When in December (Home Haven #1)

Chapter 8

eight

. . .

Poppy

Aaron had no idea what he was talking about. He didn’t. Or at least, he hadn’t known that he did. I was happy with who I was. I liked myself. I was strong and talented and healthy. I accepted that. I appreciated that, though it didn’t mean I never hoped for more. I hoped for the life anyone might dream of with a nice home and a love that filled all the empty spaces, which I knew better than anyone that not even a perfectly designed home could manage.

Nearly four years ago, I’d thought I met the love of my life at a mixer Simon had convinced me to go to. Or rather, I’d met him after the mixer.

“Go! Just once,” my mother encouraged after Simon brought up the opportunity. “It’s a good chance to meet some new people. Not even like that. As a friend even.”

“I have friends.”

“Real friends. Outside of work and chat rooms, or whatever you call it online.”

“Design blogs, Mom.”

“My point exactly. It’ll be fun. You get to dress up a little. Do your makeup.”

I stared at her as she said these things before she quickly waved herself off.

Either way, she’d won, and I ended up going to the alumni event on campus. It was held in the art gallery displaying modern oil paintings. Simon was there as well, though we’d already planned on leaving separately since he’d had dinner with a few of the other professors. I was in the corner, drinking tiny plastic cups of cheap pinot grigio, while people glanced toward me, likely wondering if I’d wandered in from the street since I certainly did not look like an Ivy League grad.

Because I wasn’t.

After finishing my third plastic cup and getting judgy looks from the student bartender behind the light refreshments and snacks table, I stood on my toes to wave goodbye to Simon.

The streetlamps started to turn on, and the air had taken on a chilly quality, though the students rushed around in tight minidresses as they headed out to start their night at whatever party was being hosted.

Crossing my arms over one another, I tapped my foot in my uncomfortable kitten heels against the sidewalk as I waited for the ride I’d ordered on my phone to get here. I was ready to go home and call it a night.

Something barreled into the side of my arm, but it was enough to send me off the edges of my heels and back a step.

“Hey!” I nearly yelped as I turned around to see who had run into me, gripping my phone tightly in my hand in case someone was going to grab it and run.

Instead of a poor pickpocket, a disheveled man with wavy brown hair that curled around his ears, who looked like he’d just gotten out of work, wearing gray slacks and a suit shirt, righted himself until he stood tall. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Obviously, I wanted to say, tired and irritable from my night. I held it in.

“Sincerely,” he said with suddenly great manners. He glanced around before he turned his attention back down to me. “I apologize. Do you know where Albertson Hall is?”

“Oh.” I paused since, really, I didn’t go here, but I did now the building he was asking about wasn’t far. “I think it’s over that way, around the corner.”

“Can you show me?”

I blinked.

“I’m sorry. My sister—one of her friends called, and now, I need to go and make sure she’s okay and not a complete wreck. You’d be coming in as two people’s hero tonight,” he said.

I looked around again. There had to be someone better to lead him, and my ride was set to pick me up at any minute. If it ever started moving toward me again. I nodded, leading the way. I led him to different halls and department buildings before we came across one that looked more like a dormitory.

A college student, wearing a crop top and high heels, had her friend, who smelled of cheap liquor, slung over her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” the girl still standing somewhat upright said. “She told me to call you.”

The man, who seemed to have found exactly who he was looking for, rolled his eyes and scooped up his sister.

“Please, don’t tell Mom.”

“Just get inside and go to bed.”

She moaned once more but did as asked. I was still standing with him. I should’ve probably left, but he chuckled, looking down at me, and shook his head.

“Thanks. I doubt that this is how you planned to spend your night.”

I shook my head, really looking at him now—from the way he grinned, a little crooked, to the way he looked me up and down like he, too, was just noticing me and he looked pretty pleased about it.

“My name is Poppy, by the way,” I told him.

“It’s good to meet you, Poppy. I’m Lincoln.” He smiled, and for the first time, it felt like someone was welcoming me in.

After safely seeing his sister back to her respective residence hall with her friend, Lincoln told me all about his sister and how she was usually good at keeping herself together—so he wouldn’t be telling their mom about this little incident—but had gone through a bit of a nasty breakup.

He then asked me if I’d had anything to eat tonight, and because I didn’t count the gross crackers and cheese from the alumni event, I told him no. We went to a small restaurant a few blocks away. He ordered me my own fries since he said he was a notorious hangry fry-eater and it was best to know this now about him.

I laughed and replied that I preferred my own fries anyway before I dipped them in mayo, which made him cringe.

It had been one of the best nights of my life, and it was so easy to fall into his hazel eyes that swirled with green-and-brown galaxies. I couldn’t imagine one where we wouldn’t end up together. I mean, he’d literally run into me. It was like all the romance stories said it should happen.

I should’ve known better. I should’ve made my usual contingency plans, like when I worked, in case something went wrong and I needed to take an escape route to make it all okay.

But I didn’t.

I let myself fall from the first time he smiled at me to the first time he kissed me. How he fit against me sent sparks through my stomach. It was the most perfect, simple kiss. I could imagine myself getting that sort of kiss every day for the rest of my life.

My mother, as imagined, was thrilled.

“Things are finally going right for you,” she’d said, squeezing my shoulders when I first told her that I had been on more than a single date with someone, and she learned that Lincoln lived on his own in the Finance District and worked as a contract analyst.

“Basically looking for typos,” he’d said, attempting to brush it off.

And for once, I wanted to agree with her.

Even better, my mom liked Lincoln. So did Simon, though they couldn’t find a lot to talk about together.

Finally, things were going exactly how I wanted them to and had imagined.

Lincoln told me how much he loved me first. I easily agreed that I loved him back. It was easy that way. Simple.

After that, I opened up to him more. Trusted more. I shared the highs of finding my passion at Home Haven to the low years of pain and confusion. I told him about the years I went through where one believed me and my body. They said the pain was in my head. They insisted that I had low tolerance, or I just had to get used to the monthly cycle every other woman when the pain struck worse than ever every month until, finally, I could no longer take the anxiety of going to university away from home.

I told him about how I’d been to just about every specialist. I’d taken every test. And then one day. It happened.

One doctor changed my life. He told me the chronic, debilitating pain and frustration wasn’t in my head. Endometriosis wasn’t in my head. The tissue constricting around my organs wasn’t normal, but it could be fixed—and for the most part, it was.

Though it was hard to let go that I was “fixed.” That technically, I could go on with my normal life. For the longest time, I panicked whenever I felt a minor stab of pain. I was terrified that one day, the endometriosis would come back. That my life would pause again, right as I was finally getting it all together.

Even if, I also admitted quietly to Lincoln, things like children might not be as simple for me. At least not compared to others. It didn’t mean that having children couldn’t happen or that there weren’t still options.

Lincoln accepted me, and he said without a second of hesitation, “How could I not love every piece of you?”

My dream life had fallen right into sequence. My internship at Home Haven was ending, and Michelle Maven, my idol, called me into her office to offer me a full-time position, starting at the end of the summer.

By the following fall, Lincoln brought up moving in together when his lease was up. I was practically living there as it was. He gave me space in his wooden dresser that squeaked whenever you opened a drawer. He picked me up a pink toothbrush and put it in the bathroom. Slowly, Lincoln incorporated me into his every day as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

As if he couldn’t wait, however, Lincoln pulled out a ring on the corner of the street where he’d first run into me.

He barely got the question out before I said yes.

I couldn’t believe how perfect it all was. With him, I felt like I was living like I’d always imagined—not too late and not too soon. I wasn’t just living in other people’s dreams at work every day, coming up with wallpaper design plans or what the best countertop would be to match someone else’s cabinets. I got to work on planning our apartment. More than that, I got to work planning our wedding from the second I could and never felt so alive.

We set a date before the end of the month.

One night, he came home to his apartment, where I was already setting up for what had turned into weekly movie night. We each took a turn picking our favorites, even though when he chose after a long day of work, I usually fell asleep. Though I often did that during my picks too.

I did this time, too, only I was gently shaken awake.

“Sorry, did I fall asleep?” I asked.

“Poppy.”

I adjusted as I looked up at him. When I glanced at the television, the credits were already rolling. “Linc?”

“I, um, I want to talk to you about something.”

“Okay,” I said. Still, he didn’t say anything. “Is everything okay? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, of course I am. This wedding we’re planning?—”

“Is it too much?” I asked. I knew it was. “We can scale back. Say the word. I got a little out of control with the plans, but the venue and dress aren’t paid in full yet.”

I had gone with my mom two weeks ago. At first, I’d wanted something big and poofy, but ended up with a simple, sleek dress with small, embroidered flowers that looked a little like poppies around the bust to the waist. Traditional with a hint of modern elegance. I loved it.

“That’s … good, Poppy.” Lincoln looked away from me, back to the television.

The movie started over again at the beginning.

“Tell me what you’d like. When I started planning, I told you that I get a little overzealous with things, but I want to make sure that you’re incorporated,” I reminded him. “What do you want at our wedding?”

“I think I want a break.”

I pushed back to look at him. Was this a joke? My heart pounded in my chest while the rest of me felt numb as I looked at him.

“We’re getting married, Lincoln.”

We were getting married. Weren’t we?

“I think we should see other people,” he continued. “I think I want to see other people.”

“But I thought …” I thought you loved me. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, Poppy. I just don’t think I can do this.”

“Tell me what upset you or what’s going on so that I can fix it.” I could fix it after all. I was good at fixing things if I knew the issue.

“I just …”

“What, Lincoln?”

“I didn’t realize how much I wanted kids until now.”

I blinked. “We talked about kids.”

“I know we did.”

“I want kids too.” I tried to let loose a sigh of relief, but it was like my body knew better than to let me.

“I know, but you even admitted it a while ago, and I thought it didn’t matter. But the more I think about it, the more I realize it does matter to me. More than anything.”

“What does?”

“It could be hard for us? Having kids. Together.”

“Well, yes. But we won’t know. There could be no issue.”

“It could maybe not even happen, right?”

I stared at him, mouth open, dumbstruck as I watched everything fall around me like the glitter confetti I’d debated was too tacky to throw at our wedding instead of bubbles or rice.

“That’s a possibility,” I answered honestly.

Lincoln nodded, expecting it. “I don’t see a life without kids. Ever.”

“But what about the wedding? The plans we started and moving in …”

“I can’t, Poppy. I can’t wait around and hope and take the chance. I thought I could. I did. I wanted to, but I’m sorry. I can’t commit to disappointment.”

I was disappointment.

I wished I could say that I didn’t cry while I packed up all the things I’d left in his apartment or that I at least held it together until after he dropped me off at the house on the west side of the city, where I had always lived with my parents. But I couldn’t.

Tears tracked down my cheeks the whole time, and he didn’t stop one of them until I got out of the car, reaching to close the passenger door behind me.

“Poppy, wait.”

A traitorous part of me hoped when I leaned back in the car, he’d say he was wrong and that we could pretend all of this hadn’t happened. Instead, he reached out, cupping my head, and kissed me with one of those simple, easy kisses one last time.

Hannah had taken me out for drinks after my breakup, if that was what you could call it, for one of the first times we ever went out together and then again after I found out that Lincoln had gotten married within seven months. He and his high school sweetheart had a small backyard wedding in the suburbs. She had a glittery dress and a flower headpiece. They looked like a sweet couple. She was pregnant by the time they came back from their honeymoon, from what I had seen in the announcements on social media, unable to bring myself to unfollow him.

And I couldn’t stop from asking myself how happy he must’ve been now that he didn’t have me. That he didn’t have to wait and see for disappointment. Because I knew what the girl he’d married and could build a home with had that I didn’t. And it was that she was, in all factual evidence and design, the perfect partner—better than me.

I got the drunkest I had been in my entire life after Lincoln and I broke up. Or that didn’t sound right. Ended things? Split up? All the ways to put it felt inconsequential. I felt the hangover for days after passing out in Hannah’s apartment, filled to the brim with four other girls she’d been living with ever since she had come to the city.

It was one of the few times I’d ever seen her apartment, cluttered with clothes and half walls to separate all the roommates you could always hear clattering around in the background.

“I didn’t think you’d want your parents to see you like that.” Hannah rubbed my calf as she looked into my dead eyes before declaring that she was making breakfast. She burned the pancakes but added enough strawberries and whipped cream that I barely noticed.

It had been then and there that I knew that Hannah was the best friend I could ever ask for, even if we only ever saw one another at work or in personal crises. We worked well that way, and she agreed. From then on, we encouraged the other’s overworking habits while feeding and watering one another.

Only now, I wasn’t sure how long I had left to work at Home Haven with Hannah. When Home Haven found out what had happened and what I had done, I was certain that it wasn’t only the promotion I was going to lose.