Chapter 5 Pain Au Chocolat #2
Dad looks like he’s close to having a coronary. He shakes his head again, silver-gray hair glinting underneath the overhead
light. He glances at my mother, who gives him a sympathetic grimace and squeezes his hand.
I realize something abruptly. Something that makes my stomach squirm.
He looks old. Both of them do. They look weary, and absolutely done with me.
They’ve come close, over the years. When I flunked out of high school for the second time, and when I nearly dropped out of
college, and countless small moments in between. I’ve always been a step behind my family, struggling to catch up. Struggling
to find a way to prove myself. My parents love me—that’s never been in question—but I think they expect more of their future
grandchildren. (Which is saying a lot, because Julia and Caroline haven’t even mentioned kids yet.)
“I just don’t know what to do with you,” he says. “I really don’t.”
“Douglas,” Mom murmurs.
“It’s been one thing after another. Maybe we haven’t pushed you enough. Maybe we let your diagnosis get in the way.”
I squirm uncomfortably. After years of horrible grades, overwhelmed meltdowns, and disorganization, we finally realized in high school that I have ADHD.
So many things slotted into place after that, and I slowly brought order to my life through medication and therapy—but it didn’t magically turn me into my big sister.
The only thing I’ve ever been remotely good at is putting on my influencer face for Instagram and TikTok, and it’s obvious that to my family, it’s nothing more than a glorified hobby.
It’s been easier, since my accounts took off, to look for validation from strangers on the internet. People who see a slice
of me, @itspoppywinfield, and praise my beauty, my aesthetic, the life they think I’m so happy to have. It’s a hollow victory,
but at least it’s better than waiting around for my family to take me seriously.
My lip starts to wobble. I know Dad can tell, because he pauses whatever he’s going to say next. Mom jumps in.
“I think what your dad is saying, honey, is that we’ve been worried about you. Even before the breakup, you know?”
“What does that mean?” I ask warily.
“Not that we don’t love having you at home,” Dad says, an uncharacteristically careful note in his voice, “but you haven’t
made any plans to move back out.”
“And when was the last time you did something with friends?” Julia asks. She moves to sit by me, her hazel eyes wide with
concern. She got Mom’s eyes, I got Dad’s. “Something that didn’t end up on social media immediately?”
“If I’m invited to an event, I need to post about it. That’s how it works.”
“What about your friends from college?”
I flinch away. Molly is living in Edinburgh; she’s going to grad school. Michelle is married with a baby on the way. Lisa
is in residency for dermatology. The more established their lives have become, the further they’ve drifted from me. I saw
a post a few weeks ago of Lisa and Michelle out to dinner together in Astoria and realized with a pit in my stomach that they
never even texted to ask if I wanted to join them.
“We’ve been really busy. You know how it is.” I reach for the mug, holding it between my hands. The smell of coffee and cream
wafts to my nose. A small comfort.
“We’d really like to see you buckle down and figure out a career,” Dad says. Beside him, Mom nods. “The influencer stuff can’t last forever. I’m sure it’s been a fun distraction, but—”
“Distraction?” I interrupt.
“—we need to see you thinking about your future, Poppy, sweetheart,” Dad continues, undeterred. “We’ve given you every advantage,
every opportunity.”
“You’re a bright, capable girl,” Mom adds. “We know you can do more.”
“You can’t tell me it’s your life’s dream to promote collagen powder and workout sets to equally insecure young women,” says
Julia. She brushes my hair behind my ear. “I know it isn’t. And I think last night finally proved how fragile all that is,
you know? How can we help—”
I jump up, banging my shin on the coffee table in the process. The coffee sloshes in the mug I’m still holding. “F— Ouch.
I need a second.” I press my sleeve against my nose. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “My head still hurts.”
I practically run away from the parlor. Behind me, I hear my family arguing, but no one follows. Not even Miso. I always knew
he understood more English than he lets on.
I stand in the kitchen for a long moment, willing my tears to go away. My family’s words—so well meaning, the worst part in
all of this—echo in my mind. I already knew this was how they felt, but that doesn’t make it any better. The three of them—Dad
and Mom and Julia—are a unit and I’m the afterthought they have no idea how to handle. An accidental addition to an otherwise
perfect family.
We’ve given you every advantage, every opportunity.
We know you can do more.
Isn’t that what Jack said last night, his eyes smoldering with dislike, whisky bottle between us on the bar top? You have everything you could ever want at your fingertips, and this is what you do with your life?
I inch down the hall, the faint outline of a plan taking shape in my mind.
Jack was rude and arrogant and obviously has no idea how much goes into influencing, but somehow, his words, in that frustrated growl, felt more like a challenge than an insult.
I don’t have to stay here. I can escape. I can start over, just like Jack is.
“What are we going to do?” I hear Mom ask.
I pause outside the doorway to the parlor.
“We could set her up with another job,” Dad says. “One at the magazine.”
“That was a disaster last time,” Mom says.
“I know.” He sighs heavily.
“I’m worried she’s going to be alone forever,” Mom says.
“Or living here forever.” I can almost see Julia’s pitying face. “It’s sad to see her so aimless.”
“She tries,” Mom protests.
The world narrows down to that one tiny point. My family, talking about me. Feeling sorry for me. Planning what to do with
me, as if I’m still a child. My heart starts to race.
“This is really her best?” That’s Dad again. “I can’t—”
“You can all stop whispering about me,” I interrupt, striding into the parlor. The plan crystallizes in a frenzy, words tumbling
from my mouth before I can stop them. A path to a future where I can prove myself to them, to everyone. “I have a new job,
actually. In Florida. With Jack Hartman. He’s reopening his late mentor’s restaurant, and I’m going to put it on the map for
him.”
Everyone stares at me as if I’ve grown two heads, even Miso. Dad breaks the shocked silence first. “Jack Hartman? Poppy, the
man has his shit together even less than you.”
“Then we’ll be a good match.”
I lift my chin, refusing to back down. I’m bursting with energy. I want to run upstairs and pack. Get to the airport. Figure
out where exactly Diamond Bay is, other than north of West Palm Beach. The hardest part will be convincing Jack to let me
stick around, but I’d be willing to bet he already knows how much he needs me.
“You want me out of the house, right? Doing something other than promoting cheap wellness products?” I direct the last bit
at Julia, who flushes.
“Poppy,” Mom says carefully, “are you sure—”
“I heard you all, just now.” I look at Dad, into the blue eyes I inherited. I’ve always chased his approval the most. Maybe,
through this, I’ll finally earn his admiration.
Promoting a restaurant can’t be all that different from promoting a product, after all. If I play this right, I might even
end up with a position within the Winfield Group like Julia.
“And for the record? This is me trying my best.”