Page 51 of End Game
“I said you got a brand new project that has your hands full for the next nine months or so.”
“You did not,” I gasp.
“I did. But he’s so . . . Branch . . . he didn’t get it,” she laughs. “It’s funny! Come on!”
Glaring at her, I cross my arms over my chest. “It’s not funny. I wish you’d stop seeing the humor in it.”
“You do not,” she groans. “You keep me around for my humor. So, you want to know what else he said?”
Biting my lip, I lift my shoulders up and down like there’s a boulder sitting on them.
“You do. The answer is, ‘I do, Poppy.’ So, he asked if you would be up for having dinner with him if he called you.”
My lip pops free as my traitorous heart leaps like a greeting card commercial. “He did?”
“No, I’m making it up.”
“I’m gonna kill you.”
“Yes, he did. He asked me that. I told him maybe he should wait a few days, that you were a little preoccupied and needed a little space. But maybe this is a good sign?”
Staring at the wall, I wonder if he means it. I was certain he’d have moved on by now. No, I’m certain he has. But a dinner is one thing, and being told you’re going to be a father is much, much different.
He’s the father of my child.
I knew this before, but this is the moment that realization hits me. Hard. I must look worse for wear because Poppy grabs my elbow and bends down to eye-level.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“Want to sit down? Need water? My instinct is to offer you vodka, but that’s not on the menu anymore.”
“Branch is the father of my baby, Poppy.”
“Yes. . .” she says, dropping my elbow.
“How am I going to tell him? I mean, if I could not tell him it would be so much easier, but I can’t not tell him, right? I mean, I could not tell him but that’s not the right?—”
“Breathe,” she giggles. “That was like one giant sentence. And, yes, you have to tell him. Not today. Not tomorrow. But you do have to tell him.”
My lashes close, blocking out her concerned face and the light that’s threatening to give me a headache. “How do you think he’ll take it?”
“I’ve never told a guy I’m having his kid, so I have no idea.”
“Do you think he’ll think I did it on purpose?”
“Oh, I think the look on your face proves you didn’t do this on purpose,” she shrugs. “He may not be happy about it, but I’m not sure you are either. And I think you have to stop cursing now,” she says, tapping her lips with the tip of her finger. “I think the baby can hear you.”
Rolling my eyes, I grab my purse and head to the door. “Well, as long as I’m friends with you, it’s going to hear profane language. I may as well keep it consistent.”
Poppy’s laughter follows me into the hallway. She starts jabbering on about the party and how excited Tiffany is that we’re coming. I tune her out.
This might be the last time I get to go out and do fun things for the rest of my life. Dramatic, maybe. But it’s also true.
“Pop?”
“Yeah?” she says as we await the elevator.
