Chapter 4
four
HARPER
F or the next two days, I pretend there’s nothing going on in my life. Any time I think about the pregnancy or feel nauseated, I push the thought out of my head and continue on with whatever I’m doing.
I’m not exactly conflict avoidant. Well, maybe I am because when a problem presents itself in my life that I don’t feel equipped to deal with, I have a bad habit of pretending it doesn’t exist until it becomes so overwhelming I have no choice.
And there’s definitely a timeline issue this time.
First, there will be signs of the pregnancy when my stomach grows.
Then I can’t just show up to a family dinner with a baby in a carrier and say surprise.
Well, I could actually see myself doing that.
Oh, who am I kidding, my family would figure it out before my pregnancy ever got that far.
They’re all like FBI agents when it comes to anyone keeping a secret.
When Saturday comes around, I run a few errands and swing by my parents’ house.
It was my grandparents’ house that my dad inherited and raised my brother and me in.
I always feel a mix of nostalgia and comfort when I walk in, something I’m in desperate need of right now.
It’s as though I woke up this morning and the little boy or girl inside of me said, I’m done with being ignored. Go figure, it’s part me after all.
I open the door without knocking. “Hello…” When no one answers, I head through the family room toward the kitchen. “Mom?” I search out the window to see if they’re on the deck. “Dad?”
I step just inside the kitchen. “Oh god!”
My dad is furiously tucking his golf shirt into his pants, and my mom is washing her hands at the sink, trying to appear as if they weren’t just fooling around during the day. I thought they were in their, like, once-a-year-on-their-anniversary fucking. Not broad-daylight-in-the-kitchen fucking.
My dad shrugs, his cheeks not even pinkening. “A call would have been nice.”
“This is my house.” I avoid all eye contact, heading over to the fridge to grab a pop. “Tell me I missed your anniversary.”
“What? No.” Dad kisses Mom on the cheek.
A girl can hope, can’t she?
“You should be happy you have parents who still can’t keep their hands off one another,” Mom says.
A strangled cry erupts out of me as I pop open the can. “Let me live in my bubble please.” I still for a moment, the baby pressing on my stomach, asking to be remembered again.
Crap, is pop bad for a baby? I glance up, and my mom is giving me a quizzical look. She probably knows, but I can’t ask her, so I set the can on the counter without taking a sip, hoping my parents are so much in their afterglow they don’t notice.
I promise, little one, I’ll do more research.
“What brings you by, Harp?” my dad asks, sitting at the table with his tablet in front of him. He holds it up toward me. “Did you see Sportsverse did an article on your brother?”
Crossing my arms, I lean against the counter as my mom dries her hands with a towel.
“I guess I missed that one,” I say.
I love my brother. I do. But all my life, it’s been him and his baseball career and how successful he is.
While I’m here toying with the idea of telling them I got knocked up at Palmer’s wedding by the best man I’d just met.
My brother and I are on different playing fields—literally—when it comes to my parents.
I shrug. “Just thought I’d swing by for a visit. No reason.”
My mom studies me, and I see her mommy detective skills go on high alert, like little antennae popping out of her red hair. I attempt to give off an unaffected, casual air.
I must succeed because she just says, “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
Man, I’m really getting better at this whole omission thing.
“No, that’s okay. Thanks though.”
“Did you watch your brother’s game last night?” my dad asks.
I pick up my can of pop and join him at the table. Truth is, I totally forgot about Easton’s game last night. He’s the shortstop for the Chicago Colts, and I usually try to watch at least part of his games, or at the very least the next day’s recap.
“No, I missed it. Did he knock one out of the park?”
He shrugs. “No. Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been better too.”
My dad missed out on his chance to go to the pros when he had to leave college to return to Alaska in order to raise his siblings with Aunt Savannah after their parents died unexpectedly.
He said he’s never had any regrets, but I think sometimes he likes that his son got to where he wanted to be too.
“There’s always a next game,” I say.
My mom sets down a bowl with my favorite trail mix and takes a seat beside me.
On any other day, I’d already have my hand in the bowl, but this constant nausea is really putting a thorn in my habit of snacking more than eating a meal.
But if I don’t have any, those little antennae will slowly come back up.
“Thanks.” I take a small amount and eat it. “Is East planning to come home when the season is done?” He usually does, for a while anyway, but I keep forgetting to ask him when we talk.
“I sure hope so. I miss my son,” Mom says, covering her heart with her hand.
I refrain from rolling my eyes. My mom dotes on my brother. Not that she doesn’t dote on me too, it’s just in different ways. My brother’s dreams were always bigger than mine. That was clear early on in our lives. He was going to go somewhere while I was… not.
“How’s work going?” my dad asks, and I’m thankful he changes the subject away from my brother and baseball.
“Good. Busy. I met with an out-of-town bride yesterday, and another couple is flying in next week.”
“Oh, Harp, that’s great news. Sounds like business is going well.” My dad peeks over the edge of his tablet and smiles.
“Do you ever think about catering more to the local clientele and not worrying so much about the out-of-state people?” my mom asks.
I grit my teeth and take a deep breath through my nose.
My mom was a principal until she retired, and the guidance role that she had with her students trickled down to everything I did, whether I asked or not.
She means well, I know she does, but it always makes me feel as if I’m doing something wrong.
“I do cater to the locals, Mom, there just aren’t enough of them to keep my business afloat, which is why I cast a wider net. So far, my plan has been working.” My tone comes out a little snippier than I intend, and my dad peeks up over his tablet with raised eyebrows.
She raises her hands. “I was just asking.”
I know she worries and that she asks out of love and concern for my future, but the fact that years later, she still questions how I’m running my business spurs feelings of unworthiness inside me.
Does she ask Easton if he’s really doing everything he needs to in order to win the Golden Glove award this year? Somehow, I doubt it.
“You’re doing a great job, kiddo.” My dad shares a look with my mom, and she pats my hand.
“Absolutely.” She gives me a smile as if she’s appeasing me but really thinking that if it was her, she’d do something different.
Deciding that it’s best to move on, I change the subject and ask them about the trip they have planned in a couple of months once winter settles in. Ever since they both retired from the high school, they usually spend a month or two in a warmer climate, like Arizona or California.
My parents tell me all about the condo they’ve rented in Palm Springs and their plans for activities.
They’re definitely excited, their love for one another shining as they play off each other.
My parents’ story as to how they met has always been told to me by people in town.
How in love they were and still are. The way my dad changed his course because of my mom.
On and on, I’ve heard stories as if they’re Lake Starlight’s fairytale love story.
Which is gross, since it began with them hooking up in the back seat of my dad’s Jeep that still sits in the garage.
They take it out once in a while during the summer, and after what I just walked in on, I’m thinking I never want to ride in it again.
“You’ve barely touched your trail mix or your pop. Are you feeling okay?” My mom puts her hand on my forehead.
Leaning to the side, I shift away from her touch. “I’m fine. I just had a big lunch, that’s all.”
I look between the two of them… I could tell them now. Just blurt out that I’m pregnant even though I’m not completely sure of my decision yet. But when I imagine telling them, all I envision is the look of profound disappointment on their faces. Them thinking that Harper has screwed up yet again.
My parents love me, I know that. But I’ve always felt as though I can’t live up to being Austin and Holly Bailey’s daughter.
Their names, my family name, is kind of a big deal in this town.
My brother never had any trouble living up to being a Bailey.
He did well in school, did well in sports, and somehow kept all the shit he did a secret, while every time I did anything, I was caught.
And now he’s a professional athlete, a hometown hero.
He’s got a trophy case in the high school, and he’s turned everyone into a Colts fan, and when he comes home, you’d think he was the mayor.
And the people always say, “And they have a daughter, Harper. She… well, she looks just like her mother.”
I get the difference. I never took school seriously. I was always impulsive and wild and found myself in the usual sort of teenage trouble growing up.
I can’t say anything to them yet. Not until I have a plan worked out to present to them. Maybe if that’s the case, they won’t freak out and give me that look like I just can’t do anything right.
One thing is for sure, I have to figure out what I’m going to do and soon.
After I leave my parents’ house, I head to the cabin with the hope that solitude will offer some clarity about what I want to do.
As I drive through Lake Starlight’s small downtown, I pass the town square and fixate on all the families there.
The parents playing with their children, chasing them around and pushing them on the swings and catching them when they come down the slide.
Can I really do that? What if I answer a phone call, and my kid flies off the slide and goes airborne?
Once I’m inside the cabin, I open some of the windows to let in some fresh air. Although the weather is growing colder with each passing day, you learn early to take advantage of being able to keep windows open when you live in Alaska. There are way too many months we’re holed up inside.
Now, what do I do? I don’t really enjoy quiet or solitude. I’m more of a go go go person, socializing with friends and family. My mind travels a mile a minute, so any lack of background noise makes all my thoughts louder.
When I was here with Palmer, I didn’t do much more than take a surface look at everything, so this time I wander around the small space.
There are some bottles of water in the fridge and canned food in the cupboards that someone left behind.
There’s also an unopened box of saltines.
I wonder if Palmer left them for me or if one of my cousins has something to share.
This nausea is killing my addiction to food, but I should eat, so I open the box and grab a sleeve of crackers. I take crackers with me as I continue my exploration, taking small nibbles.
The bathroom is small and dated, but clean. In the one bedroom, there’s a dresser with a few items of clothing in the drawers. The top of the closet is piled with extra blankets and pillows. As I’m about to shut the closet doors, my gaze snags on something leaning against the wall in the back.
Curious, I pull it—actually them, now that I’m closer—out and set them on the bed.
“Oh my god.” I flip through the poster boards.
Great-Grandma Dori was known for meddling in her grandchildren’s love lives, but I had no idea she went this far.
Each board is designated for one of my aunts and uncles, my dad included.
Every single one resembles a crime board on TV when a detective is trying to link a case together.
Except these are plans to get them together with their now husbands and wives. Way to go, Great-Grandma!
I giggle reading all her schemes, but then a feeling of melancholy descends over me. I miss my great-grandma so much. She was one of a kind. If she were here, she’d know what to tell me because she had the best advice.
After I put the boards back in the closet, I lie down on the bed. I’ve been so tired lately. Tired and nauseous. So far, pregnancy isn’t much fun.
I let my mind wander, trying to picture the outcome of three options.
If I don’t continue with this pregnancy, could I pretend it never happened?
No way. I’d always wonder what if. Wonder what my baby may have looked like.
What his or her personality would have been like.
Most of all, whether I made the right choice.
I’d most likely always mourn the loss of what could have been.
Which means…
The weight of the decision presses my body into the mattress.
I’ll be doing this on my own. I’ll tell Finn about the pregnancy, but he lives in Vermont.
Even if he wanted to be involved, it wouldn’t be on a full-time basis.
Which means I’d be a single mother. Me. Harper Bailey. The impulsive, promiscuous party girl.
The what-if game plays in my head further. What if my wedding planner business fails? What if I’m a terrible mother? What if I mess him or her up? What will everyone think when they find out?
I breathe through the anxiety tightening my chest and roll onto my side, lightly pressing a hand to my belly. A knowing seeps into my bones. It won’t be easy, but I already know my decision—I’m going to be a mother.