All Hallows Eve, Vol. 3

Epilogue

Epilogue

Whitney

"I missed you this weekend, Baby." I inhale Harper's familiar scent as I hold her in my arms for the first time in three days.

We went home to our individual families for Thanksgiving. Our childhood homes are only two hours away from each other, and we've split holidays before, but this year, we decided not to.

"What did you bring me? Please tell me there's peach cobbler in one of those many containers? Oh, and cranberries. Your mom makes the best cranberries." I chuckle as Harper pushes me away to search through the takeaway containers my mom made for us. I know she's found the note when she gasps and spins around.

"She did this for me?"

We ate every last cranberry in the dish this weekend, and my mom made a special batch just so I could bring it back for Harper.

"Of course she did. She loves you just as much as I do."

Harper pauses, container half open, ready to dive into the cranberries, and scoffs. "I think she loves me more than you since you refuse to learn this recipe." She stares lovingly into the container of red berry goodness, and for a moment, I wonder if she's even going to stop and grab a utensil.

Stepping up behind her, I wrap my arms around her waist. "Baby, the day my mom starts giving you orgasms is the day I'll worry. Until then, enjoy her treats and stop picking on me." I bite her neck playfully, and she wiggles out of my hold to grab a fork.

"Oh my gawd, this is fo goof," she mumbles, eyes rolling back in her head.

"Harper, don't talk with your mouth full, and I think you had the same reaction last time I was between your legs."

She smiles around her puffy cheeks and winks at me.

"Do you plan to share?"

She pulls the container tight to her chest and squints her eyes at me. She's thinking. Really hard. Aggressively, she pokes her fork into the container, coming out with a heaving forkful of cranberries. The fork hovers over the container, and I wonder what her next move will be. With reluctance written all over her face, she extends the fork to me and allows me the bite she scooped out.

I grab her wrist and seductively place the fork into my mouth. It's as good as it was two days ago, but there's a slight aftertaste of sourness. Maybe mom didn't put enough sugar in the second batch. Harper doesn't seem to care as she shovels the next bite. She tilts her head toward the silverware drawer, offering me to join her, and we devour the entire container together. Well, she devours it and allows me to have a few bites. Good thing I know there's another one in the bag.

With full bellies and our bags unpacked, we settle down to cuddle on the couch and watch a movie. About halfway through the film, Harper's stomach rumbles. She giggles and looks at me with a shrug. A few minutes later, she makes a sour face and jumps from the couch, running to the bathroom.

"Harper?" I hastily walk after her and cringe at the sound her knees make when they crack against the floor. She drops like a lead weight and barely has enough time to lift the seat before her stomach empties into the toilet bowl.

Grabbing a clean washcloth, I wet it with cold water and place it on her neck. Luckily, her hair is in a ponytail, so it's one less thing she has to worry about. After several long minutes of throwing up, she rests her head on the edge of the toilet. I hand her a cup of water and advise her to rinse.

Harper groans and has just enough time to push the cup back at me before heaving into the bowl again. I stay with her, rubbing her back and trying to console her as much as possible.

Finally, she's able to stand on shaky legs with my help, and I assist her into bed.

"Let me get you a trash can just in case. I'll be right back. Okay, Baby?"

Harper barely nods, and I sweep her hair off her face and kiss her forehead.

Emptying a trash can and grabbing some crackers and a bottle of water, I return to our room expecting, hoping, to find Harper asleep. Instead, she's sitting up in bed, frantically scrolling through her phone, brows furrowed in concern.

"Harper. What's wrong? What are you doing?"

I try to take the phone from her, but her eyes are wild. She's scrolling through the calendar on her phone.

"Baby, talk to me."

"Halloween," she finally says.

"What about Halloween?"

Before she can respond, she flings herself out of bed and darts for the bathroom. After another round of puking, she slumps back against the tub and puts her face in her hands.

"Whitney," she whines, and I feel helpless.

"What do you need, Harp? How can I help you?"

Her hand shakes as she reaches out, and I take it without hesitation. Gently, I pull her into my lap on the floor. She feels so feeble in my arms.

"Halloween," she mumbles into my chest.

"What about Halloween, Baby? You said that already."

“Condoms. Sex. Puking.”

What? Is she hallucinating? Those are very random words put together… oh shit .

"Harper." I tilt her chin so she's looking up at me. "Are you suggesting you might be pregnant from… from our fictional book boyfriend sex on Halloween?"

Her head bobs against my chest, too weak for words. I quickly calculate the dates in my head, now understanding why she was looking at the calendar on her phone. The timeline would match up, but it can't be possible. Right? Right!

I internally panic, trying not to show any outward signs and upset Harper anymore. Think Whitney. Think. We made a love potion slightly wrong, but it somehow made three fictional men appear, and we allowed them to fuck our brains out for half the night. We chose not to use condoms, and they definitely came inside us. Could I be pregnant?

No. The thought alone is ridiculous.

Harper mumbles into my chest, and I lean back to hear her.

"What? I didn't hear you."

"Will I have a paper doll for a baby? Will I birth a book? What the hell is inside me?" Harper's hand cradles her stomach, and I place mine over hers.

"Let's think of this rationally before we jump to conclusions. Do you want to make a list?"

"Fuck lists!"

Whoa. Now I know she's upset. Harper loves her lists.

"Baby, there's a slim chance you're pregnant from our Halloween escapades and even less of a chance you're pregnant with a book baby."

"You don't know that. The timing is right, and I'm throwing up and feeling nauseous."

"It's more likely you caught a bug. Would you like me to run to the store and get you a test?"

Frantic eyes pop up to mine, and she scrambles back.

"Yes. A test. Please get me one. I need to know."

"Okay. Relax. Will you be okay while I'm gone?"

"Yes. Go. Please."

If Harper had any energy, I'm sure she'd be pushing me out the door, but she's expended everything she has puking in the toilet.

"Okay, Baby. I'm going. I'll be back in less than fifteen minutes."

Harper groans her goodbye, and she rests back on the rim of the toilet seat to wait for my return.

I take my bike to the convenience store on the corner of campus, and I'm back in twelve minutes. Harper is in the same spot I left her, having fallen asleep.

"I'm back, Harper." I run a gentle hand across her back, trying not to startle her. Groggily, she lifts her head and snaps up when she sees me.

"Whitney, you're back. Did you get a test?" She puts the toilet seat down and drops her pants to the floor. I giggle as she wiggles her fingers for the test, ready to pee on the stick.

Harper's eyes don't leave the plastic indicator as she finishes and washes her hands. She's glued to the little screen as the wetness moves from left to right, and the first line appears—the control line.

"Whitney," she whines, and I sit on the edge of the tub and pull her into my lap, trying to ease some of her anxiety.

"It's almost done."

Long seconds tick by while we wait, and finally, when the three-minute timer that she insisted I set goes off, there's no second line.

"Not pregnant," she whispers. "Just puking."

"Just puking," I confirm.

My phone rings across the dorm where I left it when I came in.

"Let's get you to bed, and I'll go check my phone." She nods, and we slowly put her to bed.

When I reach my phone, I see I missed a call from my mom, who also texted me.

Mom

Whitney, please call me right away. I'm so sorry.

What would she be sorry about?

I dial her number, and she picks up while the first ring still sounds.

"Oh my god, Whitney. I'm so sorry. Did you guys eat the cranberry sauce yet?"

"Yeah, Mom. What's up?"

"Oh, honey. I could kill your father. He was supposed to throw away the expired cans I found, but he put them back in the cabinet instead. The cans I used to make your cranberry sauce were expired by six years."

"Expired? Shit. Yeah, we ate it. We ate one of the containers already. Harper ate most of it."

"Oh no. How is she feeling? How are you feeling?"

"Shit. Mom, Harper was puking. That makes so much more sense."

"More sense than what?"

How do I answer that? I can't tell her Harper thought she was pregnant from our Halloween orgy with fictional book characters that we created with a love potion gone wrong.

"Nothing, Mom. Harper just isn't feeling good, but now we know why."

"I'm so sorry. Please tell Harper I apologize with all my heart."

"It's okay, Mom. I'm sure she will understand. Let me get back to her."

"Love you, honey, and I'm so sorry."

We hang up, and when I walk back into the bedroom, Harper is sound asleep. I don't want to wake her, but I want her to know there's no need to worry.

"Baby, I have some news for you."

She stirs, and her eyes flutter open. "Whit?"

"My mom called. The cranberry sauce was expired, and you ate enough of it to make yourself sick. You're not pregnant, Baby. Just food poisoning."

"Food poisoning?"

"Yeah. No book babies. Sorry to disappoint you."

"No book babies." Her speech slurs as she drifts back to sleep.

Crawling into bed, I pull Harper close to my chest and kiss her shoulder.

"I love you, Harper. Forever."

A faint "Forever" murmurs through her lips, and I drift off to sleep with a smile on my face.

The End