31. Poppy
thirty-one
Poppy
I sit on the sofa in Mona’s apartment, stare at my phone, and silently beg it to ring. In the twelve hours since fighting with Daisy, I’ve sent her twenty-nine text messages and called her seventeen times. I haven’t slept, I haven’t eaten, and she hasn’t returned my messages.
I don’t know what to do. We’ve never argued like this before. Everything’s a mess. And it’s all my fault.
I’m typing out another text when the door to Mona’s bedroom swings open. It stays that way, her bed through the door frame mussed but empty, and she breezes into the kitchen to make herself coffee before she breezes on out again.
I don’t look up when she doubles back and stands in front of me. “What’s wrong?”
I shrug, burning a hole through my phone screen as I blink back tears. “Daisy isn’t speaking to me.”
Mona lowers herself into the armchair next to me and sets her elbows on her knees, hands hugging her steaming mug. “What happened?”
I wipe away a sniffle with the back of my hand. “Dylan and I…”
Mona shakes her head like she knows whatever I’ve done is going to be a huge disappointment. “Oh, Penelope.”
“We’ve been seeing each other in secret,” I admit. “Sneaking around behind Daisy’s back. Before we could come clean, she overheard me talking to Izzy’s mom about it. And I said so many stupid things. How much I love Dylan. How I’ve always loved him. Dammit .”
I drop my phone beside me and hide my face behind my hands. “What was I thinking? Dylan doesn’t even know that. I’ve never told anyone. But now Daisy knows I’ve been lying to her forever, and she wants nothing to do with me. I’ve ruined everything.”
“Oh, honey.” Mona sits back in the armchair, and her silk dressing gown falls open as she crosses one long leg over another. “You haven’t ruined everything . You’re human. You made a mistake. And Daisy loves you. She’ll come around.”
I raise my head and glare, her detachment from my pain making it hurt even more, and all my insecurities crash over me at once.
“Why did you have me?” I demand.
Mona’s brow creases. “I’m sorry?”
“You’re not like other mothers. You’ve never been like other mothers. Some days, I wonder if you ever wanted a child. So why? Why did you have me?”
“What’s this about?”
“Just answer the question.”
She stares at me for a long moment, her gray-green eyes so much like mine shining with hurt as I fall apart inside until I’m convinced she’s got no answer for me. But then she leans across and takes my hand. Or tries to. My fingers are motionless in hers.
“Because I did want to be a mother. And I wanted you.”
In my current state of mind, with all my fears and inadequacies bubbling to the surface and knowing for the first time in my life I can’t run away, I can’t make myself believe her.
I choke back a broken laugh. “Nobody’s ever wanted me. Not really. Not permanently. Not by choice.”
“You can’t think that.” Mona’s throat works in a swallow, and her eyelashes flutter with rapid blinking. “It’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? My father never cared about me. You were always so distracted that I felt like an afterthought. Wade was an asshole who treated me like garbage—and I let him because I didn’t know to ask for more. Every family I’ve ever worked for has let me leave without a second thought about where I was going next. And Daisy— Daisy —is going to wipe me from her life completely because even though Dylan is as much to blame for what happened between us, I’m the disposable one. I’m not blood. I’m not family. I’m not anybody. Not anymore.”
Mona is silent, the apartment feels eerily calm, and a single tear falls down each of my mother’s cheeks. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m so tapped out on emotion—guilt and fear and self-loathing—that I’m throwing punches at the closest target. And she doesn’t deserve it.
“Mona—”
“You say I’m not like other mothers?” Mona interrupts. “You’re right. I’m not. And maybe—no, definitely—I’ve made mistakes, but I’ve always done my best. I’ve always tried to do what I thought was best for you.”
“Mom. I’m sorry. You don’t have to explain. I’m disappointed in myself. Not you.”
“No. I think you are disappointed in me. And that’s okay. I didn’t think I had to explain myself, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I assumed an understanding between us that was never really there.”
“An understanding?”
“Yes.” Mona drops her head back, looking through the ceiling like she’s weighing up her options, then with a deep breath, she pats my hand. “You know a little about my upbringing. You know my parents were strict, I lived in a very conservative neighborhood, and I ran away from home when I was sixteen.”
I frown and intuitively tighten my fingers around hers. “Yes.”
“What you don’t know is they weren’t just strict. They were abusive. My father abused my mother. They both abused me. Mentally. Emotionally. Sometimes physically.”
My stomach turns as bile burns the back of my throat. “I had no idea. I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t supposed to have any idea. These are my demons—not yours. But my childhood… It was not a happy one. My parents criticized everything I did. Every word. Every action. Every friend. Every grade. Every dress and shoe and hairstyle. Nothing happened in my life that they didn’t judge, and if they disapproved of a single one, I was punished. It was not a nice way to grow up.”
I’m suddenly grateful I don’t know my grandparents. Mona doesn’t often talk about them, and there were many times when I was young that I wished they were around, but these aren’t people I want in my life. “It sounds awful.”
“The worst part,” Mona continues, “is that I never figured out who I was, you know? I never took classes because I was interested in them, like art or language or music. Only the ones that were smart or practical—science and commerce and home economics. And heaven help me if I brought home a grade below a B. I only had friends that my parents approved of, even if I didn’t particularly like them. I wore clothes I hated—plain and ugly and uptight. I could only read books my parents bought for me. I only saw movies they wanted me to see. I was Mona Golightly—and that’s all I knew about myself. My name. By the time I was sixteen, I felt like a sketch on a page. No color. No depth. No warmth.”
The pieces start to come together for me. An explanation for her parenting style and a reason for her fragmented lifestyle. The businesses. The projects. The causes. The men. “So—”
“I snuck out to meet a boy once,” she says over me, like talking about this after so many years has opened some kind of floodgates. “I was sixteen and in love. My father found me and dragged me home. He threw me down on the front lawn, called me a slut, and spat on me while the neighbors watched.” Mona swipes a tear from her face. “That boy’s name was Daniel Whitty. He had the prettiest blue eyes you ever saw. And I hadn’t even kissed him yet.”
It’s hard to swallow, and no amount of blinking will stop the tears from falling now. “Oh, Mom.”
“I ran away the next day. I didn’t know myself at all, but I knew enough to get out of there. And I never looked back. I never regretted it. And, yes. There was a time when I didn’t think I wanted children. I didn’t think I could be a good mother—look at the role models I had—but when I fell pregnant with you, I also fell in love.”
Mona grips my hand tight enough to hurt. “I adored you before you were born, Penelope. I promised you in the womb I would never be the kind of parent you had to survive. You would be free to live and be your own person. Make your own choices—and your own mistakes. No judgment. No standards to live up to. No expectations on your life. Your life. I wanted you to grow up knowing who you were. I wanted you to become the woman you were always meant to be with no interference from me.”
I bow my head so she can’t see the struggle inside. My heart breaks for her—but it also breaks for me. Mona might have done what she thought was right, but it doesn’t erase all the times I needed her and she wasn’t there.
“Perhaps I took it too far,” she concedes. “And I’m sorry. I never meant for you to feel unwanted or unloved. I only ever wanted to give you a gift I wish someone had given to me. Freedom.”
“But Mom…” My voice breaks as I tell her a truth I should have shared a long time ago. I’m sick of hiding things, and I’m tired of pretending to be okay when things hurt. “I needed you. I needed my mom.”
“But I was there—”
“I’m not saying this to upset you, but I want to heal, and I can’t do that by ignoring the way I feel. Running away from my pain and hiding my hurt and lying to the people I love—that’s what put me in this position, and I don’t want to be here anymore. Does that make sense?”
Mona’s brow furrows. “It does.”
“So please hear me when I tell you that I needed you. I needed you to pay attention when I was having trouble in school so that I could be tested for learning challenges that were never formally diagnosed. I needed you to protect me from Dad’s neglect and stand up for me when I couldn’t stand up for myself. I needed you to care about where I was and who I was with, so I knew you cared. And I needed you to expect the best from me, so I could learn to expect the best for myself.”
“Oh, honey.” Mona drops her head before she bounces it slowly in a sad show of acceptance. “I’m sorry. I am. I didn’t know. And I should have. Heaven help me, I should have.”
I wish I didn’t have to cause her pain to feel my own a little less, but oddly enough, the truth is freeing. A weight I didn’t know I carried in my chest grows lighter, and I duck my head to catch her eye. “It’s not too late, you know?”
She lifts her chin and I smile at the question shining in her gray-green eyes, so much like mine. And right now, so young. “But you’re grown,” she says.
“I’ll always be your daughter, won’t I?”
“Always.”
“I’ve decided to go to college in September,” I tell her. “Study business and marketing and accounting and a whole bunch of things that’ll be hard but worth it. I’ll need your help.”
Pleasure lights up her face, all those fine lines around her eyes and mouth enhancing her beauty instead of detracting from it. “You’re staying in Aster Springs?”
“I am. I’m ready to stop running and be brave about what I want.”
“I’m thrilled . And so proud of you.”
She wraps me up in a hug that feels almost as good as her praise, and when I let her go, she keeps a hold of my hands.
“You’re a good person, Penelope,” she says. “Don’t lose sight of that because things are hard right now. Daisy loves you. She won’t give up on you. The two of you are family.”
I lift my shoulders and let them fall, thinking of Daisy with less courage than I do college. It’s hard to accept that I’m more hopeful about studying than I am about saving our friendship. “If only that were true.”
A knock sounds at the door, and Mona and I swipe at our eyes with those self-conscious kinds of laughs that people share after an intense conversation.
“Maybe that’s Daisy,” Mona says.
“No,” I tell her. “It’ll be Dylan. I’m expecting him.”
Mona stands and adjusts her robe, then stalls at the closed door to give me a moment to dry my cheeks and fix my hair.
“Ready?” she asks.
“Ready. And Mom?
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
She gives me a wink before she swings open the door. “Hello, Dylan. How are you, honey? Come in. Come in. Don’t stand out there in the hallway.”
He ducks his head with thanks as he moves past her into our tiny home, and the concern on his face unravels me completely. I leap from the couch and crash into his arms, which curl around me and don’t let go.
“I hate to be rude,” Mona murmurs, “but you’ve caught me in the middle of getting ready for work. You don’t mind if I leave you guys to it?”
“Not a problem,” he says.
“Poppy?” she asks, and I nod without lifting my head from Dylan’s chest.
“I’m okay.”
“Good. And we’ll talk more later, okay?”
“I’d like that.”
She offers me an encouraging smile before she disappears into her bedroom.
“Izzy’s with Annalise?” I ask as I tighten my grip on Dylan like I might find a way to burrow underneath his skin.
“Yeah. Soccer first, then they’re going out to lunch. We’ve got a couple more hours before Annalise leaves for her flight.”
“Have you talked to Daisy yet?”
Dylan cups my face and touches his lips to mine before he shakes his head with regret. “She didn’t sleep at home last night, and she didn’t crash at Finn’s place either. Charlie made herself scarce this morning, so she probably knows what’s up, but I suspect my siblings are staying out of the line of fire until everything gets resolved. And then, by the time I got to the stables today, Daisy was already out on a ride.”
I take Dylan’s hand and lead him to the sofa, sitting with his fingers twisted in mine on my lap.
“She isn’t returning my calls,” I say. “Or my texts. I stayed up all night just in case so I wouldn’t miss her call while I was sleeping, but…nothing.”
“Are you okay?” he asks before he shakes his head. “I’m sorry. That’s a stupid question.”
He kisses the back of my hand as I huff out a sad kind of laugh. “I’m a mess.”
“Well, I have news that might make you feel a little better. Annalise likes you.”
“You’re joking.”
He fights a smile. “No. And she wants an invitation to the grand opening of your first spa.”
“Well. That’s…”
A distant kind of joy expands inside my chest. Weirdly enough, Annalise’s faith feels bigger than it should. She’s a stranger, she barely knows me, and yet she believes in me.
And yet it’s still too small to make any difference to the ocean of grief I feel about Daisy.
Dylan frowns and rubs his stubbled jaw. “I know. It’s not easy to be relieved about Annalise when we still need to fix things with Daisy.”
“Oh, Dylan. How could we let this happen?”
He pulls me into his arms, and I lean against his chest, running my fingers over the cotton of his t-shirt and sinking into the safety of his embrace.
“Finn accused me of liking the thrill of us sneaking around,” Dylan says. “He said that behaving like a kid who got away with something bad made this thing between us hotter and more exciting.”
I crane my neck to look up at him. “Do you think that’s true?”
“I think it’s part of it. The part that got us into trouble. But it’s not the whole truth. I love you, Sunshine. That’s the part Daisy doesn’t understand—yet. But she will.”
“Do you really think you can talk her into forgiving us?”
“Yeah. I do.” Dylan pulls back, and he tenses under my touch. “Why? Don’t you?”
I catch my lip between my teeth and extract myself from Dylan’s arms as I gather what little courage I have left.
“I said something last night that Daisy overheard. Something that probably broke her heart.”
Dylan shifts until he’s perched on the edge of the sofa. “All right.”
I take a deep breath. “For the first time in my life, I shared a secret I’ve never told anyone, and of all the people to tell, I told Annalise. You have to understand that I was trying to make a good impression, and we decided from the start of our conversation to be honest with each other because that’s what’s best for Izzy.”
“It’s okay,” Dylan says soothingly. “I’m not judging you for opening up to Annalise last night. I’m fine with it—mostly because that is what’s best for Izzy. You don’t have to defend yourself to me.”
“Okay. Thank you.” I take a deep breath. “I confessed that I’ve loved you since I was twelve years old.”
“You—”
“Please. Let me finish.”
Dylan falls silent, and I risk a glance. His face is smooth and unreadable, and I rush to get it all out before I lose my nerve.
“I’ve loved you forever, Dylan. I left Aster Springs all those years ago because of you—because I never thought I could have you—but it didn’t matter where I was. You were always in my head. No other man ever stood a chance as long as I loved you. None of them ever measured up. I haven’t been lying to Daisy for three months. I’ve been lying to her for nearly twenty years. I’ve been lying to everyone. Including you.”
Dylan’s expression is fierce with love and possessiveness as he threads his fingers into my hair, and I lean into his touch. “I wish you had told me.”
“What would it have changed?”
“I don’t know. Nothing. Everything.”
“And what does it matter now? That crush may have destroyed any chance we have at a future together.”
“No. It hasn’t. It’s proof that we were always meant to be.”
He pulls me close to press his forehead against mine, and I rest there a second, eyes closed, listening to my heart, before I pull away, pick up my phone, and check for notifications. There are none, and with a sigh, I set it aside again, then curl up against Dylan and try to hold on to a little of the hope that sustained me all those years I was alone in the world.
No. Not alone. With Daisy. Always with my best friend. Because even when we weren’t together in life, we were always sisters in our hearts.
Is there such a thing as a bittersweet ever after? There has to be, because my happily ever after is finally within reach, and it might not be so happy after all.