I follow Jensen and our two visitors over to the couch. My stomach still feels tight, and I don’t know if it’s contractions, Braxton Hicks, or nerves, since I sense that they came to talk about something serious. I make a mental note to call my doctor’s office in the morning to see if I should go in and be checked up.

“Jensen, I have to tell you something I hope you don’t hate me for,” Harlow says, clearing his throat.

I look back and forth from Harlow and Whitney but neither of their expressions give much away about the reason for their visit. Whitney’s face looks pale and worried. I think about what Monica said earlier and hope they’re not here to tell us they can’t have children.

That’s silly, I tell myself. Harlow specifically said he needed to talk about something else.

But my mind seemed incapable of thinking of anything except pregnancy and babies lately. I guess that is to be expected, under the circumstances. I shake my head, willing myself to pay attention.

“Okay sure,” Jensen says. “You know we don’t keep anything from each other. We’re a united front. Always.”

“Well, that’s why I think you might be mad at me,” Harlow says. “And you’d have every reason to be.”

Whitney nods, a flash of light in her eyes that clues me in on the fact that she’s the one who persuaded Harlow to come tell Jensen whatever it is he’s about to tell him.

“Right now, Mom’s at Louie’s,” Harlow says quickly, and then immediately looks like he wants to pounce on Jensen, put his finger over his mouth so he can’t say anything. “Hear me out.”

“What the fuck is she doing at Louie’s?” Jensen asks. “And why didn’t you make her leave?”

“Don’t worry,” Harlow says. “She’s with Larson. She’s safe.”

“Larson—” Jensen shakes his head back and forth, as if trying to understand and failing. “I was just with Larson. I was just at Louie’s. I don’t understand what’s going on. I thought Mom was at your house. She ran out of here and we were just about to call you.”

“She ran out of here?” Now Harlow’s the one to look confused. “When? Why didn’t you—”

“Look,” I cut in, and Whitney nods again, as if encouraging me to step in. “There’s no need to fight. Let’s just calm down and take one thing at a time.”

“Good idea,” Whitney agrees.

I have to admit, I feel guilty for letting his mom leave earlier. But rationally I know no one should blame themselves or anyone else. There is nothing one can do to stop her once she sets her mind to something.

“Well, Larson called me from Louie’s and said Mom showed up there, pretty belligerently trying to order a beer,” Harlow continues. “She refused to leave, and Jeff was going to call the cops before he realized… you know…”

He trails off and I know his unfinished sentence is that she was our mom.

“…that she was with Larson,” he finally finishes. “Larson told Jeff he could handle it.”

“How do you know all of this?” Jensen asks.

“Larson called me,” Harlow says.

“You?” Jensen looks crushed, and I can tell his train of thought is going something like this: After all this time, I let Mom live with us, and I support her, yet people call Harlow— my irresponsible little brother— when she’s in a jam?

“Jensen,” I say quietly, putting my hand on his leg. “I’m sure he just didn’t want to worry you, knowing you have a baby on the way.”

“That’s it exactly,” Harlow says. “He says you had just left there, in a hurry to get home to see Riley. He didn’t want to bother you with this. And he…”

Harlow’s mouth clamps shut, as if he’s said too much. But Whitney’s looking at him expectantly, encouragingly, as if there’s more for him to tell us.

“He knew that I was having some issues with Mom,” Harlow finally finishes.

“What do you mean, issues with Mom?” Jensen asks. I take his hand and squeeze it, but he’s upset. “And why would you tell Larson but not me?”

“Well, honestly, there are a couple things I haven’t told you,” Harlow says. “And I don’t really know why. I guess I just wanted to be the caretaker for once. The one to handle things. But obviously I blew that.”

His cheeks are red, and I can’t help but feel sorry for him. I can understand where he’s coming from. Jensen has always been the peacemaker, Ramsey the protector, and Harlow, just the little troublemaker. Sure, he’d come a long way after his helicopter crash and Whitney had helped him get stronger and more mature. But he had probably seen this as a chance to prove himself, to show his brothers that he is finally a man and not just their kid brother.

“What exactly haven’t you told me?” Jensen asks.

I can tell he’s really mad but he’s trying to be gentle with Harlow. He must feel for him too.

“You know how Mom’s been coming over to our house a lot?” Harlow asks.

“Yeah…” Jensen says.

Whitney looks down at the floor, as if embarrassed.

“Well, a couple times, I caught her drinking,” he says.

“What!” Jensen explodes.

“I know,” Harlow says. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d hit the roof. You have enough on your plate to deal with. I was trying to handle it.”

“Harlow, the reason she goes to your house to drink is she knows that a condition of staying here is that she not drink,” Jensen says. “She was doing fine for a while. She was taking her meds, she was staying away from booze. What the hell?”

“I know,” Harlow says. “Don’t you think I know that? That’s why I haven’t wanted to tell you.”

Jensen huffs and then stands up, walking around as if trying to diffuse his anger. Whitney looks fearful, as if some irreparable riff had happened and couldn’t be repaired.

“It’s okay,” I tell them. “We’ll work this out.”

“I’m sorry,” Harlow tells Jensen. “Really. The first time, I told her that was it. If she did it again, I was telling you. Then she did it again. So I told her she wouldn’t be able to come over again. I feel really bad, because I think that’s why she went to the bar instead.”

He’s shaking a bit, as if he might throw up. I feel the exact same way, but I don’t know if it’s from emotions or pregnancy. My morning sickness had gone away during my second trimester. I shouldn’t be feeling nauseated right now. A searing pain gripped my stomach, radiating from one side to the other, but then it was over nearly as fast as it came, thank goodness.

“Look,” I say, trying to solve the problem at hand so that I can go take a bath and relax. “None of this is really that much of a surprise. The doctor said she might relapse. We have all known the risks. I’m guilty of hiding my own feelings, myself.”

At this, Jensen stops pacing and looks at me. Harlow and Whitney are also looking at me. I decide there’s no better time than the here and now to explain what I mean. Sure, in private with Jensen would be best, but apparently this is a family affair.

I start to realize that maybe Ramsey should be here, but, as if on cue, there’s a knock at the door.