Chapter Sixteen
“I swear to you, it is one hundred degrees outside,” Poppy said, waving both hands in front of her face for dramatic effect.
Though she now pulled in a six-figure salary in marketing for Marie Claire—a job that, to her credit, she openly admitted her father had helped her get—she could never truly leave behind the cutthroat theater queen she’d once been.
“I still struggle to understand the psychology of someone who deliberately books a wedding in August.”
Poppy splashed a little water in her direction, perhaps regretting her bluntness the tiniest bit. “I still can’t believe that you agreed to this. You and Landon are practically joined at the hip.”
Though the premise of spending the night before the wedding apart was archaic, it had taken very little for Rose to agree.
Through seating plans, flower arrangements, and wedding dress shopping, Poppy had been a magnificent partner: exacting, uncompromising, and supportive.
But more than that, she’d been a magnificent friend, and the closest thing to a sister Rose would ever have.
Rose had couched the night to Landon like a concession, but the truth was, it was a gift.
“Are you worried about your speech?” she asked.
“No.” Poppy drained the last of her champagne. “I’ve had this speech written in my notes app for years.”
Rose hadn’t meant to stumble upon this bit of lore, which felt like it belonged to the big day itself, but now that it had been placed in her lap, it was impossible to ignore. “You’re joking.”
“I don’t joke.” That was mostly true, much to Landon’s chagrin.
“When did you start?”
Poppy thought a moment, as though weighing whether she wanted to give away a secret that lent her such an air of mystery. “Ugh, fine,” she said. “You getting married is making me soft. Do you remember when you called me from the Finger Lakes, the morning after Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah,” Rose said. “I do.” She’d been surprised to be the first one up, though it wasn’t like she’d risen at some ungodly hour. More surprising was that Poppy had been awake when she’d called.
“I know I was probably kind of bitchy on the phone, but that’s just because I thought it was, like, an emergency. I mean, your dad had just died.”
“Fair,” Rose said. “Though you know, I was planning on just leaving a voicemail.”
“Anyway, that’s not really the point. Point is that after we hung up, I couldn’t go back to sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d said about Landon.
If he could make you feel like that a few days after your dad’s funeral, I started to wonder whether he might be a little more permanent than I’d been thinking.
And if he was going to be permanent, I wanted to be prepared.
I hate being unprepared, and I hate when speeches sound like the person wrote them on the plane ride.
So I literally opened my notes app and typed what you said, basically word for word where I remembered. ”
The heat and the champagne had made Rose more susceptible, but she was sure tears would have pooled in her eyes regardless. “You did?”
Poppy shrugged. “I thought you would outgrow Landon in weeks. I saw you with someone less quirky, smoother, a little shorter—someone who would fit in anywhere you might want to go. But then he goes and invites you into his family right when you need it most, and I heard in your voice what that meant to you. I’m tough, but I’m on your team.
Always. And you were telling me he was your team. ”
Poppy’s short fuse with Landon had always baffled her, but Rose had seen her giving him more leeway these last few years, even if she wasn’t openly warm. “So you approve?” Rose said it like a joke but there was some truth to the question.
“If Landon is on your team, then I’m Team Landon. He makes you happy. I’ll always be grateful to him for that.”
Rose reached for her friend, who had already opened her arms to her at the same time. “You should tell him,” Rose said into her hair.
“Pfhh.” Poppy blew through her teeth. “He’ll hear my speech. I don’t need to go inflating that man’s ego any more than it already is.” And there was the Poppy Rose knew and loved. Her phone chirped with crickets from the other side of the room. “Leave it,” Poppy said, holding her tighter.
“What if it’s Landon?” Rose laughed.
“You’ll see him tomorrow, won’t you?”
“This could be a bona fide wedding emergency.” Rose pulled away and eased her slippery legs over the side of the tub. “What if the flowers are all wilted, or his little cousins are having second thoughts about their flower girl duties?”
“Neither would be your problem,” Poppy said. “That’s the whole point of a wedding planner. And I swear to God, if Elise doesn’t start pulling her weight around here, I will lose it.”
But Rose had already dripped her way to her phone, tucked into the pocket of a white robe slung across the king bed.
Her heart dropped when she saw the name flashing across the home screen.
Her mother hadn’t been at the rehearsal dinner.
She had opted out of so much surrounding the wedding already—dress shopping, registry planning, the bridal shower—that Rose had finally caved and called her, weeks ago, to make sure she’d meant her RSVP.
It was early in the day, but she still sounded buzzy.
And she’d promised Rose, through several hiccups, that she would be there, for all of it.
Said she might even give a toast at the rehearsal dinner if the mood struck her.
Rose had hastily added that the speeches were all pre-planned, confirming that her mother’s one and only responsibility was to walk her down the aisle on the day itself.
She’d agreed, somewhat gruffly and a little too slowly for Rose’s nerves, but a deal was a deal.
Rose had learned from Landon’s first meeting with her mother that those dear to her would need to be prepared, so she prepared them.
She told them her expectations for the day itself were on the floor, that she just wanted her mother to show up and provide some proof to her new family that Rose came from somewhere.
She implored them to forgive her mother’s coldness and did her best to tell them where it came from.
But hope is human, and Rose could not squash hers.
Perhaps there was still a chance they could find each other again.
Maybe some of the magic of the day would rub off.
She had only told Landon that pipe dream, but it didn’t make her mother’s absence any less humiliating.
She dragged her thumb across the screen to answer the call.
“Honey,” her mother said, sweet and soft, as though speaking to her from another, simpler time. “Oh, honey.”
Rose held the phone tighter, willing the closeness to bring this version of her mother back to her.
“Honey” was an endearment scribbled on countless lunch box notes, whispered in her ear just before sleep, tucked beside the phrase I love you: a word that felt nearly as archaic as apricity for all its recent use.
“Mom?” she asked, her tone calm and questioning, trying not to startle her back into frigidity.
“Rose, honey, I am so sorry.”
The honey was stuck to her fingers, and Rose was inclined to forgive the worst parts of her mother more readily than usual. “It’s okay,” she said. “The rehearsal dinner is just a warm-up. And I know you hate crowds. I’m just glad you’ll be there, tomorrow. Really.”
The line went quiet, until her mother said, “I’m not feeling well.”
Rose’s heart fluttered. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m coming down with something. These last few days have been hell. I’m sorry, Rose, but I won’t be able to make it tomorrow.” She said it like Rose had invited her to a barbecue or a tailgate—a low-stakes event with few consequences for backing out at the last second.
“You won’t be able to make it tomorrow,” Rose repeated, to be sure she had heard. “To my wedding.”
“I know I should have told you sooner, and I really dreaded having to make this phone call, but you don’t want me there. Not this sick. Not like this.”
It hung between them like gauze, her mother daring her to lean in and rip down the curtain.
She spared a thought for the sad, scared, lonely woman who lived all the hours of her days in a haze, trying so hard to forget that Rose wasn’t entirely sure what she was still living for.
“I do want you there,” Rose said, finally. “You should be there.”
She breathed into the phone choppily, like she was considering it. She breathed out, like her mind was made up. “Well, I’m sorry, but I have to go—”
“No,” Rose said. Her thoughts should have been spinning in a hundred different directions.
She should have been too angry and disappointed to speak, too overwhelmed for coherent sentences.
But Rose found that she was perfectly clear.
“No, I have something to say to you.” Once she said it out loud, it would be done.
She would be rootless and she would be free.
“I can’t keep doing this, Mom.” The beginnings of a sob squeaked out, and she clutched at the loose strings on her swimsuit.
“I can’t keep clinging to false hope like this.
And I can’t just wait around for you to decide to love me again.
” She clenched her teeth tight but only held in half the cry.
“There has got to be some part of you left that knows what it feels like to meet your soulmate. Maybe that’s the only part left of you.
Go ahead and tell that part that your daughter is marrying the love of her life tomorrow.
And then don’t bother with anything else after that. Because I’m done.”
“Rose—” But Rose hung up the phone before her mother could finish the sentence.