Emily blinked. Staring back at her, dressed in a caterer’s tuxedo, was Isaac Colbert, her ex-boyfriend—and the father of her child. She hadn’t seen him since they’d broken up over a year ago.
“H-hey.” Emily’s heart pounded. Isaac looked taller than she remembered—broader, too. His brown hair was down to his chin, and a tattoo peeked out from under his collar. She stared at the black spiral pattern on his skin. What did his overprotective mother have to say about that? Given that Mrs. Colbert had cut Emily’s head out of all the photos of her and Isaac together and called her a whore, Emily couldn’t imagine she was thrilled her son had gotten inked.
“What are you doing here?” she blurted.
Isaac gestured to the logo on his breast pocket. COLBERT CATERING. “My dad’s company is providing refreshments. He’s a Tom Marin fan.” Then he stood back and looked Emily up and down. “You look . . . different. Have you lost weight?”
“I doubt that. I still feel like I’m hanging onto some weight from being—” She caught herself before she could say being pregnant and almost swallowed her tongue. What was wrong with her?
She’d almost called Isaac to confess a few times while she was pregnant—Isaac had been wonderful to her before that stuff happened with his mom. They used to talk for hours, and he’d been so accepting when she told him that she’d dated girls in the past. Then one wintery afternoon, they’d undressed slowly in his bedroom. He had been so sweet about wanting to make their first time meaningful.
But every time she picked up the phone to call him, she couldn’t figure out how to break the news. “Hey! I’ve got a story for you!” Or, “Hey, remember that one and only time we slept together?” And what would Isaac have said? Would he have wanted to give the baby up for adoption, too, or would he have demanded that they raise it together? Emily couldn’t imagine doing something like that—she loved kids, but she wasn’t ready for her own. Then again, Isaac might not even have believed her. Or he might have gotten really, really angry that she hadn’t told him earlier. It was something, she’d decided, she had to handle on her own. And so she’d flipped through the online profiles of hopeful adoptive couples by herself. When she came to an account for two happy, smiling people that read Loving couple married for eight years so excited to be a mommy and daddy, she stopped. Charles and Lizzie Baker said they were soul mates, went on kayaking trips on the weekends, read the same book at the same time so they could discuss it over dessert, and were fixing up their old house in Wessex. We will always let your child know that he or she was placed for adoption out of love, their profile had said. Something about it had touched Emily at her core.
Now, Isaac set the tray down on a nearby table and laid his hand on her arm. “I wanted to call so many times. I heard about the horrible thing you went through.”
“What?” Emily felt the color drain from her face.
“Alison DiLaurentis coming back,” Isaac said. “I remember you talking about Ali, how much she meant to you. Are you okay?”
Emily’s heart slowly returned to its normal rhythm. Of course—Alison. “I guess,” she answered shakily. “And, um, how are you? Is the band still together? And what’s that?” She pointed to his tattoo. Anything to get him off the topic of her.
Isaac opened his mouth to speak, but a tall, older guy in a caterer’s uniform tapped his shoulder and told him he was needed on prep duty. “I should go,” he said to Emily, starting toward the door. Then he stopped and faced her again. “You wouldn’t want to get together after the meeting tonight and catch up, would you?”
For a moment, Emily considered taking him up on it. But then she thought about how tense she’d be the whole time, the secret bulging inside her like an overfilled water balloon. “Um, I already have plans,” she lied. “Sorry.”
Isaac’s face fell. “Oh. Well, maybe another time, then.”
He followed the other caterer into the crowd. Emily spun around and darted in the opposite direction, feeling like she’d just narrowly escaped something awful, but also sad and regretful that she’d blown Isaac off.
“Emily?”
Emily turned to her left. Hanna stood next to her, dressed in a fitted pinstriped sheath and chunky heels. Mr. Marin was at her side, looking senatorial in his red power-tie. “Hey,” she said, hugging both of them.
“Thanks for coming.” Hanna sounded grateful.
“We’re happy to have you, Emily,” Mr. Marin said.
“I’m happy to be here,” Emily answered, though after her run-in with Isaac, all she wanted to do was go home.
Then Mr. Marin turned to a woman who’d just joined the group. She had ash-blond hair, perfect posture, and wore an impeccable suit that looked like it cost a small fortune. Emily started, her body suddenly on fire. No. It couldn’t be. Emily had to be seeing things.
The woman noticed her, too, and stopped talking mid-sentence. “Oh!” she blurted, her face going white.
Bile rose in Emily’s throat. It was Gayle.
Mr. Marin noticed the strange look pass between both of them and cleared his throat. “Uh, Emily, this is Ms. Riggs, one of my biggest donors. She and her husband recently moved to the area from New Jersey. Ms. Riggs, this is my daughter’s friend Emily.”
Gayle pushed a strand of blond hair from her eyes. “I thought your name was Heather,” she said in a measured, ice-cold voice.
All eyes were on her. Hanna shot around and stared at Emily. It felt like ten years passed before Emily spoke again. “Uh, you must have me confused with someone else,” she blurted. And then, unable to stand there a moment longer, she whipped around and ran as fast as she could for the nearest door, which led to a back storage room. She shut herself inside and leaned against the wall, her heart thudding in her ears.