Page 67 of The Best Man: Unfinished Business

Chapter Forty-two

Harper

Harper and Robyn found out the sex of their first baby at the end of the first trimester.

Robyn had been indifferent. “As long as the baby is healthy,” she would say.

Harper of course echoed those sentiments as well, but still, he wanted to know.

When they went for the first trimester appointment, the doctor rubbed the wand over Robyn’s greased teeny baby bump, and everything looked great.

A robust heartbeat was seen and heard on the ultrasound.

They both looked intently at the screen and smiled.

“Do you guys want to know the sex?” the doctor asked. Harper eagerly looked at Robyn for approval.

“Go ahead.” Robyn looked at her husband with an eye roll and a smile.

Harper gave the doctor an enthusiastic nod. “Yes. Yes please,” he said.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor said. Harper’s smile was massive, he kissed Robyn who was just as happy.

Even a little teary-eyed, maybe from the news but also from seeing Harper so elated.

She gave him a look of pure love as Harper stood up, raised his arms up like he was a heavyweight champion, and danced around saying “Yes! Yes! Yes!” repeatedly.

“You are going to be awful, spoiling him,” Robyn declared.

“Damn right I’mma spoil him, but no worse than you,” Harper jokingly shot back. “Momma’s boys are the worst.”

“I know. I married one,” Robyn said playfully.

“What?!” Harper protested, fake wrestling with his wife before showering her with kisses.

Later that night while Robyn lay in bed propped up by pillows, with her prenatal vitamin regimen and a cup of honey lemon tea that her husband made by her side, Harper asked, “Do you like the name Solomon?”

Robyn looked skyward, then smiled. She mused and said it out loud. “Solomon. I think Solomon is beautiful.”

“ You’re beautiful. I love you.” He leaned in and kissed his wife. Then kissed her stomach. “You hear that, Solomon? Daddy loves Mommy! Daddy loves you too!”

Robyn laughed. “Stop scaring him. He’s sleeping…” Robyn teased. They were so excited.

In their four-story Harlem brownstone, they occupied the top two floors and Harper had picked the attic for his office.

The second bedroom was for their baby boy, where they’d set up a nursery.

They were both so full of joy, but Harper was especially thrilled to be having a son.

Harper imagined that he would be handsome, intelligent, empowered, and the athlete that his daddy never was.

Harper was going to be his protector, his best friend, his teacher.

Robyn was going to be the perfect mom—loving and nurturing, but also protective, someone to fortify her son with love, affection, and savory meals.

Mia and Lance were already basking in the glow of parenthood, as were Candace and Murch.

LJ and Keisha were already in the world and Harper couldn’t wait to show off his contribution.

It wasn’t a competition, but he loved this idea of his chosen family reveling in the joy of their biological families.

Harper and Robyn had already painted the room baby blue.

It was a little cliché, but it was their first child, and they wanted the tradition.

They had stenciled “Solomon” on the wall to celebrate Robyn’s third month of pregnancy, right above where they envisioned his crib would be.

Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon was one of the first books Harper read that made him think about being an author.

What better way to pay homage to a great American writer.

In his origin in the Bible, Solomon was “King of Kings,” “Lord of Lords,” and the Bible’s “Song of Solomon” was about marriage and the physical manifestation of love—sex.

Harper didn’t know that the Bible went there.

The thought of exalting his baby boy to know he was a “king of kings” was the boost he would need in a world that would regard him as a threat and try to diminish him.

With Harper as his daddy and Robyn as his mommy, nothing could stop Solomon from reaching his fullest potential.

As the second trimester began, they let everybody know, and all were thrilled—especially the would-be grandparents.

Then the eighteenth-week appointment came. Robyn knew. She felt something was wrong that morning and that was before a stream of thick blood dropped into the toilet.

“Harper!” Robyn bellowed. “We have to go to the doctor.” Harper heard the urgency in her voice and got them a cab.

Robyn was right. The doctor couldn’t detect a heartbeat.

Solomon wouldn’t make it. Harper was in complete shock and disbelief.

How could that be? Are you sure? Check again…

please, he pleaded. But it was true. Solomon was gone.

Devastated, they held each other and sobbed.

The emotional pain was deeper than he could have ever imagined.

Harper was gutted. But the news got worse.

When the doctors informed Harper and Robyn that they would need to “manage their loss,” it meant that Robyn actually had to birth Solomon.

They gave her a choice of putting her under and doing a surgical evacuation.

But Robyn instead chose option two—to deliver.

Harper instinctively shook his head, wanting to protect her, even amid his own devastation.

“No, Robyn…” he said. “Isn’t that going to hurt more? Don’t you want…?”

“I know what I want, Harper,” Robyn told him.

Worried that she wasn’t thinking straight, Harper made sure the doctors explained the potential dangers, the pain and risks involved, both emotionally and physically.

It would be traumatic. Before the doctor could finish, Robyn held up her hand signaling her to save her breath.

“I understand,” Robyn said. “I want to do it.” All Harper could do was take Robyn’s hand and wipe her tears.

—

When the contractions started at home, they returned to the labor and delivery unit of the hospital to confront the cruel irony of what they would shortly endure.

Robyn was incredibly strong and measured.

Harper was an emotional wreck. Be strong, he told himself.

The doctors offered Robyn every comfort they would for any expectant mother, but Robyn refused.

She’d read every book on pregnancy, on delivery, already watched every video.

She knew. And she wanted to be fully lucid.

Having the physical pain dulled wouldn’t make her feel any better, she’d said.

Harper tried to protest (again) and get Robyn to reconsider, but all she did was look at her husband and say, “Let’s get it done.

Let’s welcome Solomon to the world.” Robyn grabbed Harper’s hand as if to say be strong.

Harper stared in disbelief but then quickly nodded.

If that’s what she needed then Harper had to stepup.

Harper admired her fortitude and had to draw on it to get through the procedure.

He kept his eyes on his wife whenever she needed eye contact.

When she closed her eyes or looked away Harper buried his face in his shoulder to hide his weakness from her.

She likely knew he was crying. Her tears fell, but her composure made it seem more like a bodily function than an outpouring of sorrow.

Robyn looked toward her stomach for Solomon’s arrival.

When he arrived, Robyn wanted to see him.

Harper did not. The doctor asked if Robyn was sure, and she repeated that she was.

Robyn was sure about it all. The nurse then handed Robyn a bundle the size of a grapefruit, wrapped in a blanket.

Harper had to look away. Robyn took her hand from his—not because she was angry or disappointed—but to hold their Solomon.

Harper could hear the staff exiting the room, the medical equipment beeping rhythmically, and the sound of his own breathing for several seconds before he heard anything else.

“Hi, Solomon,” Robyn whispered through tears. “Welcome to the world…” Harper bared down gritting his teeth, and somehow managed not to sob. Tears flooded his eyes and he let them rain down his cheeks and chin.

“Mommy loves you” Harper could hear her say through sniffles. “Mommy loves you so much. And Daddy loves you too.” Harper bit down on his lower lip while his upper lip trembled, refusing to conform to his will. Be strong, he reminded himself.

“He’s beautiful,” Robyn said. “Solomon is beautiful.” It was unclear if she was directing that comment at Harper, or if she was making a declaration. It didn’t matter—Harper just wanted to leave. He just wanted to get his wife home and away from this place.

The nurse came back in after about fifteen minutes. It felt like much longer. Harper heard her pad over to the bed at a not so intrusive pace. “Hi, Robyn,” she said.

Robyn spoke back but it was so faint. “I’m ready,” she said.

As Harper heard the nurse’s feet head toward the door, he wiped his face clean of his tears and looked to Robyn, who was still staring at the doorway. After a beat she turned to him and spoke with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? No,” Harper declared. “But fuck, who cares. Are you okay?” Harper leaned toward her and embraced her.

“Yup,” she said. “It’s done. We did it.” Harper held her tighter.

He couldn’t really speak, managing only an “Uh-huh.” Robyn never broke down.

She was sad and emotional. It showed in her voice, in her face, and certainly in the days and weeks that followed in the way she walked with all the post-labor effects on her body.

She didn’t complain, just said it was all just “temporary.” Some nights Harper would find Robyn gone from the bed and locked in the bathroom.

He’d investigate and ask Robyn what he could do, could he get her anything, how could he help?

But she always said in an upbeat voice from behind the door, “I’m okay. Go back to bed.”

As time passed, if ever Harper brought up what happened, she acknowledged how tough it was but quickly changed the subject.

Harper didn’t press. Either she hadn’t fully processed everything, or she was an incredibly strong woman.

Both could have been (and were likely) true.

And Harper didn’t know how to help other than to let Robyn be Robyn.

2025

Harper lay on the floor of his hotel room.

Handwritten notes for his movie pitch were still taped to the walls, illuminated only by the digital clock and the balcony lights from the hotel’s many rooms shining in through the window.

He had raided the minibar of all the dark liquor they had.

Surrounded by the small empty bottles, he was fucked up now and yet still not numb.

He felt everything. He stared at the ceiling and fantasized about what could have been.

The carpet scratched his bare back because he’d stripped down to his underwear without even knowing why.

He just had to. He also had to drink. The pain of that very visceral memory had been conjured up tonight from his daughter’s simple utterance of “Solomon, our angel.” Mom’s angel.

Our… Harper closed his eyes tight as more tears formed.

Solomon would have been twenty-one. A college junior.

Maybe he would have followed in his old man’s footsteps at Westmore.

Maybe Northwestern like his mom. Or maybe he would have blazed his own trail.

Yeah… Harper couldn’t believe how vivid his recollection was.

He wanted to bury it back again. They never should have named him.

Harper never should have insisted on knowing the sex.

But that was Harper—control the story, direct the narrative.

And Robyn let him. She let Harper be Harper.

She should have challenged him. But he wouldn’t be the writer he had become without her unquestioning support and acceptance. Her sacrifice.

Letting Robyn be Robyn had been good for Harper.

Always. She was still finding her way when they met and was constantly reinventing herself in the early stages of their marriage.

Harper gave her the space to do so, and she seemed grateful, happy with Harper being Harper.

She was always encouraging, a rock, making a meal, drawing a bath, buying the perfect sweater, jacket, or T-shirt just because she was thinking about him.

She considered him. Always. Did he reciprocate?

He thought he considered her. Her needs, her wants, her desires.

He thought he did. He knew the buttons to push sexually, they took trips she suggested, he made sure he did laundry, tried to make up their bed, kept their house tidy, rubbed her aching feet.

Some date nights took a back seat to his creativity, especially when the muse paid a visit.

And she said she understood. She seemed to always want to hold up her end of the partnership.

She went above and beyond in doing so, giving and giving and giving.

Robyn letting Harper be Harper put him on a path to becoming a world-renowned Pulitzer Prize–winning author.

Harper was always first. But for the first time, he wondered what that had cost her, all that giving.

Now they were divorced and his heart was broken, while hers finally seemed to be mending.

Instead of letting Harper be Harper, Robyn was letting Robyn be Robyn, finally, truly, and that didn’t seem to involve him at all.

Had Robyn really been holding on to Solomon’s memory this entire time?

Through their entire marriage? He’d missed it.

Robyn’s pain from then was so clear now.

The weight of all that strength, all that giving, of putting everyone else first. He hadn’t considered her enough.

He hadn’t been attentive. For so long. He’d failed her.

He’d been there and still left her alone.

And now there was so little he had to give her that she needed. But he had to try.