Chapter Two #2
“For the first weekend,” Poppy said, like she couldn’t believe she’d been asked to spell it out. “Which orientation activities we’re actually going to, who here is worth knowing, who’s already sleeping with who. That sort of thing.”
Rose had been planning to go to all of the orientation activities.
The idea that people had already started sleeping together seemed impossible.
She deflated. Poppy had the easy confidence of someone who belonged.
Rose’s dad’s college sweatshirt had always been at least three sizes too big, but she’d never questioned whether she’d be a perfect fit here. “Okay,” she said. “Yeah, thanks.”
“And we’ll flip a coin for the bed closest to the window. I read that’s the fairest way to do it, and I don’t want to give you any reason to try to take me out again.”
“Oh, you can have it,” Rose said. “I’m not picky.”
Poppy wrinkled her nose. “You should be. And if there’s anyone who can teach you how, it’s me.”
A Prius pulled up behind Rose’s Honda and someone wailed on the horn. “Hey!” a man in a Red Sox cap yelled. “You wanna move this meet-cute somewhere else?”
“Eat shit, asshole!” Poppy yelled back.
Rose blushed. “Oh my God.”
“Go park your car,” Poppy said. “We’re moving in. And please try not to run over anyone else. I can only handle so many new friends at once.”
The restaurant was clearly meant for college students and their families.
It was warm and rustic, but upscale enough that one would feel comfortable lingering a bit over dessert and coffee.
And unlike the harsh image Poppy had painted, her mother was sweet and gentle—the kind of mother Rose prayed for in her darker moments.
Poppy’s mother smiled and patted Rose’s hand when she tried to get a look at the check to pay her portion of the bill.
“Don’t you worry about that,” she said. “The only thing you two girls should be worried about is homework, friends, and romance, and in that order!” How would Rose have turned out differently, she wondered, if she’d had a mother who’d put up such bumpers for her?
Maybe she’d be self-assured, like Poppy.
Then again, maybe she wouldn’t be here, stomach full of spaghetti carbonara and tiramisu, on a perfect fall evening in Vermont overlooking Otter Creek.
“Bold of you to assume we’re looking to date,” Poppy quipped. “You don’t even know Rose.”
“Do whatever makes you happy,” Poppy’s mother said, smiling in a lopsided way that made her look just a little sad despite the warmth of the sentiment.
Poppy was a sharp-edged mix of caustic, abrasive, and opinionated.
She had no interest in being liked, which Rose didn’t understand.
Everyone wanted to be liked, didn’t they?
How did Poppy navigate the world without worrying she was going to trip over someone else’s feelings?
By the time they made the short trek from the river to their dorm room, Rose was no closer to solving the puzzle, but she felt better for being so close to the source.
And she wondered whether Poppy felt it, too: that rare spark that could lead to something, with careful tending and time.
Because careful tending was something that Rose had time for, now. And she so desperately wanted a friend.
Their dorm room was nearly unpacked. Rose’s side was neat and basic: books lined up based on the order she’d pulled them out of the box, a small framed photo of her dad staring at her from the windowsill, a plain blue comforter draped across the bed.
Poppy’s side, by contrast, looked like a spread from a magazine.
The bedding was white and pressed, a monogram on the corner of both plump pillows.
A vintage lamp sat on a low bookshelf arranged with hardcovers, magazines, and a photo of Poppy and her mother, both wearing sunglasses and holding delicate ice cream cones.
Next to it, she’d arranged necklaces, bangles, and rings in neat rows.
Poppy made each detail feel intentional, her every decision amplifying just how scattered Rose’s had been.
Rose had a chance to make a more deliberate impression with her clothes.
Poppy was taking her to her first party in as long as she could remember; the first party she’d ever been to where nobody would know the sad secret she carried with her, heavy as rocks in her pocket.
Rose reached into the closet and combed through her well-pressed trousers, turtlenecks, and T-shirts before settling on a pleated skirt and green sweater with a high neck.
It was Vermont, after all, and though the day had been balmy, the night would not be.
Poppy stood in front of the full-length mirror she’d attached to the back of their shared door. “So why aren’t your parents here?”
Rose was stunned by how mercilessly direct the question was. “Oh, um…” she began, trying to buy time to think of the right combination of words to explain without risking the pity she knew from experience would root itself in the corner of Poppy’s kohl-lined eyes if she got it wrong.
“I mean, I wish my mother wasn’t here, but when I told her she didn’t have to come, she said, ‘Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,’ which would have been bad enough, but then she played that Rolling Stones song, and I swear to God my eyeballs rolled all the way into my skull.”
Rose laughed, because she could see it as clearly as if it were a scene in a movie.
Poppy was uncompromising, and at every turn she boldly shared with Rose exactly who she was.
Rose had planned to leave all of her baggage in her childhood bedroom, but what would happen if she shared this small piece of her past with just one other person?
Was there a chance Poppy wouldn’t be scared of the mess?
Rose pulled the pleated skirt up on her hips, fiddled with the zipper, and decided the spark she’d felt with her roommate was worth the risk.
“My dad got really sick a few years ago. And my mom just kind of checked out of anything that wasn’t taking care of him.
Now she hardly even does that. It would be hard for her, being here.
Probably harder for both of us than her not being here. ”
Poppy’s face fell; then she crinkled her nose.
“But your mom’s not sick.” Rose wouldn’t argue the point with any more of her truths.
“I mean, that sounds horrible, and I’m sorry, but, come on.
Couldn’t she have tried? Moms are supposed to take you out to a cheesy restaurant on the river and say embarrassing things about you to your new roommate. Moms should at least want to show up.”
It both pained and comforted her to hear it put so plainly. “Yeah,” Rose said, pulling the turtleneck over her head and pushing both arms through the wide sleeves. “I wish she’d wanted to.”
Poppy’s eyes found and held hers for as long as Rose had ever locked eyes with anyone, the fire in them transmitting a crackling message that sounded like I wish that for you, too. Then Poppy flicked her eyes down, scanning Rose from collar to shoes.
“That’s not going to work,” she said flatly. “You look like a librarian.”
It seemed Rose’s admission hadn’t moved Poppy to treat her with kid gloves. It heartened Rose, even as the comment stung. “This was my best shot,” she said. She gestured to her closet. “And in there is a lot of the same, but feel free to give it a go.”
Poppy disappeared behind the closet’s heavy oak door, riffled through Rose’s sparse but serviceable collection, then gasped. “Okay, this is so obviously it.”
“What’s ‘it’?”
Poppy crossed the room in two strides, a black dress in her hands. “I have no idea why you bothered with anything else.”
Rose worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “You don’t think it’s a little much?”
Poppy held it against Rose, tucking the sides in at her hips. “That depends,” she said. “This is a fresh start. You get to be anyone you want. What if you were the girl who wears this dress?”
Poppy gathered Rose’s hair and twisted it up into a loose swirl, pinning it in place with her fingers.
Rose studied herself in the mirror. She’d never actually meant to wear the dress.
It had been an impulse buy one Saturday at a county flea market, tucked behind a rack of heavy men’s jackets and button-downs.
The handwritten price tag had nearly stopped her heart, but before she walked away the woman at the booth reached out, covered Rose’s hand with her own, and tore the tag off.
“Sale today,” she said. “You name your price.”
Rose handed over a crumpled twenty-dollar bill, and in return, the woman folded the dress into a brown paper bag.
“This isn’t just any dress,” she whispered. “It was lucky for me. I mean, lucky. It’s the reason I was in the right place at the right time. I hope it’s lucky for you, too.”
Later, while packing for school, Rose had nearly left it behind, certain it would be a waste of a hanger. But the small, stubborn part of her that still believed in luck tucked it into her suitcase anyway. What if the luck rubbed off? What if it changed something?
Poppy’s eyes pleaded, and the thick black lace hung around Rose’s frame, desperate to be worn. So Rose made a decision that would change everything. She decided she would try her hand at becoming a bold person who wore beautiful things.