Chapter 45
Forty-Five
Harper
I exhale and stare up at the ceiling, trying to be calm.
But the baby isn’t moving.
I prod at my belly, trying to encourage her to move, but…
Nothing.
And the longer I sit back here by myself without her moving, the harder it is to stay calm.
The ambulance ride was a blur, but I remember voices asking me questions, the sharp stick of an IV.
By the time I was wheeled back to this room, I was less hazy.
Because they were pumping me full of fluids.
Because I forgot to eat for almost twenty-four hours and also hadn’t drunk enough water and now…like Dr. Harlow warned, I’m in the hospital.
And my baby isn’t moving.
Because I passed out and hit my head and—
My chest seizes.
My baby isn’t moving.
The curtain pulls back with a little whoosh, the nurse who checked on me a few minutes ago back with the doctor. “How are we doing in here?” she asks.
“F-fine,” I say. “Are you going to do an ultrasound?”
I need to see my little potato’s fluttering heartbeat, need to know I didn’t—
“They’re bringing the machine in,” the doctor says gently, probing at my forehead and rattling off some doctorly requests to the nurse, who nods, pats me on the shoulder, then starts gathering supplies, setting them on a paper-covered metal table the doctor pulls to the bedside.
“We’ll get you patched up here and an obstetrician will come down for a consult,” she says. “Everything will be okay, I promise.”
Except if it’s not.
“Is there anyone we can call for you?” the nurse asks, her eyes kind. “Anyone who may be able to come and stay with you while you wait?”
I bite at my bottom lip. “My boy…” I hesitate. My baby daddy? The love of my fucking life who didn’t reply to my texts because I said something awful and now I’m not sure how to fix it?
“What’s his name?” the nurse asks.
“Leo,” I say. “Leo Richardson.”
“I see his number in your chart,” she says, tapping at the keyboard of the computer in the corner. “I’ll give him a call.”
“I—”
But she’s walking out of the room before I can finish, and…I guess I don’t really want to stop her anyway.
I want Leo to be here, to hold my hand, to tell me our little potato will be okay.
The doctor pulls on a fresh pair of gloves, picks up a syringe. “This will sting a little.”
I nod then wince, because, damn, that does hurt.
But it’s only for a second, and when she probes the spot a little while later, I already can’t feel anything. Then she’s stitching me up.
I close my eyes, not wanting to watch the needle as she brings it down to my skin.
Unfortunately, that gives me time to think, to remember—
“Are you okay?” the doctor asks, and I realize a tear has slipped free. “Can you feel this?”
“No,” I exhale, peel open my eyes to see her looking at me with concern. “I’m fine. I’m…just scared.” I admit.
“Scared about the baby?”
I nod as I dash the tear away. She pats my shoulder, does one more thing on my forehead before covering everything with a bandage. Then she peels off her gloves. “Give me a second.”
A moment later, she’s walking out of the room.
And to her credit, she’s back quickly, rolling in an ultrasound machine.
I clench my hands into fists and she pauses. “We can wait for the obstetrician to come down.”
“No,” I say. “Could you…could you make sure everything is okay?”
She nods and smiles softly, rolling the machine over and putting on a fresh pair of gloves. Then she has the wand in hand, is asking me to pull up my shirt.
“This will be cold.”
I nod and she squirts the gel on my belly.
I close my eyes as she presses the wand to my stomach and moves it around, and then…
I hear the best noise of my life.
Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh.
“Everything looks good,” she says, squeezing my hand. “But we’ll have the obstetrician come in to do a more comprehensive check, okay?”
I nod, so damned relieved that more tears leak from my eyes. “Thank you.”
“You’ve got this, Mama,” she whispers.
My heart convulses. “How will I be a good mom if I can’t even remember to eat?”
She’s quiet for a few seconds then sighs and lightly sets her hand on my shoulder. “That right there tells me enough.”
“About what?”
“About what kind of mother you’ll be to your little boy,” she says. “And, for the record, I mean a good one.”
Little boy?
God, I hope Reed has Leo’s eyes and his smile and his—
“How can you know I’ll be a good mom?” I blurt.
She passes me a tissue. “It’s simple.” A beat. “Because you care.”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath—
“She’s right, you know.”
Gasping, my lids fly open and I see Leo standing just inside the room. And maybe it’s not smart, maybe it’s weak when I should apologize for what happened yesterday first, but instead…I burst into tears.
He’s at my side in an instant, drawing me into his arms and holding me close.
“I’ll just give you two a minute,” I hear the doctor say.
“I-I’m s-sorry,” I sob. “Sorry I-I said th-that.”
His arms tighten. “I know you didn’t mean it, not really.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s okay!” I push against his chest and dash at my eyes. “I know all about the power of words and I just carelessly tossed that out there like it didn’t matter. But it does, and I’m sorry.”
He smooths back my hair and that small, normal gesture undoes me.
Because he’s touching me like it’s all going to be okay.
“Apology accepted,” he says. “But only if you let me properly grovel for being such an asshole. I…” He sighs.
“I don’t know what I was thinking—except that maybe I wasn’t.
Clearly, I have a lot of work to do to make it up to you, but I want you to know that I spent time this morning coming up with some ideas to split finances—I still don’t think it’s fair for us to go fifty-fifty, but maybe we can scale it based on income or you can pick up a few utility bills like you mentioned. ”
“Leo—”
“If you don’t want to do either of those things, maybe you can start a college fund or—”
“Leo,” I say. “Please just stop and listen.”
He rocks back slightly but, to his credit, he stops and he listens.
“You should have talked to me,” I say.
A wince.
“Really, you should have.”
Another.
“But you’re not perfect and”—I take a breath—“neither am I. With our pasts, we knew we were liable to fuck up at some point. So I’m thinking…
maybe we should go to therapy? Together or apart or both of those.
I want to be the best person I can be by the time the baby comes, and that means being open-minded and listening…
and also not freaking out so much when you need to walk things off that I end up in the hospital.
” I take his hand. “And maybe, for you, it means that you’re not scared to talk to me.
I saw the explosion that your parents brought, handsome.
It was intense and that was only dealing with their shit for a few hours.
A lifetime of having to navigate that?” I shake my head.
“I can understand why you were trying to smooth things over or avoid a blowup. Really, I can. But…we need to be better than our pasts.”
His eyes, warm and soft, lock onto mine. “You’re right, of course.”
Relief pouring through me, I allow my mouth to hitch up. “My favorite phrase of all time.”
He touches my cheek, tucks my hair behind my ear. “I love you.”
“I know,” I whisper.
His lips twitch. “Because I told you as I fell asleep?”
“That”—I cover his hand with my own—“and because you’ve shown me.” A beat. “Over and over again.”
“Harp,” he rasps, his eyes going glassy.
“And you don’t even have the pregnancy hormones to blame,” I tease.
He laughs and even though it’s watery, it’s still the best sound ever. Especially when I cup his cheeks for a change and say, “I love you too.”
Because that’s when a tear escapes, sliding down his cheek.
“I love you, Leo Richardson. You.”
“Fuck.” He shudders, drags me close. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Aside from the doctor saying that we’re having a boy?”
He pulls back and shrugs, those warm brown eyes holding mine. “This just means we get to try for a girl.”
“Excuse me?” I mock-glare at him. “I’m not even finished growing this one yet.”
“I’m planning ahead.” He presses his lips to my temple. “Because I’m keeping you forever.”
I open my mouth to tell him how much I like that…or maybe that I plan on keeping him right back, but there’s a knock and then the doctor from labor and delivery is striding into the room.
They examine me, do another ultrasound, and assure us that everything is okay—albeit with a side of stern warning for me to not skip meals.
I don’t argue.
I don’t want a repeat of today.
Leo just says, “I’ll make sure she eats regularly.”
And I know more fries and shakes are in my future.
I’m more than okay with that.
“Ready to go home?” he asks when the doctor leaves and I’ve received my discharge paperwork.
I shake my head. “No.”
He frowns. “Is something—”
“No, handsome.” I take his hand. “It’s just that we have a baby shower to get to.”