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It wasn't that Storm stopped texting or calling, afterward.
He facetimed her every Friday at 9am on the dot. He texted every day. How are things coming along? Do you need anything over there? Their dynamic required no guesswork in that way. Fridays at nine. A text every night as Storm would be waking up and Poppy would be going to bed. He'd sent her money once when she'd complained about how much bloody shopping she still needed to do. She'd returned it. Poppy didn't need Storm's money. Truth be told, she didn't know what she needed from him at this point.
They didn't talk about it.
Never once did he ask what the future held for them, and Poppy sure as hell never brought it up.
It felt strange to be so attached to him still, when so much of that attachment had been severed. Poppy liked him. She liked talking to him. She even—god help her—missed him. Storm had seen something in her that she wasn't sure anyone else ever had. She wasn't even sure that she'd seen in herself what Storm had seen in her.
But.
(Of course there was a but.)
It hadn't been enough.
"Hey, Pop!"
He'd seen something romantic in her that hadn't seemed possible for more than thirty years of Poppy's life.
Not that she hadn't had boyfriends. Of course she'd had boyfriends. But not like this.
"Poppppyyyyyy. Open the doooorrrrrr."
But it wasn't like she could do anything about it now. The man's baby was due to pop out of her quite soon. And she'd made her choice.
"Pop! I know you're home!"
She glanced up from where she was sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by boxes and gift rap and bits of tape. She rocked forward, placed her palms on the floor and pushed. All she accomplished was tipping backward like a spinning top that had run out of steam.
"Use the key!"
"What? Where are you? Just come open the door."
"I can't."
Poppy heard Ian distinctly grumble before, a moment later, the sound of a lock turning. And then he was standing in her doorway.
"Where have you been—oh my god."
She rolled her head to the side from where she was lying on the ground and she glared.
"Are you going to help me up or just stand there with your mouth haning open?"
He didn't seem to have heard her. "Poppy. Is this everything from your shower? Is that—is that the crib?"
He was turning circles in the living room, a look on his face like he'd entered Fort Knox and found it empty. Not a scrap of gold anywhere.
"Earth to Ian, pregnant woman on the floor unable to get up! Could have fallen baby-belly-down for all you know! Very dangerous situation!"
"You're being induced in two days! Where are you going to put the baby?"
"Maybe here in the floor with me, where I'm apparently going to die. Of neglect."
"You've got to put all this together. There's so much work to be done. What does the nursery look like?" He was still not paying attention to her and instead turned to poke hi shead into what had once been—and still mostly was—her tiny spare bedroom.
The noise he made was almost primal.
"Ian! Would you stop about the baby furniture or whatever for literally two seconds and help me up?"
His eyes finally slid over to her, huge with alarm, although clearly not for her immediate physical well-being. The expression melted into confusion as he fully noticed the position she was in for the first time.
"Why are you down there?"
Poppy groaned and held a hand up in the air. Ian hopped over boxes between her and the front door, then wrapped his hand around her wrist and effortlessly pulled her up.
"None of your beeswax. Why were you pounding on my door?"
"Oh!" His face lit up. "I finally came up with a name for the baby."
"The baby."
"Yeah. I thought, if it's a boy: Ian. After your mentor, best friend, and most important person in your life."
"Uh huh," Poppy said, dragging the sound out. "And if it's a girl."
He blinked. "Ian."
"Oh for gods sake."
Ian's face softened into a grin. Poppy tried to glare at his terrible joke—she hoped it was a joke—but found herself smiling too. She was doing a lot of that lately. Smiling. It was becoming very annoying.
"You know," he said, turning away from her after several very long seconds, "a good host offers their guests a beverage. A cup of tea or water or a beer."
"I didn't realize that you were a guest. Do guests always show up unannounced and just start criticizing the way a person's living room looks before the door is even fully open?"
She was talking to his back, mostly, because Ian was making his way to the kitchen and opening the refrigerator. She watched him pull out a box of baking soda, siff it, and place it back inside.
"Is anything in here in date?"
"How should I know?" She waddled over to join him. "Oh, the cranberry juice. I just bought that a couple of weeks ago. Should be fine."
Ian threw a glance over his shoulder. "There's no lid. Did you say weeks?"
"Whatever. There's water in the sink then, if you're going to be picky."
Ian pulled two glasses down from the cabinet he knew they were in, and which she hardly ever touched because who had time for actual cups when you live alone and could just drink from the container? It just wasn't practical. Environmentally conscious of her, really, to skip all the water wasted washing dishes all the time. Ian poured two glasses of water from the tap, setting one down in front of her.
They took synchronous long gulps, each of them leaning against the countertop. The silence between them was comfortable, familiar. Weird.
"You know I've gotta build that crib, right?"
Poppy snorted. "What, you mean like hire someone? Maybe one of the testers will know what a hammer is."
"Why would I need a hammer? It's flat pack."
Poppy only arched an eyebrow and his confidence tipped just slightly toward uncertainty before he pulled himself together again.
"I can put together a crib, Poppy!"
"Sure ya can."
"You think I can't?" He spun around to face her properly. "Who was going to if I don't, you?"
"I was literally in the middle of it when you forced entry into my apartment!"
"You were in the floor! Like a little—" he held his hands up and flapped them like a puppy in a swimming pool, "—like a little turtle on its back. And I have a key! That you gave to me. Hardly breaking and entering."
"I was not a—" Poppy mimicked his hand gesture, "—turtle."
Ian tilted his head with a sympathetic smile that might have been mocking her. It made her feel a bit like a dog that had unashamedly exposed her belly for scratches. He clearly thought he'd won. But Poppy was a changed woman. She could let him think it if it meant he would stop looking at her like that. Which he eventually did, striding back to the living room. She was surprised by the way it felt a little like the sun had gone behind the clouds. Ian had placed his hands on his hips to survey the mountain of boxes, and she picked her way through the maze of cardboard to stand next to him.
"Which one is it?"
"Oh, you're off to a great start."
"You know, you could be helping. I can't believe you live like this. How do you find anything?"
"I was moving to the other side of the world, if you recall." Poppy shuffled around the living room until she found the correct stack of boxes. She nudged the crib with her toe, and promptly knocked herself off balance.
For a second, she thought that she might actually fall over. That this would be the end of her, neck broken on a diaper genie as an avalanche of Huggies covered her body, never to be found. Perhaps the cat lady next door would eventually notice her cats had gotten fat and come to check out what they'd been eating, and only then would they discover what was left of her body.
But then Ian's arm was around her waist—or what would have been her waist had she not been a bazillion months pregnant—and at once she was steady. No broken neck, no avalanche, no cat food. Just the soft scent of Ian's woodsy soap in her nose, and his cashmere sweater under her palm where she'd instinctively grasped behind his elbows. They froze that way for a moment, eyes locked and bodies pressed together.
It made her think of that moment in the office, after she'd had her plane turned around. There had been a few seconds where Ian had seemed like—well, he'd seemed like Ian, but also something more. She'd felt strangely tingly, a little warm in that instant. If Storm had made her feel seen, examined and considered in ways she never had been before, then the way Ian had looked at her in those few seconds had been… penetrative. Diagnostic.
She'd rather fling herself from the top of MQ headquarters than admit to it, but she had been pretty sure they were going to kiss. She wasn't sure why she hadn't, but it felt like that again now. Ian looked a little wrecked. She felt a little wrecked.
What the fuck.
"It's, erm, it's right here." She stepped back before her body or brain could betray her, tapping the box a little more carefully this time.
Ian's eyes were still on her but he stepped in front of her and set to work unboxing.
He pulled each piece out carefully while Poppy attempted to create a space for him to work in, reconfiguring the wall of diapers next to them. It took several minutes of reorganizing and multiple times Ian swatted her away from packages he considered too heavy, but eventually the contents of the crib were spread out on a shockingly empty space on her floor.
"So," she said.
"So," Ian confirmed.
He crouched down and picked up a booklet. He seemed to read it front to cover twice before glancing away from it. She was staring at him expectantly.
"Alright. Where's your screwdriver?"
"Screwdriver? Why would I have a screwdriver?" He was tilting his head at her again. "Would you not look at me like I'm a zoo animal?"
He grinned, head still tilted. "You kind of are a zoo animal though."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Just that you are the strangest creature I've ever laid my eyes upon, but somehow also the cutest. Like an axolotl. Or a bonobo."
She was trying to overlook at least ninety percent of what he'd just said. She was trying really hard. Particularly because she had no idea what an axolotl was and she wasn't going to let him find that out.
"I don't have a screwdriver."
Ian seemed to snap out of whatever it was he was doing. "I've got one in the car, just a second."
"Why do you have hardware supplies in your Tesla? Who does that?"
"Remember when the door panel started falling off a couple of months ago and the repair shop was booked out?"
"I had no idea you were so handy."
"Oh, yeah, no I had David do it. I mean, it fell off again so I don't think he knew what he was doing. But he did leave his toolbox in my car."
He disappeared through the door and Poppy watched him go. He was being incredibly nice to her, she thought. Had he always been this… thoughtful? Had she just failed to notice or had something changed?
She was still considering it when Ian reappeared a moment later, waving the tool he needed in the air with a triumphant smile. He set himself to work after that, and Poppy sat down on the sofa to watch him, sipping her water and pretending to play a game on her phone. Or—not really pretending. It was more like trying and failing. She didn't want to watch him work. She didn't ask for the tender ache in her chest at the look of concentration on his stupid, handsome face as he tried to determine if there was a difference between leg A and leg B before shrugging and choosing one at random.
"Pregnancy brain," she mumbled to herself.
"What?" Ian was sitting cross-legged, the muscles in his arms bunching and releasing with the effort of twisting a screw into place. She'd been staring. And definitely hadn't meant to say that aloud.
"I just completely mucked this up, could've had Tetris." She shook her phone at him, realizing too late that the game she had open was Bejewled.
"That doesn't look like Tetris."
"Whatever. It's a saying."
"I've… never heard that."
"In Australia, obviously."
"I've been to Australia, never heard any sayings involving Tetris."
"Oh Mister American Guy has been to Australia, suddenly he's an expert on the lingo. Next he's going to quote Crocodile Dundee and tell me it's a documentary."
Ian was unfazed, shrugging and going back to what he was doing. She was once again watching his forearms where he'd rolled up the sleeves to his sweater. "I'm just saying, I've never heard it before—oh fuck."
Poppy raised her eyebrows, glad for a potential subject change. "What is it?"
"I think there was a difference between leg A and leg B. This doesn't fit." He shook an end piece at her. "I've gotta undo the last like, four steps."
"I thought you'd done this before."
Ian frowned. "It's been a while."
"Oh." She suddenly didn't feel like ribbing him anymore. This was not something they typically talked about. But there had been a lot of that lately. Between I love you and you love me and everything in between, not much felt off-limits anymore. "You built Brendan's crib?"
Ian glanced up at her again. He looked so small sitting in her floor, small and older somehow. But his smile returned, bittersweet thing though it was. "Yeah. Twice, actually. The first one was recalled the week after he was born. Lead paint."
"Maybe that's what's wrong with you."
He'd set himself to work again, but he laughed at her remark as he took apart the piece he'd put together incorrectly.
"He's a good kid," Poppy found herself blurting. She wasn't sure why. He seemed like he needed to hear something comforting, something that would lessen whatever pain he carried with him regarding his son. "Man, I mean. He was a shit of a kid, but he turned out okay."
He was silent for so long that Poppy wasn't sure he was going to acknowledge her. "Shannon did a pretty good job, I guess."
"Yeah, didn't see that one coming."
Another silence, one Poppy hadn't quite registered until Ian fixed his gaze on her.
"You're gonna do great, you know." He seemed to be chewing the inside of his cheek. "You already are."
Poppy nodded, but she couldn't make words come out. Her throat felt oddly tight. But Ian didn't seem to expect an answer. At least now Poppy was adequately distracted from the indecency of his forearms.
It was taking quite a bit longer than she'd expected. Although she wasn't sure what she'd expected, really. Certainly she had not expected Ian to show up at her door today demanding to put together furniture. He was confusing things, things that were already confusing. Or maybe they weren't confusing at all and were actually very straightforward if she thought about it?
He'd moved to the couch next to her, taking a drink of water and poring over the instruction manual again. Poppy wasn't sure what new information he was expecting to find there. He'd read the thing through at least half a dozen times now. And the crib seemed to be nearly done, with surprisingly few pieces leftover. Maybe he'd known what he was doing after all.
"Ian."
He didn't look away from the booklet. "Yeah, Pop?"
"Why are you doing this?"
His expression when he met her eyes was a little bemused. "Because you can't bring a baby home without giving it somewhere to sleep?"
"You didn't have to, though. It's not like you're… obligated or anything." She felt nervous all of a sudden, but she shook it off with a smile that probably only made her look as crazy as she felt.
Ian studied her for a moment, something both very new and very familiar sparking in his eyes. That frisson of energy she had barely stopped feeling between them lately had returned. She felt warm all over, like she sitting in the comfort of a poorly ventilated server room.
"You're my partner, right?" He swallowed. "I'm not going to let you fail at this."
Her chest suddenly felt too small for the feelings that were flooding through her veins, propelling her heart to beat a hard rhythm against her sternum. Ian was looking and looking at her, eyes wide, lips parted and—
They reacahed for one another at exactly the same moment. Poppy's hands found the back of Ian's neck and Ian palmed her cheek, pulling one another close. She had just enough time to lick her chapped lower lip before they met Ian's. He surprised her with a little moan against her mouth, as though he'd been a starving man who'd just bitten into freshly baked bread. The room melted away around them, and all Poppy knew for several seconds was his taste, his gentle insistence. Her free hand went to his hip, willing him closer though she had nowhere near enough strength to pull him in. Ian obliged though, sliding his hip against hers and leaning over her, pressing her into the back of the couch.
As it turned out, minutes later, Ian was a very good kisser. Maybe even better than Storm. Although Poppy wasn't sure if she knew exactly what a bad kiss was—she'd been very spoiled in that department—she knew it wasn't this. Kissing Ian felt like the obvious, inevitable thing. It felt right, like she'd been doing it forever.
When they broke apart, Ian's eyes were enormous. He looked scared. Poppy grinned, crooked and maybe a little smug, more confident than she would've guessed.
"Are you sure this isn't—" his smile was slow as he put two and two together, "pregnancy brain?"
"What if it isn't?"
"I mean. If it was, I would probably have to pack my bags, change my name, and move to Japan."
"Japan? God, you are such a stereotype." His question still gave her pause even as he rolled his eyes. She thought back to their years together—fifteen of them. Fifteen birthdays, fifteen Christmases, fifteen meaningless Valentine's Days for both of them. The last five years in particular, she felt like their relationship had taken on a new life. Like she'd taken on a new life. "It's not pregnancy brain."
"You've been thinking about this." He said it seriously, and she considered his words for several seconds before she noticed the way his lips were arcing up into a teasing smile.
"Oh, I see." She shoved his shoulder. "And what about you? Did you come here to kiss me?"
"What? No! I just knew you would need help. And you and Storm…" He trailed off, halfway to a question.
"Aren't together."
He leaned away from her. "Since when?"
Poppy shrugged. "I think right around the time I turned a plane around? We've barely spoken since."
Ian's smile was wide and slow, all dimples and crinkling eyes and fondness. "About that. You turned a plane around to come back. Do you know how insane that is?"
Poppy shrugged, smoothed back down a lock of his hair that she'd ruffled into sticking straight up. He leaned into her like a stray cat vying for affection. "Pretty sure most people would call it romantic, but whatever."
Ian kissed her again, more slowly and sweetly than anything they'd ever done together. When she kissed him back this time, Poppy knew that this was what she'd been missing all her life. She felt built for this, for exactly this moment. She'd found plenty of pieces of herself in the last few years, pieces that made her feel like the life she had could be enough. She hadn't known until right now that she'd wanted anything else.
She knew now, though, that she could have it all.