Crazy in Love

My parents seem to be in top form—aloof, quick with the judgments, and ready to take advantage of any shortcoming that presents itself. Basically, just like my childhood.

We order our food, and the conversation veers toward lighter topics, ones more suitable for their moods, like their travels and what they’re planning for the holidays still six months away.

An envelope slides across the table during dessert. I don’t need to open it to know what it is, but I do, putting on the show for them, like a blank check will ever make up for my lost childhood. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“What do you think you’re buying with it?” my mom asks.

“I’m not sure. Something special.” Maybe, this birthday’s gift will go toward my baby. Right now, I don’t want to tell them. I don’t want to gift them with this beautiful news.

But my nerves are starting to get the better of me again. I don’t even think I can eat dessert. I look at Harrison for assurance and find it in the depth of his blue eyes.

I fold the check and put it in my clutch before I find Harrison’s hand under the table again. This is the moment. The one when I tell my parents they’re about to become grandparents.

“Mom? Dad? Harrison and I would like to tell you something important.”

My mom is onto us, her eyes looking back and forth between us like she’s watching Wimbledon. “Why build it up? Just say it.”

One more glance is exchanged with my one ally at the table before I say, “I’m pregnant.”

Boom.

Just like that.

I’m in. I drop the bomb. And then I sit there and wait for World War III to begin.

Except it doesn’t.

There wasn’t any noise before I confessed my secret, but now it’s dead quiet in this corner of the restaurant. The waiter even stops by, but as soon as he opens his mouth, he closes it and rushes away again.

My mom asks, “This is a joke, right? The godparent thing was too much, so you having your own baby at this point in your life is not a good idea. Please tell me you’re trying to get a rise out of us like you did when you were a teen.”

I can’t say I was hoping for the best. I was expecting the worst. And she beat those expectations. “You’re a horrible person.”

“Tatum,” my dad snaps at me.

“You both are. I don’t know why you had me.”

“Because of the inheritance,” my mom replies like that is normal.

Harrison is standing and pulling out my chair. “We’re done here.”

I don’t remember breathing or not breathing. I only remember the look in their eyes as we got up and decided to leave them behind. I also remember how the world got quiet that night, my thoughts screaming in my head.

Harrison was holding my hand but already held my heart. And that night he proved it. On the sidewalk, I tugged him to a stop. When he turned back, unsure why I did that, he asks, “What’s going on?”

“I love you.”

27

Harrison

I had plans.

Romantic plans.

Plans that included us dancing in the living room, romancing her on her birthday, and then telling her how I feel about Tatum. But after that . . . after her parents just told her that she was born so they could receive a fucking inheritance, I’m livid. How can parents do that to their own flesh and blood? On her fucking birthday, no less.

Standing on a sidewalk in the middle of Manhattan wasn’t my plan for romancing my girl, but my brave beauty—who loves me—needs to know this truth. “I love you, Tatum.”

She never appeared to second-guess what she confessed, and neither do I.

Nodding, she asks, “You do?”

“Call me crazy, but I’ve fallen completely in love with you.” Raising her hand to my mouth, I kiss it. “You drive me nutty sometimes, and I find you so hard to read at other times. But we have something special, a connection that time and distance never broke. Can’t break.” Pulling her into my arms, I say, “I love you, Tatum. All of you.”

Her smile cracks open, and her arms tighten around me. “I love you, too. So much.”

I catch her rolling her eyes, though. “What is it?”

“I have nothing to complain about other than water under the bridge that you never texted or called, even when you had a way to get my number.”

“Yeah,” I say, sighing, “I fucked up, but I’m willing to do the time to make it up to you.” Swaying her hips back and forth, I ask, “What are you going to do for me for making the same mistake?” I waggle my eyebrows so easily pleased.

Her laughter is so good to hear. I know her parents’ disgusting attitude and comment will settle in, but I don’t see regret in her eyes. Yet. She’s much stronger than I am.