Chapter 42
Forty-Two
Leo
I come in through the door, bag of extra crispy fries and Neapolitan milkshake in hand, and still, my heart pounding out of my chest.
For no other reason than Harper is sitting cross-legged on the floor of the living room, a laundry basket in front of her and smiling up at me.
It’s nothing.
Normal.
And it’s mine.
I haven’t fucked it up.
I didn’t run away.
She saw my parents, saw me—and we’re figuring it out.
We’re sharing a bedroom and a bathroom, eating most of our meals together.
We talk and watch TV, hang out with the crew—we’ve even put the crib and rocking chair together.
We’re still negotiating the paint color for the nursery, but that’s more fun than anything else.
So why haven’t you talked to her about those bills?
Because…I’m an idiot.
Same reason as I ask, “Did you buy this all today?”
She frowns—gaze going from the basket to the small pile of clothes on the couch and coffee table. “Um, yeah.”
“Why? I could have paid for them.”
It’s accusatory, and it makes her eyes flash.
“Excuse me?”
“Fuck, sorry,” I say quickly. “I…I didn’t mean it like that.”
“How did you mean it?”
“I know you’ve been working so hard, I don’t want you to have to worry about it. You should be saving your money instead of—”
Her eyes flash again. “Instead of what exactly?”
“I just mean…”
She sets the onesie aside. “You mean what exactly?”
I open my mouth.
Close it.
“You’ve been acting weird about money for weeks now. Are you feeling like things are unfair? Do you need me to contribute more?”
“No.” I shake my head. “That’s not what I meant. I have plenty of money. You should use yours to do what you want.”
“Like to not pay the mortgage or the water bill or even the garbage bill? Or for groceries or meals out? Now I’m not even supposed to buy baby clothes, is that right?”
“Harp, I don’t—”
“Mean that? Except…it seems like you do. Because every time I try to pay for something you stop me.”
Fuck.
This isn’t how I wanted this conversation to go.
“Baby, I—”
“So tell me, is this about your parents? Do you have some hang up about me paying for things because your mom demanded to be taken care of?” She shakes her head. “I like to work. I like to pay my own way. And I need to contribute—”
My head is spinning with all the things I need to say, with how to say them, how to make her understand that I want to protect her, to make things easier on her.
And because of that…
I bungle it by saying, “I make a lot more money than you, baby. I don’t need you to contribute.”
Hurt ripples across her face. “If that’s truly how you feel, then we need to have a serious conversation about finances.”
Fuck. That’s not...
What I meant.
But I don’t get a chance to utter those useless words out loud again.
Which is probably for the best.
It’s not like they’re good ones anyway.
It’s not like I’ve been able to say any good ones considering how off the rails this conversation has gone in such a short amount of time.
It’s just—
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know I’m fucking this up. It’s just that you’ve worked so hard, been through so much. I don’t want you to have to worry about things. You can just grow our baby and work as much as you want and…just chill for a bit and let me take care of you.”
She’s quiet for a minute. “That’s truly how you feel?”
I nod.
“Have you ever thought to ask how I feel?”
“Harper,” I say, moving toward her, reaching out to cup her face.
But she jerks back and up to her feet. “No,” she says firmly. “I…” A breath, her gaze dropping to her feet before it comes back up to mine. “I want to be a partner in this, in our relationship. It’s bad enough that I moved in so soon—”
“I—”
“But I agree it makes things easier day-to-day, and it makes sense—especially since the landlord let me out of my lease without any penalties.”
I wince.
Unfortunately, she sees it.
“What?” she asks. “What did you do?”
“I kind of…” I clench my stomach muscles. “I guess I kind of paid the fee to break your lease.”
“You kind of paid the fee?” she asks dangerously.
“I didn’t want there to be any obstacles to you moving in,” I explain. Lamely.
“I see,” she says.
It’s quiet and filled with hurt.
“Mama—”
“Don’t.”
Fuck, that tears through me.
But I have to make her understand—I have to.
“I saw the bills, baby,” I tell her.
“What bills?”
“Back in your apartment. That night I finally stayed again. When I was leaving in the morning, I went to leave you a note and I saw a whole stack of bills.” I exhale, shove a hand through my hair.
“I tried to pay them, but they wouldn’t let me even get that far without confirming I was you, so I figured that if I took some of the pressure off, you could get ahead—”
“That’s why you asked me to move in?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” I shake my head. “That’s not the only reason. I want you here.”
“Where you can take care of me.”
“Yes!” I move close to her again, take her face in my hands.
“Because you’re what? Worried that I won’t be able to take care of our baby?” She jerks out of my hold, steps away. “That I’m just a pathetic poor girl who needs to be rescued?”
“God, no. I just—”
“Those bills were the last of my student loans and the medical debt I took on when my mom got sick. I’ve worked my ass off over the last few years to catch up on them and they’re paid off now. I made the last payments probably not long after you saw them.”
“I—why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. “That’s big. We could have celebrated—”
“Maybe I should have. But then we got busy with the move and these last few weeks have been insane.” Her eyes fix on mine. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d seen them? Why didn’t you talk to me about it if it was so concerning to you?”
Her face is fucking killing me.
“It’s not like you think,” I say in a rush.
“Except, you keep saying that…but don’t explain how it’s not like I think.” She drops her face into her hands and groans. “Do you even love me?”
My heart convulses.
“Wh-what?”
“You said it just before you fell asleep a couple weeks ago, right after we’d…” She waves a hand, her cheeks going a little pink. “Do you mean that too? Or is it another case of you don’t mean it like that?”
“Baby,” I begin.
I love her. Of course I do.
I just don’t want to say it like this, to hurt her like this.
“I—”
She bends over on a cry, clutching her side.
“Mama,” I say, rushing over. “What’s the matter?”
Her eyes are watery. “Nothing.”
“Is it the baby?” I press.
She rubs at her belly and straightens. “The baby’s fine.”
“Then what—”
“You,” she whispers, straightening. “You’re what’s the matter with me.”
I rear back, have to lock my knees to keep upright, that wounds me so deeply. She flinches and looks away, exhaling heavily.
“It’s that round ligament pain the doctor mentioned, okay?” She pushes out of my arms. “I’m fine. I wouldn’t hide it if I wasn’t. I’m not like that.”
You’re what’s the matter with me.
Christ.
She’s not wrong.
I created this mess.
Added to it.
And I can’t continue to stare into her ravaged face.
I step back from her.
“Leo?”
“I have to go,” I whisper.
“Leo, I—”
“I’ll come back. I promise.”
But right now, I can’t look at her, talk to her, be here with her.
So…I turn and get the fuck out of there.