How to Be a Breeder

*Isla*

“Can I come in?”

I stare at the girl, not quite sure what to say. I’m taken aback that she’s even here. What in the world could she possibly have to say to me?

And yet, it’s very difficult for me to tell her to leave. She looks so sad, standing there in the doorway, her bulging stomach protruding in front of her.

“Of course,” I say, gesturing for her to come over to the sitting area where I have a couple of comfortable chairs in front of the window.

We both sit, and I readjust my skirt several times, not sure what to say or do. Part of me wants Poppy to come in and say she has my breakfast, so I can at least have an excuse not to be able to talk. If my mouth is full of eggs, I won’t have to say anything to this doe-eyed girl who is looking at me like she thinks I have all of the answers to whatever ails her.

“I’m… Isla,” I say to her, and she nods. I have to assume she already knows that, but since no one is saying anything, I thought it might be a good way to start the convers