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“Is that why you had the adjustable bed delivered to the house for Mom this morning?”

“I just wanted her to be comfortable.”

Quinn shakes her head in wonder. “You know how many times I’ve talked to her about investing in a bed like that, so shecan sit up easily in it when she has those tired days, and she just wants to stay in bed and watch a movie or read a book? She says they’re for old people. She wouldn’t even hear of the idea from me. But when she found out the delivery was from you… Jesus. She sent me like twenty photos of it already, from every angle. I think she would’ve accepted a dirty diaper if you sent it.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“What I’m saying is my mom thinks you’re the shit, and she has reason to. Because you pay attention, and you treat us like family.” She sighs. “I know how much you’ve been doing for us, Harlan. And I haven’t thanked you enough.”

But I don’t want her thanks. I’ve never wanted that.

Maybe I’ve just always wantedher, but been too fucking terrified to admit it, to either of us.

“But you were right,” I tell her. “I’ve been taking care of you with money and thinking that’s enough. Maybe I just don’t know how to be enough for someone else. Especially a child.”

“I mean, who does? I have no idea how to be a mom. But I trust that I’ll figure it out.”

“Maybe that’s because you have such a great mom.”

She squeezes my hand reassuringly. “Look what you’re doing for this little kitty, though. Clearly, you’re trying to give her what she needs right now. Doesn’t that give you even a glimmer of hope that you’ll figure out the fathering thing?”

“I don’t know, Quinn.” I can’t even look at her when I say, “What if I pass all my fucked-up flaws on to our child?” Because it’s entirely possible, and that terrifies me, too. That I’ll somehow fail my child, genetically, before they even get a chance to be normal.

No, not normal. Incredible, like her.

I know she probably thinks I mean my obsessive nature. My OCD. But that’s only part of it.

“Then you’ll be understanding, because you know exactly what it’s like,” she says easily. “Who better than you to help and support them? You’ll teach them how to be amazingly successful. Just like you’ve been.”

Maybe she’s right.

Maybe my mom could’ve been more supportive. And maybe my dad should’ve helped me more, protected me, like I’m trying so hard to do for my kid, before I even meet them.

Maybe part of the reason I’ve been pushing Quinn away is because I’ve been trying to protect her and the babyfromme. Because I’m afraid that I’m not good enough. That Iwon’tfigure it out in time to be a decent father.

Maybe all my obsessive behavior toward Quinn—trying to keep her safe and protected andmine—are all because I’m afraid of losing her and the baby, but I’m self-sabotaging, too. Because I’m just pushing her further away.

What she needs is to know that I love her. That I’ll be her emotional support.

That was what I needed from my parents the most, but didn’t get.

Or maybe I need it so badlybecauseI didn’t get it?

I don’t fucking know.

“It’s okay to be afraid,” Quinn says. “My mom said to me the other day that becoming a parent is terrifying.”

“Yeah. She told me the same thing.”

“Well, I think she’s right. Because how can you bring someone into the world that you know you’re going to love beyond all else, and one day, one way or another, you’re going to have to say goodbye to them? Nothing is forever.” She looks into my eyes with a tender hope that makes my heart burn. “But don’t you want to love someone with everything you’ve got, while you can? Even if it’s ‘just a cat’?”

A door opens, and I manage to tear my eyes away from Quinn long enough to register that the vet’s assistant is walking toward us. She smiles.

“Good news,” she says. “We got a hold of Darla’s owners. They’re coming to take her home.”

Chapter 28

Quinn