My father's best friend's baby.
The panic hits all at once, a tidal wave that steals my breath. My vision tunnels. My knees buckle.
Poppy catches me before I hit the floor, her arm wrapping around my waist as she guides me back to the couch. She takes the test from my fingers and sets it on the coffee table, then kneels in front of me, her hands on my knees.
"Emma. Look at me."
I force my eyes to focus on her face.
"Breathe," she says firmly. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. Come on, breathe with me."
I try. The air feels like it's not quite reaching my lungs, but I try.
"That's it. Good. Keep breathing."
We sit there for what feels like forever, Poppy counting breaths until the panic recedes enough that I can think again. When I finally speak, my voice doesn't sound like my own.
"I'm pregnant."
"Yeah," Poppy says softly. "You are."
"I can't be pregnant. I have a business to build. I have investors to pitch. I have—" My voice cracks. "I have a plan. And this isn't part of it."
"I know."
"This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. This is—" The words catch in my throat. "I'm going to end up just like my mother."
Poppy's eyes widen. "What? No. Em, that's not?—"
"Yes, it is." I'm on my feet again, pacing, the panic giving way to something sharper. Anger, maybe, or desperation. "Don't you see? I'm going to have a baby, and I won't be able to work the hours I need to work. I won't be able to travel or pitch investors or do any of the things I need to do to make Essence successful. And the father—" I stop, pressing my hands to my face. "God. The father."
"The guy from the plane," Poppy says carefully. "You said it was just one night."
"It was."
"So you’ll tell him?—"
"No." The word comes out sharp. "No, I can't tell him. I can't."
"Emma, if you're pregnant, he has a right to know."
"He's—" I drop my hands, meeting Poppy's eyes. "He's rich, Poppy. Like, insanely rich. The kind of rich where money solves every problem. And the second I tell him, he's going to try to fix this. He's going to want to take care of me, support me, probably try to buy me a bigger apartment or buy me a minivan—" My breath hitches. "And I'll let him. Because it'll be so easy, and I'll be so tired, and before I know it, I'll have given up everything I've worked for."
"You don't know that."
"I do." I sink back onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. "I watched my mother do it. And she did it because it was easier than fighting. Easier than trying to maintain her own identity in the face of someone who wanted to control everything."
Poppy sits beside me, her shoulder pressing against mine. "You're not your mother."
"How do you know?" The question comes out broken. "How do you know I won't make the same choices she did?"
"Because I know you. You're the most stubborn, determined person I've ever met. You've been working yourself into the ground for a year to build Essence without anyone's help. You went to Italy by yourself, you're learning to distill perfume from scratch, you're doing everything the hard way because the hard way is the only way you trust." She takes my hand. "A baby isn’t going to change all that."
"It changes everything."
"Maybe," Poppy concedes. "But that doesn't mean it has to change you. Not in the ways you're afraid of."
I want to believe her. Want to believe that I can do this, that I can be pregnant and still be me. But all I can see is my mother's face, the way she smiles when my father talks over her at dinner parties. The way she's made herself smaller and smaller over the years, until sometimes I wonder if she’ll just completely disappear.
