WITCHCRAFT (A Paranormal Romance) (33 page)

10

Dr. Apfel, a short, thin woman of 48, presses against Poppy's stomach. Every so often she'll give an inscrutible hum. Poppy's face screws up with each press. Dr. Apfel stands back and writes something down on a clipboard, pushing her gray hair off of her shoulder as she does so.

“So, your tests came back with a few worries. You have a thin placenta and an iron deficiency. If you aren't careful, there could be complications.”

Poppy's eyes widen. “What can I do?” Max stands next to her, draping an arm over her shoulder. Feeling his warmth against her arm instantly comforts her, but the fear of losing her baby is more powerful than that. She bites at one of her nails.

“You should pick up an iron supplement and quit your job. Any unnecessary physical strain will increase the likelihood of a miscarriage. You said you're a waitress, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“I was one when I was younger, too.” Her blue eyes fix on Max. “You need to make sure she quits her job. Money might be tight, but the baby's life should be the most important thing.”

Max gulps and nods, his arm flexing as he squeezes Poppy closer to him. He looks down at her, her red hair covering her face so he can't see the single tear running down the side of her nose. Dr. Apfel reaches over and squeezes her hand.

“You'll be okay, dear. Talk to the nurse outside to schedule your next appointment.” With that, the older woman disappears down the hallway. Max pulls away from Poppy, stuffing his hands into his jean pocket. Poppy has no health insurance, so he had to bring Jared's credit card with him to pay for the appointment. He flips it around in his pocket absent mindedly.

“Are you alright?”

Poppy's eyes meet his as the tears swell over and down to her chin. “I don't know if I can quit! You don't have a job and-”

“It's going to be okay. I'm looking for work, and Jared is helping us until I can find a job.” He takes her hand in his, the coldness of her skin scaring the hell out of him. “Trust me.”

“I'm trying.” Max helps her down from the examining table and hands her the pink purse she stuffed her phone and wallet into before following her back out to the lobby. They schedule another appointment a month from now and then pay for the visit with Jared's plastic.

Max makes himself busy cooking chicken breasts and macaroni while Poppy calls her job. As the phone rings, Poppy fidgets with a hangnail on her right hand.
Am I really going to do this? Am I really going to quit without any notice? Is this absolutely necessary?

She knows the doctor wouldn't tell her to do something if it wasn't. She tells her manager the bad news as quickly as possible, a stream of apologies. Poppy hates letting people down, and she's never quit a job on such short notice before.

Can I rely on Max to support me?
She sets her phone down and flops down onto the bed.
He's doing an okay job now. He complains about sleeping on the couch, sure, but I know that Max really cares about this baby.

Max steps into the room and the smell of
tarragon
swirls around the room. “Lunch is ready. Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm just...” She sits up, looking as if the whole world were supported by her shoulders. “I'm just stressed.”

Max looks at Poppy's eyes, the green bright against the strands of red hair covering her forehead. A twitchy, burning feeling grows within him.
I want to feel her lips. I need to...

He sits down next to her and pulls her in for a soft kiss. Poppy freezes, then melts into him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him close, feeling the kiss grow deeper. They kiss so long that Poppy has to pull back to catch her breath, and when she does the guilt comes crashing down on her again. “Oh, God. You can't do this. I can't do this.”

“Why?”

“Please, Max,” she groans. “Please just go away.”

Max wants to tell her no, to kiss her hard and convince her of... what exactly? That he loves her? Does he love her? Even he can't be sure. He loves the baby inside of her, but is that clouding his judgment?

Rather than figure this out right now, Max stands back up and slips out of the bedroom, leaving Poppy to think about her own feelings for him.

“Mrs. Van der Rohe?” The voice on the other end is the chipper secretary from Dr. Apfel's office.

“It's miss. I'm not married.”

“Oh, sorry! I'm just calling to confirm your ultrasound for today at 3 PM.”

Poppy looks down at the toilet she was just puking in and wipes her mouth. “I don't know, I'm not feeling well.”

“Oh, but you might get to find out the baby's gender today!”

Poppy stops, and a slow smile creeps onto her face. Finally,
after all these weeks of not really being able to connect with the baby,
she might get to start picking out names and clothes and a crib. She rushes to answer, “I'll be there!” The secretary giggles.

Bursting out of the bathroom, her sickness long forgotten, Poppy runs over to Max. “Max! We're getting an ultrasound today!”

He turns away from the recorded football game. “We just got one of those like last week, didn't we?”

“We might find out if it's a boy or a girl!”

Seeing the joy and excitement on Poppy's face proves to be infectious. Max grins. He hasn't seen her in a good mood since the night
he knocked her up
. “Now that does sound fun!”

“We have to go in an hour, so finish up watching the game! I'm going to jump in the shower!” Poppy can't quite pinpoint why she's so giddy. Though it's true it hasn't really settled in that the baby in her tummy is real, she hasn't felt angry about it since Max moved in. Sure, he's a bit of a slob and his cooking still isn't great, but having a roommate to hold back your hair isn't so bad.

When Poppy steps out of the shower, she finds Max sitting on the edge of the couch, one leg draped over the other and
shaking like hell
. “Are you nervous?” She asks, a smile tugging at her lips.

He rubs the back of his head. “A little bit, I guess. I just can't wait to pick out a name.” He watches as Poppy bends over to stuff her purse full and, while observing her curves as they shift from side to side, feels a stirring of something deep within him. Anxiety, or downright fear? Maybe. But the emotion is warmer than those two.

Max has long since let Poppy take over the radio in his car, her phone perpetually hooked up to it and playing loud pop music. She sings under her breath and Max can't help but smile at how sweet she is when she doesn't know he's watching.

She looks over at him and raises an eyebrow. “What are you smiling at?”

“Nothing. I'm just glad to see you in a good mood again.”

She blushes and looks out the window. The sign for the OBGYN is finally visible, and the white sign with red lettering gets her blood pumping. “Oh God, Max, I don't think I can go through with this.” She grips the door and his arm, squeezing both tight.

“Yes, you can.” He takes the hand that's squeezing his arm and holds it, turning to face her. “You're strong enough to take on any of this. And whenever you feel weak, I'll be here with you.”

Poppy looks up into those gorgeous green eyes and just melts. His hands are so warm against her skin and she finds herself wondering what they might feel like against the rest of her body. Will it be similar to how it was the first night they were together? Would his lips taste salty again? Would his hands grip her hips the same way?

Her face flushing an even brighter shade of pink, Poppy wrenches her hand away from him. “Thanks,” she mumbles, stepping out of the car and into the open air.

The goop on her stomach was cold at first, but the tool being pressed against her now is even colder. She winces and sucks in air as the gynecologist glides it against her skin, trying to find the perfect image of the baby within her.

Seeing her discomfort, Max fights the urge to take her hand again. She didn't like it last time, but he the urge to support her is strong. He takes her hand against his better judgment; instead of getting angry, though, she looks at him with relief. Her shoulders relax.

“Everything seems to be okay. Your baby is the correct size for eighteen weeks.” She pauses and smiles. “Do you want to know the baby's gender?”

Max looks down at Poppy, who looks up at him with an expression he doesn't recognize. Without even asking, she says yes, but Max feels a pang of uncertainty. Knowing the gender makes the baby real. There's no taking this back.

Before he can protest, Dr. Apfel turns the screen towards them. There, in black and white, is the outline of a beautiful baby. Not all of the features can be made out, but even just this representation swells Max's heart further than he could ever imagine. Love isn't just something he feels. He is love, a burning love for this baby.

“Here's your daughter.”

Poppy chokes back tears, but Max is surprised to find that he is, too. She squeezes his hand tight, smiling up at him as he watches the screen. Now he knows what he was feeling earlier as he watches her hips move. He was feeling love. But was it just love for his baby? Or for the mother, too?

“Now that we know that the baby is a girl, we should go shopping.” The two parents have just gotten into the car when Poppy blurts this out. Max's heart jumps into his throat as he thinks about how much money he has.

“I just paid for this appointment,” he says, trying to keep his words calm. “I can't afford to go shopping right now.”

Poppy's Irish temper flares. Maybe it's the hormones from being pregnant or just that he's been spending more time with her, but Max never witnessed Poppy get angry this often in high school. He instinctively leans away from her.

“What do you mean you don't have any money? Why don't you have a job yet, Max? You're smart, you've got connections, your family has money–should be able to get a job. You know I can't work!”

Max frowns, worry accumulating in his forehead. “Yeah, I know, but no one wants to hire some loser without a degree and without work experience.”

“Then go ask your brother for some money!”

Max throws his hands up in a huff. “He doesn't have anymore to give me! He's focusing on his football career, he can't be spending his money on keeping his older brother afloat!”

Poppy glares at Max, crossing her arms. “Take me home.”

They don't say anything for the rest of the car ride, but before Poppy gets out, she turns to Max. His stomach churns with dread. Pure hatred swirls around her small frame. “You either come back home with a job, or you go grovelling to your Dad. Do you understand?” She storms out of the car.

Sighing, Max places his head on the steering wheel.
What am I going to do? Who can I call?
Thumbing his cell phone on, he flips through his contacts, looking at the names of high school friends who are mostly doing worse than him.

Then one name stands out. Don Coleman, his rival for Prom King back in high school. He's working for his father's company now, and could no doubt find a position for him. They were never very friendly, but Max got him a few dates that might be worth a favor.

Sliding his thumb on the screen, he dials Don and waits as the phone rings once, twice, and on the third ring a familiar voice answers.

“Donald Coleman speaking.”

“Hey Don! It's Max.”

“Max! Great to talk to you. I'm actually on my way home from work, do you want to have drinks later and catch up?”

Max cringes. “That sounds great, but unfortunately I'm actually calling to ask a favor.”

The other man laughs. “I figured as much. What can I do for you?”

Max wants to throw up, but he swallows his own pride and just spits out his request. “I'm looking for a job. Do you have any positions open?”

The line goes silent. “Hello?” Max says.

“I'm here. Look, Max, I know you got Poppy pregnant and you've been living with her. My dad said that yours cut you off, too. I don't know what kind of mess you got yourself into, but I can't be the one to bail you out.”

“I know, but,” Max starts. Don cuts him off.

“Not only that, Max, but you haven't worked a job in your life and you don't know anything about medical paperwork. You need to go to college for any position worthy of someone in your family. I'm sorry, bud, but I just can't help you.”

“Yeah. I get it, Don. Thanks anyway.”

“Sorry. But hey, call me back when you're on your feet again, and we'll go out for drinks. I have a hell of a story to tell you about that last girl you introduced to me!”

They say their goodbyes and Don hangs up. The phone defaults back to the contact screen, and there above Don Coleman is the entry for Max's dad. Max bites his lower lip, trying to decide what to do. Finally, he swipes his thumb and the phone dials his dad.

This time, the phone rings once... then twice... then 4 more times before it goes to voice mail. His dad is either in a meeting or is refusing to answer his cell phone. Max is willing to bet it's the latter.

“Fuck,” he says, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. He's at an impasse. Anyone he calls is going to react the same was as Don did, and if his dad is telling the whole world about him getting Poppy pregnant then no one is going to give him a chance.