Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
This is what I didn't know I was missing
SOPHIE
Micah and I are eating at the island when my phone buzzes on the counter.
Poppy
Hey. Can I come over? No pressure if it's a bad time.
I look up. “Poppy wants to come over.”
Micah doesn't even pause. “Of course. This is your home too—you don't have to ask my permission.”
Something about the way he says it so simply—your home—makes my chest feel full in the best way. I still haven't gotten used to it.
I text Poppy back.
Me
Good morning! Of course you can come over.
She has Grant's penthouse key card—Micah gave one to both Grant and Wyatt when they moved into the building. Though things have changed a bit since I moved in. The guys have been more considerate about it, actually letting Micah know before they come up rather than just appearing whenever. Which also means considerably fewer interruptions, particularly from Grant, during moments between Micah and me that really don’t need interruptions.
Poppy shows up twenty minutes later. She looks tired around the eyes, but she's smiling—that particular smile she does when she's trying to seem fine.
“Hi,” she says, stepping inside. “Something smells incredible.”
“There are leftover pancakes,” I say. “Come sit.”
Micah appears from the hallway, already dressed.
He gives Poppy a small nod and a quiet smile—and I notice he doesn't quite know what to say around her. Probably because of everything with Wyatt. She’s my friend, but Wyatt is his.
The situation is complicated, and Micah doesn't do well with things he can't fix. It's quietly sweet.
“I'm gonna head down to Grant's,” he says, grabbing his keys. “Give you two some space.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head on his way. “Text me if you need anything.”
The elevator doors close behind him and it's just us.
Poppy settles onto the stool next to me, pulling her sleeves over her hands. “How are you doing? Like actually.”
“I'm good,” I say, smiling. “Really good.”
“Good.” She picks at the edge of a pancake I slid in front of her. “How's it been? Living here?”
“It’s been great.” I wrap both hands around my mug. “It feels more like home than anywhere I've lived before. Which is a strange thing to say about the penthouse, but…”
She smiles at that. A real one. “I'm glad.”
“How’s it been living with Grant?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Honestly? Grant's been great. Like, surprisingly great.
He's respectful and he checks in, and he's funny. It’s kind of exactly what I need right now.
And he always picks up his phone—like, always.
Three in the morning, doesn't matter. I called him at two a.m. once because my car wouldn't start after a party and he picked up on the first ring and came and got me without a single complaint.”
She pauses. “It's just—Wyatt and Kate are literally next door. I ran into them at the elevator the other morning.”
“Poppy—“
“I know. I'm fine.” She says it quickly. “I press my ear against the door now before I leave the apartment to make sure the hallway's clear. Very normal behavior.” She says it flatly.
“That's not—you shouldn't have to do that.”
“I know.” She shrugs. “Anyway.” She looks up at me. “Enough about me. That night when everything went down, I didn't even get a chance to ask what happened. Micah texted me asking what girls like and how to make a comforting environment, which was hilarious, by the way. Are you okay?”
I look down at my mug.
“Sophie.” Her voice is gentle. “You don't have to tell me. But I'm here if you want to.”
And I do. For the first time, I actually want to.
So I tell her. All of it. My mom, Mark, my life until now.
The things I've never said out loud to anyone because there was never anyone to say them to before Micah and now Poppy.
I don't look at her while I talk, though.
I just watch my hands wrapped around my mug, and let the words come out until there's nothing left.
When I finish, the kitchen is very quiet.
Then I hear Poppy exhale—shaky, like she's been holding her breath—and when I look up, her eyes are full.
“Sophie.” Her voice breaks on my name. “I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry.” She reaches over and grabs both my hands. “The door. I should have been more careful about locking it. I had no idea. I would have been so much more careful if I'd known, I would have—“
“Hey.” I squeeze her hands. “It's not your fault. None of it is your fault.”
She nods, but tears spill over anyway, and then she's up and around the counter and pulling me into a hug so tight I can feel how much she means it. I hug her back, and I think…this is what it’s supposed to feel like. This is what I didn't know I was missing.
We stay like that for a while. Then we separate and she wipes her face and laughs at herself a little.
“Okay,” she says, sniffling. “I'm crying and your pancakes are going cold and that feels wrong.”
I laugh, holding back my own tears. “Do you want more syrup?”
We eat together in the quiet warmth of the kitchen, and I think about how strange and lucky I was that a roommate listing on a housing board turned into this. Into her.
I never thought I'd have a friend like Poppy. I didn't think I had room for one.