Chapter 36
April 3, 2024
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, Ri?”
I glance up from where I’m standing near the register and see Poppy aiming a worried glance at me. She turns back to the table of lace thongs she’s folding and pretends to straighten them, even though they’re already in perfect order.
“Why would I need to take the rest of the day off?” I scan our store. A half dozen customers are browsing. I shake my head at Poppy. “It’s been pretty busy all morning and afternoon. I don’t want to leave you in the lurch.”
Poppy walks over to me and rests a hand on my arm. I take in the concern on her face. I can look back at her for only a few seconds before my gaze drops. I’m not used to seeing my joking and snarky best friend look at me this way, with raw pity in her ice-blue eyes.
“It’s really okay, Ri. If you need to take today off or the next day or a week or even longer, I completely understand. You’re going through a lot right now, what with the divorce and dealing with Tristan. I’ve got this all handled.” She flashes a sad smile.
A strange warmth courses through me as I take in my best friend’s concern. That’s something I’ve had to get used to in this backward timeline, the way everyone around me has been coddling me since we’re just weeks away from them finding out about my split from Tristan. Mom has been calling almost every day to ask how I’m doing and whether I’m eating enough. My brother has been texting me just as often, asking if he can fly over here so he can kick Tristan’s ass.
It makes sense. For them, my split with Tristan is fresh. But because I’ve been living life backward, I’ve had more time to process my feelings. I’m over Tristan. There’s not an ounce of me that’s sad about losing him after how he betrayed me and our marriage for so long.
I observe the raw emotion in Poppy’s eyes, how much she cares about me and my feelings. A pang of guilt hits that I’m not half as upset as she is right now.
I wish I could explain to Poppy that I’m already over Tristan, that I’ve had an impossible opportunity to live my live backward, and that’s helped me process my breakup.
But there’s no way to explain that, not without sounding like I’ve lost it. I remind myself that I need to be careful of how I act right now. How strange would it be if I came off like I’m completely unbothered weeks out from discovering my husband’s been cheating on me for years?
“Thank you, Poppy,” I say gently. I give her hand a squeeze. “That means everything. Really. But the last thing I want to do is wallow alone. It’s better if I stay busy with work. It’s good for me to be around people right now. Especially you.”
The way she smiles, she seems comforted by what I’ve said. That guilt burrows deeper in my chest, though. It feels like I’m performing in this moment, to make it seem like I’m coping when really I’m okay.
“I appreciate that you care about me so much. You don’t have to coddle me like I’m made of glass, though,” I say. “I guess I’m not used to seeing soft Poppy. I’m so used to cutthroat Poppy.”
My attempt at turning things a bit lighter works, judging by the way her ruby-red lips turn up in a knowing smile.
“Oh, Ri. You know I’m cutthroat to the core.”
She pets Gus, who’s snoozing in his tiny bed next to the register. She rings up a customer before turning back to me.
“I’ve been making a list of inventive ways to ruin fuckface’s life,” she says nonchalantly. I burst out laughing.
Once I catch my breath, I shush her. A customer perusing the perfume collection across the store spins around to look at us. I clear my throat and murmur an apology. Poppy elbows me and smirks.
“Fuckface? Really?” I whisper.
She shrugs. “Seems like a more fitting name for him, don’t you think?”
I cover my mouth to muffle my laughter.
“I could slash his car tires. Or dump a fresh coat of paint on the storefront of his poshest restaurant,” she says. “Or start a rumor that he’s so vile that he’s contracted a new strain of herpes.”
When I finally catch my breath, I wipe my eyes. “Now there’s the Poppy I know and love.”
I hug her.
“I’ve got loads more ideas,” she says when we break apart. “Just say the word.”
“Just the fact that you’ve thought all that up is enough. Thanks, Poppy.” I pat her shoulder before turning back to the register.
Another customer approaches with an armful of clothes. I spot that kelly-green blouse in her haul. Poppy rings her up. She chuckles when she sees the blouse.
“Have you got a dinner with the in-laws coming up?” she asks.
The woman flashes a cheeky smile and nods. “Yup. This should get a rise out of their stuck-up arses.”
The two of them laugh. I do too. I gaze around the shop and take in the items Poppy and I have decided to stock. Loads of naughty see-through, barely there lingerie. But there are just as many cozy pieces, like silk and satin pajama sets and onesies. Some pieces of our clothing are sexy, low cut, and tight; some are flowy and modest and sweet. The jewelry we carry is just as varied as our clothing and intimates: some gaudy and big, some delicate and understated.
They’re all beautiful, though.
I take a moment to appreciate the kind of shop Poppy and I have curated, how we’re a store that welcomes customers no matter their taste or background or preferences. We don’t judge. Because it’s clothing, makeup, and jewelry. It’s all meant to be fun.
Something about that lands deep in the center of my chest. Maybe because for so long I spent so much time and energy trying to be accepted by people who never wanted me to belong with them. I realize now that my job—my store—was how I dealt with that rejection. My livelihood was one of the things they couldn’t stand about me. But I held on to it. And it feels really, really good to know that I didn’t give it up for them. No way would it have been worth it.
“You look different, you know,” Poppy says to me after the customer leaves.
I turn to her. “What do you mean?”
She offers a gentle smile. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Ri. But you don’t look as polished as before.”
She gestures to my legs. I look down at the skirt I’m wearing.
“Wrinkled as fuck. The polished princess would never let herself out of the house in this state. But you’re rocking it. You look more relaxed. Happier.”
I take a second to think about what she said. “I guess you’re right. I don’t think about how I look as much anymore. It feels good.”
She smiles at me. “Honestly, Ri? You’ve always looked beautiful, but now it’s effortless. It suits you.”
I never realized just how much thought I put into my appearance when I was with Tristan. Some of it stemmed from my own desire to look nice. But I realize now that I did it, too, because I wanted to look good enough to be part of his family. It didn’t matter how hard I tried, though. I was never good enough for them.
I breathe in, my body feeling looser, calmer. “Thanks, Poppy.”
As I ring up a few more customers, my phone buzzes with a text. I finish up, check my phone, and smile at the text Milo has just sent me.
It’s a photo of a package of bright-yellow marshmallow Peeps that’s been ripped open.
I don’t know how the hell you eat these things. They taste like sugary glue.
I bite my lip to keep from grinning too wide. Easter is just a few days away. That’s the day Milo texts me to check up on me. That’s the day I start to like tea.
That’s the day things kick off for me and Milo.
I text him back, feeling the telltale drop in my stomach.
Me: You’re wrong. Peeps are delicious.
Milo: Maybe it’s an acquired taste.
Milo: Like tea.
Me: LOL
Milo: You like tea now, admit it.
Me: You’re right. I love tea.