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CHAPTER TWENTY

MOMAGER

POPPY

I’ve always been good at faking normal, while my insides are all topsy-turvy, I can remain cheerful and perky on the outside. Marley and my parents are usually the only ones who can tell when I’m not as sunshiny on the outside, so I’ve been avoiding them. And everyone.

I didn’t mean to go quiet—it just happened.

After staring at that little plastic stick with its life-altering answer, my world has tilted on its axis. I put my phone on silent the next day, ignored the notifications, and beyond work, my only constant, I have mentally and physically covered my head…in bed. I’d stay there if I could.

Beyond that? Nothing feels fine.

By day four, the concerned texts start pouring in. Marley gets adamant.

Marley

Are you alive? Answer me, dammit.

Sorry! Just crazy busy at work!

Marley

Call me when you get a minute. I miss your face.

Will do. Love you. Xo

It isn’t a total lie. I have been busy—mentally cataloging how every single thing in my life is about to change.

Bowie even texts again.

Bowie

Still doing okay?

I’ve come up with every possible scenario of how to break the news.

Not today. Not now. Not yet.

I should be asking you that question.

It’s true. The guy just lost his dad and any tentative, shaky friendship we may or may not have started is now completely teetering when I bail on him in his time of need.

On the sixth day, I decide enough is enough. I book an appointment with an OB-GYN, hoping the doctor will tell me I imagined the whole thing.

The doctor’s office smells faintly of lavender and antiseptic. My nose stings with how strong it is and my stomach turns slightly. Nope. Not doing the nausea thing. I remember what Tru said about something salty and pull out the little bag of goldfish I keep on hand at Briar Hill. I chew a few and am surprised when my stomach settles.

Hmm, I guess it does work.

Ugh. I haven’t imagined the whole thing.

My knee bounces nervously until my name is called. I follow the nurse into the exam room that’s decorated with cheerful posters about prenatal care. I answer a few questions, tell her about the positive pregnancy tests and my unpredictable periods.

Dr. Talbot knocks on the door a few minutes later and walks in, energetic…how I normally try to be when I meet new people.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Talbot,” she says, extending her hand with a grin.

“I’m Poppy,” I say, trying to smile back. I still feel like crying, but fortunately, I don’t burst into tears.

“Let’s see what’s going on, shall we?” Dr. Talbot says.

Within minutes, the ultrasound confirms what I already knew. Dr. Talbot’s smile softens as she turns the monitor toward me.

“Well, there’s your baby, Poppy. You’re about nine weeks along.”

Nine weeks. Two months. My breath catches.

“Wow,” I whisper .

“It’s a lot to take in,” she says. “How are you feeling about all this?”

I laugh nervously. “Completely overwhelmed.”

“That’s fair. Pregnancy is no joke, but you’re healthy, the baby looks good, and you’ve got some time to figure out things. At least until mid-November. Baby steps.” She grins. “I’ll want to see you back in a month. Blaire will help you set up your next appointment.”

“Okay.”

I leave the office clutching a folder of pamphlets and feeling like I’ve stepped into an alternate reality.

I stop by Luminary on the way home and then pause in front of the counter. Wait. I think I’m not supposed to have caffeine.

“Hi, Poppy!” Clara says. She lifts her eyebrows when I step out of the line. “You okay, honey?”

“I…good. Hi! Just need a sec.”

I back up and bump into someone. Hands wrap around my biceps, steadying me. I look over my shoulder, and my mouth drops open. Bowie. What are the chances?

“Poppy?”

“Hello? It’s me,” I sing.

Yep, like Adele. Only without the beautiful voice. More like a wilting, sad seal.

He chuckles. “Hey, you.”

“You look good.” I sigh and again, he chuckles.

Why does my torture bring him joy? I know not.

“Uh, I mean. You always do, but you seem good…” I turn to face him and lower my head, rubbing my temples. “I’m sorry to fall off the face of the earth when you’ve needed friends more than ever.”

“ Are we friends?” He wrinkles his brow and my mouth falls .

“Are you…being playful?”

He puts his hand on his chest in mock outrage. “Me? Playful? Never.”

I grin, all the while the words, I’m having your baby, pump through my chest, begging to come out. My smile drops and I laugh like a hyena. “Right. You? Never. Hahaha.”

His eyes widen and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile this big. It’s still not normal people’s big, but for him, it’s big. Very big. And I’m stuck on big.

I shake my head, backing up. “Gotta run! You take care, okay? Okay?”

I turn and run out, with Clara saying, “She forgot to order!”

Fumbling with my phone when I get to the car, I call Marley and I feel terrible about this, but when she croaks out a hello, I breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Aw, you’re sick?” I cry. Hypocrite, hypocrite.

“So sick.”

“I’m so sorry. I’ll call you later. Or call me when you feel better. I love you so much.”

“I love you. Okay, I will.”

We hang up and I glare at myself in the rearview mirror.

Over the next few days, I try to decide when—and how—to tell Bowie. Waiting until the twelve-week mark feels safer, but am I really going to be a bumbling idiot every time I see him until then? And what if it’s just worse after he knows?

I decide to try to avoid him for the next three weeks, but he brings Becca to Briar Hill…and stays. What the hell? I would’ve been thrilled over this predicament a couple of weeks ago, but now it’s sheer torture.

The kids love him. He comes and plays volleyball with us and then lingers afterward. I try to pick up the balls and keep dropping them, which has always been a problem of mine, but it’s magnified with the way he’s watching me. He helps me put them away.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Fine. Totally fine!” I say, my voice way too high.

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press.

“Are you okay?” I try to deflect.

“Besides my mom driving me crazy? Yes.”

I wrinkle my nose. “No update on a new place?”

“Oh no. Paulina is making no effort to go anywhere. She’s nesting.” He swipes his hand over his face and I watch the beautiful curve of his bicep, his perfect veiny hands. I love a veiny hand.

I shake my head and clear my throat. “Nesting,” I repeat.

“Putting her shit up everywhere. There must be thirty giraffes in the kitchen alone.”

“No!” I gasp, laughing.

He lifts his hand to the back of his neck, and again with that bicep. Damn.

He leans against the wall and watches Becca talking to her friends, while I watch him. When he turns to look at me suddenly, I’m caught.

He looks sheepish and my cheeks flush. He totally caught me ogling him.

“You should come out with us tonight.”

“I. What? Out…with you?” I repeat. “I mean, us.” I sigh and give up.

I give up right the hell now.

“Uh, yeah. Becca and I are going out to eat tonight. We may or may not be avoiding going home.”

“Oh! Dinner.” I blink.

“We’ve got to eat, right?”

“Right.” He’s not asking me out, I remind myself. My heart is still doing embarrassing leaps inside. “Yeah…we’ve go tta eat. I’m in.” I fling my arm out and knock over the whole rack of balls.

I scramble to catch them and Bowie helps me put them back in place. I hear his chuckle again and I should be pleased that I’m making a grieving man laugh, but I just want a hole to swallow me.

“Shall we do Rose & Thorn?” he asks.

“I’ve never been there.”

“Oh, I think you’ll like it.”

“Should we meet there?” I ask.

He looks at his watch. “I would’ve picked you up, but it’s getting late. Yeah, how about we meet there?”

He was going to pick me up? No, it’s not a date. Right? We’re going with Becca. Not a date.

“Sounds good,” I say, keeping my arms to myself so I don’t send anything else flying.

He gives me a tight smile and calls Becca over. They hang out for a few minutes while I go to my office. When I walk out, he lifts away from the wall and holds the door open for us.

Yep, having his baby , I think.

I’ve never felt completely sane, a point to which Marley has always wholeheartedly agreed with me, but now I’m really losing it.

Fortunately, Becca keeps the conversation going at the restaurant.

“Oma likes lots of things,” she says. She holds her hands up to show me something tall. “Giraffes. And cups. And shoes.”

I laugh and Bowie nods begrudgingly.

“It’s true. She likes all those things…and then some,” he adds.

“Dad and I…” Becca starts, looking at Bowie for help. “We —” she shakes her head. “We not messy.”

“We don’t love as many things as Oma does, do we?” he says.

“We don’t,” she says.

“Can you talk her into storing some of her things…you know, have it ready to go for when she moves into her new place?” I suggest.

“If only she were agreeable to that,” Bowie grumbles. “This morning, she decided five thirty was the perfect time to reorganize my kitchen. Do you know how disorienting it is to reach for a mug and find a bag of prunes instead?”

I snort. “Yikes.”

“I had these nice glass containers that she’s replaced with bright orange Tupperware.”

“Wait, she’s replaced them? What did she do with yours?”

He leans on his forearms and he looks so delicious, I gulp.

“She tried to send them to Goodwill. I found them in a box and had to unpack my own damn bowls.”

My eyes widen.

“She’s not trying to reorganize, she’s trying to conquer. I thought she was moving in to grieve maybe, you know? But no, she’s on a warpath. Every drawer, every cabinet—nothing is safe.”

“Your house is already very organized,” I say.

“Not anymore. It’s never been so cluttered.” He sags back in his chair.

“Maybe it’s her way of trying to help?” I bite back a laugh.

“Oh, she’s helping all right,” he says darkly. “She’s helping herself to my entire existence. She thinks I need to cut my hair and that my wardrobe lacks personality.”

“Don’t you dare cut your hair,” I blurt out. “But she’s not wrong about your wardrobe. ”

He looks down at his sweatshirt and folds his arms. “Athletic wear is timeless.”

“Timelessly boring.”

Total lie. He makes athletic wear look delicious.

“Well, tell me how you really feel,” he says, his eyes narrowing on mine.

I laugh and his lips twitch. Our plates are set in front of us and when I go to take a bite of my burger, my nose flares. I set the burger down quickly and eat a nice, salty fry instead.

“It gets worse,” he says. “She’s started cooking dinner.”

“That’s nice, right?”

“No, Poppy, it’s not nice.”

Becca turns up her nose. “Yucky,” she says.

Bowie and I laugh.

“Last night it was some kind of…casserole. She called it Austrian Comfort Delight. Ham and peas with noodles, which,” he lifts a shoulder, “in theory shouldn’t be a disaster necessarily, but…” He shudders. “So much salt.”

I can’t stop laughing now.

“You didn’t like it either?” I ask Becca.

“Martha likes it,” Becca says.

“Becca fed it to Martha under the table,” Bowie says, cringing. “I discourage that, but we needed a quick fix and Martha was there.”

I cover my mouth with my napkin as I crack up.

“She wants to adopt another dog, says Martha doesn’t have enough life in her.”

At that, I double over, clutching my stomach. “This is too good.”

“She’s a menace,” he says with amusement.

“This is the most I’ve heard you talk ever,” I say, trying to wipe off my wistful expression. I clear my throat and try to get serious. “Maybe she’s just trying to make up for lost time,” I say gently.

He looks down. “Yeah, maybe.” Then he glances at my plate and frowns. “Is your burger not good?”

“Oh…I’m…it’s…would you like a bite?” I hold up my plate and he stares at the whole burger still sitting there.

“Well, now I’m curious about why you’re not eating it.” He picks it up and takes a big bite. “Tastes great to me.” He places it back on the plate.

“Take it. Please.” I nudge the plate toward him.

“I can always eat,” he says. He looks down at his plate. “I finished my steak,” he says apologetically, “but there’s still some salad. Want some of this?”

I look at it. I don’t normally like avocado or Kalamata olives, but… it looks unbelievably good.

“You know what? I think I would like some of that,” I say, grabbing his plate.

He looks surprised. “Oh, here you go.” He moves things out of the way so I can get to it easier.

I take a cautious bite of olive and hum. “Why does that taste so good?” My next tentative bite is the avocado and once I start, I eat it all. “Delicious,” I say in shock. “This is the best salad I’ve ever had.”

It must be a fluke because I hate olives and avocado, but I’ll take it…I’m not queasy at all.

Bowie gives me an amused smile. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. We should’ve traded sooner.”

Conversation continues to flow and I try not to pinch myself that I’m at dinner with Becca and Bowie…because if I think about it too long, I could get hopeful. I could start imagining things…how it could be.

As we get ready to leave, Bowie says, “Hopefully I don’t get home to a color-coded underwear drawer. ”

I laugh. “Well, you guys are always welcome to crash at my place.” My face flames, and I try to reel it back. “Or, you know, create boundaries.”

That earns another laugh. My heart is full from the smiles and laughs I’ve gotten from Bowie tonight.

“Right. Boundaries. Your place definitely sounds more fun.”

It’s a good thing we go outside in the dark then, so my swoony eyes and red cheeks don’t show.

Oh my God, I’m having his baby.