Ha, I think.
Good for who?
My mom looks relieved to see me. She throws her thin arms around me and squeezes.
“You look beautiful, Mom,” I say. Her blonde hair is pulled up into some knot, and the flowy green dress she’s wearing suits her. It’s the exact shade of green past the ring of golden brown in Poppy’s eyes.
“I was so worried,” she says.
My mom is a tall but delicate woman, and it’s always been easier for her to put up with what’s going on than to stand up for herself. I come by this trait naturally. We’re both walking, talking doormats for my overbearing granddad. Where we differ, though, is that she’s gentle and kind.
I’m hard and resentful.
“Sorry, Mom. I hit black ice in Ohio and got stranded.” I hold her narrow shoulders, hating that I can’t talk to her about Poppy. She doesn’t keep anything from my dad, though—something I get between a married couple. The problem is, Dad struggles to keep anything from Granddad, although I think he wishes he could.
My mom would have thoughts about Poppy. Probably helpful ones. But I can’t have Granddad talk about Poppy again.
It hurts enough thinking about her … for so many reasons.
She lied to me. She heard me go on and on about Darren, and she kept quiet. It was her case, and she said nothing! Just shook her head and tsked over how hard sentencing is. The moment I mentioned Mercy in Justice, she should have told me she worked for them so I could have kept my distance. Even if she hadn’t helped him, though, I could never be with someone who prioritizes attackers over victims, like my poor brother.
Darren got no time because of her.
And she made me fall for heraftershe knew how I felt. We were together for, what, two more days after we talked about Evan’s case? I can’t remember. But there’s no way she didn’t know how much this would hurt me.
What could she possibly say that would have justified her involvement? Her lie?
No, she said nothing, and now I don’t know how to move forward, don’t know how I’ll ever let someone in again.
I should have stuck with my dream girl online.
GracieLou.
I knew what I was getting with her: no secrets or lies, no risk. Just safe, anonymous conversations with someone who understood me, who challenged me, who even excited me.
But who’s to say I haven’t lost her, too? She asked, and I turned her down for Poppy.
Poppy—
GracieLou—
This hurts.
For a second the edges of my anger over Poppy and sorrow over Grace blur into one of those 3D pictures that you have to cross your eyes to see. And the image is clear:
Me, lonely and heartbroken.
Mom reaches a hand up to pat my face, makeup covering the dark circles she’s had under her eyes for as long as I can remember. Her fingers are warm and small against my cheek, and suddenly, my sadness shifts away from me to the woman who’s hitched her wagon to a man—a family—who doesn’t always deserve it.
But for all their faults and fears, I know my parents love each other.
I think back to a video call last spring—I’d called Mom to check in, and halfway through, my dad came home from work.She held the phone at an angle to show Dad. “Any message for your son?”
“Tell him to look at his pitching rotation. Fischer has setup man written all over him.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t, either. He’s got the makings of a closer. Wait, aren’t there two Fischer boys on the team? Which one are we talking about?”
“The one you follow on Tik Tok.” Dad wasn’t on screen, but I could still hear him clearly.
