Chapter 8
Chapter 8
F or the next few weeks, Poppy made a concerted effort to find a new place to live. Finding an apartment in New York was exponentially harder than finishing culinary school had been, harder than anything she had ever done. Rentals were snapped up almost before they were advertised. One had to have an in with someone to find anything. Poppy talked to everyone she knew, scoured ads and, in desperation, went door to door looking for something, anything better than what she had. But it was always the same. If she found something cheaper with fewer roommates, it was in an exponentially worse location where safety would be a pressing concern. If she found anything closer with fewer roommates, it was at least double her current rent, sometimes more than double her actual pay.
In addition to looking for a new apartment, she also began the search for a new job, albeit quietly. If her boss knew she was looking elsewhere, he might fire her. The food business was fickle. Rumors could make or break a restaurant. If people caught wind of the fact that Burton’s pastry chef was looking to make a move, it might start chatter over the health of the restaurant. Poppy didn’t want that. Her boss had been good to her, and she had no desire to cause him any trouble. All she wanted was a job with better hours and, hopefully, better pay. But if such a job existed, Poppy couldn’t find it. In fact most jobs she found were worse than hers, often requiring bakers to work overnight for lower pay. If the search did one thing, it made Poppy realize how fortunate she had been to find a job as head pastry chef at such a young age. Often times it took a new chef years of hard work and proving oneself to get where she already was.
During the day when George slept, Poppy usually rotated between a series of coffee houses and bakeries in order to occupy her time. There she either read or spent time researching new recipes on the internet. But now the smell of everything made her sick. She tried going to the public library instead but found it occupied by too many creepers. Finally, she landed at a few bookstores. When the employees began to give her hard looks for loitering, she bought either a newspaper or magazine to stave them off. That was the first time she began to long for a place where she could relax and hang out, for the sort of living space that would allow such a luxury. Crazy as it was, she hadn’t given her lifestyle a second thought in the two years she’d lived in Manhattan. It was what it was, but everyone was in the same boat so it seemed normal. But now she began to remember what it had been like to have her own place, to spend her downtime in her own living room, on her own couch.
One day, two weeks into her search, she clicked on the newspaper for Sully’s town and, out of curiosity, looked for apartment rentals. Immediately she knew it was a huge mistake because, eyes bugging, she read listing after listing for not just apartments but houses for rent. And most were under eight hundred dollars a month. Poppy paid more than twice that for what amounted to a place to sleep and store her clothes. A quick look at the job listings showed why the housing was so cheap—jobs were few. The town was small and lacking industry. For most people it was either a place to own a ranch, work on a ranch, or work close to San Antonio but still live a country life. There was a diner in town, however, and it got a lot of customers. Poppy and her family had eaten there twice during the few days they were in town for Bailey’s wedding. She could…
She shook her head and closed her laptop. No, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She quashed her thoughts before they could take root. New York was her home. She couldn’t possibly leave it for a tiny town in western Texas. Such a move would be career suicide. She would undo everything she had done to get where she was.
It’s not about you anymore, a little voice in her head reminded her. It ceased to be about her or her dreams that night in the gazebo a few weeks ago. The tightness of her clothes was a daily reminder of that, along with the continued nausea. Poppy wasn’t sure how it was possible her clothes weren’t fitting anymore when she was most certainly losing weight. She could barely eat and, when she did manage to stuff something in her mouth, it didn’t stay down for long. The last few weeks she had seemingly been subsisting on saltines, lemonade, and multivitamins, despite her best efforts to eat healthy, nutrient-rich foods. She had never been so sick for so long in her life. Each new day was a misery of exhaustion, nausea, and potty breaks.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she dashed them away. She had also been an emotional train wreck lately, thanks to the bubbling cauldron of hormones now coursing through her body. She did her best to keep it all together, going to work as usual, putting on a happy face for everyone concerned. But in reality she felt as if she were juggling flaming swords. Eventually one of them was going to fall. She had told no one besides Sully about the baby yet, almost as if she didn’t admit it, then it wouldn’t be true. And if he didn’t text her every other day or so to check in, she might have forgotten about the pregnancy all together, minus the slew of ever-increasing symptoms now holding her body hostage.
She needed to talk to someone, a sympathetic listening ear. Her parents and sisters sprang to mind and were quickly discarded. She wasn’t ready to tell them yet, not until it became unavoidable and she’d made some sound decisions about her future. Her phone told her it was almost time for work. It also told her George was probably awake now. She texted him and hit send before she could change her mind.
Are you up for breakfast tomorrow before we change shifts? I have something to discuss with you.
Sounds ominous.
When she didn’t reply to that, he texted again. Yes, breakfast sounds great. Have a good night at work, P.
You, too. Stay safe, she typed.
For you? Anything, he replied.
Poppy smiled as she tucked her phone into her purse. With effort, she heaved herself off the comfy leather couch and walked to work.
T he next morning, Poppy overslept. She always woke in time to vacate and make the bed so George wouldn’t have to crawl between warm sheets. Plus it felt less personal if they didn’t actually see each other waking up or going to sleep. But now she didn’t stir until she felt someone perch on the edge of the bed and run a gentle hand over her head.
Startled, she opened her eyes, and blinked up at George who smiled down at her. “Well, this is a first,” he declared.
“I’m so sorry,” Poppy said, embarrassed at the lapse.
“No biggie. You must have had a late night last night,” he said, his tone questioning. Did he think she had a hot date? She almost laughed at the absurdity.
“No, actually. I came home on time and fell into bed. I don’t even remember falling asleep.” She sat up, feeling slightly disoriented. For the first time in weeks, she hadn’t woken in the night to use the bathroom. Was that a bad sign? Should she be concerned? Then it was as if her bladder was struck by a meteor and she had to pay penance for those few minutes of extra sleep.
“Be right back,” she said, practically shoving George out of her way in her mad dash to the bathroom. If it was occupied, she had no idea what she might do but, mercifully, it was open. By the time she had used the bathroom and washed her hands, she had to return to the toilet to get sick as the ever-present nausea also made its usual morning appearance.
Poppy brushed her teeth, gagging repeatedly as she did so, then dashed her face with cool water and returned to the bedroom. “Sorry about that,” she whispered, sinking shakily to the bed beside George who surprised her by putting his hand out and rubbing her back.
“I’m worried about you,” he said.
“I’m fine,” she assured him.
“Look, I’ve seen the signs before. I know what’s going on here.” He took her hands in his. “I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to be honest with me, please. Are you on drugs?”
She snorted and doubled over laughing. “George, no. Oh, my goodness, as if I would even know where to get drugs or what to do with them if I found them.”
“You make all these mystery trips to the bathroom, your sleep schedule is off, you’re losing weight. What is going on with you?”
In the bed beside them, Zoe sat up. “This ought to be good.”
“Let me grab a quick shower, and then we’ll go, okay?” Poppy replied to George.
“Oh, come on. I’m vested in this drama, and I don’t get to hear the climax?” Zoe said.
“Hush, you,” Poppy said. They had been acquaintances in culinary school, but not anyone’s idea of close friends. Zoe scared her a bit, if Poppy were being honest. But she’d been a good, solid roommate, and she’d kept a lid on all Poppy’s secrets of late. “I’ll bring you a bagel.”
“I’ll take it,” Zoe said and lay back down.
As usual, Poppy took a military grade shower, cool and fast. When was the last time she took a long, hot, luxurious bath or shower? The weekend of Bailey’s wedding, when she was in Texas.
George held the door for her on the way out of the apartment. They went to another one of her favorite restaurants for breakfast, this one bigger and more well known, though still of incredibly high quality. It was a place famous for its pastries, and Poppy felt a stab of envy for the bakers who worked there.
“You’re so quiet, Poppy,” George said.
“How do you know, George?” she asked, tipping her head to study him. “It’s not like we’ve spent a lot of quality time together the last couple of years.”
“No, but we text a lot and we talk in passing. I feel like I know you pretty well, and I can tell something is bothering you,” he said.
She let out a breath. “I need to find a new place to live.”
He sat up, alarmed. “What? Why? Did I do something?”
“No,” she assured him. “You’ve been the perfect roommate. Most of the time it’s like you’re not even there.” They shared a wry smile.
“Is it Zoe? Did she threaten to stab you one too many times? Because I’ll talk to her. Legally, I could probably confiscate that knife.”
She leaned forward. “Frankly, George, I think she could take you. But it’s not Zoe. It’s me. The multiple roommate thing, it’s not working out so well for me. I need something with more space and privacy.”
“Where are you going to find that?” he asked.
Their food arrived, saving her from an answer. “Let’s talk about you for a bit,” she said, purposely changing the subject. “How’s work?”
“Good. Prospects are good, I can see the golden ladder before me,” he replied. He had his sights on commissioner, and he would probably make it. Not only was he good at his job, but he had a stellar pedigree and people liked him.
“Excellent. How’s life on the dating front? Are you seeing anyone special?”
He tipped his head at her. “Poppy, come on.”
“What?” she asked.
He sighed. “Nothing. No, I am not seeing anyone special, no one besides the girl who shares my bed each night.”
“You’d think I would get tired of that lame old joke but, no, it’s still cute.”
“What a coincidence, so is the girl who shares my bed each night.”
She laughed. “Oh, George, you’re a charmer. Hey, thank you for the tea a few weeks ago. That was so sweet. Peppermint hit the spot.” Along with lemonade, it was one of the only things she could stomach.
“You’re welcome. Thank you for the brownies, and thank you for putting them in plastic so the roaches and rats wouldn’t use our bed as a new love nest.”
She tapped her temple. “Always thinking ahead.”
“You should be a cop. The best ones can see what’s coming,” he said. “Speaking of which,” he leaned forward and took her hand. “What’s going on with you? You’ve lost your Poppy sparkle, and if it’s not drugs, I want to know what it is.”
Poppy swallowed convulsively, pushing back the tears that seemed to be her constant companion lately. “I think I’m going to move to Texas.”
He blinked at her, his jaw going slack. “What?”
“Texas,” she whispered, dashing at her eyes.
“What’s in Texas?” he asked, his voice sounding hoarse.
“Affordable housing.”
“Hold on.” He glanced at the check, opened his wallet, and removed some bills.
“George, you don’t have to pay for me. I’m the one who asked you, remember,” she said.
“Shh,” he replied, taking her hand and leading her out of the restaurant. They rounded the corner and leaned on a wall in an alley away from the hustle and bustle of the busy street. “Start over. What were you saying?”
“I think I’m going to move to Texas.”
“Do you want to move to Texas?”
“Less than anything,” she said, sniffling again.
“Then you can’t move to Texas,” he said, his tone definitive.
“I have to.”
“Why? And, so help me, Poppy, if you say affordable housing I’m going to…” he flailed, not knowing what would be drastic enough.
“I messed up, George,” she said and the tears began to flow in earnest now.
“What are you talking about?”
“I did something irresponsible. It set off a chain reaction, and now everything is different. I have to leave this life, to start over somewhere different, somewhere affordable with a lot of free space, apparently.”
“Are you talking about witness protection?” he asked, confused.
She gave a watery little laugh. “Something like that. I’m definitely planning to assume a new identity.”
“Don’t do this. Don’t leave,” he pled.
“I think I have to.”
“Poppy,” he whispered and then stepped forward and kissed her. Poppy had no idea if she wanted to respond or not. Either way the decision was out of her hands, thanks to her trigger-happy gag reflex. She backed up and bumped the wall behind her.
“I’m pregnant.”
He stared at her, and the look on his face was… How was it possible to hurt someone so unintentionally? They weren’t together, had never even shared a meal together before this morning. But the news of her pregnancy by another man was apparently more than George could stomach because he turned and stumbled out of the alley without another word.