"Emma."
"—and it's impossible anyway because I was careful, I’m always careful, and?—"
"Emma!" Poppy stands, catching my hands to stop my pacing. "Breathe."
I breathe. Or try to. My chest feels tight, like there's a band around my ribs.
"What if it's positive?" The question comes out small and scared.
Poppy's grip on my hands tightens. "Then we figure it out. One step at a time."
"I can't be a mother. I can barely take care of myself. I eat popcorn for dinner and work until two in the morning and livein a four-hundred-square-foot apartment that reeks of essential oils."
"You're spiraling."
"I'm being realistic." I pull my hands free, resuming my pacing. "And even if I could be a mother, which I can't, the father is—" I can't say it. Can't say Grant's name out loud, make it real. "It's complicated."
"The guy from the plane?"
I'd told her about Grant. Sort of. I'd said I met someone on the flight to Florence, that we'd had one night together, that it couldn't go anywhere. I hadn't mentioned his name because, of course, she knows him and I just wasn’t ready to go there.
"Yeah," I say quietly. "The guy from the plane."
Poppy checks her phone. "It's been three minutes."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Three minutes. The amount of time it takes to change your entire life.
I don't move.
"Do you want me to check?" Poppy asks.
I should say yes. Should let her look first, give myself a buffer. But some masochistic part of me needs to see it myself.
"No," I say. "I'll do it."
The walk to the bathroom feels endless. I'm aware of every step, every breath, the way my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. Poppy follows a few steps behind, close enough to catch me if I fall.
I reach for the test on the counter and hesitate, my hand hovering over the plastic stick.
"It's going to be negative," I say again, like saying it enough times will make it true.
Then I flip it over.
Two pink lines.
Clear. Unmistakable. Positive.
The bathroom tilts. Or maybe I do. I grip the edge of the sink, staring at those two lines like if I look hard enough, they'll disappear.
They don't.
"Em?" Poppy's voice seems to come from very far away. "What does it say?"
I can't speak. Can't move. Can't do anything but stare at the test in my hand and watch my carefully constructed world crumble into dust.
I'm pregnant.
With Grant Cross's baby.
