“I’M GOING TO be the lamest party-goer of all time,” I lament, holding up two outfits. One is a coral-colored dress that I purchased as soon as I broke up with Callum. It’s sexy and fun and flirty . . . and so not becoming of a woman with child.
“You are not.” Poppy catches the dress as I toss it to her. “I love this. Are you not wearing it?”
Holding up a semi-fitted blue top that reminds me of the water surrounding a tropical island, I shake my head. “I can’t wear that. I bought it to pick up guys. It seems . . . immoral, considering the circumstances.”
“You’re having a baby, not joining a nunnery.”
“This whole thing is so confusing,” I sigh. Plopping down on the bed, my freshly curled hair bounces on my shoulders. “The doctor’s office gave me an appointment and a link to a website with information overload. It just . . . it still doesn’t feel real. How can a baby be inside me?”
“I have such a smartass response to that, but I’ll withhold because I see you’re stressing.” Brushing a lock of hair out of her face, she blows out a breath. “I’m not going to lie and say I get what you’re feeling because I don’t, thank God. I have no idea what this must be like.”
“It’s scary.”
She wraps an arm around my shoulder and leans her head against mine. We sit on the bed like this for a couple of minutes, my friend just being that—my friend. Sometimes you don’t need advice and you don’t need promises that it will all be okay. You just need someone beside you saying, “I’m here.”
“You know what the scariest part about this is?” I ask.
“No.”
“That website has all of these women smiling and glowing and skipping through fields of lavender.”
“Really?” she asks, lifting a brow.
“No, but you get the idea,” I sigh. “I’m just . . . not. I don’t feel like this swamp of love and excitement has hit me yet, and I’m worried it won’t.”
“Of course you will, but you gotta give yourself some time, Lay. You’ve only known this for a couple of days.”
“But I already feel like a mom failure.”
She laughs and stands, jerking the blouse out of my hands and shoving the dress back in them. “You are not a mom failure and you are not wearing . . . this,” she snarls, tossing the shirt in the bottom of my closet. “You’re wearing the dress and you’re gonna be hot and we’re gonna go party at Tiffany’s and have some fun.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“I do. Get up, get dressed, and let’s get out of here.”
After saluting me, which makes me laugh, she leaves me alone to finish getting ready. I wear the dress and a pair of nude heels and even throw on a long necklace with a large, fake blue stone at the end. The color vaguely reminds me of Branch’s eyes. Standing still, I handle the stone and wonder what color eyes our baby will have.
“No,” I say, when the tears start to come again. “These are tears of fear. You won’t cry. You will handle this like the boss you are.”
Skipping the smoky eye in case I feel less like a boss later want to avoid a charcoal river down my face, I put on minimal makeup and take myself in when complete. It’s not too bad. I can tell I’ve been crying, but I know me. I don’t think anyone else, besides Poppy and maybe Finn, will.
“Don’t you look pretty,” Poppy says, coming in the room. “I love that dress on you. So much better than the interview blouse.”
“I actually did buy that for an interview.”
“Yeah. I could tell.”
Before I can think twice, I whirl around on my heel. “Have you seen Branch?”
“Yes.”
I nod, not sure where to go with this now. I’m not even sure what I want to know or hope to hear, and she doesn’t volunteer anything, which both provides both comfort and distress.
“He asked about you again,” she says quietly. “Nothing much, just if I had seen you.”
“What did you say?”
“I said you got a brand new project that has your hands full for the next nine months or so.”
“You did not,” I gasp.
“I did. But he’s so . . . Branch . . . he didn’t get it,” she laughs. “It’s funny! Come on!”
Glaring at her, I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s not funny. I wish you’d stop seeing the humor in it.”
“You do not,” she groans. “You keep me around for my humor. So, you want to know what else he said?”
Biting my lip, I lift my shoulders up and down like there’s a boulder sitting on them.
“You do. The answer is, ‘I do, Poppy.’ So, he asked if you would be up for having dinner with him if he called you.”
My lip pops free as my traitorous heart leaps like a greeting card commercial. “He did?”
“No, I’m making it up.”
“I’m gonna kill you.”
“Yes, he did. He asked me that. I told him maybe he should wait a few days, that you were a little preoccupied and needed a little space. But maybe this is a good sign?”
Staring at the wall, I wonder if he means it. I was certain he’d have moved on by now. No, I’m certain he has. But a dinner is one thing, and being told you’re going to be a father is much, much different.
He’s the father of my child.
I knew this before, but this is the moment that realization hits me. Hard. I must look worse for wear because Poppy grabs my elbow and bends down to eye-level.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“Want to sit down? Need water? My instinct is to offer you vodka, but that’s not on the menu anymore.”
“Branch is the father of my baby, Poppy.”
“Yes . . .” she says, dropping my elbow.
“How am I going to tell him? I mean, if I could not tell him it would be so much easier, but I can’t not tell him, right? I mean, I could not tell him but that’s not the right—”
“Breathe,” she giggles. “That was like one giant sentence. And, yes, you have to tell him. Not today. Not tomorrow. But you do have to tell him.”
My lashes close, blocking out her concerned face and the light that’s threatening to give me a headache. “How do you think he’ll take it?”
“I’ve never told a guy I’m having his kid, so I have no idea.”
“Do you think he’ll think I did it on purpose?”
“Oh, I think the look on your face proves you didn’t do this on purpose,” she shrugs. “He may not be happy about it, but I’m not sure you are either. And I think you have to stop cursing now,” she says, tapping her lips with the tip of her finger. “I think the baby can hear you.”
Rolling my eyes, I grab my purse and head to the door. “Well, as long as I’m friends with you, it’s going to hear profane language. I may as well keep it consistent.”
Poppy’s laughter follows me into the hallway. She starts jabbering on about the party and how excited Tiffany is that we’re coming. I tune her out.
This might be the last time I get to go out and do fun things for the rest of my life. Dramatic, maybe. But it’s also true.
“Pop?”
“Yeah?” she says as we await the elevator.
“Let’s have fun tonight, okay?”
She grins. “Yes. Let’s.”