“You’re not a coward,” Marcus replies undoubtedly. “Do you know for certain? She has to be, what, nearly three months along by now? Why is she only telling you now?”
Guilt unfurls in my stomach. “We didn’t exchange numbers or last names.”
In the half day spent with Harriet, it was clear she’s a genuine, truthful woman. Vulnerability radiated off her as she stood before me and spoke those two words.
I’m pregnant.
“Did you at least get her number before you left?”
“Harriet. Her name is Harriet. And no.” I shake my head and curse. “She’s probably left by now. Jesus, what am I supposed to do?”
Which is exactly when a heavenly sound floats from inside the venue, gliding through the evening air like velvet. My head whips towardthe building.
She didn’t leave.
“Do what you need to do. I’ll keep everyone distracted, but maybe wait until she’s finished working.” He clasps me by the shoulder. “You’ll do the right thing, man.”
The right thing would be to distance myself far, far away from Harriet. Our paths were meant to cross once. Now, I’m standing at a crossroads, with two options, neither feeling like the correct route. Ishouldstep up, support her, and do what’s expected of me, but a small voice in my head says I’m the last person she should be relying on, let alone bringing a child into the world with.
After collecting myself, and no less sure what to do, we head inside. The guests are seated again, their attention drawn to the stage and the woman sitting front and center. I’m forced to watch her perform. Credit where credit is due, she’s spectacular, not once missing a note. Here I am, barely able to hold my glass of water without the contents spilling onto the tablecloth I’m shaking so much.
My sister joins us, a sleepy Freddie on her hip.
Diana nudges her husband, who takes their son and arranges him on his lap, his thumb stuck in his mouth and clutching his dad’s suit jacket. Marcus strokes Freddie’s hair until he falls asleep.
It usually doesn’t bother me; now, I can’t stand to watch the father and son.
“She’s incredible, isn’t she?” my sister observes. “Lilah said her name is Harriet, and she performs at all kinds of events. Maybe we should book her for Mom and Dad’s anniversary party?”
“She isn’t available.” My stiff reply is lost in the chorus.
Harriet’s voice rises high above the light chatter, drowning out the roaring in my ears. I’m so lost in my head and hersultry vocals, the sudden applause from the audience jolts me out of my stupor.
“Thank you so much. Huge congratulations to the beautiful newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. O’Connor.” Her eyes find mine. “My name is Harriet Thomas. Don’t be strangers.”
Then, she disappears from the stage.
I jump from my seat, only to collide right into another guest, who spills red wine all over the front of my dress shirt. My apology is thrown over my shoulder as I scramble toward the stage, head whipping left and right. Everyone is standing now, blocking my path, either making a move for the bar or to chat to the bride and groom.
Annoyance coils around me.
“Warren! Warren!” I turn to the sound of my name and find my mom waving me over. “Quickly.”
“For fuck’s sake,” I seethe under my breath. I can’t ignore my mother, and hopefully, Harriet hasn’t gone far.
When I approach my mom, she’s clutching one of the server’s hands between a napkin, the white linen spotted with blood.
“Someone smashed a glass, and she cut herself. Could you check it?” She smiles warmly at the young girl. “My son is an EMT and is very good at his job. He’ll help you and let you know if you need stitches.”
There’s zero saying no now—not that I would anyway. With urgent speed, I locate the first aid kit, uncover the wound to find it’s not a deep cut, and cover it with Steri-Strips after cleaning it.
“No need for you to go to urgent care. Try to keep it dry for a few days, and if it starts to swell, itch, or show any signs of infection, get it checked out.” I stand, already backing away. “Wear a glove if you have to finish your shift. Now, can you tell me where the woman singing beforewould’ve gone?”
My mom’s eyebrows arch.
The server prods at her hand. “She’s probably packing up. You might find her in the staff breakroom, but I think one of the tech guys is helping load her car.”
“Where’s the breakroom?” I snap impatiently.
