“Okay.” She leans back heavily against the countertop, like it’s all that’s keeping her standing. “Okay. It’s all going to be okay.”
I’m not sure if she’s trying to convince me or herself.
“It’s not okay, Harper. It’s a mess. It’s all a total mess. How can I possibly raise a baby?” My voice gets hysterical. After weeks of resolutelynottalking about this, now that it’s finally out in the open I can’t seem to stop the torrent of words that rush forth from my lips. “I can barely take care ofmyself. There’s no way I can handle this, Harper. I don’t know anything about crying infants or little kids. I don’t think I can do this at all, let alone by myself, as a single mom—”
“Honey! Honey,stop.” Sitting down on the edge of the tub beside me, she circles her arms around my shivering frame and pulls me in close. “You’re getting way ahead of yourself right now.”
“But—but—” I blubber like an idiot. “I—”
“Shhh.” She pushes my head down to lay against her shoulder and strokes my hair like I’m a little kid. “Just breathe for a minute. You don’t have to decide anything right now. You’ve got months to figure things out. And you aren’t alone, idiot. You’ve got me. No matter what you decide to do, I’ll be with you every step of the way. I promise.”
A shuddering breath escapes me — one I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. For the past three weeks, from the moment I open my eyes every morning until they finally slip closed at night, I’ve been so full of tension, so weighted down by the heft of this monumental secret, I didn’t even realize the burden of carrying it alone until this second, when I’ve finally set it free. Something inside me unclenches. I feel lighter than I have since the moment the pregnancy test flashed the wordpositiveas I sat right here on the edge of this tub and felt my world tilt on its axis.
I let Harper stroke my hair for what feels like forever, until my ragged breaths are calm and my eyes are dry. When I lift my head off her shoulder, she smiles faintly.
“I know you’re scared. It’s okay to be scared. But there are some things we need to do.” Her eyes are gentle. “You should have an ultrasound, just to confirm you’re actually pregnant and that everything is on track. You should also start taking pre-natal vitamins. And… it would probably be good to talk to someone who actually knows what the hell they’re doing when it comes to babies, because frankly, this is out of my skill set.”
I feel my panic returning and force it back. “I’ll make an appointment for sometime this week.”
“Good.”
“Harper?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Will you come with me?”
“Of course I will. You never even have to ask. Whatever you need, I’m there.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” She pauses. “But, for the record… if you have this kid, I get to be the godmother, right?”
I roll my eyes. “Glad your priorities are in check.”
She snorts, but sobers quickly. “Hey, one more thing.”
I lift my brows. “What?”
“That thing you said before, about how you can’t handle this. That’s crap. You realize that, right?”
“But—”
“Nobuts. You are not the same girl you used to be, crawling into a bottle whenever things get tough, refusing to acknowledge your own feelings, unable to ask for help when you need it. I watched you the other night. I saw you take command of a shitty situation. Ryder Woods may be a washed up coke head, but he was spot on. You’re a badass, Katharine Firestone. You’re honest and hard-working and, even if you don’t like to admit it, you care deeply for the few people you allow to get close. You protect those who need help. You take charge in a crisis. You never take no for an answer. You stand up for yourself. You’re a fighter.” Her voice softens. “I hate to break it to you, but those are all the qualities that make for a good mother.”
I suck in a terrified breath. “You think?”
“Iknow.”
* * *
We getto Sloan’s fashionably late, since Harper had to redo our makeup after the bathroom breakdown. The party is already in full swing.
“Ready?” Harper asks, adjusting the cleavage in her beaded turquoise dress. Her eyes peek out from between a flurry of peacock feathers.
“I think so.” Reaching up, I give a slight tug to ensure my mask is tied securely then follow her out of the backseat, taking care not to trip on the loose limestone driveway in my razor-thin white stilettos.
I’ve never been to a masquerade before. There’s something thrilling about a party where everyone is in disguise — the air is full of possibilities, saturated by the sensation that anything could happen.