Chapter 1 #3
He had his own family, consisting of three daughters, for whom he’d done all of those things. They had him for all those occasions. She knew because she’d seen the photos and the home movies and talked to them about it. She’d watched her dad walk all three of his daughters down the aisle.
“Poppy?”
Poppy blinked and looked up to find Steph standing in front of her. She hadn’t even heard her get up from her stool. She’d been zoned out.
“Sorry, what?”
Steph’s grin was soft. “I’m always here if you need to talk.”
“Thanks.” Poppy’s tone was much flatter than she meant it to be.
“I’ll let you get dressed.” Her friend reached out, squeezed her shoulder, then left her alone to change out of the crepe paper dignity shield.
Poppy exhaled as the door shut behind her friend. She became aware, with some relief, that she had not cried. Not even one tear. She wondered if that in itself was a kind of victory. A sign of resilience, maybe, or maybe just that her tear ducts were as dysfunctional as her reproductive system.
She sat for a long minute after Steph left, feeling the cold air on her bare skin.
The crinkling paper beneath her thigh. She could hear the muffled sounds of the main corridor—phones ringing, a baby wailing, someone coughing.
She wanted to disappear into her clothes, disappear into the bland, unremarkable anonymity of being just another patient, but that would be impossible because she had to go back to work.
She checked her phone and found a text from her mom “just checking in” and a text from her sister Phoebe, timestamped ten minutes ago.
The message was a cheery reminder, with excessive exclamation points, of their plans to meet for coffee, letting Poppy know that her sister was in the building.
“Shit.” Poppy totally forgot she was meeting her sister, who had been asking for details about Steve, the guy she’d been seeing for the past month.
Poppy considered texting back, but she knew if she did, her sister would just call her. Figuring she’d beat her to the punch, she hit her number.
It rang twice before she picked up.
“Hey, I’m—”
“I’m so sorry,” Poppy cut her sister off, her voice sounded hoarse and strained. She cleared it. “I’m at an appointment that’s running late, so I’m gonna have to take a raincheck.”
“Are you okay?” her sister’s tone was filled to overflowing with concern. In the background she heard her niece Bristol, the one who was conceived after a night of tequila and Taco Bell, cooing.
Both the concern and cooing triggered the emotion Poppy had barely been able to keep under control to snap. She sniffed as moisture filled her lower lids. “Yeah, I’m just not going to be able to make it back in time to meet you,” she lied. “Talk to you soon.”
Poppy disconnected the line. Her first instinct was guilt, followed by a rush of relief, followed by a pang of sorrow she would never admit out loud.
She loved her sister, she really did. But there were days when she would rather swallow a cheese grater than spend time with her… today was one of those days.
Phoebe was the youngest of the “legitimate” Davies sisters.
She’d had the privilege of living in a house with both parents.
Phoebe’s entire life read like the highlight reel of a person living the parallel universe life Poppy always wanted.
She had a father who didn’t disappear, her mom wasn’t an alcoholic who worked two jobs just to afford a shitty apartment.
Her “holiday traditions” didn’t mean Chinese takeout in front of the TV.
Phoebe was the head cheerleader, prom queen, and president of her sorority, oh, and she wasn’t even a bitch. She was nice. Kind.
Whenever people found out that Poppy was related to Phoebe Davies—usually because they shared the same last name and looked so similar—they would always get this sparkle in their eye, specifically if they’d attended school with her and would have been considered an outcast. They would tell Poppy how nice Phoebe was to them.
It didn’t matter if they were a goth, gamer, loner, skater, stoner, athlete, outcast, rebel, drama, or band kid, Phoebe included everyone, did not tolerate anyone being bullied, and made every single person feel seen.
As an adult, it was no surprise she was also an overachiever.
She’d had Bristol five months ago, and of course Phoebe’s body had snapped right back into shape like a rubber band after.
She was also mother to Finley, who was turning eight in just ten days, and twin boys Ezra and Elan.
Oh, and her husband was an incredible, very sexy, very successful man who made the kind of money that meant they had a lakeside home, a cleaning lady, a dog walker, and a backyard that required special shoes to walk on.
Whenever Poppy visited the aforementioned lakeside home, despite having three children and now a baby, it always looked like a set for a commercial or an ad for something aspirational, like a wellness drink or a brand of granola.
Today, however, the thought of sitting across from Phoebe and her perfect hair, a beautiful baby, and her ability to order a cappuccino while wearing white linen pants, knowing without a doubt it would not spill while she listened to Poppy talk about a man who was nice, decent looking and fine—made her want to put her head in an oven.
Poppy loved her niece. She loved her so much it hurt.
But it was the kind of hurt you got from looking at the sun for too long. Sometimes she had to look away.
She got dressed, trading the frail tissue gown for her navy-blue scrubs, which were clean but had a mystery stain on the left thigh from last week’s double shift, where she’d scarfed down a burrito.
She finished by putting her lanyard around her neck.
It showed her at age twenty-one, caught mid-blink, looking so earnest and unsuspicious of what her life would turn into.
Nine years later, Poppy was still an x-ray tech at Pine Ridge General, which was smaller than the hospital she’d started at in Carson City, but it paid better and let her work three twelves instead of four tens.
She liked it, mostly. The people were nice, and her brother, Liam, the other illegitimate child of Michael Davies was the attending physician of the ER.
He hadn’t known their father at all. He’d grown up in a family having no idea that the man who raised him wasn’t his biological father.
As big of a mindfuck as that was, it was hard for Poppy not to envy him.
He’d had a mom, a brother, and a father.
Oh, and he was rich, too, which she doubted sucked.
Poppy always maintained that people who said money doesn’t buy happiness, or wealth doesn’t solve all your problems, probably never had their water and electric cut off so they couldn’t wash their clothes or take a shower.
They also didn’t have to sneak food from the cafeteria that kids left uneaten, because there was no food in their house.
And they didn’t come home to find eviction notices the week before Christmas, so they had to sleep in the car in freezing temperatures for a week because their mom got laid off when she went into work smelling like a distillery because their dad missed his December visit.
No one knew about Liam in the family until eight years ago.
He discovered their identities through a public DNA site two years after their father, Michael.
died, so he’d never gotten to meet the man who sired him.
She didn’t think he was missing much. She’d loved working with her brother all these years.
It felt like for the first time, she’d had something her other sisters hadn’t, not that it was a competition.
But now, even that was ending. He was leaving in ten days to start a family practice in Hope Falls, a small town that Poppy had always loved about thirty miles away.
She’d hoped he’d invite her to come and work with him, but so far, the only invitation he’d given was one to help with the interior design of his office space.
She never wanted x-ray tech to be her lifelong career, and if she was being honest with herself, the only reason she’d stayed at the hospital this long was because of her brother.
He was not the easiest person to get to know, if she didn’t work with him, she’d never see him.
Also, she had to admit, he was a hot commodity, as Pine Ridge’s most eligible bachelor, her DNA proximity to Liam gave her a front-row seat to the scandals, hookups, and general debauchery of the soap opera that was the hospital dating scene.
Not that Liam ever partook. He didn’t. But people tried to ingratiate themselves with her as a way to get close to him, so she became the gossip hub, and she loved it.
Her phone buzzed again as she walked out of the exam room and waited for the elevator.
She pulled it out and saw that it was Steve.
She’d met him on a dating app three weeks ago, and they’d gone on four dates.
He was attractive. He was nice. She liked him.
He was fine. She’d continued seeing him on the working theory they could build on that foundation because he was a suitable candidate for husband/father.
The problem was, she didn’t want attractive, nice, like, and fine.
She wanted fireworks, rip-your-clothes-off attraction, hilariousness, and missing the person when they go into the next room.
She wanted the epic love that is talked about in movies and romance novels.
The kind of love that people wrote poems and songs about.
The kind that makes it difficult to breathe, that changes the atmosphere, that makes other people in the room have to put on protective glasses to shield themselves from the sparks flying off.
If she wasn’t going to be able to have a family, then she sure as hell was going to have that all-consuming love—from the first time you laid eyes on the person, you knew that you had to meet them, to be with them, that psychic connection kind of love.
That wasn’t something that you could build up to. If she was looking for a partner in a marriage to build a family with, then yes, Steve was a great candidate. He made six figures, was tall, healthy, exercised, and had a 401k. He was safe.
She was done with safe. Safe was for families and futures. She wasn’t going to have either. She wanted passion, hot, drive-you-crazy, can’t-live-without-you obsession.
When she stepped into the elevator, she realized the hospital was playing Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” on a loop. If nothing else, the universe had a sense of humor.