Chapter 22
twenty-two
LIAM
“How was school, angel?”
Poppy throws her backpack on the counter dramatically and takes a seat on one of the stools. I love how close her school is, that the bus can drop her off right in front of the diner.
“I really need a milkshake.”
I try to stifle a laugh. “Oh yeah, tough day?” I grab some Greek yogurt and frozen cherries and pray she’ll never learn the difference between a fruit smoothie and a real milkshake.
“We did the spelling bee.” She actually huffs and drops her head on the counter.
“But you love spelling. You were so excited for that.”
“I knowwwww,” she whines. “But they gave me a trick word. It wasn’t fair. Bobby beat me but all he had to spell was dinner. I can spell dinner .” She then proceeds to spell dinner, enunciating every letter with gusto.
I don’t remind her that this word is easier for her since the word ‘diner’ is printed in huge letters outside of the building she comes to every day after school. We’ve discussed the difference in one N versus two many times.
“So what word did you get?”
“Peanut.” Her voice goes soft, all the bravado from moments ago has vanished.
“Ahh, that is a tricky one.” I hand Poppy her faux-milkshake and sit down on the stool next to her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t coach you better for it. You know spelling isn’t my thing. But I bet Maya could train you for the next one. She can teach you all sorts of tricky words.”
“She can?”
“I have a feeling.” Maya is always using words I’ve never heard of. Then when she sees my confusion she’ll apologize for slipping into French or Spanish, or she’ll tell me about another one of her favorite lexical gaps—words that can’t be translated into English.
We got into a deep discussion about this while watching Top Chef the other night, especially when she became outraged that someone misused one of her favorite words.
“Sorry, I’m just a word nerd. And with all the different places I’ve lived and learning bits and pieces of other languages, I’m really fascinated by lexical gaps. They teach you so much about a culture. It just irks me when people use them incorrectly, diluting their meaning like that.”
“ Sobremesa doesn’t mean dessert?” I asked.
“Well, it’s the closest translation we have, but no. If you go anywhere in Latin America, it’s so much more than that. Sobremesa is like…the whole dessert experience. It’s gathering around the table and extending a meal with sweets and coffee and good conversation. Isn’t that beautiful?”
Not as beautiful as you , I thought.
“It is. Any other food related words you love? I feel like I should know these.”
“Hmmm,” she pondered. “ Abbiocco . It’s Italian.”
I tried to place it but couldn’t. “What’s it mean?”
“Basically, a really satisfying food coma. It’s like the happy, satiated feeling after a big meal. It probably doesn’t translate because it only makes sense in Italy. If you eat too much French food you just feel sick. But a big bowl of pasta or gnocchi? It puts you to sleep in the best way.”
“I love making gnocchi.”
“You make delicious gnocchi.”
“Are you saying you want me to sedate you with Italian food?”
She cuddled into me, pulling the blanket up to her neck.
“Yes, chef.”
It’s not something I want to admit, but I’m kind of sad that Maya’s feeling better. I have no more excuses to let my staff run the diner or to offer Maya my room for the TV. No more late nights watching Chopped in my bed while she makes me tell her exactly what I would do with each basket. She’s back at Ellie’s today, doing what she came here for.
So now I need to do what I said I would: keep trying.
“Poppy, can I ask you something?”
She nods but doesn’t remove her mouth from the straw, sucking down her drink.
“What do you think about spending tomorrow night with Uncle Ez, so I can take Maya somewhere for dinner, just the two of us?”
Poppy has never experienced me excluding her from something. It’s about time I test the waters, see how difficult dating will actually be.
She looks at me, her thinking face on display as her feet knock into mine, kicking against the stool. “Like a date?”
I almost want to ask how she knows that word, but I’m starting to learn that I’ll have a new surprise from Poppy every day until the end of time. I just have to go with it.
“Yeah, a date. Is that okay with you, angel?”
She’s thinking again, but then it’s like a lightbulb goes off. She bounces in her seat, so aggressively I grab her, worried she’s about to fall off.
“Yes! Then you can break her curse!”
“Her what?”
“Her curse .” She looks at me like I’m the dumbest person alive. “That she can’t find her prince.”
“Ahh, but I’m not a prince.” I grab the drink and take a sip before Poppy finishes the whole thing.
“Maybe that’s why she’s cursed! Because she was looking for a prince but what she really needed was a daddy.”
I choke on the straw.
No , I think to myself, Poppy will never stop surprising me.
Getting my daughter’s permission turns out to be unnecessary.
Maya has to go to London. Something about meeting with the board of the hotel group.
A part of me knew she had responsibilities, work, a life outside of this, but it doesn’t feel good to be reminded.
It feels even worse having to tell Poppy.
She’s throwing a full-on tantrum while I try to play it cool. But inside, I’m no better than my daughter. All I can think about is how this is why Maya needs to take it slow with me. Because her life is so much bigger than mine. Am I completely fooling myself that she would ever want to be with me?
“Hey, what’s going on?” Maya says when she comes downstairs. Poppy started crying when I brought down her suitcase ten minutes ago.
Since Maya’s been living here, she’s almost always casually dressed; leggings, sweatpants, jeans when she comes to the diner.
But today she looks different. She has on these cream-colored pants that look like they cost more than this house, a tight black turtleneck and a long wool coat. Oversized tortoise sunglasses sit atop her head, with her hair pulled back into a low bun. She looks like she belongs in a magazine, standing next to a private jet. And that’s when I realize she is probably about to fly on one.
It’s easy to forget that Maya is Maya Bloom , that her father is a billionaire and she basically is one too.
Maya rushes over to Poppy and kneels down on the ground.
But Poppy pulls away from her, latching onto my leg. “You said you wouldn’t leave. Not yet.”
“Sweetie,” Maya coaxes, reaching out a hand. “It’s only for a few days, a week tops. I’m coming right back, I promise.”
“But I don’t want you to go.”
“Poppy, we talked about this,” I say, gentle but stern. I’ve been trying my best to teach Poppy that she can’t always get what she wants. As a grown man, it seems like a ridiculous statement. When do we ever get what we want? But teaching it to Poppy is rough. Because I never want her to feel disappointment. Now, I realize I’ve done her a disservice. She doesn’t know how to handle it.
“You know what?” Maya says, attempting another angle. “I don’t want to go either.”
“You don’t?”
“Nope. I would much rather stay here with you and your dad and bake something delicious and stay in pajamas all day.” Her tone conveys that she really means it.
“Then why are you leaving?” Poppy whines.
“Well, sometimes we all have to do things we don’t want to. It’s part of being a grown-up.”
Wise words.
“How about this,” Maya continues. “You give me a big hug, because if you don’t I’ll be really sad, and I promise I’ll FaceTime your dad as soon as I get off my plane. Even if it’s the middle of the night, I’ll call and we can talk for as long as you want. Does that sound okay?”
“I guess so.” Poppy still leans against my leg, pouting.
“Can I please have my hug? I need it so bad!” Maya holds both of her arms out, straining until Poppy finally gives in.
After Maya leaves, we spend most of the day at the diner, my daughter and I both missing our new roommate. But Maya doesn’t disappoint. She calls right at seven, midnight for her, and stays on the line through story time and until Poppy finally falls asleep.
She calls every night that she’s gone, which ends up being more than two weeks. She listens to Poppy blabber about nonsense and smiles the entire time, then tries to explain the legal dispute they’re dealing with that I can barely comprehend. My favorite thing she does is send pictures of everything she eats while she’s away, along with a rating on “The Harley Scale” she created. To my delight, it goes from one to Harley.
“Daddy, why hasn’t she called yet?” Poppy asks. She’s been in my bed, fighting sleep for the last half hour. “Did she forget about us?”
When seven o’clock came and went without a call, I caved and let her cuddle with me and Penguin.
Now it’s almost eight, and I’m sure Maya just fell asleep. It’s been clear that her trip has been exhausting. Early mornings, lots of meetings with lawyers, even her meals all seem to be focused on business, no time to relax.
“She would never forget about you, angel. I’m sure she’s just busy, or really tired. Like you are.”
“But I’m not ti-ahh,” she yawns through the word.
She’s almost out when I hear the door open. I wait for one of the three people with keys to announce themselves. Then I hear the roll of a suitcase.
“Hey, Poppy,” I whisper, nudging my daughter awake.
“Daddy?”
“I think there’s a surprise for you in the kitchen.”
Poppy blinks away any remnants of sleep and flies out of bed. Penguin decides it’s a good time to see if she can howl and gallops after Poppy, proud of her newfound voice.
I hear Poppy scream “Maya!” as I climb out of bed. When I make it into the kitchen, they’re on the floor, dodging kisses from Penguin, but I can see the tight grip my daughter has on Maya. She doesn’t want to let her go.
“Hey,” I announce, letting them know I’m here too.
“Hi.” Maya looks up at me and grins. She’s flat on her back with Poppy and Penguin piled on top of her. She looks ridiculously happy. “I brought presents.”
This is what gets Poppy up. “Where?”
“Christmas is in two days,” I murmur.
“I know. But these aren’t Christmas presents. They’re…travel presents.”
She gets up from the floor and starts digging in her duffel bag. She pulls out a jar and hands it to me. “I was told this is the best saffron in the world.”
I eye the label, give it a sniff. It is the best. This little jar must have cost a fortune. Saffron has always been one of my favorite ingredients to work with. But how did she know that?
She must be able to see the confusion in my eyes. “I umm,” Maya whispers, leaning toward me. “I had another dream. It’s your favorite, right?”
“Yeah. Thank you.” I don’t know what else to say. Instead, I start mapping out a dish for a scallop risotto that I know she’ll love.
“And for you,” Maya says to Poppy, “I got this for us to read together.” She pulls a large book out of the bag and hands it to my daughter. “It’s called Forgotten Fairy Tales of Brave and Brilliant Girls . Just like you.”
“Can we read it now?” Poppy hugs the book to her chest like it’s her most treasured possession. I feel guilty that I don’t read to her at night anymore. I used to, when it was mostly picture books, or quick phrases teaching her the alphabet. But once she started leveling up, it was a lot on my eyes at night.
Maya knows all this. We’ve discussed it more than once. This gift isn’t just for Poppy.
“Why don’t you let Maya unpack and get some sleep. I’m sure she’s exhausted from traveling. You’ll have lots of time to read all week since school’s out.”
“But I?—”
“Poppy. What did we talk about?”
“Coppermise,” she mumbles, looking down at the ground.
“Compromise. You’ll get to read the book, just not right now. Why don’t you say thank you?”
“Thank you, Princess Maya. Can I sleep with you tonight? I’ll try really hard not to kick.”
A laugh bursts through Maya’s mouth. She knows I have the bruises to prove Poppy a liar. But still, she says, “Of course, sweetie. Just let me shower off the plane first and then we can snuggle.”
Maya goes upstairs and Poppy offers me a triumphant grin. Does my daughter realize we’re competing for Maya’s attention? And more importantly, when can I start winning?