see how scared she is. It’s written plainly in the frown lines that downturn her lips. Wrapping my arms around her, I kiss the top of her head.
“Whatever it says, we’re going to be okay.”
She sniffles. “I’m only seventeen. I’m too young to be a mom.”
“I know.” I close my eyes. “It might be negative.”
“It might,” she agrees, but I don’t detect an ounce of believability in her voice.
She flops back on her bed. “What are we going to do?”
I lay back and roll over, propping my head in my hand. “We’re going to take things one step at a time, starting with waiting to see what the test says.”
“My parents are going to kill us.”
I force a smile. “You’re not doing a very good job at this whole wait and see thing.”
Her lips tug down in a frown. “I’m sorry. It’s just that my period is never late.”
“I know,” I sigh, and join her prone position, staring up at the ceiling. Truth be told, I have little hope that the test will be negative, but I’ve tried to remain positive for her benefit.
“How long has it been?” she asks a minute or so later.
I check the watch on my wrist. “Long enough.”
She bites her lip. “Will you look?”
I don’t want to, but if it’ll make her feel better for me to check first then I’ll do whatever it takes to make her feel better.
Sitting up, I lean over to swipe the test off the nightstand.
I splurged and got a box of digital ones so there could be no confusion on our part.
A very clean PREGNANT 4-6 weeks stares up at me.
My throat constricts and I struggle to get my breath.
All she has to do is read my expression and she bursts into tears. “I told you,” she sobs.
I set the test down and pull my girl into my arms.
I feel sick to my stomach. This is my fault. I wanted to wait, and I took the precautions I could, but it obviously wasn’t good enough.
Harlow clings to me as she sobs, her hand fisted in the fabric of my hoodie.
I feel like shit.
“Baby,” I murmur, kissing her forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
She hiccups a sob. “It’s not your fault.”
“It kinda is,” I grit out.
That only makes her cry harder, and she gets out a garbled, “No it’s not. Two to tango.”
I’m not how much later it is when she manages to move from heaving sobs to small sniffling.
I wipe the dampness from her face. “It’s going to be okay,” I tell her.
“How do you know that?” she asks, her voice hoarse from crying.
“Because I know you,” I reason. “And you’re strong and resilient and I’m going to be by your side no matter what you decide.”
She wipes at her eyes. “Are we going to keep it?”
I wet my lips. I want to. The minute she told me she thought she was pregnant, I had already begun to imagine myself as a dad to a cute little girl in pigtails, or a little boy in tiny overalls like the ones I wore as a toddler.
But I’m also two years older than Harlow and I’m not the one who has to carry the child.
“What do you want to do?” I ask her, smoothing some of her hair off her forehead.
“I don’t know,” she admits, bottom lip wobbling. “I’m scared. What if I’d be a bad mom?”
“You could never be a bad mom,” I assure her.
“How can you know that?” She sniffles and I grab her a Kleenex. It comes in handy that her mom has a box in every room.
“Because I know you, and you’re the best person I know. The kindest. The most caring. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
She frowns. “I’m going to be a senior in high school with a baby.”
I shut my eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
Her fingers wrap around my wrist, and I blink my eyes open. “I don’t want you to apologize. I practically begged you to have sex with me.”
“You didn’t beg.”
She levels me with a look that says she disagrees.
“Think about things,” I tell her, cupping her cheek. “Decide what you want. I’m going to be here to support you no matter what.”
Her lips shake and she puts her hand over mine. “I’ll think some more, but I … I think I want to keep it.” She places her other hand against her stomach. “There’s a baby in me,” she whispers in a tone that’s a mix between awed and horrified.
“We can make it work,” I promise her.
“Even as young as we are?” She bites down on her lip and worry fills her eyes.
“Even then.”
I’m already thinking about how I can finish out this semester and then not go back to school in the fall.
I have a part-time job currently, but I’ll get something full-time during the summer and save every bit I get.
The baby won’t come until November if I’ve done my math right.
Harlow will still be in school, but maybe I can move in here to help with the baby or stay with my parents if hers don’t want me here, which I can’t say I’d blame them if they didn’t.
“I need to think about this,” she says softly. “I need to be sure. This will change our entire lives.”
“I know.” I hold her close. “Whatever you want to do, I’m here for you.”