Chapter 3 #2
But my body won’t cooperate. My thumb stays frozen above the phone.
Once I open this email, one of those paths goes dark forever.
And I’m not ready.
I’m not ready to let go of Caleb or accept that what we had—those few perfect months when I was his and he was mine—might be all I ever get.
“Babe.” Z’s hand covers mine on the phone. “Whatever it says, we’re going to be okay. You and me. We’ve survived worse than this.”
Have we, though? I don’t know anymore.
Enough.
My thumb moves before I can stop it.
Tap.
The email opens.
I scan the professional, generic text.
Your recent Non-Invasive Prenatal Paternity Test has been processed. Attached you will find the final laboratory report for your review.
My heart hammers so hard I can feel it in my throat and in my fingertips as I click the damn attachment.
The PDF loads slowly—too slowly, like the universe is giving me one last chance to back out, close the app, and pretend I never saw the notification.
But then it’s there.
My eyes scan frantically, looking for—
Alleged Father Information
Name: Zedekiah Dawson
No.
No no no.
My gaze jumps down, desperate, searching for Caleb’s name somewhere—anywhere—in this document. For some kind of mistake. For evidence that they tested the wrong person, or mixed up the samples, or—
Probability of Paternity: >99.9%
The words blur, and my head refuses to process the words. But my eyes drop back to the numbers.
Zedekiah Dawson. 99.9%
I read the page again, from top to bottom. And again.
Like if I just stare long enough, the words and numbers will rearrange themselves into something different.
But they don’t change.
Z is the father.
Not Caleb.
Not Caleb.
The phone slips from my hands, but Z catches it, his reflexes too quick. He’s looking at the screen and I see the moment he processes it—the way his whole body goes still—
He exhales slowly, then a smile starts small and grows until it transforms his entire face.
“It’s mine,” he breathes. “Harper, it’s—holy shit, it’s mine.”
He’s happy. Of course he’s happy. This is what he wanted.
But I can’t breathe.
Because the other path just went dark, vanishing like it never existed. Because it didn’t. It was only ever an ephemeral dream in my head.
There will never be a phone call to Caleb.
No nervous conversation.
No bridge back to each other, or a second chance at the thing I fucked up so spectacularly.
As night shadows the right-forking path, I try to remember that this is what I wanted. That I'm not old enough to be a parent.
It’s time to get back to the real path I’ve been planning since Z and I were kids.
But then, as I look up at him—
I see it again.
Z’s baby. Dark-eyed and sharp-featured.
“Harper?” Z’s hands are on my face, tilting it up. “Babe, you okay? Say something.”
I force my eyes to focus on him.
To really see him.
Z is gorgeous. He’s here. He wants this with me.
He’s not Caleb.
“I’m okay,” I hear myself say. The lie tastes like battery acid. “I’m just—processing.”
“We’re having a baby.” Z’s voice cracks with emotion.
We are? I think, dumbfounded.
“You and me, Harp. Just like—fuck, just like we always talked about when we were kids. Remember? We used to plan it all out. We’d have a family of our own someday. A real family, cause we’d make it. You were gonna be an artist, and I was gonna—”
“Yeah,” I cut him off before he can finish painting that picture. Before he can remind me of all those childhood dreams we spun in the dark of his bedroom when we were young and stupid and thought life was simple. “I remember.”
He pulls me into his arms and I let him, even though his chest is all wrong—too narrow where Caleb’s was broad, too wiry where Caleb was solid muscle from the bench press in the garage.
Over Z’s shoulder, I can see Rosa watching us from her station, a knowing look in her eyes. Ximena gives me a thumbs-up from the dish pit.
They think this is good news.
Maybe it is.
Maybe I should be relieved. The choice has been made for me—I don’t have to agonize over terminating Caleb’s baby or figuring out how to co-parent with him after leaving him when his mother was dying, then immediately betraying him by sleeping with his enemy.
It’s not like we could’ve ever gotten over that, anyway.
It’s time to stop refreshing that Facebook request.
The path is clear now.
Z and me and this baby.
So why does it feel like I just attended a funeral for the life I’ll never get to live?
“Come here.” Z pulls back, eyes shining. “Let’s go home. Fuck this shift—I’ll tell Dani you’re not feeling good. We should celebrate. Process this together.”
“Z—”
“Please?” His hand finds my stomach—still flat, still showing no evidence of the life taking shape inside. “I just want to be with you right now. Just us.”
I nod because I still don’t trust my voice.
Our room is stifling when we get back—the AC in this section of the trailer can’t always combat the worst of Texas’s July heat. Z turns on the window unit, but it always takes a while to start cooling the room.
“Sit,” he says gently, guiding me to the bed. “I’m gonna get you water. Have you eaten today?”
I shake my head.
Food sounds impossible.
He disappears, and I’m alone with the realization still sinking in, settling into my bones like concrete.
It’s Z’s baby.
Not Caleb’s.
Z returns with water and some crackers from our pathetic pantry stash. He sits beside me, watching me with those dark eyes that have known me since we were twelve years old.
“Talk to me,” he says softly. “What are you thinking?”
What am I thinking?
I’m thinking that I can still feel the ghost of Caleb’s hands on my skin. I’m thinking that three and a half months ago I was in his bed, in his arms, and he was whispering I love you into my hair. I’m thinking that I never said it back and now I never will.
I’m thinking that I’m about to become my mother—knocked up and trapped and trying to make the best of it with a man I care about but am not in love with. Not the way I love Caleb.
Love. Present tense. Fuck.
“I’m thinking,” I say slowly, carefully, “that I need to stop being such a piece of shit to you.”
Z’s brow furrows. “What?”
“You’ve been nothing but good to me.” The words feel rehearsed, even though they’re not.
I just need to say the obvious thing out loud, otherwise it feels like there’s an elephant in the room between us, when we’ve always talked about everything.
“Since the day we left Dallas, you’ve been patient and supportive, and you’ve never once made me feel bad for being so…
distant. For not being able to give you what you want. ”
“Harper—”
“No, let me finish.”
I set the water down and force myself to meet his stare. “This is your baby. Our baby. And I’m done with the bullshit. I’m done holding back and comparing you to—”
I can’t say his name. Can’t. “I’m done living in the past.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do.” My hands find his. “You’ve waited for me your whole life, Z. And I’m finally—” I breathe out hard. “I’m ready. To be all in. Heart, mind…”
I swallow hard. “… And body.”
It’s a lie.
Or at least, it’s aspirational.
Because my heart still belongs to a boy four hours north who probably hasn’t thought about me in months. But maybe if I say it enough, it’ll become true.
Maybe I can force myself to love Z the way he deserves.
Maybe I can kill the part of me that’s still aching for Caleb.
“Harper.” Z’s voice is rough. “You don’t have to do this. I don’t need you to—”
I kiss him and cut off whatever he was going to say with my mouth on his.
It’s been three months since that night I don’t remember, when apparently I initiated everything the first time.
But this time I’m not drunk.
Z’s lips are soft. And less sure than I expect.
He responds slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid I’ll bolt. One hand comes up to cup my face, and I lean into it, trying desperately to feel something. Anything.
His tongue slides against mine and it’s fine.
It’s good, even. Technically proficient.
But it’s not right.
His kiss tastes wrong. Feels wrong. The rhythm is off, the pressure not quite what my body expects.
Because my body expects Caleb.
My body remembers the way Caleb kissed me—slow and deliberate and worshipful, like every press of his lips was a promise he intended to keep.
Stop it, brain. Stop it.
This kiss is fine.
Good even.
This is the kiss I’m having.
I kiss Z harder, hands sliding under his shirt and around the warm skin of his back. He’s real and he’s here.
But it’s not Caleb’s solid back. Not his broader shoulders. Not his—
“Harper.” Z breaks the kiss, breathing hard. “Wait. Are you sure?”
It’s Z’s baby inside me. Even if I end the pregnancy, there’s still no going back.
I made the choices that separated me from Caleb.
There’s a good man in front of me, and if there’s anything else I learned from my mother, it’s how few good men there are. Z’s been my family. The seven months in Dallas were nothing but a blip.
Z has always been my home. And though I always swore I’d never end up a pregnant teenager, my time in Dallas proved all I’ve ever really wanted is family.
And here it is, right in front of me.
Z’s ready to step up.
I can be the mother I never had.
We can really do this. We can make our dreams into reality. All the raw materials are right here.
I just have to reach out and take everything I ever wanted, as long as I stop being an idiot.
“Yes,” I whisper earnestly to Z.
“I’m sure.”
I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything.
But I still need to cement this decision with action.
I need to fuck Z until I can’t remember the feel of Caleb’s touch.
Z’s eyes search mine, and I see the war there—want versus concern, desire versus decency. He’s such a good man. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
“I’m not.” Another lie. “I want this. I want you.”
Please believe me. Please just take what I’m offering before I lose my nerve.