Dad and Grandma.”
“Will do. Bye.”
The line goes dead and I close my eyes. Relax.
I stay like this for a while, trying to clear my head. Trying to work my way through the muddy waters of my brain. The mother of my child is almost three thousand miles away, and I don’t know when I’ll see her again. Will I even see her again? Shit. We didn’t really talk a lot about the future and us and how we’d tackle everything.
Who can blame us though? Neither one of us was prepared for this.
How is it possible to know someone intimately, yet still remain strangers?
Or do I know Harper? Maybe better now after her visit?
Our night together was through-the-roof amazing. Why didn’t I ask her why she left?
Until now, my brain’s been so busy trying to get used to the news, trying to catch up, that everything else has faded to the background. Our night, the morning after, everything’s on a momentary pause.
The computer pings, showing that her plane landed fifteen minutes ago, and something in my chest loosens.
Harper made it across the country safely. The mother of my child. My baby. They’re both safe.
If that isn’t the most insane, oddest, yet momentous thought I’ve had in a while, I don’t know what is.
I unlock my phone, open Harper’s contact, and click the message icon.
Ryan: I saw you landed. Hope you had a good flight.
I don’t have to wait long for her answer. Did she let someone else know she made it? Her mom is still on her trip, her dad lives here, and her best friend moved to England. Who else is in her life? Any other friends or family? Maybe that fact sheet Harper was talking about wouldn’t be such a terrible idea after all.
Or you could ask her.
My head is spinning, and I feel like I need to make a list of questions I want to ask her.
Harper: I did, thank you. Just wish I was home already. I hate the commute to and from the airport. Especially when it’s dark out.
Well, there goes my attempt at staying calm.
Ryan: Do you still have to drive?
* * *
Harper: No. I’ll take the train.
* * *
Ryan: By yourself?
Shit. I know that’s normal for New York, but is it safe? For a pregnant woman?
My heart rate increases until the sensation of being squeezed snaps me out of it, the physical pressure on my body dissolving.
I’m so fucked. This whole situation. This woman. I’m tied to her for the rest of my life. And she’s back on the other side of the country.
Harper: Yes, by myself, silly. You think I have an escort waiting for me at the train station?
* * *
Ryan: Smart-ass
Twenty minutes later, her next reply flashes on my screen.
Harper: It’s not my first rodeo, cowboy.
Images of New Year flash through my brain. Harper on top of me with me deep inside her. Sharing the kind of ecstasy that comes once every blue moon. If you’re lucky.
An image loads on my screen.
Harper: See, barely anyone here. I shall be fine.
It’s a selfie. Her smiling face takes up most of the screen with an almost empty train car behind her.
She looks young in the picture. So incredibly young. How did I seriously not notice that the first time we met? Sure, she was wearing heavier makeup, and her black dress might have been distracting too, but it’s impossible to ignore now. She’s a lot younger than me.
Her blue eyes are bright but tired with small shadows underneath and her black eye is still visible. Her blonde hair is tucked under a colorful wool hat that’s covering her head wound, her lips a rosy pink. She’s wrapped in a gigantic coat with a thick scarf wrapped around her neck.
She’s adorable. And fucking beautiful.
Will our baby have blue eyes or brown? Will we have a little girl with blonde hair and brown eyes? The perfect mix of us?
What am I talking about? Who the hell cares about that yet.
The better question is, how am I going to handle this?
Sure, I’ll provide for the baby. Help Harper however I can. But what’s the protocol for Harper and me?
We had sex, yes. Hot sex. Several times.
But I barely know her. Are we even friends at this point?
Do I want to be friends with Harper?
I’ve been so caught up in my thoughts, I haven’t texted her back.
Ryan: If someone comes near you, punch them in the throat.
* * *
Harper: That’s some weird advice but I’ll keep it