Pretend I'm Yours_A Single Dad Romance

by Vivian Wood

  “Tiring,” she said. “It’s going to be an early night for me.”

  “Sounds good to me,” he said. “You want some tea?”

  “No, thanks,” she said. “I think I’m just gonna lie down for awhile.”

  “Okay. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be out here with my charcoal.”

  She ran her fingers through his thick dark hair as she walked to her bedroom. Harper was surprised at how unobtrusive he was. How he could balance on the precipice between caring and respectful. She’d somewhat expected him to go all in on therapy, but since the first day he’d kept a watchful distance. It was nice to be able to come home and not relive the past however many hours of therapy she’d endured.

  As soon as she flopped on her bed, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Instead, the stories from group just kept knocking around in her head. There was another model in the group, though her career had largely been in London. She’d moved to her aunt’s house in Hollywood to get away from the scene that had nurtured her bulimia and anorexia.

  She was pretty, fair, and still a teenager—the epitome of the kind of girl who starved herself. “I don’t really know when it started,” she said with a shrug. “I … like I remember my mum talking about liquid diets when I was around ten. I asked her if I could do it, too, and she said alright. I don’t think I really wanted to lose weight then, you know? It just sounded fun, like a challenge. And very adult.”

  “Can you recall the first time you did take action toward restricting to alter your body?” the therapist said.

  “Not really,” the girl said. “But I remember the first time I was really aware of what fat was. My mum, I think she always talked about how you could tell if a girl was prone to fat by her upper arms. I think I was in … second grade, I think you call it here. Like seven years old. I’d never thought of that before,” she said with another shrug. “But I started looking at other girls in class. And at myself. I practiced holding my arm away from me in the mirror so it wouldn’t get all pressed and fatter looking. You know? And then … we had these kind of lavish school lunches. It was a private school, kind of posh. But very English, with lots of meats and fat and everything. I started only eating the veggies, fruits and bread. Then eventually just a couple bits of the vegetables.”

  “And how did your classmates react to this? Your teachers?”

  “They didn’t,” she said simply. “I mean, I got good at making up excuses to ‘eat’ in various study places or whatever. I … I never had that many friends. So it’s not like it was hard to keep it a secret.”

  Harper knew how that felt. She couldn’t recall a single good friend from her childhood. “Models don’t need friends,” her mom always said. “Why bother? You’ll be flying off to shoots when they’re talking about what to wear to homecoming.”

  A lot of the girls in the group drove away everyone around them—or at least everyone who could possibly help them. Instead, they held tight to the ones who encouraged their restriction. Almost every time, if there was another person involved, it was their mother. Although sometimes it was a boyfriend. One who called them fat and worthless, so they tried to buy his approval with their life.

  She needed something to busy her mind. I don’t want to be like them, she thought. She grabbed The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt from the shelf. It had collected dust for months. If she could escape into the life of an orphaned boy enthralled in the art world, maybe she could stop thinking about fat, calories, and the skeletons that talked around her all afternoon.

  Sean looked up when she shuffled into the living room and sat across from him, but he didn’t speak. He went back to drawing.

  Harper cracked open the book and breathed in its scent. It was nice, this cozy silence. She realized she’d never had that before, not with anyone in her life. She’d always been in the midst of a cacophony of noise, and had assumed that it was natural. What will it be like, letting my own thoughts, my own voice, emerge?

  21

  Sean

  His eyes had started to grow tired. Looking for commercial real estate in Los Angeles is the job of a broker, he thought to himself. Still, when Connor had asked him to scout some spaces for the company, he’d been quick to agree. He needed to prove himself to his brother, to show that he could be an important part of the startup.

  Plus, if he could find the perfect space, it might encourage Connor and Sam to move to the West Coast faster. Sean had started to think that maybe they’d just set up shop on the East Coast. Their baby wasn’t even here yet and they were already getting into nesting mode. What if the idea of moving seemed like too much once the baby was born? Sean didn’t know if he even had a job in the company if they stayed back east—or if he’d be able to move.

  Harper had started to adjust to the almost-daily outpatient visits, and he wasn’t going to ask her to switch facilities. He certainly wouldn’t put the stress of moving on her. Besides, who knew if she’d even want to move if he asked?

  The door slammed shut and Sean looked up with a start. “Hey,” he said as he glanced at the time. “I didn’t realize how late it was. How was it today?”

  She shook her head, but he knew that look. Harper tried valiantly to hold it all together. “How’d it go?” she repeated. “It’s fucking day five of rehab and … never mind.”

  He wanted to push, to prod, but he knew better. In between the constant hunt for real estate, he’d seasoned his day with researching eating disorders. He didn’t know what she was upset about, but knew that there would be a lot of inky emotions erupting from her for awhile. There was no telling what they’d talked about today, and their joint sessions hadn’t even been scheduled yet.

  Harper opened her mouth to say something, but slammed it shut again. Instead, she went to the sink and filled a glass with water. He felt her eyes as they stole glances in his direction, but he had to wait it out. Let her come to you, he told himself. She’ll talk when she’s ready.

  But she finished the glass of water and lingered by the sink.

  “What?” he finally asked as he looked her in the eye.

  She bit her lip and shook her head. Sean stood up and went to her, but she busied herself with excessively rinsing the glass.

  “You can talk to me. If you want,” he said gently as he rubbed her arm.

  “You’d better sit back down,” she said.

  “Is this … Harper, is everything okay?”

  “You’d better sit down,” she repeated.

  He sucked in his breath as they both perched precariously on the edge of the sofa. Sean searched her face for clues, but found nothing. “Sean, I love you. You know that--”

  “Are you breaking up with me?” he asked. It sounded like a breakup speech, and his heart sank. Less than a week in rehab and she’d already identified the problem, he thought to himself.

  “No!” she said. “Don’t be weird. Just … let me get this out.”

  “Okay,” he said, though a big part of him didn’t want to hear whatever speech she’d prepared.

  “I thought … I thought we were being safe. But …” she trailed off and stared at the exposed brick wall. Tears started to stream down her face, but they were silent.

  “Safe?” he asked with a shake of his head. “Safe … hold on. Are you … are you pregnant?”

  She nodded, and the floodgates opened. With an open-mouthed sob, it all poured out.

  “Are you sure?” he asked, though he knew it was a stupid question. Not only was she obviously sure, but so was he. He’d never considered it before and had assumed she was on birth control. A baby was so far out of reach for what he’d imagined his life to hold, it had never even crossed into the equation. But a baby? The idea of it felt right. Especially with her.

  “Say something,” she said between sobs.

  “I … I never wanted kids. If I’m being honest,” he said. Her cries cracked the silence in the room. “But, hey!” he said as he moved across the couch to close the space between them. “
Sorry, I’m bad at this. I didn’t mean it like that. I mean it’s … exciting. Don’t you think?”

  “Exciting?” she asked. Harper had pulled the long sleeves down over her hands and pressed a cotton-encased fist against her cheeks to dry them.

  “Well, yeah! I was serious when I said it was up to you with what our lives would be. That is, if you want to keep it. That’s why you’re telling me, right?”

  “I don’t … I don’t know,” she said.

  “Of course you know.”

  “You’re right,” she said, and a slip of a smile appeared on her face. “I do know. I want to keep it. God, I haven’t said that out loud yet.”

  “It’s, you know, a little earlier than I would have expected. If I’d been expecting it at all. But what can you do? We’ve never been the most conventional couple.” He wrapped his arms around her and breathed in the scent of her hair as she nuzzled into his chest. A fresh wave of sobs began to rock through her. “Hey,” he said softly. “What is it? Isn’t this supposed to be a happy moment?”

  “It is,” she said with a half-laugh, half-cry. “It’s just … the baby is why I’m in rehab.”

  “Oh,” he said. “That makes sense. How long have you—never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  “We were talking about the importance of truth in group today,” she said. Harper pulled herself up and let him wipe away the tears. “Not just being truthful to ourselves, but to everyone important in our lives. And I just needed to tell you. You know?” she asked.

  “I know.”

  “I’ve been trying for a couple of weeks now to figure out the right way to say it, and I just couldn’t come up with anything. There’s no great way to say it, especially when you don’t know how it will be received.”

  “You didn’t think I’d be happy?” he asked, wholly amazed.

  “I didn’t know,” she said with a shake of her head. “I didn’t even know if I was happy about it for a long time. I … you know, I worried. First about getting fat, even though logically I know that’s stupid. But also about the baby. Like, how could I give a baby proper nourishment when I can’t even do that for myself? I didn’t have my period for so long. So many models have miscarriages, so there was that.”

  “You’ll be a great mom,” he said. “You already are. Look at you. Prioritizing your health. You’re doing everything right.”

  “I am,” she said. He couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement, but either way he saw the certainty settle into her face.

  Sean kissed her forehead. “I’ll be the first to say maybe the timing isn’t perfect. It’s not convenient. But when has anything about our relationship been perfect or convenient?”

  She looked up at him. “So you’re not mad?” she asked. “Honestly. Just tell me if you are, because I don’t think I’ll be able to get together the courage or strength to have this conversation all over again.”

  “Of course I’m not mad,” he said. “I’m excited. And terrified, and worried, and a shitload of other emotions I can’t even name right now.” It was strange but it felt right to so blatantly tell her the emotions that pulsed through him.

  “You’re terrified?” she asked with a small laugh. “I’m so scared sometimes I can’t even move. Seriously, every little decision I make now, I’m like, is this what the baby wants? I’ve been trying to figure out the best prenatal vitamins to take for two weeks.”

  “You’re not taking any?”

  “I am,” she said. “I finally just picked the ones with the best and most reviews on Amazon. They’re organic. I mean, aren’t most vitamins? I don’t know.”

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “Not really,” she said. “I mean, there are doctors at rehab, so I guess so. I found out in the hospital. With the blood tests they were running for other things.”

  “This is crazy,” he said with a small laugh. “A good crazy, but still. I have to say, when you walked into that tattoo shop and asked for a tramp stamp, this isn’t where I thought we’d be a few months later.”

  “Hey!” she said with a laugh. “I thought you said it wasn’t a tramp stamp.”

  “I never said that, sweetheart,” he corrected her. “I said there’s nothing wrong with tramp stamps.”

  “Oh, god,” she said. “What are we going to do?”

  “Most people, since the beginning of time, have had a baby,” he said. “If they can figure it out, we certainly can.”

  “You sound pretty confident about that,” she said.

  “I am. But there’s one thing I know for sure.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’re going to make a kind, intelligent, gorgeous baby. How can we not since it’ll be half you?”

  She smiled up at him. “Like I said. Pretty confident.”

  “And pretty scary.”

  “Yeah. That, too. But you’re right. If billions of people can do it, we can probably swing it.”

  “You know what this means, right?”

  “What?”

  “You’re totally going to steal Sam and Connor’s thunder.”

  She groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

  “I’m just teasing. They’ll be thrilled. And Sam is going to throw you one hell of a baby shower.”

  “I don’t even want to think about that right now. God, I’m so tired.”

  “Tired from therapy or the baby?”

  “Probably both,” she said with a groan. “But telling you helps alleviate some serious weight.”

  22

  Harper

  Harper stared at the ceiling while Sean slept peacefully beside her. She ran her hand across her stomach, but felt nothing save for the shallow echo of her own heartbeat. Her back ached. The bed was nearly brand new. It had to be one of the first of many pains to come.

  She slid out of bed quietly and pulled a stretchy pair of pajama bottoms on. Are these tighter than they used to be? she wondered. A trick she’d learned in group was to look at numbers that weren’t on the scale when she began to wonder if her body dysmorphia disorder was acting up. Vanity sizing or not, there was no way a so-called “fat person” could wear a size two or an extra small. The pajamas might be stretchy, but they were still a size zero.

  Harper tiptoed into the living room and eased the door shut behind her. As soon as she sat down on the couch and opened her laptop, the pain that gnawed into her back turned into a full-blown ache. It was worse than the period cramps that haunted her in middle school—and those were bad enough that after a few months of taking days off school, she was given prescription painkillers. At fifteen, her mother had taken her in for a Mirena IUD to stop the periods and pain altogether. It hurt so badly going in that, at twenty when it was time to replace it, she’d gone back to the pill. Fortunately, by then the worst of the menstrual pains seemed to be behind her.

  She sucked in her breath with a hiss as the pain seemed to snake from her back to her stomach. Harper looked toward the closed bedroom door, but she didn’t want to wake Sean. She was still in her first trimester and wasn’t even showing. How weak would she look if she woke him up to complain about pregnancy pains this early on?

  Instead, she picked up her phone and made her way to the balcony, though she had to pause every few steps to hold her throbbing stomach. She called P, but when he answered she could barely hear him. The drum of house music blasted through the phone.

  “Where are you?” he yelled in his semidrunk voice. “You should be here, this place is fire.”

  “I think something’s wrong,” she said.

  “What? I can’t hear you.”

  “Go somewhere quiet!”

  “Slow your roll, ho, I’m going.” Suddenly, the music came to a halt and she heard a door slam on the other end. “Now, what?”

  “P, I think something’s really wrong.”

  “What happened? What do you mean?”

  “My back, and now my stomach. It hurts really bad. I thought it was just cramps, but it won’t stop.”
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  “It’s one in the morning. Where’s Sean?”

  “Here. Asleep.”

  “And you didn’t wake him up?” There was no trace of revelry left in P’s voice.

  “I didn’t want to seem like a pussy,” she admitted. “Like, I’m barely pregnant and I wake him up in the middle of the night because my stomach hurts?”

  “If it hurts, it hurts,” he said. “I got you. You want me to come right now?”

  Harper looked into the distance. Part of the Hollywood sign was visible and lit turquoise pools spotted the dark landscape.

  “Harper?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I do.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” he said. “I’m coming now. I’m in the valley, though, so—”

  “What are you doing in the valley?”

  “It’s a Tuesday night. If you want to find the good parties, you have to be willing to travel to different zip codes.”

  A fresh bolt of pain shot through her. “Just hurry,” she said.

  “I’m getting in the car now. But seriously? You need to wake Sean up and tell him. He’ll find out once I get there anyway.”

  “No,” she said. “I’ll … I’ll leave him a note. He sleeps like the dead anyway.”

  “Leave him a note? Hold on, what are we doing?”

  She gave a short cry. The pain came in waves, and at the peaks it was blinding. “I think I need to go to the ER.”

  “I’m coming.”

  Harper made her way back inside and dug through the foyer table for a pad of paper and pen. S, don’t freak out. P took me to the hospital. It’s probably nothing, but will let you know when I know anything. Love, H. Don’t freak out. Yeah, that’s the perfect way to start a note. He’ll never read it, she thought. He hadn’t set the alarm, and chances were he wouldn’t even wake up for another nine hours. She’d be back and in bed with him by then.

  She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and made a face. Her hair was a mess and the cracked graphic tank top clashed with her pajama pants. But the idea of changing clothes was too much. Besides, who looks good in the ER in the middle of the night?