11. Chapter Eleven Poppy
Chapter Eleven: Poppy
“ S teamed clams, scalloped potatoes, and grilled asparagus fresh from the garden,” Sabrina announces with a proud smile, waving her arms at the dishes spread across the table in front of us like a glitzy game-show host.
Despite my sour mood, I laugh. She has a way of making everything feel like a celebration, even if this is just a normal Friday night. It reminds me of the family dinners I’ve only ever seen in the movies. Spending most of my childhood on the road meant that nice dinners were usually held in exclusive restaurants with the band, the critical staff, and a few executives from the record label.
And after my father passed away and Deb, the band’s manager and my mom-on-the-road, became my guardian, life was too chaotic and depressing for the both of us to even try to pretend at belonging to a normal family. Not that those years with Deb were terrible. They were just… different.
Not only that, they were also tinged with the shame that came with being completely unwanted by my actual mother.
I usually try to avoid thinking about Dahlia Mendez, but it’s moments like these when I’m painfully reminded of her without warning.
My mother was a bit of a stereotype. Pretty, glamorous, and spoiled. Born and raised in Los Angeles as the daughter of a wealthy Hollywood executive and a beautiful starlet of the silver screen. By the time she was twenty, she was known as America’s loveliest party girl—a fashionable socialite who was often photographed with some of the most famous people in the entertainment industry.
She met my father when she was twenty-one. He was only a couple years older than her, and Schism was just barely starting to gain traction on the music charts. As Randall, Schism’s drummer, once told me, it was one of those love-at-first-sight situations.
But experiencing love at first sight doesn’t mean that the love will last.
Long story short: for a couple years, my mother was Jack Minton’s beloved girlfriend and famous in her own right, too. Half the world was completely obsessed with both of them. But things were already starting to sour by the time she became pregnant with me. My dad was a workaholic; he was deeply serious about his craft despite his public rockstar persona. He was married to the music, and had no intention of settling down to give Dahlia Mendez the chic housewife lifestyle she craved.
So, she left. She left both of us.
Nowadays, she’s living a cookie-cutter life in Glendale, California with her normal, accountant husband and their two perfect honor roll children. I’m pretty sure they have a golden retriever and a white picket fence, too, if you can believe it.
When my father died and I needed a guardian, the obvious first option that the court explored was sending me back to my mother.
Dahlia refused, though. She signed over full custody to my father a decade prior to his death and had no interest in letting a ghost from her past destroy her flawless suburban life.
So, I went to stay with my grandmother in London for a little while. Then, when it became clear that I wasn’t doing well in that environment, Deb brought me back to LA.
I’ve never had a normal family. Never had a normal life. Aiden and Sabrina have no idea how lucky they are that they were raised in such regular, uninteresting households with limited complications. I’m not spiteful of them in the slightest, but it is always painfully obvious to me how bizarre my life has been when I’m confronted with something as normal as a home-cooked dinner at a friend’s house.
Their cottage down the road from mine is warm and alive with laughter, bursting with the colorful chaos that Sabrina brings onto the scene and the hint of grunge wildness that Aiden offers.
Sabrina sits down across from me, her face flushed from the heat of the kitchen as Aiden gives her the kind of look that makes me feel achingly happy for them. It also makes me ache for something just like that.
Because, for all my lack of a traditional family life, I want to have the chance to build one for myself someday. I want a husband that I love with all my heart. I want to have children. I want to share a home full of light and love, stability and routine.
Maybe someday.
As we dig in, Sabrina regales us with stories from her recent book tour, sharing the more bizarre moments from her signing events, like the fan who brought her a pet lizard along because, apparently, it was also a fan of Sabrina’s book.
“Did I mention I’m scared of reptiles?” She laughs. “I was all smiles, but inside, I was definitely panicking.”
“Only you could charm your way out of a situation like that,” Aiden says, shooting a wink in her direction.
“Who would ever bring a lizard for a meet-and-greet?” I shake my head in disbelief. “Surely that’s abusive to the lizard?”
Sabrina shrugs. “Well, evidently, the lizard goes with her everywhere. He sits on her shoulder basically all day. People are so funny and unique, aren't they?”
Aiden snorts. “That’s one way to look at it.”
I grin.
They banter back and forth, and I’m caught between the gentle teasing and easy affection they share. It’s like being let into a secret little world. Unfortunately, the peace I feel around them only makes the pressure of my own problems feel heavier. Usually, it’s easy for me to let go of my small troubles, even for just a little while, but the conversation I had with Joe earlier today is sticking like glue.
As I try to let myself relax, my phone buzzes for the seventh or eighth time. It’s been going off all evening, and I don’t have to look to know it’s Percy. He’s been impossible since that dinner, slipping through every boundary I’ve put up between us. He’s even started posting vague, ridiculous things on Instagram about how he’s oh-so-innocently exploring the East Coast . As if his sudden interest in quaint New England towns is just a whim that struck him out of nowhere.
Aiden catches me glancing down at my phone and tilts his head with inquisitive concern. “Percy again?”
I nod, setting my phone facedown. I try to brush it off, unwilling to ruin the night, but Aiden isn’t about to let it go. He wasn’t around for most of my relationship with Percy, given that he was first on a world tour and then almost immediately left Malibu for Mermaid Shores. Still, he knows the most important details, and now so does Sabrina.
“That man needs a hobby,” Sabrina mutters, glancing over at Aiden for support. “Preferably, one that doesn’t involve stalking you.”
Aiden nods, leaning back with a sigh. “He’s obsessed with himself just as much as he’s obsessed with you. Not to psychoanalyze the situation, but it feels like he can’t get over the fact that you—or, like, the public caricature of you—is the perfect match for him. It’s all about his image.”
I can’t help but smile wryly. “A tale as old as time.”
Aiden cringes. He knows exactly what I mean, having been the victim of plenty of fake people who care more about the fact that he’s a musician than the reality that he’s also a human being.
Percy has always cared more about how people see him than about actually connecting with anyone. It was one of the things that started to drive me away. He didn’t want to be in a loving relationship with me. Rather, he wanted me as an accessory, something to show off. It’s probably why he latched onto me even tighter once I pulled away. He’s greedy, and he especially wants what he can’t have.
Sabrina’s face lights up with a spark of mischief. “Why don’t we give him a taste of his own medicine?”
I blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”
“Go public with it.” She taps her fingernails delicately against the stem of her wine glass. “Percy can’t stand people thinking badly of him, right? So, if people knew what he was doing, how he’s acting like a creepy stalker…”
I laugh, half in disbelief, but it’s clear that Sabrina is serious. The idea simmers… It would be satisfying to expose him once and for all. And making this mess public could take away his power over me. It would put his image in jeopardy. The thought of showing people the real Percy is undeniably tempting.
But, somehow, I don’t think it’s the right move.
“If only it were that simple,” I sigh. “But I just don’t think I want that kind of attention on me right now.”
Aiden shakes his head, leaning his elbows on the table. “The world’s already watching you, Pop. If Percy’s got you looking over your shoulder in your own home, it’s only fair people know the truth.”
Sabrina nods in agreement. “And I’d be willing to bet that you’re not the only woman in Percy’s life who has had to deal with this. Really, it’d be a useful warning to others he might come across in the future.”
A tiny part of me is emboldened by their words, but I also know that Percy wouldn’t just go away quietly. He’d find a way to turn it back around on me, and somehow make me look like the bad guy. Gaslighting is his natural talent, and it doesn’t help that most people think he’s a perfect angel of a man. In fact, even though it’s been a year since I left him, I still see comments and messages on social media about how foolish I am for letting go of a gorgeous guy like that .
That’s the problem. People never want to see things from a woman’s point of view. The man always comes out on top.
And, anyway, I’m trying to start over.
Soon enough, Percy will get bored with this little town, and get bored with me in the process, and then he’ll go away on his own. At least, that’s what I’m hoping will happen.
“I’ll think about it,” I assure Aiden and Sabrina.
After dinner, once I’ve hugged both of them goodbye and thanked Sabrina for the thousandth time for such a delicious meal, I set out on foot toward my ramshackle cottage.
The evening is quiet, the salty air mixing with the scent of pine. It’s the sort of silence that simultaneously soothes and discomforts me. The silence that I never had as a child growing up on a tour bus. The silence that I never even realized I was missing in my life split between the massive cities of Los Angeles and London. It’s nice, yet unfamiliar. Eerie, but peaceful.
As I approach my cottage and step around the corner of the driveway, I notice immediately that something isn’t quite right.
The garage door is open, forming a gaping maw of shadows that even the automatic porch light can’t penetrate.
I creep forward, digging around in my purse for the self-dense tool on my keys. I slip my knuckles through it, aiming the spikes outward, and step onto the dewy grass to avoid the sound of my shoes crunching in the gravel.
The faintest movement comes from within the darkened garage, and I catch the flash of an iPhone’s bluish-white flashlight sweeping across the stacked cardboard boxes.
Am I being robbed?
In the back of my mind, I know I should probably turn around and run back to Aiden’s place. I should also definitely be calling 911, not moving closer with a hard plastic weapon clenched in my grip.
As I approach, I notice a half-shadowed figure shuffling closer to the driveway and into the fading light of the evening. I inhale sharply, prepared to scream, but the towering height and impressively broad shoulders are instantly unmistakable.
I exhale loudly, the tension dissipating from my body.
“Joe?” I call out.
He freezes, shining the light from his phone on me briefly, then muttering a quiet curse when I flinch at the glare in my eyes.
“Oh, hey,” he says. “Sorry about that. I know this looks weird, but I forgot some tools in here that I need for your custom cabinetry. I didn’t mean to barge in on you, and I tried to announce my presence when I arrived so I didn’t scare you, but you weren’t home.”
I glance around, wondering why I didn’t notice his truck. It takes me a second, but then I see that he’s parked on the road, rather than inside the driveway.
He’s totally lying to me. He had every intention of sneaking back in here, grabbing his tools, and disappearing again without a trace.
Can I really blame him, though?
I basically entrapped him into a ridiculous scheme, forced him to endure Percy’s snide commentary, and then spewed all that nonsense about how fake I think he is.
I take a step closer to him. “It’s okay,” I tell him, giving him a small smile that I’m not sure he sees in the fading light. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“Right, of course. It’s late.” His eyes track my movement as I try to subtly slip my keychain back into my purse.
For a moment, we just stand there and let the silence stretch between us. Then, he clears his throat and shifts from one foot to the other.
“Look, Poppy,” he starts, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “About the other day… I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was judging you. Percy, and the way he treats you—it worries me. I wanted to help you because it felt like the right thing to do. I didn’t mean it when I said that you were good at being a liar. I just meant that I’m not the kind of guy who is skilled at hiding his true feelings.”
The words settle over me, softening something inside.
“You don’t need to apologize,” I whisper. “I’m the one who’s sorry. You know, for dragging you into this whole mess. You don’t deserve the stress. I know you’re just here to work, and I made things weird and complicated.”
Joe’s gaze meets mine, his eyes warm. “It’s okay, Poppy. Honestly, you’re not even the weirdest or most complicated client I’ve had. Not even close.”
That gets a laugh out of me, and I feel some of the tension between us fade.
“Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to be the absolute worst.”
For a moment, we just look at each other, and in that silence, I feel a bond tightening between us. Not something romantic or sensual or anything like that. It’s the sort of invisible string that extends between two like-minded souls. Two people who, despite being polar opposites, share an unshakeable understanding.
“Thank you,” I add. “For looking out for me, I mean. For wanting to help and for playing along in the first place.”
Joe nods, his lips quirking up in a small smile. “Anytime, Poppy.”
“I don’t really know what my next plan of action is to get rid of Percy, but I promise I’ll keep you out of—”
“Let’s go to the gala together,” he gently interrupts.
I blink in surprise. “What?”
“If Percy is going to force you to play his stupid games, then I’m playing, too.”
He’s so… protective. He barely knows me, and yet he seems adamantly opposed to letting me handle my ex-boyfriend on my own. Not because he thinks I can’t handle it, but because he simply can’t allow me to bear the weight of this alone.
“Joe, I’m—”
“But I won’t let you buy me a tuxedo. I’ll rent one.” He wags his finger at me in a playful warning.
I can’t help it. I beam at him.
“Okay, then. Let’s go to the gala together.”
“It’s settled.”
“Perfect.”
Joe lets out a soft huff of laughter. “Goodnight, Poppy.”
“Goodnight, Joe.”