“Hey, sorry, man. I meant to get this done weeks ago, but I had two big jobs come up. I’m getting on a plane now and will be out of the country until after the New Year. I’m sending over the full report, but I just wanted to let you know that St. Claire’s clean as far as business, finance, and his personal life go. He’s respected in his field. He donates more than he earns to charities, and he does it anonymously. He set up scholarships for foster kids in his late wife’s name. He has after-school programs and food programs in his daughter’s name. He’s paid off millions in medical debts, student loans, and mortgages for individuals, single parents, and families, again, all anonymously. He volunteers his time with no fan fair. He refuses to speak to news outlets about his philanthropy. None of the recipients of his generosity have ever known he is the benefactor. He was faithful to his wife. He’s dated a few people since she passed, they all have only nice things to say about him. I thought I was going to come back with nothing until I got to his medical records, that’s when things got interesting. He’s still a great guy, but not exactly who he said he is. Although, if I had his money, I’m not sure I would go around advertising it either.I’ll call you when I get back stateside, now that you’re just a few hours away, I’d love to see you.”
When AJ saw the report, he understood what Alex was talking about.
Beside Poppy, Yaya suddenly stood and banged her fork against her glass. The room went quiet except for the collective gasp when Mr. Santino reflexively caught the steak knife Yaya sent spinning midair. Everything Yaya did had a dramatic flair. The entire crowd applauded.
“Yes, yes, yes, clap for my Arthur, he catch knife and also has ask me to be bride…”
There were more gasps, which AJ knew Yaya was eating up.
“And I say yes!” Yaya lifted her hand, revealing a gorgeous antique diamond ring glittering in the candlelight.
The room erupted into more applause.
Speaking of men who had secret identities. AJ needed to make sure Yaya knew exactly who she was marrying.
Neurotypical people often accused AJ of being secretive and mysterious. They said he made it impossible to get to know the real person, to know who he was. They said he had walls up, and he kept people at arm’s length. But out of everyone seated around this table, he was aware of three people keeping huge secrets from people who they were supposed to love.
He would never understand neurotypical people.
30
It was sucha relief to Poppy that she finally didn’t have to hide her bump. It had been a week since the news broke, and in that time she definitely popped. Her stomach was showing,reallyshowing.
Her mother had responded to the bombshell with a strange and militant cheerfulness, swinging by Poppy’s place each evening with a new armful of “necessary” items, herbal teas, frozen lasagna, and a rotating assortment of flower bouquets, always accompanied by her new boyfriend Dan, who hovered in the background, part cheerleader and part bouncer, as if anticipating a bar fight to break out over the merits of oat milk versus whole. The gesture reeked of overcompensation, but Poppy was telling herself to be grateful for the effort.
Her sisters, too, had started appearing with suspicious frequency, each “just in the neighborhood” visit a little more obviously staged than the last. She suspected a group chat somewhere, possibly titled Operation: Pregnant Poppy, with Phoebe at command central, orchestrating with military precision and probably using a color-coded spreadsheet. Itwould not have surprised her one bit if her sisters were required to clock in when they crossed her threshold.
So far, no one had dared broach the subject of the baby daddy directly. They all maintained a delicate neutrality, as if the question of paternity were radioactive. But she wasn’t naïve. She knew the tiptoe around the mystery-dad was only a stay of execution. If Poppy had to guess, she’d say the collective patience of her family would last until after Yaya’s wedding that weekend. At most. The only thing greater than their desire for festive family harmony was their appetite for the truth, and after the cake had been sliced and the bouquets thrown, someone—probably Yaya herself, emboldened by champagne and matriarchal authority—would corner her in the powder room and demand an answer.
To her it was obvious who the father was. The problem was, ever since she’d announced that she was expecting, AJ had taken a huge step back. Since Thanksgiving, he’d retreated. The man who used to be on her doorstep every morning, showing up and cooking every night, now seemed capable only of monosyllabic exchanges on the rare occasions they did cross paths. They’d managed to avoid one another with the grace of synchronized swimmers performing a particularly elaborate routine. Yet somehow, dinners still appeared, but they always arrived when she was in the bathroom or when she’d stepped out for an errand. Groceries magically stocked in her cabinets, and the no-bake oatmeal bars AJ made from scratch she’d come to love multiplied in the glass jar like the fish and loaves of bread in the Bible. Her laundry was washed and put away. He was still working on her house, which she knew because she’d stopped by with her mom and Dan, and she’d seen both bathroom showers had been tiled. It was impressive, the way he could be both omnipresent and invisible, both next door and a million milesaway. She missed him. Or at least, she missed the version of him she thought she knew.
“Good morning, beautiful! How is our little mama doing?” Zion’s voice boomed, echoing off the glass storefront of Om Sweet Om yoga studio.
Poppy braced herself. Zion was one of the only people in town who refused to let her wither behind self-consciousness. He wore his own eccentricities like a badge of honor and seemed personally offended by anyone else’s attempts at humility.
“I’m fine,” she said, forcing a smile. She could feel her lips wobbling at the edges.
“Really?” His brows lifted. He twirled his finger in front of her. “I think you forgot to tell your face that.” He opened the door and held it for her. “Come on, let’s go get you centered.”
Stepping inside, Poppy felt enveloped by warmth and eucalyptus. Something about the sage green walls and careful arrangement of plants instantly quieted the noise in her head. A fiddle-leaf fig stood sentinel by the check-in counter, where a bamboo bench invited waiting visitors. Beyond, students had already taken their positions, facing the mirrored wall across from windows that framed the Hope Falls River which ran parallel to Main Street. White oak cubbies lined the back, near a wicker basket overflowing with rolled yoga mats. The competing scents of succulents, candles, and incense mingled in the air while R&B played softly in the background—all of it conspiring to make her forget, if only for an hour, the complications waiting outside.
Zion set up their mats in their usual spot. As they settled in, Poppy glanced around at the other bodies, old, young, bendy, and creaky. There was something comforting about the wide demographic of a yoga class, the acceptance, strength, and authenticity.
They’d barely sat down when Tiana took her place at the front of the class and began the introduction. Her movements were so smooth it was as if gravity made exceptions for her. She wore no makeup, yet her skin glowed like she'd just stepped out of a spa treatment. Her high cheekbones and perfect curls defied nature. She’d always reminded Poppy of Zoe Kravitz. Like a modern-day goddess, she effortlessly exuded an air of confidence and sensuality, not needing to try or even be aware of her effect on others.
When she spoke, her voice carried to every corner without seeming to rise above a murmur. “Remember, this practice is for you. Don’t compare yourself to the person next to you or the person you used to be. Let it all go. Just be here now.”
Poppy almost snorted. If only it were that easy. She’d spent her whole life comparing, measuring, and recalibrating herself against an ever-changing horizon. Now, with a child growing beneath her ribs, her old benchmarks felt irrelevant.
The class moved through its opening sequence, child’s pose, cat-cow, downward dog. Poppy’s body, stiff and foreign, slowly began to soften. With every inhale, she tried to send a wave of forgiveness through her muscles, a message of acceptance to the little soul riding shotgun.
You’re safe, she thought.I’m learning as I go.
Every time she dropped into a forward fold, she remembered the first time she’d come to this class, months ago, it was right after the appointment with Steph where she’d filled her final bingo card square: there are other options. She’d wept the whole time, silent tears pooling on the mat, convinced she would never have the only thing she’d ever wanted in life. Now, with her hands resting on the rounded globe of her stomach, that lifemightjust happen. It just might not be how she’d envisioned it.
It was so strange to go from only her and AJ knowing to everyone knowing and basically not speaking to AJ. She felt like she had emotional whiplash.
At the end of class, during the final savasana, Tiana’s voice was a low, hypnotic hum. “Let your thoughts drift by like clouds. Nothing to fix. Nothing to solve. Just breathe.” Poppy laid flat, hands on her belly, and imagined her future self, someone stronger, someone brave enough to give her child the stability she’d never had. She built a little fortress in her mind, one where secrets had no power and love was the only currency.
