"You're doing the right thing," Poppy says quietly, pulling into traffic.
Maybe. Or maybe I'm making the biggest mistake of my life.
Maybe he’ll take over, and I’ll just watch while he fixes and manages and controls everything until I'm just another problem he's solved, another responsibility he's shouldered.
Or maybe—and this is the terrifying possibility I can barely let myself consider—maybe he'll surprise me. Maybe he'll find a way to help that doesn't feel like losing myself. Maybe he'll be a partner instead of a savior.
I press my hand against my stomach, thinking about those two tiny heartbeats.
I guess I'm about to find out.
“I want to tell you who the dad is but you have to pinky-promise me that you won’t tell a soul until it’s out in the open.”
She looks over at me, eyes wide. “Of course, Emma. I won’t tell anyone.” She reaches out her pinky and links it with mine like we’ve done a million times before.
I take a deep breath. “It’s Grant. Grant Cross. My dad’s best friend.”
The shock causes Poppy to pull over into an empty parking space. She throws the car in park and demands all the details.
I tell her everything and she just keeps nodding and saying, “I cannot believe this.”
When I’ve finally told her everything, she admits that she’s always thought that Grant was super-hot and, given a chance, she would have done the same thing.
“I just can’t believe I’m having twins. And I’m going to have to tell him.”
She assures me that everything is going to work out. And that she’s always here for me.
Poppy finally drops me off at home, and I climb the stairs to my apartment on legs that feel like lead.
I sink onto my couch and pull out the ultrasound photos again, studying those two small shapes.
Eight weeks and three days.
Thirty-one and a half weeks until they're here.
Thirty-one and a half weeks to figure out how to be a mother. How to build a life that includes them without losing myself in the process.
Thirty-one and a half weeks to learn how to accept help without giving up control.
I close my eyes and let myself feel the full weight of it. The terror. The impossibility. The strange, unexpected flutter of something that might be hope.
Two babies.
My world is ending.
Or maybe, just maybe, it's beginning.
Chapter 7
Grant
Me:There's a cafe on Madison. Donovan’s. Is that okay? My driver will pick you up at 7."
Emma responds immediately.
Emma:Yes. That works.
I put my phone down on my desk and stand there for a moment, staring at it.
