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 therealpath 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 reallysee him.
Z is gorgeous. He’s here. Hewantsthis 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. Arealfamily, 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 himwhen 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.