U N P L A N N E D, part two
“Hi, uh, Y/N? It’s Harry.”
You shut the bathroom door behind you like you had a few days earlier. This time, at least, you knew what you were getting yourself into.
“Hey, hi, how are you?”
“I’m good--how are you?”
You took a breath, one that might have been too obvious. “I’m good. I’m sorry to just--ramble on your voicemail. I just, you know, hadn’t heard from you.”
Did you expect to? No. Maybe. You didn’t know. You felt stupid and embarrassed that the words had tumbled out of your mouth.
“Yeah--I know, m’sorry about that. I actually, uh, got sick actually after I saw you last, so I was out of commission for a minute. Been busy but, yeah, I’d love to see you if you’re around.”
“I am, yeah, I’m around.”
Thank god--the last thing you needed was for him to let you down easy, be too nice to say that he didn’t have any interest in seeing you again. You’d prepared for that somewhat, worried that you were just another girl he’d slept with some random night, meaningless and casual.
Maybe it was that--maybe he thought that buying you a nice dinner one night would be enough to put this in the past. A pang of guilt when you realized that might never be possible.
You didn’t wait for him to offer a time or date. “Are you around this weekend?”
“Uh, yeah, I am.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t mean this in a presumptuous way, but, do you want to come to mine? I know that’s not, like, a date--but, it can be nicer to do something quiet, sometimes.”
You knew what he meant--you knew enough from Glenne to know that if he was seen out in public with you there’d be all sorts of whispers about what it was and what it meant. You didn’t tell him, but you figured somewhere private was a better place to have the conversation you had to have.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Uh, tomorrow? Sunday?”
“Tomorrow’s good--if that works.”
“Sure,” he said. “I can text you my address. Do you want to say around seven?”
“Sure. Yeah, okay. I’ll see you then.”
“Yeah, looking forward to it, Y/N, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You hung up, wiped at the sweat that had formed on your forehead, and stared in the mirror. It wasn’t terrible. It was awkward, sure, but he didn’t say no and he didn’t seem to think you were crazy or weird or totally out of line asking to see him again.
You composed a message to Lexi and Glenne.
Y/N L/N (2:31pm): I’m seeing him tomorrow.
Glenne Christiaansen (2:34pm): Thank god. I seriously felt like Jeff could tell something was up this morning.
Y/N L/N (2:35pm): Well don’t be weird with him!
Lexi MacMillan (2:37pm): Glenne if you fuck anything up so help me god.
Glenne Christiaansen (2:39pm): I’m not going to! I’m a bad liar so I would appreciate it if we could get this out in the open asap.
Lexi MacMillan (2:39pm): Glenne...not really about you 🙄
Glenne Christiaansen (2:39pm): I’m not trying to rush you, I just feel bad knowing!
Y/N L/N (2:40pm): I know. I’m telling him tomorrow.
Y/N L/N (2:41pm): He said I could come to his house. So, we’ll see. I’ll keep you updated.
**
It wasn’t as far of a drive as you remembered. Maybe the high levels of cortisol coursing through you sped things up, or maybe it was the adrenaline of having just hung up with your mom.
She knew something was up--she always knew. She called you in the morning and you couldn’t do it, you pretended all was fine and you told her that you were about to head to the grocery store. She didn’t really buy it but she let you go.
And when you got in the car around 6:15 and found yourself with enough traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard, the guilt started to creep in again. So you dialed her number, put the phone on speaker, and made her promise to not freak out.
She’d always been the type of mom who could keep a straight face--one who played it cool even when you told her you got detention or pricey parking ticket. She raised you by herself after she split with your dad, a guy who lived somewhere outside of Las Vegas with a new wife and a new daughter.
She was quiet when you said it. A few seconds ticked by before she spoke. Are you sure? You took a test? Who’s the father?
You know my friend Glenne? You know how her boyfriend is also in the music business?
She couldn’t believe it at first--a name she’d heard a few times on TV or even from you. She asked the inevitable: what are you going to do?
You told her you didn’t know. You swore you’d think it all through and keep her updated, talked her down and convinced her she didn’t need to drive down to LA from the sleepy town of Santa Paula, where you grew up on bicycles and with books in your small bedroom, reaching for a future that was always bigger than your small town.
So sure, maybe you had a plan. As a kid you always thought about being an adult--the steps in the following order: college, job, husband, promotion, kids. Scattered in between there was the possibility of a pet, maybe even relocating outside of the city--a house with a pool, for sure.
None of it included an unplanned pregnancy fathered by someone like him. It hadn’t ever crossed your mind.
You cried a bit more after you hung up--your mom reminded you that you didn’t have to keep a brave face for her, but after all this time, you were used to it.
So at least, when you pressed the button on the gate that somehow paged him inside, you felt a bit more confident about your ability to spit out the words without throwing up or crying. That was a win.
“Hey--it should open now,” his voice was muffled through the speaker, the gate started to hum before it separated, revealing a white house tucked in the hills, a smooth driveway and a view of the city.
He greeted you at the front door, a smile on his face when you lifted your sunglasses.
“Hi,” he said. “Find your way okay?”
“Yeah,” you said, a nod. “It vaguely felt familiar, I definitely remember drunkenly looking out the windows on the ride home.”
He laughed--apparently comfortable enough to skip over the whole awkward we slept together phase. He stepped aside and held the door open, allowing you to step into the main foyer.
That’s when it came back--laughing as you followed him up the stairs and down the hall, a drink in your hand. The view is priceless, he said. He showed you his bedroom, the twinkly lights of Los Angeles looked like snowflakes when you blurred your eyes, he joked that maybe you both drank too much.
You sat beside him on the bed, told him about the time Glenne came to visit in college and you realized that there was someone who could put Lexi in her place.
Before you knew it his hands were on your skin, your fingers fumbling with the button of his pants. You told him he didn’t have to, insecurity washed through you when you realized this type of event was probably usually reserved for models or actresses. Shouldn’t it be Lexi in your place? Someone taller and thinner and prettier and richer?
“I’d give you a tour,” he said, pulling you back to the present, “but you’ve already seen it.”
You held back a smile. “I remember it all from, you know, sneaking out in the middle of the night.”
“Right, very rude of you, really,” he smiled, crossed his arms over his chest. An awkward pause. “I would have reached out, but, I dunno--I guess I thought you didn’t want me to since you left.”
You opened your mouth to speak but then licked your lips. “No--I was just, I didn’t want to impose.”
“Well, you missed what would have been a delicious breakfast.”
Quiet for a second, you were glad he was playful, friendly, flirty, even. You knew you were about to kill any sort of mood there might be.
“Listen--uh, I actually have something to tell you.”
He tilted his head to the side, a curious smile on his face, just like when you told Glenne. He watched you, dimpled cheeks, as if you were about to admit you’d been thinking about him, wishing he’d call, hoping to see him again.
For a second you wondered if it was the right move, telling him at all. Maybe it wasn’t his problem. Maybe he’d hate you and be angry or maybe he’d think you did it on purpose, a claim to fame or a 401k cash in. Maybe you were better off navigating the waters of motherhood alone. Alternatively, maybe you took the other path. Easier for everyone, right?
But he looked too curious, too innocent, too pure. He noticed the emotion on your face, the water that had pooled in your eyes. His expression changed, furrowed brows and a twitch in his lips before you spit it out.
“I’m pregnant.”
Again. Quiet--the typical response at this point. Something you were used to. You could see a plane in the distance, on final approach to LAX. Somewhere in the world there were people laughing and hugging and somewhere there were scenes much happier than this one.
“Uh--I--,” he shook his head, blinked a few times, almost like he didn’t quite understand. “Because of us?”
A nod. You didn’t feel like divulging the same information about how there was no other possibility, especially to someone like him--someone who was surely much more sexually active than you were.
“You’re sure?”
Another nod. You reached into your purse and pulled out the papers you had printed that afternoon. The results from Dr. Weston’s office. Numbers and words you didn’t really understand. “Here--I, uh, I have these.”
He blinked again, took them in his hands and looked down at them. He licked his lips and then rubbed at his neck. “What’s all this mean?”
“It’s just the test results. I did two myself, you know, the pee on a stick ones. Then a urine sample at the doctor and a blood test, too. Four positive results.”
He was quiet, the lack of noise and words seemed to spike emotion in you, more water in your eyes became tears on your cheeks. He still stared at the paper.
A part of you wanted to turn around, leave, drive back to your house and climb into bed. Maybe then it would feel like none of this was happening. But you were frozen, feet stuck on the floor in his foyer, staring at the stubble on his chin and the necklace that hung around his neck.
A shaky breath. “I’m sorry--I was--we used a condom, I don’t know how it happened.”
He looked up at you quickly, the rawness of your voice and cracks between words seemed to grab his attention. “Will you, uh, take a test in front of me?”
That made you stop crying really quick. “W-what?” A sniffle when you wiped at your face.
“It’s just, to be sure. I don’t--sometimes people do this to people like me, and--”
“Are you insinuating that I’m--” you looked around, not even sure what to call it. “Making this up?”
“It’s not you--I would ask that of anyone.”
Your lips parted, you stared past his shoulder and into the living room.
Let me give you a tour, he’d said, dimples on his cheeks when he looked down at you that night. Sat on the edge of the couch, he stood above you, handed Lexi another drink before he introduced himself.
We’ve already met, you teased. You recounted your first meeting, jogged his memory by describing the dress you wore, the restaurant you went to. It had been six months earlier. I’m Y/N, you said. Your name brought it all back for him.
Back in the room, he shifted his weight on his feet. You thought on it for a second. You’d expected him to be shocked and surprised--even angry or disinterested would have been understandable. You didn’t, for a second, think that he might not believe you.
It made sense, as much as you hated to admit it. You were sure that somewhere out there was a person who would make this type of thing up--news outlets covered stories like that all the time.
But this--the upheaval of everything you’d come to know--you wished you were making it up. You weren’t someone he met in some hotel bar with something to gain. You were a friend of a friend, wrong place, wrong time.
“Look--someone will make us do that anyway. Jeff or someone would insist that I have more proof. And I can’t just tell them I took your word for it.”
Another reminder of the distance between you. The fact that Harry drove a Tesla and you had a Honda. The fact that now they were his friends and you were the outsider--the one screwing it all up. And now your friends had to choose sides, and apparently, Jeff was already on Harry’s before he even knew about it.
“I mean--fine, I can show you the two I already took. I’ll take another, and you can see it, if you want.”
He nodded. “Yeah, m’sorry, that’s just probably for the best.”
He offered to drive--promised your car would be safe in his driveway until you could come back for it. So you endured the nearly forty minute drive back to your house in quasi-silence, save for the voices from the radio that didn’t break the tension.
He asked about work, you pretended to be interested in the upcoming release of his music. But the long pauses and sideways glances made it feel like you both knew the questions were obligatory and forced and surface, a lazy attempt at ignoring the obvious.
You pointed out a spot for him to park near the sidewalk, beneath the willow tree across the street that always left pollen on your windshield. He followed you across the road, up to the front door in your snug residential neighborhood.
“Hi,” you called into the living room, knowing that Lexi had the day off from filming. With your luck at this point, she’d probably be naked (or halfway there) in the kitchen. High as a kite or asleep on the couch.
“Hey! How’d it--oh.”
She appeared from her bedroom, eyes wide when she took in the sight of Harry trailing behind you. You ignored the flush on his cheeks and the shy smile he threw in her direction.
It must have hit him--Lexi knew. Lexi--who Harry had known for at least three or four years now--offered a wave in his direction and tried to play it cool.
“Hi Lexi.”
“He wants me to pee on a stick again,” you said flatly.
She pulled her head back, a smirk on her face when she turned to Harry. “Really?”
He let out a sigh and shrugged his shoulders. “Do you want to know what could happen if I believed every woman who’s ever said that to me?”
“There’s been multiple?” Lexi looked at him like he was crazy.
“Well--like, two. But they were both absolutely mental.”
You walked into the bathroom and knelt down, digging through the cabinet below the sink for another test. After you took the first you bought another box--two inside.
You grabbed it and stood, going to shut the door. “Well, I’ll be back.”
“Wait,” he said, shoving his hands in the pocket of his pants. “Can I--uh--come in?”
Lexi’s face twisted. “You wanna watch?”
“Well, how do I know that you’re not pregnant and she’s using your, you know, sample?”
Lexi looked over at you and raised her eyebrows, some type of this is unreal look on her face.
“Fine,” you said, defeated. “Come over here.”
He stepped into the bathroom beside you and offered an uncomfortable smile, squeezing by you when you shut the door. He sat on the edge of the bathtub and stared at his hands. You pulled down your pants, sat, and then waited.
He looked up quickly, then back down at the floor. Then back up. “Well--are you gonna go?”
“I need a second,” you said. “I’m not used to peeing in front of strangers.”
“M’not a stranger,” he made a face as if it hurt his feelings. You weren’t about to fight with him--now didn’t seem like a good time to define the relationship. “Here,” he reached up to twist the faucet, a stream of water fell into the sink.
That helped. You held the stick in place and capped it when you were done, placing it on the sink. You flushed and stood up as if this was all in a day’s work.
“Now we wait?”
You leaned forward to wash your hands. “Doesn’t take long--apparently I’m super pregnant.”
He let out a bit of a laugh at that, a tension breaking chuckle before he picked it up. He pushed out his lips, staring down at it as if it wasn’t as threatening as you’d always felt.
“Plus sign,” he flipped it towards you, offering you a view.
You nodded.
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
He was quiet, staring at the plastic in his hands before he put it back down.
“I’m sorry,” you said. “We used a condom.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to--we didn’t mean to. Aren’t you on birth control?”
You nodded. “I was switching to a new one around then--but my doctor said it should be just as effective,” the anxiety grew with each word, the scenarios ran through your head, what you could have done differently, if you should have left right after, cursing yourself for enjoying the sex even though it resulted in this.
“I don’t know what to do,” you said, wiping at your cheeks to hide the evidence of the tears. You hardly knew him--crying in what suddenly felt like the world’s smallest bathroom didn’t seem like a great get to know you exercise.
He seemed alarmed by the emotion again, a look of uncertainty crossed his face. “Me neither--I mean, I’m supposed to put out this album and then go on tour and I’ve never--”
A knock on the door, Lexi pushed it open, an inquisitive look on her face. “Everything okay?”
“No,” you both spoke at the same time.
“Oh good,” Lexi said sarcastically to him, “you’re losing your shit over it too!”
“S’not exactly the best timing, right now, Lexi.” He stepped past you on the white tile, slipping out of the bathroom and making his way for the living room.
You followed behind him. “It’s not good timing for me either, if you were wondering!”
He turned around quickly. “I know--I didn’t mean it like that, I just--you’ve had a few days to sit with this, right? M’just finding out now so excuse the panic.”
You took a breath, watched as he paced on the carpet and ran a hand through his hair. He stopped suddenly, looked up to Lexi.
“Does Glenne know?”
She looked over to you, your call, Harry did the same.
“Great--so Jeff knows! Is that why he hasn’t returned my phone calls?”
“Jeff doesn’t know,” you said quickly. “She promised not to tell him until I talked to you.”
“And you believed her?! She can have quite the mouth, for fuck’s sake!”
“She didn’t say anything, relax,” Lexi tried to settle him, her voice more collected than yours had been all week. “I talked to her a while ago. She’s freaking out, too.”
He flopped down on the couch, a big sigh before he looked up at you again. “Are you--do you want to keep it?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded, almost like he expected the answer.
“I wanted to talk to you first.”
He nodded again, eyes still wide. “Okay.”
“Can you just breathe, with me, for a second?” You moved to sit beside him, body angled towards his so he could watch you. In and out, in and out.
It already felt like you were ruining his life, the last thing you needed was for him to have a heart attack on your sofa.
He settled a bit at that, another nod to reassure you that he was getting enough air. “Sorry--I just, this is big.”
“I know,” you said. “For me too.”
“Yeah.”
Lexi was still stood in the center of the room, watching the scene unfold. When you looked up at her, she tilted her head. “I was gonna order a pizza--are you guys hungry?”
**
When Harry left the house that night he promised he’d see you the next day. Not only did you need your car, but you figured it’d be easier to actually talk some things through after a good night of sleep and some time to think.
There was a part of you that wondered if he’d actually follow through--show up at your house at 10am like he said he would. Maybe he’d catch the soonest flight back to London and change his number, barring Jeff and Glenne from ever speaking to you again.
The pizza was a good call on Lexi’s part. It turned out that when he had some food in him, he was remarkably less anxious. See? You’ll be fine. He’s just like a toddler! Lexi teased after he left.
She sat on your bed with you that night and just listened. First you told her about the way he looked when you first said it, the blinking and the staring and the shuffling of his feet. Then about the car ride and the radio and the way you pretended that you didn’t notice how often he tried to look over at you on the freeway.
You had no idea where he was at--you had no idea what he was thinking or what type of person he was. He was a stranger, really, someone who sometimes happened to run in the same circle as you and someone who now had a good reason to never want to see you again.
Lexi said she was glad that he wanted to talk again in the morning, glad that he knew and agreed that it would be best for him to tell Jeff in a few days, once the two of you had more time to talk.
You were glad, too.
“I think he’s here,” she peered out the window, the Saturday sun fought its way through early morning fog.
Your phone started buzzing in your hand--a call, not a text. You answered it. “Hello?”
“Hey--s’me. I’m outside.”
“Okay,” you said. “I’ll be right out.”
“Don’t be too long,” Lexi said, watching as you reached for the denim jacket on the back of the door. “Are we still watching SNL tonight?”
“Yeah--yeah, we will.”
“Okay,” she seemed to eye you suspiciously. “Call me if he’s being a fucking asshole, okay?”
“Okay.”
She waved you out the door, watched as you climbed inside the dark black car that was parked at the end of the walkway.
“Hi--oh, hi,” the seatbelt seemed to lurch forward on it’s own, making it easier to grab hold of once you sat down. “Glenne’s doesn’t do this.”
“S’the newer model.”
Of course it was.
“Are you hungry? I know you need your car, but I figured we could grab something to eat.”
You nodded, pushing sunglasses down to cover your eyes. “Sure, yeah.”
He accelerated, the car whirred, electric, and he adjusted a few buttons in the front. “Are you feeling alright?”
“What do you mean?”
He stole another sideways glance in your direction. “Like--you’re not nauseous yet, are you?”
“Oh--” you stopped to think about it. “No. But food tastes funny--kind of metallic, almost? I don’t know if that’s related. I’m only four weeks at this point, that’s what the email from Dr. Weston said.”
“Dr. Weston?”
“My OBGYN.”
“Right. When did you see her?”
“Wednesday.”
A left turn out of your neighborhood. You’d caught him up on all of that the night before. The appointment, telling your mom--he listened with wide eyes, pizza in hand.
“When do you go again?”
“Next week. She said we can talk about options.”
“Oh--should I, maybe, come to that?”
You hadn’t thought about that. It certainly was too early to do an ultrasound, you figured the appointment was a nice way for Dr. Weston to let you know the options for termination, if that’s what you wanted. A shift in your seat, a nervousness when you looked over at him. “If you want, yeah.”
He nodded, quiet for a little as he drove. He was heading for closer to Santa Monica, you didn’t ask where and you figured it didn’t matter. Breakfast sounded nice.
He eventually turned into a parking lot for a small cafe--one that you heard Jeff mention in the past--with ivy running up the outside trellis that provided some patio shade from the mid-May sun. “The scones here are really good.”
You tried not to laugh. “Scones are probably the worst breakfast pastry.”
“What?” His voice went all high as if you’d said something truly offensive. He pulled out his chair and sat, a casual outfit of athletic shorts and a sweatshirt. Sunglasses--presumably for disguise.
“Yeah,” you said, a bored shrug. “Too dry. Muffins are much better.”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he looked over the menu that the hostess had dropped off, took a sip of his water before looking up at you.
“Look, I want to just tell you I’m sorry for freaking out last night. I know this isn’t easy for you, either.”
You nodded. “It’s not ideal for either of us, I guess.”
He nodded. Fumbled with the straw wrapped between his fingers. “What are your thoughts on--” he paused, seemingly uncomfortable. “Ending it?”
You shrugged, feeling mostly disconnected from whatever bundle of cells had implanted on your uterine lining. “I don’t know--it would probably be easier.”
He watched you, an unreadable look on his face. He rubbed at his lips and nodded. “You don’t have to. That’s a big decision. I just didn’t know what your thoughts were--in general.”
“I don’t really know what they are. What are yours?”
He laughed a little. “I don’t know. I’ve never had to think much about it.”
The waitress appeared, a look of shock when he smiled up at her, the realization spread over her face before she scribbled down your orders.
Pink on his cheeks when she left. “Sorry.”
You smiled. “I’m surprised you can be in the sunlight without people following you around.”
He rolled his eyes, let out a playful sigh. “Some days are better than others. This spot is typically safe, though.”
The waitress came back quick with coffees--you were sure to not confuse her eagerness to be near him as prompt service.
“So--who have you told, again?”
“Just Lexi and Glenne. And my mom.”
“No one else?”
“No. Have you told anyone?”
He pushed the tiny boat of coffee creamer towards you. “No. I just went to bed last night and tried to sleep.”
Another wave of guilt. You were sure he had better things to do than stare at the ceiling thinking about abortion or full term or the possibility that something would go wrong.
“They say you’re not supposed to tell people, you know--before it’s too soon.”
“Right, what is it? Three months?”
“Yeah--twelve weeks. That’s when something is likely to happen. But, look--I get it, if you can’t do this. No matter what I end up doing, I won’t be mad if you’re not able to be around.”
The words came out more quickly than you expected, as if saying them would prevent the damage from spreading. Like a bandaid, pulled off quickly, you placed the proposition on the table.
He made a face at that, looked down, twisted the rings on his fingers and then sighed. “I wouldn’t do that--I don’t want to.”
“Yeah, but, come on. I mean--you’re busy and this doesn’t really align with your lifestyle.”
He quirked an eyebrow, almost challenging you with a smirk. “And what do you know about my lifestyle?”
You picked up a spoon and stirred the coffee in front of you. “Well--I don’t know. I just, I don’t want you to feel like this means you’re, you know, trapped.”
He nodded, thinking. He licked his lips and pushed his mouth to one side. “I appreciate that.”
He asked where you were when you found out. You told him about the tiled floor of the bathroom at work, the way it cooled your hot skin when you were sure you’d pass out. You told him about the second test, the one you’d taken at home with Lexi, and the ice cream cone you had after you went to the doctor.
He asked where you were from, said he’d never heard of Santa Paula. He told you that he had fun with you that night, said that he thought about calling you after you left, decided he didn’t want to scare you off.
He drove you back to his house and pointed out the window, showing you a hiking trail nearby that he liked. He laughed when you made a joke--strapping a ten pound baby to your chest would level up any workout.
So you got your car and left, he didn’t hug you goodbye in the driveway and he said he’d call you--right after he figured out what he was going to tell his parents and his manager. You were about to the shut the door of your Honda when he jogged over to the driver’s side window.
“When was that appointment again? With Dr. Westfield?”
“Weston,” you corrected. “Thursday, 4pm, I think.”
He nodded, his hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. “Okay--I’ll come.”
table of contents | talk to me + join the tag list
author’s note: woohooo! alright, well, there’s that!!!! so excited to share the rest with you all!
tag list: @stepping-into-the-light @thurhomish @afterstylesmadeit @iconicharry @stylesfics-xx @harryspirate @mellamolayla @harryinsweatersandbandanas @stylesfantasy @clorenafila @mell-love @anssu-amry @yelllowgrass @bullseyeskay @littlesoldierelleora @styles217 @rachkon @c-h-e-r-r-y-y @myhat @rosegoldbel @passionate-dreamerr @grammyforstyles @dontgiveupthedayjob @ursamajor603 @craic-head-horan @heavenspidey @talk-british-2-me-britbritharry @blackxxmagicc @winter-soldier-007 @ssllbb @wanderlustiing @jdcharliewhiskey
540 notes
·
View notes