13. Dylan
thirteen
Dylan
I might be more anxious than Izzy as we stand near the front door with just minutes to go until we leave for her first day at her new school. She’s positioned in front of the full-length hallway mirror, a dubious frown on her face as she inspects her uniform.
“Come here,” I say, falling to one knee so I can fix her necktie, straighten her woolen sweater, and tighten the laces on her shiny black shoes. Her knee-high socks are still where they need to be—just under her kneecaps—and her dark hair is in a polished high ponytail.
“You’re perfect.” I drop a kiss on her forehead before I return to my feet and pull out my phone.
“Are you okay?” Poppy asks.
I look at her as the words float in one ear and out the other. “Huh?”
She nods at my phone, and I shove it into the back pocket of my jeans. “You’ve checked that thing three times in the last five minutes. Are you okay?”
“Uh, yeah.” I lower my voice, so Izzy can’t hear me, then tip my head toward the living room for Poppy to follow me. “I thought Annalise might call to wish Izzy luck before her first day at a new school, but…”
Poppy spares a sad kind of glance toward Izzy, who is twirling to see how much flare her plaid tunic gives. The answer: not much.
“How often does Izzy speak to her mother?” Poppy asks.
“Once a week on Tuesday nights before bed, but I thought maybe, given the special circumstances…”
“That she might make an extra effort this week?”
“Yeah.”
The hollow of disappointment in my stomach tightens suddenly, morphing into a familiar pang of guilt. Where’s my head at? I can’t give Izzy the mother she deserves, and now I’ve badmouthed the only mother she has. As a rule, I don’t do that, even where Izzy can’t hear. Annalise upholds her end of our bargain. It’s not her fault I sometimes wish she’d do more.
“It’s not like I suggested it,” I add. “And Annalise is so busy. I think she’s in the UK working on a big case. It might not even be daylight there. I don’t keep track of world time.”
Poppy rests a reassuring hand on my forearm, and I stare at it, wondering how her touch can both soothe and excite me all at once.
“Izzy has you,” she says. “And you’re doing a great job.”
I nod and try to believe it. “Thank you.”
Silence stretches between us, and I’m suddenly aware of how close we’re standing, our heads together to better hear our whispered words. Poppy’s hand remains on my arm, and she looks up at me through her lashes like she’s caught in suspension, neither of us wanting to move and break the connection. Distractedly, I glide my tongue along my bottom lip, remembering her thumb slipping inside, her hand cradling my jaw, her fingers sliding through my hair. Poppy’s gaze drops to my mouth, and she catches her top lip between her teeth.
I wish I knew what was going on between us. Is it a chemical attraction? Is it sexual frustration? Is it the thrill of misbehaving, doing something bad and getting away with it, when all I’ve ever done is the right thing?
I wish I didn’t want to do the wrong thing so fucking much.
“Is it time to go yet?’ Izzy asks, startling me and causing Poppy to yank her hand away.
It takes effort to break eye contact, but I manage it with a smile for Izzy. “Uh, yeah. It is.”
“Just one more thing.” Poppy reaches around to swipe my phone from my back pocket. “Let me take a photo of you in your cute new uniform next to your dad, who just told me how proud of you he is today.”
Izzy lights up, and I mouth a silent thank you to Poppy, who winks in return. I stand with my daughter in the hallway, my hand resting gently on her back, and smile like this is what a happy family is supposed to look like. Like it doesn’t kill me that for all the important milestones in her life so far, I’ve celebrated them alone.
Poppy hands me my phone, then collects Izzy’s backpack from the floor and helps her settle it on her shoulders.
“I can’t wait to hear all about your first day,” Poppy says. “Make sure you remember as many details as possible because I’m going to have a hundred questions when I collect you this afternoon.”
Izzy raises her eyebrows skeptically. “A hundred? Really?”
“At least.” Poppy fixes Izzy’s hair, pulling the ponytail free from where it’s caught under the strap of her bag. “But I’ll divide them up so it’s not overwhelming. We’ll do twenty on the way to your trumpet lesson. Another twenty on the way home. I’ll save the next twenty until you’ve finished your Spanish revision, and then we’ll cover the final twenty during bath time.”
“That’s only eighty questions,” Izzy protests.
“Is it?” Poppy sends me an indulgent glance that I return with a grin. “I guess I need to work on my math.”
Poppy pulls Izzy against her for a hard hug, and her eyes close for a moment, like she’s wishing for good things. It’s a little thing, but I’m swamped with gratitude. I’m lucky to have Poppy in my corner today.
Poppy kisses the top of Izzy’s head before she steps back. “Have a great day, Iz. Remember all the things we talked about, okay?”
“Venture outside your comfort zone,” Izzy recites seriously. “The rewards are worth it.”
“Rapunzel,” Poppy says with an approving sweep under Izzy’s upturned chin. “Atta girl.”
I reach for Izzy’s hand, but as I move to the front door, her feet stay rooted to the spot, and her fingers tighten around mine.
“Aren’t you coming?” she asks Poppy with a little tremor in her voice.
“Oh, honey.” Poppy crouches down so she’s at eye level with Izzy. “This is a family moment. I’m not sure it’s—”
“No,” I say.
Poppy looks up at me in surprise, then slowly stands. “What?”
The idea of having Poppy by my side this morning fills me with relief, as well as a jittery kind of anticipation. I don’t think too hard about the rush I feel at finding a valid, respectable excuse to be near her, and instead focus only on the comfort of her presence.
“Come with us,” I reply. Izzy grins up at me, and her enthusiastic little wiggle is all the encouragement I need to add, “Please?”
Poppy’s smile is brighter than sunshine. “I’d love to.”
The drive to Izzy’s school takes half an hour, which is a longer trip than she’s used to, but the journey passes quickly with Poppy in the car playing games and singing along to the radio, and we pull into the school parking lot right on time. When I’m standing on the asphalt with Izzy hanging off one hand and her bag slung over my opposite shoulder, Poppy opens her door without stepping out.
“I can wait here,” she offers. “I don’t need to go in with you.”
I offer her my hand, and when she sets her fingers on my palm, I pull her out of the car. “No chance.”
Izzy leaps into the air. “Yes!”
I’m glad of the company when we walk through the oversized wrought-iron school gates. I’ve been here twice before—once for an interview with Izzy, another for a tour of the campus and a meeting with an adviser to discuss Izzy’s academic requirements—but it’s still overwhelming. The campus is larger and richer than Izzy’s elementary school, and it has a studious vibe to it. Children dressed in identical uniforms run and shout and play just like all kids this age, but there’s a different energy about the place, and I’m praying that’s a good thing.
“Where do we go?” Poppy wonders, hitching her tote bag higher onto her shoulder.
“This way,” I tell her, leading us to Izzy’s first-grade classroom. As arranged, her teacher is waiting for us, a kind-faced woman named Mrs. Marci Cooke, aged somewhere in her mid-fifties, wearing a long flowing skirt, fitted blazer, and loose scarf.
She greets Izzy first with an outstretched hand and a welcoming smile. “Hello, Izzy,” she says. “I’m so glad to see you again. I hope you’re ready for a fun day in first grade?”
Izzy nods but crowds a little closer to me, and I rub her back to soothe her.
Mrs. Cooke is prepared for Izzy’s reluctance. “Would you like to see your desk, Izzy?” She motions toward a table with Izzy’s name attached as a laminated plate. “Or perhaps take a look at our classroom library?”
Izzy’s ears prick up at the mention of the library, and Mrs. Cooke spares me a knowing smile before she shows Izzy to the back corner of the room. When Izzy’s settled on a miniature reading chair with a book on her lap, Mrs. Cooke returns and offers me her hand.
“Mr. Davenport,” she says. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Likewise.”
Mrs. Cooke’s smile widens as her eyes land on Poppy. “And you must be Izzy’s mother. I’m so glad you could make it today.”
Poppy shakes the teacher’s hand, her friendly smile faltering before her expression shifts into alarm. “Her mother? No. I’m just the nanny—”
“A family friend,” I say over the top of her, and we exchange an uncomfortable look, one that says neither of us knows what Poppy is right now. Never just the nanny. Always more than a friend. Nothing defined. Everything implied.
“Ah.” Mrs. Cooke retracts her hand with an apologetic grimace. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“That’s okay,” I reassure her. “Izzy and Poppy are very close, and Izzy’s come to depend on her the last couple of weeks, especially leading up to this transition.” I look over at Poppy. “We’ve both come to depend on Poppy, actually.”
Poppy drops her eyes. I hope that means she’s pleased and not that I’ve said the wrong thing. Again.
“Well, I’m happy to know Isobel has a wonderful support network at home,” Mrs. Cooke says, “but I want to reassure you that I’ll keep a close eye on her. Ensure she’s making friends and enjoying her classwork. And I’ll keep you informed of her progress while we all adjust to her new routine.”
“I appreciate that,” I say, and I do. A little anxiety ebbs away, leaving behind the more general sense of worry that I’ve come to realize is part of being a parent. “Thank you.”
“I suggest you say your goodbyes without fuss,” Mrs. Cooke adds. “No need to prolong the inevitable, and I intend to introduce Izzy to a group of children I think she’ll like.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
Our goodbyes are quick, Izzy drawing out our hug for only a short moment before Poppy smuggles a small box of Legos from her tote to Izzy’s backpack “just in case,” and within fifteen minutes of walking through the gates with Izzy between us, Poppy and I walk back out again. Just the two of us.
“Well. That went better than I’d hoped,” I comment as we settle in the car.
“It did,” Poppy agrees. “Izzy was happy to stay, I think.”
“I think so too.” I tighten my hands around the steering wheel as I let myself appreciate the release of pressure I’d been feeling up to this moment. “Maybe this will be good for her after all.”
“I’ve got a good feeling about it.” Poppy lifts her shoulders and glances out the window. “So…should we head back? You probably need to get to the restaurant, and I’ve got a list of errands to run before the end of the school day.”
I do need to get back to the restaurant, but it occurs to me that Poppy and I are alone. No Izzy. No Daisy. No Wade. No reason to look over our shoulders.
“What kind of errands?” I ask.
“Izzy needs new socks.” Poppy’s focus bounces around the car like she’s trying to look anywhere but directly at me. “She needs costume supplies for her dance recital, plus oil for her trumpet. I also want to pick up a gift for her first day of school. I don’t know what it is yet, so if you’ve got any suggestions…?”
I sink into my seat, taking pleasure in watching Poppy off balance. She’s never this uncomfortable, and it’s adorable. It’s also sexy as hell. It’s been a long time since I made a girl squirm, and my mind strays to other ways I could make her writhe.
“I don’t,” I tell her. “But maybe something will come to me while we shop.”
Poppy’s head whips around, her eyebrows high. “We?”
“Yeah. We.” I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Liz to let her know that I’ll be back a couple of hours later than expected, then turn on the engine. Poppy is silent as I back out of the parking spot. “You got a problem with that?”
“A problem?” Poppy rolls her lips as she fights a smile. “No. Not at all.”
“Good.” I turn onto the street, and my stomach tightens with a feverish kind of excitement at the thought of playing hooky with the girl I have a crush on. “Where to?”