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“What am I going to do about Marc?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well maybe you should give it some thought before you talk to him.”
I’ve got to tell him I’m pregnant. I feel dizzy at the thought.
Just then, there’s a knock at the door.
“Poppy?” Marc yells. “It’s me.”
“Oh my God.” I pull back from Dad and look at my face in the mirror. “I can’t see him now. Look at the state of me.”
“Wash your face,” he instructs. “I’ll keep him occupied.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I’ll sing a song.” He kisses my cheek. “Love you.”
I watch him go, feeling a swell of happiness and excitement in my heart, swiftly followed by a surge of nerves. I have no idea how this is going to go.
I rest my hand over my belly. I’m pregnant. With Marc’s child. Holy shit.
Nothing’s ever going to be the same again. So why pretend it is?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Fitz
The door opens to reveal Charlie King, with his usual affable smile and gray ruffled hair. I knew he was here because I saw his car outside. He’d obviously seen Poppy leave the party and wanted to make sure she was all right, too.
I’ve met Charlie a few times at the Ark. He’s like his daughter in a lot of ways—quiet, thoughtful, a lot going on behind his eyes. I’m sure he would have been very like Albie at his age; maybe a little less carefree, a little more serious. He’s obviously highly intelligent, which is intimidating, but he’s so nice with it that it doesn’t matter.
“Hey Fitz,” he says, standing back. “And hey Jack.” He ruffles the dog’s hair where I hold him under my arm. “Come in.”
I walk into Poppy’s house for the first time, put Jack down, and glance around. It’s not at all what I thought. Her office is sparse and businesslike, all chrome and glass, and I’d expected her home to be the same. It’s not. Pieces of stylish wooden furniture stand dotted about, and the place is filled with color—paintings, throws, and cushions, all adding splashes of bright yellows, reds, blues, and greens. She must have picked up a lot of them on her travels, I think, or at least they have an Indian theme to them.
She’s not here, and I give Charlie a quizzical look. “Composing herself,” he says. “I told her I’d entertain you with a song, but you really don’t want to hear me sing. Want a Coke instead?”
I like that he hasn’t asked me why I’m here, or why I’ve left the wake Noah’s holding for my mother. “Sure,” I reply, more for something to do than because I want a drink.
I follow him through to the kitchen, Jack at my heels, enjoying himself sniffing around this new place. Again, this room looks well-loved and well-used, with multiple dog-eared cookbooks on the shelves, racks of half-used herbs, and, when Charlie opens the fridge, multiple cuts of meat, colorful vegetables, and a variety of cheeses.
“She cooks,” I say, with some surprise, I don’t know why.
“She makes a mean Tandoori chicken.” He retrieves two Diet Cokes, passes me one, and pops the top of his own. “Come and sit outside. She won’t be long.”
We go onto the deck and sit under the canopy in two comfortable deckchairs, while Jack goes off to explore the garden. “I didn’t get a chance to see you at Noah’s,” Charlie says. “I’m so sorry to hear about your mom.”
“Izzy and I got your flowers, thank you,” I tell him. “Izzy was very touched by how many people sent them.”
“Well, that’s what they’re for—showing those who are left behind that we’re thinking of them.”
I nod and give a little smile. It’s been a really tough ten days. Izzy, especially, has gone through a whole gamut of emotions. Going through Mom’s house and all her stuff was upsetting for both of us, because she’d kept so many items from our childhood, and so many of Dad’s things—we never realized. It was good in many ways, a chance for us both to put our past to rest, and to reconnect just the two of us, as well. But we’re both emotionally exhausted, and I think we’re both tempted to sleep for a week once the reception is over today.
