Chapter 9
Emma
Seven weeks… OMG!
Monday morning, and I'm walking into Preston & Associates as an actual partner instead of a drowning solo practitioner. Progress.
The offices are sleek and modern—glass walls, actual conference rooms, a kitchen that doesn't double as a storage closet. My new desk has a window. A window. I haven't had natural light at work in years.
"Emma!" Mr. Preston appears, shaking my hand warmly. "Welcome officially. Your associates start soon—Sarah and Tom. Both excellent. Your office is ready, and HR has your onboarding packet."
"Thank you. I'm excited to get started."
"We're thrilled to have you." He lowers his voice. "And congratulations again. We'll make sure you have everything you need."
I nod, grateful he's keeping it professional. The fewer people who know right now, the better.
Maggie's already set up at her new desk when I arrive at my office. She's arranged everything exactly how I like it, down to the case files color-coded by urgency.
"You're a miracle worker," I tell her.
"I'm aware." She hands me coffee—decaf, I notice—then pauses, studying me. "Wait. Decaf? Since when do you drink decaf?"
I close the office door. "Sit down. I need to tell you something."
Her eyes narrow. "This is about the weird behavior, isn't it? The nausea? The avoiding everyone?"
"I'm pregnant."
Maggie's mouth falls open. Then she grins. "I KNEW IT! Well, I didn't know it, but it makes so much sense now. The crackers. The getting sick in my trash can."
"You're not surprised?"
"I'm relieved. The alternative theories were getting dark." She pulls me into a hug. "Congratulations, Emma. This is wonderful. When did you find out?"
"Last week. Told Miles Friday. Told my brothers Saturday."
"And the merger?"
"Partly because of the pregnancy. I can't keep working eighty-hour weeks while growing a human."
"Smart. Really smart." She sits back down. "So who knows?"
"You, Miles, Ryan, Brennen, their wives. That's it. The town still thinks I'm sick."
"Oh, they definitely do. I've gotten three calls asking about your health."
"Great."
"Your brothers called this morning. Both of them. Ryan wants lunch this week. Brennen wants to know if you need anything."
"They're hovering already."
"They thought you had cancer on Saturday. Give them time to adjust."
My phone buzzes. Text from Julie.
Julie: Emma Dawson. My office. Now.
I show Maggie the text. She winces. "Good luck with that."
Julie's bakery—Seaside Sweets—is packed with the morning rush. She spots me immediately and waves me to the back office, closing the door firmly behind us.
"Sit," she orders.
I sit.
Julie crosses her arms, giving me her best intimidating-bakery-owner stare. "Want to tell me why the entire town thinks you're dying?"
"I'm not dying."
"I KNOW you're not dying because if you were dying, your BEST FRIEND would know about it. But apparently everyone else got the memo that you're seriously ill. Dorothy is organizing a prayer circle. Daisy posted a GoFundMe for your 'medical expenses.' I had to shut it down."
"There's a GoFundMe?"
"WAS a GoFundMe. I made Daisy delete it." Julie leans against her desk. "Sophie said you looked green at the wine exhibition. You've been avoiding everyone. You won't return calls. People are worried."
I could tell her. Should tell her. But my brothers just found out two days ago and I'm still processing the fact that they assumed I was dying.
"I've been dealing with some things," I say carefully. "Work stress. Big decisions. It got... misinterpreted."
"Misinterpreted." Julie's eyes narrow. "Emma, Sophie said you looked green at the wine exhibition. You dumped wine in a plant. You've been avoiding everyone. You won't return calls. What's going on?"
"I merged my practice with Preston & Associates."
She blinks. "You what?"
"I'm joining them. Keeping my clients and autonomy, but getting their support and resources. I start officially today."
"That's... huge. That's really smart, actually." She pauses. "But that doesn't explain the wine dumping."
"And I voted for Brennen to expand Celtic Knot instead of selling."
"Okay, so you made two massive decisions. Good for you. But Emma, that doesn't explain why you looked like death at the exhibition."
My phone buzzes. Miles.
Miles: How's the first day going?
Me: Julie's interrogating me about the dying rumors.
Miles: Tell her the truth.
Me: Not ready yet.
Miles: She's your best friend. She'll find out eventually and then kill you.
He's right. But I'm not ready to tell the whole town yet. My brothers and Maggie knowing is enough for now.
"Emma." Julie's voice softens. "Whatever's going on, you can tell me. I'm here."
"I know. And I will tell you. Soon. I promise." I stand. "But right now I have a meeting with HR about benefits packages."
"This conversation isn't over."
"I know."
"We're getting drinks after dinner tonight. I'm not taking no for an answer."
"I can't do drinks—"
"Then we're going shopping. Target. Seven PM. You're showing up or I'm coming to your house."
"That's bold."
"You've been avoiding me for weeks. I'm allowed to be bold."
She's right. I've been terrible to my best friend.
"Seven PM," I agree. "Target Wait… why don’t you come to the house for dinner first? Then we can go to shopping afterwards."
"Sounds great as long as Miles is cooking." She pulls me into a hug. "I've been worried about you."
I laugh because she knows I can burn water when I put my mind to it. "Yes, I’ll have Miles cook us dinner. And I know I’ve been a terrible friend. I'm sorry."
"You better be prepared to spill everything tonight."
"We'll see."
The rest of the day is a blur of HR paperwork, reviewing files for my new associates who start tomorrow, and setting up my new workflow. According to their resumes, Sarah is sharp with an impressive track record. Tom is methodical with excellent attention to detail. They're going to be perfect.
By five PM, I'm actually done with work. Done. At five PM. This might be a record.
I head home, and Miles is already there, working on his laptop at the kitchen table.
"How was day one?" he asks.
"Good. Told Maggie. She's thrilled and already making plans to manage my life."
"Sounds about right."
"And Julie cornered me at Seaside Sweets. She knows about the merger and Celtic Knot, but not the pregnancy yet. She's coming for dinner at six."
He glances at the clock. "That's in an hour."
"I know. I'm making pasta. Help me?"
We work together in the kitchen, and it feels normal. Easy. Not like my life just completely changed.
Julie arrives at six sharp, carrying wine and a bakery box.
"I brought dessert," she announces. "And wine for me since you're apparently not drinking."
She notices immediately when I pour myself water instead of wine. Her eyes narrow, but she doesn't comment. Yet.
We eat pasta and salad, talking about her bakery and the new espresso machine she's considering. Normal best friend conversation. But I can feel her watching me.
"So," she finally says. "Target?"
"Target."
We take separate cars and Julie meets me at Target when I arrive, pushing a cart and looking determined.
"Finally," she says. "I thought you were going to bail."
"I said I'd be here."
"You also said you'd return my calls last week."
"Fair point."
We wander through the store, Julie grabbing random things—candles, throw pillows, a cheese grater shaped like a hedgehog.
"Do you need a hedgehog cheese grater?" I ask.
"Need? No. Want? Absolutely."
I steer us toward the baby section without really thinking about it. Just naturally gravitating toward the tiny clothes and impossibly small shoes.
Julie's talking about the new barista she hired, complaining about espresso machine maintenance, when she suddenly stops.
"Why are we in the baby section?"
I'm holding a onesie that says "I'm new here." It's adorable.
"Emma." Julie's voice changes. "Why are we looking at baby clothes?"
"They're cute?"
"You hate babies. You once told me they're 'sticky and loud.'"
"I never said that."
"You absolutely said that. At Lindsay's baby shower. While holding her nephew."
"He was sticky!"
Julie grabs my shoulders. "Emma Dawson, why are we in the baby section?"
I hold up the onesie. "I thought this was funny."
"It's hilarious. Why do you care?"
I put the onesie back. Pick up another one. This one says "Daddy's Drinking Buddy."
"That one's inappropriate for an infant," Julie observes.
"Miles would love it."
"Why would Miles—" She stops. Her eyes go wide. "Oh my god."
"What?"
"OH MY GOD."
"Julie—"
"YOU'RE PREGNANT!"
Several nearby shoppers turn to stare. I grab Julie's arm and pull her behind a display of baby monitors.
"Could you maybe not announce it to the entire store?"
"YOU'RE PREGNANT!" she whisper-screams. "That's why you've been sick! That's why you won't drink wine! That's why you looked green at the exhibition!"
"The town thinks I'm dying, Julie. They think I have cancer."
"Because you've been acting like you're dying! But you're just PREGNANT!" She pulls me into a hug so tight I can barely breathe. "Oh my god, Emma! This is amazing! When did you find out? How far along? Does Miles know? Wait, of course Miles knows, you're looking at baby clothes together—"
"Miles isn't here."
"Right. Girl time. But he knows?"
"He knows. My brothers know. Maggie knows. You're the fourth person I've told."
"Fourth?" Julie pulls back, mock-offended. "Your brothers found out before me?"
"They cornered me at breakfast Saturday. I told them about the pregnancy and they were relieved because they thought I had cancer."
Julie starts laughing. Actually laughing, right there in the baby section. "Your brothers thought you had CANCER?"
"The entire family did. Brennen hyperventilated."
"Of course he did." She's wiping tears now. "Oh god, Emma. Only you would have your family think you're dying when you're actually pregnant."
"It wasn't intentional!"
"How far along?"
"Eight weeks."
"And you're feeling okay?"
"Nauseous. Tired. But okay."
"Hence the merger with Preston?"
"When did you first hear about that?"
"Emma, this is Pelican Point. Everyone's heard about it by now. Preston's been bragging to anyone who'll listen that he convinced you to join them."
"Great."
"It's smart timing." Julie picks up the "Daddy's Drinking Buddy" onesie. "I'm buying this for you."
"It's inappropriate."
"It's perfect. Miles needs it."
We wander through the baby section, Julie asking questions about due dates and doctors and whether I'm hoping for a boy or girl. It feels good to talk about it. To not be terrified for once.
"March," I tell her. "Early March."
"Are you going to find out the gender?"
"I don't know. Haven't gotten that far yet."
"You need to have a baby shower."
"Julie—"
"I'm planning it. Don't argue. Sophie and I will handle everything."
"That's terrifying."
"It'll be tasteful. Mostly." She grabs a tiny pair of baby shoes. "Look at these. They're smaller than my hand."
I look at the shoes—impossibly small, soft yellow leather. They're perfect.
"I'm buying these too," Julie declares.
"You don't have to—"
"I'm your best friend and I just found out you're pregnant in a Target baby section. I'm buying the shoes. And probably a lot of other things." She's already loading up her cart.
"This is too much."
"This is nothing. You're having a baby, Emma. My best friend is having a baby." Her eyes water. "I'm so happy for you."
Now I'm crying too. These pregnancy hormones are going to be the death of me.
"Stop being nice," I manage. "You're making me emotional."
"You're already emotional. You're pregnant."
"That's not an excuse."
"It absolutely is."
We end up in the checkout line with approximately three hundred dollars worth of baby items. The cashier rings everything up while giving us knowing smiles.
"First baby?" she asks.
"Yes," Julie answers before I can. "And we're very excited."
"Congratulations. It goes by fast. Enjoy it."
Outside, Julie loads everything into my car. "You're going home and showing all of this to Miles. He's going to love the drinking buddy onesie."
"He's going to think it's hilarious."
"Exactly."
She's right.
"Thanks for this," I tell her. "For understanding. For being excited. For not cornering me in Target until I confessed."
"I cornered you at Seaside Sweets. The Target thing was just smart maneuvering on your part." She hugs me again. "And Emma? Next time you're going through something big? Tell me sooner. Don't make me demand you show up at my office."
"Deal."
"Good. Now go home and tell your husband about our shopping spree. I want full report on his reaction to the onesie."
Miles is in the kitchen when I get home, and he spots the Target bags immediately.
"That's a lot of bags."
"Julie may have gone overboard."
"How overboard are we talking?"
I pull out the "Daddy's Drinking Buddy" onesie. He stares at it, then starts laughing.
"This is terrible."
"Julie insisted."
"I love it." He holds it up. "Our kid is going to be so embarrassed by us."
"Good. That's our job."
He pulls me close, kissing me softly. "How'd it go?"
"I steered her to the baby section without realizing it. She figured it out. There was whisper-screaming."
"Sounds about right."
"She's excited. And planning a baby shower with the girls."
"That's either wonderful or terrifying."
"Both."
We unpack the rest of the bags—tiny clothes, impossibly small shoes, a stuffed manatee that Julie said was "necessary."
"This is really happening," Miles says, holding up a onesie.
"It really is."
"And people know now."
"Some people. The important people."
He sets down the onesie and pulls me against him. "How do you feel?"
"Lighter. Less terrified. Like maybe I can actually do this."
"You can definitely do this."
Miles holds up the "Daddy's Drinking Buddy" onesie again. "I'm definitely using this."
"I know."
"Our baby's first photo shoot."
"Absolutely not."
"Already planning it."
I laugh, and he pulls me close. The town still thinks I'm dying, but the people who matter know the truth.
That's enough for now.