Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
do not let her in
SOREN
Iwas elbow-deep in dish soap and questionable life choices when my phone started vibrating across the counter with enough violence to suggest the call was either urgent or from a telemarketer who really believed in their product.
I dried my hands on a towel that had seen better days and grabbed it, expecting Talia asking me to pick up milk on my way to the store or June demanding to know why I hadn't responded to her text about next week's rehearsal schedule.
Instead, I saw Poppy's name on the screen, and my stomach dropped before I even answered.
“Hey, what's—”
“Mom's here. She showed up at school during lunch and now she's following me down the street asking to talk and making a whole fucking scene about it.”
I was already moving, grabbing my keys off the hook and shoving my feet into shoes without bothering to tie them. “Where are you?”
“Corner of Fifth and Hamilton. I told her to leave me alone but she won't listen and people are staring and I swear to god, Soren, if she doesn't back off I'm going to lose my shit in public.”
“Stay on the line. I'm five minutes away.” I was out the door and down the stairs before I'd fully registered the decision to leave, my body already running on the same emergency autopilot that kicked in every time one of my siblings called with that particular edge in their voice.
“Is she being aggressive or just persistent?”
“Persistent. Loud. Doing that whole wounded-mother routine where she acts like I'm being cruel for not wanting to have a heartfelt reunion in the middle of the goddamn sidewalk.” Poppy's voice cracked slightly on the last word, and I heard her take a breath to steady herself.
“She keeps saying she just wants to talk.
That she misses us. That we're her babies and she has a right to see us.”
Rage flared hot and immediate in my chest. “You don't owe her a conversation. You don't owe her anything.”
“I know that. But she's making it sound like I'm the asshole here, and half the people walking past are giving me dirty looks like I'm some ungrateful brat who won't talk to her poor mother.”
“They don't know the story. Fuck what they think.” I ran a red light I probably shouldn't have and took the turn onto Fifth harder than was strictly legal. “I'm almost there. Just keep walking toward the coffee shop on the corner and stay where there's people.”
“Okay.” She sounded younger now, more rattled, and I hated my mother with a fury that felt like it could burn straight through my ribcage. “Hurry.”
I spotted them half a block down—Poppy walking fast with her backpack clutched to her chest, and Helena trailing behind her like a fucking stalker in a coat that was too nice for someone who claimed to be struggling financially.
She was talking loud enough that I could hear her voice carrying down the street, all wounded entreaty and performative hurt.
I parked badly, didn't bother locking the car, and crossed the distance between us in a few long strides that had Poppy's shoulders sagging with relief the second she saw me.
“Soren—” Helena started, but I cut her off before she could get any further.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I came to see my daughter.” She said it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world, like showing up at Poppy's school and harassing her on the street was just normal parental behavior. “She won't talk to me. She won't even give me five minutes.”
“Because she doesn't want to talk to you.” I moved between them, putting my body physically in the way, and felt Poppy's hand grab the back of my jacket. “You lost the right to demand her time when you walked away.”
“I didn't walk away, the courts took them from me.” Her eyes were already welling up with tears that looked real enough to be convincing if you didn't know better. “I've been trying so hard to get better, to make things right, and all I want is a chance to show them that I've changed.”
“Bullshit.” The word came out flat and hard. “You don't want to show us anything except how well you can perform being sober long enough to get access again. I know this game, Mom. I've watched you play it my whole fucking life.”
“That's not fair.” Her voice went higher, more fragile, and I saw a couple of people across the street slow down to watch. Perfect. She was getting an audience. “I made mistakes, I know that. But I'm their mother. I have a right to—”
“You don't have any rights.” I stepped closer, keeping my voice low enough that the spectators couldn't hear but letting every ounce of my anger show in my expression.
“You gave those up when you chose alcohol and Dad over keeping them safe.
You don't get to show up now and pretend you deserve a second chance just because you're scared of dying alone.”
She flinched, and for a second I saw real hurt flash across her face before the performance slid back into place. “I just want to talk to them. Five minutes. That's all I'm asking.”
“And I'm telling you no. Leave Poppy alone. Leave all of them alone. If you want to talk, you go through me, and you make an appointment like a normal fucking person instead of ambushing a seventeen-year-old outside her school.”
“Soren, please—”
“Go home, Mom.” I was done with this conversation, done with her tears and her manipulation and the way she could make herself sound so reasonable when everything she was doing was designed to hurt.
“This isn't over, but it's over for today. Walk away before I call the police and have you charged with harassment.”
She looked between me and Poppy, clearly weighing whether pushing harder would get her anywhere or just make things worse. Finally, she pulled her coat tighter around herself and took a step back, the wounded-mother mask slipping just enough that I could see the calculation underneath.
“Fine. But this isn't finished. They're my children too, and I'm not going to just disappear because you've decided you're the only one who gets to have a relationship with them.”
She walked away before I could respond, heels clicking on the pavement in a rhythm that sounded like a threat. I watched her until she turned the corner and disappeared, and only then did I let myself turn to Poppy.
She was pale, jaw clenched tight, and trying very hard not to look like she'd just been rattled to her core. I pulled her into a hug, and she came easily, pressing her face into my shoulder with a shaky exhale that said more than words could.
“You okay?” I asked quietly.
“Yeah. No. I don't know.” She pulled back and wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. “That was fucking awful.”
“I know. I'm sorry you had to deal with that alone.”
“I wasn't alone for long. You got here fast.” She managed a weak smile. “Thanks for that. And for the whole 'you don't have any rights' thing. That was pretty badass.”
“She doesn't get to fuck with you just because she gave birth to you.” I grabbed her backpack and slung it over my shoulder because she looked like she needed to not be carrying anything right now. “Come on. I'm driving you home and we're having a family meeting.”
By the time everyone made it home, I'd already texted Talia and Micah and set about making coffee because this conversation was going to need caffeine. Talia arrived first, still in her work clothes and looking like she'd left the office mid-crisis to get here.
“What happened?” she asked, dropping her bag by the door.
“Mom showed up at Poppy's school. Followed her down the street trying to force a conversation.”
“Fuck.” Talia's expression went from concerned to furious in about half a second. “Is Poppy okay?”
“Shaken but fine. I got there before it escalated into anything worse.”
Micah came in next, confusion written all over his face. “What's going on? Your text sounded serious.”
“It is serious.” I handed him a mug of coffee and gestured toward the living room. “Sit. We'll explain when everyone's here.”
Poppy emerged from her room a few minutes later, having changed into sweatpants and a hoodie that made her look about twelve instead of seventeen.
She curled up in the corner of the couch with her knees pulled to her chest, and I resisted the urge to go sit next to her and check if she was really okay or just performing okay for everyone else's benefit.
Once we were all settled—Talia in the armchair, Micah on the floor with his back against the couch, Poppy in her corner, and me pacing because sitting still felt impossible—I took a breath and laid it out.
“This is escalating. We need to tighten up.”
“Tighten up how?” Micah asked, and I could hear the worry threading through his voice.
“We need to be more careful. More vigilant. Don't assume they'll back off just because we tell them to. If either of them shows up, you call me immediately. You don't engage, you don't try to handle it yourself, you just get somewhere safe and call.”
“What if you're at work?” Poppy asked. “Or at a gig? We can't just shut down our lives every time they decide to pull this shit.”
“Then you call Talia. Or each other. The point is you don't deal with them alone.” I stopped pacing long enough to look at her directly. “They're getting bolder, and I need to know you're all being smart about this.”
Talia leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and slipped into the competent problem-solving mode that made her so good at her job. “We should document everything. Dates, times, locations, what was said. If this keeps escalating, we might need a restraining order, and having a paper trail will help.”
“Good idea.” I grabbed my phone and started a note. “Poppy, I need you to write down everything that happened today. Where she showed up, what she said, how long she followed you. Be as specific as you can.”
“On it.” She pulled out her own phone and started typing.