Chapter 30
It was such a relief to Poppy that she finally didn’t have to hide her bump. It had been a week since the news broke, and in that time she definitely popped. Her stomach was showing, really showing.
Her mother had responded to the bombshell with a strange and militant cheerfulness, swinging by Poppy’s place each evening with a new armful of “necessary” items, herbal teas, frozen lasagna, and a rotating assortment of flower bouquets, always accompanied by her new boyfriend Dan, who hovered in the background, part cheerleader and part bouncer, as if anticipating a bar fight to break out over the merits of oat milk versus whole.
The gesture reeked of overcompensation, but Poppy was telling herself to be grateful for the effort.
Her sisters, too, had started appearing with suspicious frequency, each “just in the neighborhood” visit a little more obviously staged than the last. She suspected a group chat somewhere, possibly titled Operation: Pregnant Poppy, with Phoebe at command central, orchestrating with military precision and probably using a color-coded spreadsheet.
It would not have surprised her one bit if her sisters were required to clock in when they crossed her threshold.
So far, no one had dared broach the subject of the baby daddy directly.
They all maintained a delicate neutrality, as if the question of paternity were radioactive.
But she wasn’t na?ve. She knew the tiptoe around the mystery-dad was only a stay of execution.
If Poppy had to guess, she’d say the collective patience of her family would last until after Yaya’s wedding that weekend.
At most. The only thing greater than their desire for festive family harmony was their appetite for the truth, and after the cake had been sliced and the bouquets thrown, someone—probably Yaya herself, emboldened by champagne and matriarchal authority—would corner her in the powder room and demand an answer.
To her it was obvious who the father was.
The problem was, ever since she’d announced that she was expecting, AJ had taken a huge step back.
Since Thanksgiving, he’d retreated. The man who used to be on her doorstep every morning, showing up and cooking every night, now seemed capable only of monosyllabic exchanges on the rare occasions they did cross paths.
They’d managed to avoid one another with the grace of synchronized swimmers performing a particularly elaborate routine.
Yet somehow, dinners still appeared, but they always arrived when she was in the bathroom or when she’d stepped out for an errand.
Groceries magically stocked in her cabinets, and the no-bake oatmeal bars AJ made from scratch she’d come to love multiplied in the glass jar like the fish and loaves of bread in the Bible.
Her laundry was washed and put away. He was still working on her house, which she knew because she’d stopped by with her mom and Dan, and she’d seen both bathroom showers had been tiled.
It was impressive, the way he could be both omnipresent and invisible, both next door and a million miles away.
She missed him. Or at least, she missed the version of him she thought she knew.
“Good morning, beautiful! How is our little mama doing?” Zion’s voice boomed, echoing off the glass storefront of Om Sweet Om yoga studio.
Poppy braced herself. Zion was one of the only people in town who refused to let her wither behind self-consciousness. He wore his own eccentricities like a badge of honor and seemed personally offended by anyone else’s attempts at humility.
“I’m fine,” she said, forcing a smile. She could feel her lips wobbling at the edges.
“Really?” His brows lifted. He twirled his finger in front of her. “I think you forgot to tell your face that.” He opened the door and held it for her. “Come on, let’s go get you centered.”
Stepping inside, Poppy felt enveloped by warmth and eucalyptus.
Something about the sage green walls and careful arrangement of plants instantly quieted the noise in her head.
A fiddle-leaf fig stood sentinel by the check-in counter, where a bamboo bench invited waiting visitors.
Beyond, students had already taken their positions, facing the mirrored wall across from windows that framed the Hope Falls River which ran parallel to Main Street.
White oak cubbies lined the back, near a wicker basket overflowing with rolled yoga mats.
The competing scents of succulents, candles, and incense mingled in the air while R&B played softly in the background—all of it conspiring to make her forget, if only for an hour, the complications waiting outside.
Zion set up their mats in their usual spot. As they settled in, Poppy glanced around at the other bodies, old, young, bendy, and creaky. There was something comforting about the wide demographic of a yoga class, the acceptance, strength, and authenticity.
They’d barely sat down when Tiana took her place at the front of the class and began the introduction.
Her movements were so smooth it was as if gravity made exceptions for her.
She wore no makeup, yet her skin glowed like she'd just stepped out of a spa treatment. Her high cheekbones and perfect curls defied nature. She’d always reminded Poppy of Zoe Kravitz.
Like a modern-day goddess, she effortlessly exuded an air of confidence and sensuality, not needing to try or even be aware of her effect on others.
When she spoke, her voice carried to every corner without seeming to rise above a murmur. “Remember, this practice is for you. Don’t compare yourself to the person next to you or the person you used to be. Let it all go. Just be here now.”
Poppy almost snorted. If only it were that easy. She’d spent her whole life comparing, measuring, and recalibrating herself against an ever-changing horizon. Now, with a child growing beneath her ribs, her old benchmarks felt irrelevant.
The class moved through its opening sequence, child’s pose, cat-cow, downward dog. Poppy’s body, stiff and foreign, slowly began to soften. With every inhale, she tried to send a wave of forgiveness through her muscles, a message of acceptance to the little soul riding shotgun.
You’re safe, she thought. I’m learning as I go.
Every time she dropped into a forward fold, she remembered the first time she’d come to this class, months ago, it was right after the appointment with Steph where she’d filled her final bingo card square: there are other options.
She’d wept the whole time, silent tears pooling on the mat, convinced she would never have the only thing she’d ever wanted in life.
Now, with her hands resting on the rounded globe of her stomach, that life might just happen.
It just might not be how she’d envisioned it.
It was so strange to go from only her and AJ knowing to everyone knowing and basically not speaking to AJ. She felt like she had emotional whiplash.
At the end of class, during the final savasana, Tiana’s voice was a low, hypnotic hum.
“Let your thoughts drift by like clouds. Nothing to fix. Nothing to solve. Just breathe.” Poppy laid flat, hands on her belly, and imagined her future self, someone stronger, someone brave enough to give her child the stability she’d never had.
She built a little fortress in her mind, one where secrets had no power and love was the only currency.
Class ended, she and Zion rolled up their mats, said a quick goodbye to Tiana, who had another class coming, and headed outside. “Do you want to grab a snack at Brewed?”
Did she?
“We can talk about your baby daddy. I know he can be a little bit hard to read.”
Poppy spun her head around to him. “What…I don’t know…I haven’t…what do you…”
Zion lifted his hand and started counting off his fingers.
“The wedding is the right time frame. When Frankie and I saw you in the hall, at the hospital, and asked if you’d seen AJ…
and you tried to act like you had no clue what we were talking about, you were as believable as a hangover at a Mormon wedding.
Halloween night in my kitchen, he said he only came to the party for you, let’s go home.
He is renovating your house. Do I need to go on? ”
Poppy wasn’t going to deny it, there was no point. “So does everyone know?”
“No.” Zion shook his head. “Frankie knows, obviously, she was at the hospital, and it was obvious you two spent the night engaging in gland-to-gland combat, and at the Halloween party, but as far as I know, only Miss Frankie and I have Sherlock Holmesed it. At Thanksgiving, no one knew, and I’ve been at Yaya’s all week, and she is still in the dark. ”
Well, that was something.
“So, I ask again, do you want to talk?” Zion offered his arm.
She nodded and wrapped her fingers around his bicep.
His large hand covered hers as they walked down Main Street towards the coffee shop.
Zion made small talk, mainly entertainment gossip he had from inside sources, which did get Poppy’s mind off things because she did love some pop culture tea.
He talked about a photo shoot he had the next day and that he’d have to miss Yaya’s wedding, which was sad, but that’s what happened when people gave him ten days’ notice.
Once they got their drinks and were tucked in a secluded booth in the corner of the charming coffee shop, Zion took a sip of his grande, hot, flat, white, with half almond/half oat milk, extra hot, extra foam, vanilla, caramel, and cinnamon latte. “So, how are things with your baby daddy?”
“They’re not…anything.” Poppy sipped her lemonade. “He doesn’t want kids. He’s made that very clear.”
“He told you he doesn’t want this baby?”
“He said he doesn’t want kids.”
“That, my dear, is not what I asked.”