Gabriel: Prequel

twenty five

[ gabe's pov]

"Move the frame to the side. No - the other side." Following Harper's instructions, I place the frame on the right side, but she quickly refuses it, wanting it back in the middle.

"That looks wrong. Does it even matter?" 

She narrows her eyes at me, shaking her head. "If Aubrey wasn't in my arms right now, I would hit you and tell you it does matter." 

I sigh in reluctant agreement, moving the frame again. One of the many quirks being in the gang meant that mostly, everyone is rich. Every illegitimate mean had meant that there are plenty of ways to get money - so much money that buying a house hardly dented our funds. Frankly, we did need the space so the house came as a blessing. With much input from Rehan and hardly anything from Nicholas, the decor turned out pretty well, suiting both of our tastes - mostly hers, though.

A few months had passed and the only things left to work on are small, minimal details such as frames and odd pieces of appliances and furniture. 

"Hey, I think we should discuss something."

"Shoot."

"We have opportunities to make more money and we're not taking enough advantage of them. We can alternate shifts?" She offers, placing Aubrey down in one of her many cots around the house. 

I stop fixing the frame and turn around, rubbing my neck. "I barely finished school and we have enough money, don't you think?"

"Yeah," she nods, "but, it wouldn't hurt to be more secure."

"We can't do that by having normal jobs?"

Harper sighs, brushing the hair off of her face, "I told you there wouldn't be an out to this life. You can't be like normal people, doing normal things."

"I just don't want to rely on criminal shit to provide for our daughter," I shrug , stepping down from the stool, sitting on it.

She joins me, kneeling on the floor next to me, "That's the only way we can, though. It's not what we want, I get it, but we can't do anything else."

"I don't like it, though."

"I'm not expecting you to. Even I don't."

I don't respond, instead just sighing as I move over to the piano. Like most times, she's obviously right: we aren't normal parents, so having a normal life isn't likely. I just wish it was. Absent-mindedly, I let my fingers play the familiar lullaby, caressing the keys on the piano. Empty notes float around the room until the harp's melody floods in; Harper strums her fingers across the the plane of the harp. We continue to play, unspoken understanding and accepting translating between us. We don't need to speak to acknowledge the other's point, we just play her tune.

As we continue to play, a small gurgle erupts from Aubrey; looking over to Harper, we both smile at her sound and play louder. It's a beautiful feeling to make your baby laugh for the first time. Inexplicable, really. We stop after a while, watching her as she falls into a sleep, her chest rising in sync with her small noises. I lead Harper to the kitchen, taking food out of the fridge onto the counter. 

"Truce?"

She raises a single eyebrow, eyeing the ingredients, "Depends."

"Stir-fry?"

She shakes her head as she laughs, pulling out her phone. "You are beyond words, Gabriel. Let's just do a safe option and order."

It doesn't take much to convince me as I put the ingredients away and we both settle on some pasta place, both of us settling next to the other on the sofa as we eat. Mindlessly, we watch some stupid sitcom as we both eat, our minds probably more focused on what we discussed. It's one thing to forgive, but it's another to forget. I don't have a doubt that this will be brought up again in the future. 

"Sit next to her," Harper commands, putting her food on the table. I follow suit, staring at her, confused. She ushers me to just do it, so I do. I carefully take her out, my arms enclosing around her as she snuggles into my warmth. Harper sits next to me, her body pushing into us as she angles her phone with the camera facing us.

"I'm too unbothered for a professional." That's one hundred percent Harper. As she takes the photo, my free hand finds hers, grasping it. Even if we don't ever accept the other's point, we would still negotiate to make the other happy. Showing me the photo, I smile stupidly, saving it myself. The frame that was being worked in progress is empty, and now the perfect photo is ready to home it. 

Considering Aubrey's pretty much done for the day, we both take her upstairs, glancing at the frames. Ranging from group photos with Amancia, to photos with her uncles and photos with us, the house really feels like a home. I lay her in the crib, slightly pulling up her blanket and turning off the light as Harper leans against the doorway. "Call it intuition, but I think she's going to grow up so successful."

I lean against her, watching Aubrey, too. "I can agree. I can see everyone fawning over her already."

"As if we aren't the only people completely obsessed with her."

I chuckle, nodding my head. It's true.

"I feel like one kid is enough," she admits.

"To be honest, yeah. I don't know if bringing another kid into this world is worth it. They're hard work."

"Like you," she retorts, patting my arm as she heads to the bedroom. I follow behind, but first, I steal a glance at my daughter, safe away from the real world. As I turn to leave, I silently hope she never learns about the difficulties she could face, or else, I think I would be broken.