Chapter 23 #2
“You’re taking this way too calmly,” Mackenzie added, looking at her with concern. “If I were you, I’d be breaking things right now. His things.”
Poppy managed a weak smile. “I guess I’m still in a daze.” She shrugged. “I’ve been mostly wallowing. There was some drinking,” she added, remembering Quinn. “But overall, wallowing. June finally dragged me out of the house today. I think she was getting worried.”
“She was right.” Mackenzie nodded. “There are seven stages to grief. First, sweatpants.”
“I’ve definitely checked that off the list.”
“Good.” Mackenzie gave her a smile. “That means you’re all set for stage two. Follow me.”
She headed for the back before Poppy could argue.
Curious, she set down her mugs and followed.
The studio area was a chaotic mess of pottery, paperwork, and tools, but Mackenzie led her past the room and out of the back door, to where there was a small grassy yard with a table and chairs, and a shed-like structure in the back.
“I keep my kiln in there, in case it overheats and something explodes,” Mackenzie explained.
“And this is where I do my anger management.” She presented a corner of the yard filled with shards of broken pottery, layered inches deep.
“You don’t seem angry to me.” Poppy looked around. There were flowers and hearts painted on the wall, and a box full of daffodils blooming cheerfully by the window.
“That’s because I work it all out here.” Mackenzie smiled. “Try it.” She handed Poppy a vase that was chipped and misshapen. “They’re my offcuts,” she explained. “I smash them up and make mosaics.”
“I don’t know . . .” Poppy didn’t feel like smashing things. Truth be told, she still felt like curling under the covers back at the cottage and never coming up for air. But Mackenzie was insistent.
“It makes you feel better, I promise. Just imagine you’re throwing it at Cooper’s big, stubborn head.”
Poppy gulped. “Don’t ask me to picture him. It hurts too much.”
Mackenzie gave her a sympathetic look. “We’re going to need a bigger bowl.”
She took the vase from Poppy’s hands and hurled it suddenly at the shed wall. It broke with a loud SMASH, the pieces flying out in every direction. Poppy jumped. “See?” Mackenzie beamed. “It’s very therapeutic.”
Poppy blinked. Mackenzie found her a bowl from the collection of defective pottery and passed it over. “Just toss it right down,” Mackenzie insisted. “It feels good, I swear.”
Poppy didn’t know what else to do, so she half-heartedly lobbed the bowl at the heap of debris. It hit the wall with a gentle thud and cracked in two before sliding to the ground.
“Yeah, nope.” Mackenzie frowned. “We’re going to need the chardonnay.”
“Did I hear my cue?”
Poppy turned. It was Aunt June, with an armful of groceries. “Ooh,” she said, lighting up. “Are we throwing pots again?”
Mackenzie grinned. “June happened to be in the store when a date cancelled at the last minute,” she explained to Poppy. “So we had ourselves some fun back here.”
“Let me do one.” June set down the bag and limbered up, stretching.
Mackenzie passed her a mug with a massive chip in it, and June hurled it at the ground.
It smashed into a dozen pieces, and she clapped her hands together in glee.
“It reminds me of the time my second husband was cheating,” she said with a nostalgic smile.
“I took everything he owned and hurled it out the second-floor window.”
“You didn’t!” Poppy exclaimed.
“Oh, yes I did,” June replied. “When he came back from that hussy’s place, it was all right there on the sidewalk in ruins.”
“Atta girl,” Mackenzie said. “Come on, Poppy. You can’t tell me you’re not a little angry right now?”
Poppy gulped. The sad haze was wearing off a little, and she had to admit, there was a burning seam of anger running through that broken heart of hers.
How could he just change his mind?
Poppy grabbed a plate from the table and narrowed her eyes. This time, when she threw it, it hit the wall with a satisfying SMASH and ricocheted into tiny pieces.
“You’re right,” she said, surprised. “It does feel good.”
“You grab the pots, I’ll go get the wine.” Mackenzie grinned. “And we’ll have ourselves a party.”
Four bowls, two mugs, and a misshapen lump of something Mackenzie couldn’t even identify later, and Poppy was in touch with her anger, alright.
“He just LEFT,” she cried, throwing another mug at the ground in a shatter of satisfying pieces.
“He didn’t try to talk, or explain, or anything.
He just decided it was over, and that was it. Who does that?”
“Men,” June snorted, and took a sip of her wine. “That’s who. Always acting like their word is law.”
“But you don’t understand, Cooper isn’t like that. At least, he wasn’t.” Poppy’s shoulders sagged, remembering. “He was so sweet to me, nothing like how he seemed in the beginning. He helped me with my book, and fixed up that cabin . . .”
Just as swiftly as it came, her anger left her. Poppy sat down at the table in a slump, the pain flooding through her all over again.
Mackenzie refilled her wine glass, and nudged it towards Poppy. “I’m sorry I pushed you guys together,” she said, looking stricken. “I never thought it would all fall apart like this.”
“It’s not your fault,” Poppy reassured her. “I wanted this. And he said he did too. But just not enough, I guess.”
There was silence. Poppy swallowed. “Anyway, thanks for the distraction,” she offered, giving Mackenzie a smile. “What will you do with the wreckage now?”
Mackenzie surveyed the shattered pottery. “A mosaic, maybe. Or I could glue some of the pieces together into something new. Either way, I’ll make it something beautiful.”
Poppy felt a pang. “Got any glue for pieces of a broken heart?” she asked ruefully.
Mackenzie gave her a quiet smile. “I’m still working on that one.”
“At least you’ll be able to put it in a book one day,” June spoke up. “Use all of this for something creative. It’s not life,” she added with an encouraging smile. “It’s material!”
Poppy knew she was trying to help, but she flinched at the thought of it.
Channeling her hopes and dreams into her work was one thing, but the idea of sharing all the intimate details of her relationship with Cooper would be a betrayal, no matter how it had ended.
“Being blissfully in love is material, too,” she said instead.
“Never mind starving in a garret somewhere, I do my best work when I’m happy and well fed. ”
Mackenzie laughed. “My kind of artist,” she grinned.
“Here’s to comfortable, happy creation.” She toasted her glass to Poppy’s, but she was still a long way from happy.
The afternoon with her aunt and Mackenzie may have been a welcome distraction from the empty ache inside, but it was still there: sounding like an echo only she could hear.
“I tried calling him,” she admitted quietly.
“He didn’t pick up, and I couldn’t leave a message.
I didn’t know what to say. I just wanted to talk to him, maybe try to understand .
. .” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she wiped at them, feeling foolish.
“I don’t even know why I’m taking it so hard.
I mean, I’ve barely known the man for a month.
It’s not like we made any promises. He never even said he loved me—”
Her voice cracked, and June reached out to squeeze her hand. Poppy flushed, embarrassed. “I’m making a big drama out of it, I shouldn’t even care.”
“But you do.” Her aunt gave her a weary smile.
“Time doesn’t make a difference, not when it matters.
When you find your someone. Why, I’ve had affairs that lasted a week that mattered more than men I knew for years.
It’s not about how long you spent together.
Sharing something real, revealing your heart .
. . that always matters, whether it’s for a week or a year. ”
Now Poppy really had to work to keep back the tears. Her aunt was right, she knew it in her gut. But what use was that rare connection when the other person turned around and walked away?
“You should go there,” Mackenzie declared. “It worked last time, didn’t it? Go to him, and set him straight. Find out what he’s so scared of, and don’t leave until you figure out a way through it, together.”
Poppy shook her head. “I can’t,” she said sadly. “Not this time. He’s made his choice, and I can’t just go chasing after somebody who doesn’t want me.”
“But he does!” Mackenzie protested. “I saw the way he looked at you, how happy he was. I’ve never seen him like that before.”
“No.” Poppy took a deep breath. “He’s right. Maybe we just weren’t meant to be.”
“You don’t believe that,” Mackenzie said stubbornly, and Poppy’s heart ached.
“No, I don’t. But what choice do I have?
” she asked simply. “This isn’t one of my books.
I can’t write a love story out of thin air.
Real life doesn’t work that way. Sometimes things don’t make sense, but they happen anyway,” she said, feeling the resignation in her bones. “Not everyone gets a happy ending.”
Mackenzie’s lips set in a determined line. “You’re wrong. I can’t believe that.”
Poppy thought about how long she’d believed in true love.
The hours, and chapters, and thousands of words she’d poured into that one, precious hope.
She didn’t regret them, not for a minute—and she couldn’t regret the time she’d spent with Cooper, the glimpse of that magic she’d seen in his eyes.
If she had a chance to do it all over again, she would, no matter how much it hurt now, in the end.
“Look at us, getting maudlin,” she said, forcing a smile. “That’s what you get for drinking a bottle of wine on an empty stomach. What do you say we go back to the cottage and make dinner? If anything can heal a broken heart, it’s your soup, Aunt June.”
June chuckled. “I’m one step ahead of you, hon. What do you think I was buying at the grocery store?”
“It’s a plan.” Poppy got to her feet. “Want to come by?” she asked Mackenzie. “It’s the least I can offer, after your hospitality.”
“Another time.” Mackenzie gave her a swift hug. “But there’s something I need to do.”
“Then let’s get those mugs wrapped up.”
They headed for the front of the store, where Poppy picked out enough ceramics to supply all her friends and family for birthdays and holidays for years to come. Mackenzie carefully wrapped them in tissue paper and packed them into boxes. “I can ship them direct to wherever you want,” she said.
“That’s perfect.”
“You won’t suddenly bolt out of town, will you?” Mackenzie stopped to check. “Disappear in the dark of night never to return?”
“I still have a few chapters of my book left to write,” Poppy reassured her. “And I promise I’ll come say goodbye.”
“Now you’re making me emotional.” Mackenzie sniffled.
“I’m going to New York, not Antarctica!” Poppy laughed. “I’ll still see June, and you’re welcome to come stay any time you want to visit.”
“I know, but it’s not the same.” Mackenzie gave her a wry smile. “I was about to launch my campaign to get you moving here full-time. Although I figured Cooper would take care of that.”
“Me too,” Poppy said sadly. “But here we are.”
Preparing to leave the place she’d just imagined setting down roots.
At the end of a chapter, instead of a beginning.
She couldn’t turn the clock back or rewrite the past, not when Cooper refused to even try.
All she could do was keep believing that her happy ending was still out there, and not bound up in six-foot-two of blue-eyed, teasing-smiled heartbreak who wouldn’t even take her calls now, let alone look at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.
The only question she still had was, why?