“I have whole life. Why I tell you everything?! I know Arthur and his past, he tell me. But I know before that. Papou tell me. He say, before he die, he say, ‘Arthur is killer but good guy.’ Is last thing he say to me.” Yaya’s lip trembled, and she clutched the locket she wore on her neck of their first photo together. A single tear fell down her face, but she wiped it away and straightened her shoulders. “I am so mad.Whyhe say this to me? Why not say he loveme?” Her voice trembled. “Months later, I am so, so, so sad. So, so, so lonely…I sit at Papou’s bench at river begging, in my head, pray to God, please to take me, I don’t want stay here, not without my Frank, and I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn, is Arthur. He give me those.” She motioned to a bouquet of flowers in the center of the table. “Violets. On first date in Greece, Papou give me Violets. Your Papou send Arthur to me.”
AJ couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He wasn’t sure what was more unbelievable, that Arthur showed up with violets, the same flowers that Papou gave Yaya on their first date, that Yaya and Papou were resistance fighters, or that Yaya knew about Arthur’s past and hadn’t told everyone. What he did know was that even in death, his Papou was still taking care of Yaya, and she still felt his love. That was the kind of love he felt for Poppy, unconditional, timeless. Not till death do us part, even in death, love.
31
Was Zion right?Was it possible that AJ might feel differently about the baby now that it wasn’t a hypothetical? Did he know that she was proud he was the father? She was just scared, scared because he didn’t want kids.
The last few hours had been spent in a relentless, forensic review of every conversation she’d had with AJ about the baby since they found out she was pregnant. If she was honest, and Poppy was nothing if not self-critical when it counted, she realized she’d never once asked him, not directly, how he felt.
Not once. That was almost impressive, in a way, she’d managed to bulldoze over every actual feeling in favor of logistics, future-proofing, and the embarrassing, anxious vulnerability that always came with being the one who cared more. They’d spent hours together, entire days even, but all she could remember now were the practicalities.
He, on the other hand, had been quietly supportive, making sure she had everything she needed. He went out and got her watermelon and Tabasco sauce at midnight when she couldn’t sleep and had a craving. He cooked for her nearly every night while she studied so she could have a nutritious home-cookeddinner. She went through her texts, and he’d sent her articles on different birth plans, nursery colors, cribs, changing tables, rocking chairs, high chairs, strollers, and car seats. AJ sent her spreadsheets with safety ratings, consumer reports, and reviews and told her to pick her favorites and he’d buy them.
Holy shit. The realization hit her with the force of a hard, devastating truth, he was doing exactly what her dreams were, only she’d been too caught up in her own shit to see it. Everything she’d wanted in a partner, he’d done, just in an AJ way, and she’d missed it by looking for what she thought it was supposed to look like. They’d never had the candlelit dinner conversation about hopes and dreams for their hypothetical child. They’d had articles, and home renovations, and watermelon and Tabasco runs at midnight. He sent her texts filled with information and options from hours of research he'd done. She messaged back what she liked. It showed up at her door.
Most days, that realization might have made her laugh. Tonight it made her feel raw and exposed, like she’d been walking around with an open wound and only just realized it was bleeding.
He’d shared articles on sleep training, baby proofing, tummy time, parenting mindset and tips, and even self-care for a new mother’s mental and physical wellbeing.
She chalked it all up to him being a responsible father and him being supportive of her because that was what his role was. Fulfilling his duty. But what if Zion was right? What if AJ actually wanted to be a part of their child’s life? Or what if she was right? What if he was only doing all of this because it was “the right” thing to do?
The last thing she wanted was to raise a child with someone who saw them as an obligation. She wanted to have a family. A real family. One that she’d never had. She’d grown up beinga dirty secret. She would not allow her child to feel like an obligation. She refused to.
Even though it might break her heart, she had to know. Either way. And if, by some crazy chance, AJ thought she hadn’t told people he was the father for any other reason than her just needing them to figure out what was going on with them before she opened it up for the world to have an opinion because she’d spent her life being the subject of whispers and gossip and she didn’t want to have people’s pity if he didn’t stick around, then she needed to set him straight.
She stood up from her couch and felt her heart pound wildly in her chest. There was nothing left to do except go to him. This wasn’t the kind of problem you solved with another spreadsheet or a text message. It was a rip-the-Band-Aid-off situation, all or nothing, right now.
She opened her front door and headed down the driveway. As she passed the kitchen, she saw Deacon and Tabitha watching TV on the couch. Tabitha was painting Deacon’s nails.
Poppy’s eyes started to mist with emotion as she pictured her hypothetical daughter, Dylan, painting AJ’s nails, but she sniffed that emotion back.
Tabitha didn’t have a mother, and yet here she was, thriving. Not just “not broken” but formidable, beloved, stubborn, and herself. If Tabitha could be okay, so could Dylan, even if AJ didn’t stick around. Poppy had always prided herself on her resilience, she’d built an entire identity on withstanding things other people whispered about but never spoke of. She could take the hit, but she couldn’t bear the idea of her baby inheriting that particular legacy.
She reminded herself that her child wouldn’t be alone. They would have male role models, a veritable army of uncles—Liam, Roger, Ramesh, Duane—all of them the type who would show up to a parent-teacher conference and intimidate a jackass assistantprincipal into submission or show up to a ballet recital with an embarrassing, homemade sign. Maybe it wouldn’t be the same, but it could be enough. It had to be. She’d survived with less.
As she came around the corner of the shrubbery, she told herself no matter how the talk went, she would be fine and they would be fine. She walked up the drive and knocked on the door. There was no answer. She knocked again. It was only after the third knock, that she realized AJ’s vehicle was not parked beside the house.
Her entire body sighed, she wasn’t sure if it was from relief or sadness, maybe both. She was walking down the steps of the porch when he pulled up onto the drive.
As soon as the engine cut off, the driver’s side door flung open, and AJ was out, striding toward her with an intensity that made her stomach clench.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded, eyes raking over her as if expecting to find visible wounds.
Poppy could see the concern in his handsome face.
For a beat, she lost her script before she stumbled over her words again. “No, um, I just—nothing. I’m fine, I just, um, I…we need to talk.”
AJ’s brow furrowed. “Okay. I need to shower.” Already distracted, he scanned the porch for packages or threats or whatever it was that kept him in a permanent state of diligence.
Poppy realized he must have been working on the house. He had on his work boots, jeans, and work hoodie. Of course he had been. She’d seen all the work he’d done, told him it was too much, and not even said thank you, not really, but of course he was still finishing it. It was AJ, he didn’t do things for glory or even for people to appreciate, he did them because…she wasn’t exactly sure. She guessed it was because he thought it was the right thing to do. It certainly wasn’t because she had earned it. She’d been horrible to him. Maybe it was the hormones, ormaybe it was the fifty pounds of emotional baggage she was carrying.
“Oh, okay. I’ll just come back,” she said, already flinching from the possibility of rejection.
“I’ll just be a few minutes. Can you wait?”
She hesitated, wondering if this should just wait until after the wedding, but realized that was just making more excuses. then nodded, following him inside.
“Do you want anything to drink? Eat?” He offered as he locked the deadbolt, kicked off his boots, and lined them up in the shoe cabinet.
