Chapter 16 #2
The trunk of her Civic was a testament to someone who’d planned a move without enough boxes.
One duffel bag with shoes and toiletries, a laundry basket buckling under the weight of half-folded clothes, two garbage bags with clothes, a battered Celine Dion tote bag filled with romance novels, and a sad grocery sack bursting with random kitchen items: her new mug, four ramens, two boxes of cereal, a bag of chips, Ritz crackers, and a fancy chef’s knife she’d impulse-bought at Williams Sonoma last year.
Poppy loaded herself up, pack mule style, and shuffled across the garden path to her new front door.
She almost dropped her Celine tote twice but managed to make it in one trip.
The sense of accomplishment she felt upon opening the door was probably out of proportion, but it felt like a small, private victory.
The interior was even more charming in the fading light, every surface turning soft gold.
Poppy stood in the center of the living room, arms full, and just breathed for a second.
She could appreciate the space more now that she was seeing it alone.
It was always pressure when looking around with someone else.
The blue velvet loveseat looked like it would swallow her whole if she gave it half a chance, which she loved.
A big comfy couch was just what she needed.
She dumped her belongings on the rug, then padded over to the wall of bookshelves and ran a finger over the smooth, empty wood. The possibilities made her giddy.
She unpacked quickly, eager to erase any evidence of the moving process.
She folded her clothes into the cedar dresser, inhaling the delicious scent, letting the aroma fill her lungs.
She lined up her shoes by the door and arranged her meager kitchen supplies with the care of a chef opening a new restaurant.
She even found a hook to hang up the pink apron her niece Zoya had made her last Christmas with FOR POP-TART USE ONLY, embroidered on it.
The bathroom was small but had everything she needed, stocked with fluffy towels and little bottles of shea butter and vanilla hand soap.
By the time she collapsed on the velvet loveseat with her computer, the place already felt a shade more lived-in.
After a moment of self-congratulation for not procrastinating, she opened her laptop and flipped to her online grad seminar.
The tabs on her browser—neurodiversity studies, pediatric therapy, tuition payment deadline reminders—felt like little paper cuts.
She tried to muster enthusiasm for her readings, but her mind wandered, restless and unsettled, making it impossible to concentrate.
It had been that way ever since Yaya announced AJ was in town.
The knock at the door was so abrupt it made her yelp. Poppy froze. No one knew where she lived. The only person who had her address was Zion, and he always texted before he came by. But the knock came again, insistent, and this time she crept to the door and squinted through the peephole.
Her mom’s face was so close, which warped the perspective so much she almost didn’t recognize her at first. She wore an expression somewhere between curiosity and outright terror as she surveyed the area as if she expected to find a ransom note taped to the door.
Poppy sighed, braced herself, and opened up.
“Oh good, you’re alive,” her mom joked, sort of.
“Hi, Mom. Come in.” Kerri Wilson looked like a Pinterest board for “boho chic mom,” all drapey linen and stacked jewelry, her brunette hair twisted into a messy bun.
She circled the place twice, taking in the shelves, the kitchen, and the window seat, pausing just long enough to prop open a window “for ventilation” and test the smoke detector because “you never know.” She wrinkled her nose at the sight of Poppy’s ramen stash but didn’t say anything because Kerri Wilson “did not meddle.”
“It’s very…cozy,” she declared finally. “I mean, the price is clearly right, but are you sure you’re comfortable living this close to a strange man and his child?”
“He’s not a serial killer, Mom.” Poppy rolled her eyes, but with affection.
“You never know, honey. You have to be careful. Did you see what happened to the girl in Nevada City?”
“You have to stop watching Dateline.”
“I can’t, I need to know what’s out there so I can protect you.”
“Mom, I’m thirty.”
“So was the girl in Nevada City,” she relayed as if Poppy had just proven her point.
The conversation continued for about fifteen minutes of her mom interrogating her about the job, the house, her new boss, the child, the dog, whether she could ask to get burglar bars on the windows, and if she’d checked the house for hidden cameras.
It was funny to see how much more protective Poppy’s mom was now that Poppy was an adult than she was when Poppy was little.
She was fairly certain her mom was trying to make up for not really being there for her the way she should have been when she’d actually needed her.
Even though her dad only came and saw them once a month, while Michael Davies graced walked this earth, their entire life stopped and revolved around him, or at least her mom’s did.
It was difficult to explain. Once he died, it was like a spell was broken off her, and Poppy met her mom for the first time.
Once the inquisition was over, she turned the focus to Poppy’s least favorite subject and asked if she had met any “nice boys” yet.
“Mom, I’ll walk you out.” She stood abruptly and walked to the door. “I have to study.”
Poppy managed to usher her mom out of the house and into her truck. As she climbed into the driver’s seat, she kept looking at the guest house as if it might sprout arms and abduct her only daughter.
“Keep your phone charged,” she instructed. “Don’t walk alone at night. And please, if you get a bad feeling about something, call me or the police. Or both. You can’t be too careful,” her mom warned as she leaned out the open window.
“Mom, this is the nicest neighborhood I have ever lived in,” Poppy said, trying to lighten the mood. “You do remember our apartment on Vine, my roommates were cockroaches, and every night the dealers upstairs would use the fire escape outside my window to meet with clients.”
Her mom gave her a look that could wither cacti. “I’m serious, Popsicola. Things happen. You lock your doors tonight, okay?”
“I promise.” Poppy squeezed her mom’s shoulder through the window, gently dislodging her from her next round of warnings. “Drive safe. Text me when you get home.”
“I will, love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Poppy watched her mom reverse down the drive when she caught motion out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head and saw Deacon, Tabitha, and Rocco all coming out of the back door of the main house. Deacon was carrying a tray of hot dogs and hamburger patties.
“Hey,” His smile was relaxed, but there was a new edge of wariness, as if somehow he was aware he’d just been the subject of maternal scrutiny.
What if he’d heard her mom voicing her concerns?
“Hi again,” Poppy said. “Sorry if you heard my mom, she just wanted to make sure you weren’t luring me here for organ harvesting.”
She addressed the mom-sized elephant in the room.
“No worries,” Deacon grinned. “I keep the black-market lab in the basement. I can give her a tour next time she’s here to put her mind at ease.”
Poppy smiled and then motioned to the tray. “What happened to spaghetti?”
“Rocco.” Deacon’s wary expression returned, and Poppy realized it was his dog that had put it there. “I took a call, and he helped himself to the garlic bread and the noodles.”
“Oh no.” Poppy covered her mouth and chuckled as she heard the familiar sound of her mom’s Pathfinder finding its way back up the driveway.
She turned and saw her mom waving as she drove back up. When it came to a stop, she hopped out. “I forgot my phone. Can you believe it?”
“No,” Poppy shook her head.
Her mother was the least forgetful person on the planet, if she’d “forgotten” her phone, it was on purpose.
And she knew why. She wanted an excuse to come back to try to meet “the man” Poppy was living with.
The worst part was her mom’s scheme had worked, so that would encourage her to pull more of her shenanigans.
“Mom, this is Deacon, Tabitha, and Rocco. Guys this is my mom, Kerri.” Poppy gestured between them as she made introductions.
Deacon walked over and extended his hand. “Miss Davies, nice to meet you.”
Her mom covered his hand with both of hers and patted the top. “It’s not Miss Davies, it’s Miss Wilson. Poppy’s father and I were together for over twenty years, but we were never married.”
Poppy tried not to let the secondhand embarrassment of her mom’s TMI share show on her face.
For so long, she’d been forbidden to speak about her father, even mention his name.
But after he died, her mom had no problem telling the world she was with her dad for decades, but they were never married.
And if they asked why, she’d also share that he’d had another family.
She claimed secrets killed you, but the truth set you free.
Poppy was praying he didn’t ask any follow-up questions.
She watched for his reaction and saw his expression change.
It was only for a split second. If she’d blinked, she literally would have missed it, but Poppy caught it.
She couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but it was something.
Thankfully, no follow-up questions were asked, and the conversation moved on.
As her mom fussed over Rocco and Tabitha, Poppy took the opportunity to go search for the phone. Within thirty seconds she located it in the couch cushions.
“Got it,” Poppy announced loudly as she stepped back outside.
“Oh great.”
She handed it to her mom as she once again got inside her vehicle.
“What are you wearing to the rehearsal?” her mom asked.