Carefully wrapped presents sat under the tree.
Right next to it was a drop cloth with a lot of construction supplies. It looked like Poppy was planning to repaint the living room, and from the shape the walls were in, it was going to be a hell of a job.
They needed a full sanding to get rid of what looked like eight layers of old paint. Plus, one wall was bowed out and in need of a serious fix job.
Despite all that, being here felt like cominghome.
But I needed to change that way of thinking.
This hadn’t been my home in years, even if I wanted it to be.
It belonged to Poppy now.
She might be the first person to move in that I wouldn’t manage to chase away.
As I’d gotten to know her, my ability to strike fear in her heart had vanished. She acted like I were a sweet, old puppy dog. Just like Hopkins, who was currently testing out the tree skirt, his head resting on one of her presents.
“Hopkins, get out of there. You’re going to mess everything up.”
Poppy shook her head. “No. He can stay there. I don’t mind. It makes the place feel cozy, having a dog sleeping under a Christmas tree. Come on. Let me show you the sewing room.”
I followed her down the hallway, my hand brushing the wall as we walked.
In all of these years, I hadn’t stepped foot inside the house since it went under probate. At eighteen, I hadn’t even fully understood what that meant. I just presumed that once the courts did all their legal shit that I’d have the house and everything in it. I still wasn’t sure what had happened.
Poppy creaked the door open and stepped inside. I followed right behind her, my breath catching in my throat as I walked into the room where my mother had spent so much time.
She’d loved to sew. Even dreamed of being a fashion designer in her youth.
In the end, she hadn’t pursued a big career like that. But she’d run a tidy little alterations business out of our house. I could remember people coming by all the time to get their pants hemmed or their wedding dresses fixed up.
My heart hammered in my chest as I saw the old armoire. It had been an antique back whenIwas a kid. And it had been my mother’s pride and joy.
My daddy had found it in an old junk shop, traded a toolset for it, and painstakingly restored it for her. I felt myself getting choked up looking at it.
Poppy glanced back at me, concern on her face, as a jagged sound escaped past my throat.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” I grunted. “It’s just… this is a lot. I haven’t been back here since…”
She was studying me quizzically, compassion etched across her features. Poppy was a soft creature, just like my mom had been. She pointed to the armoire. “Was this here when you lived here? Do you recognize it?”
“Yeah. My dad bought it for my mom. I was just getting lost in some old memories for a second there. I’m fine,” I rumbled, trying with everything in me to keep my shit together. I wasn’t going to break down in front of this woman.
Poppy swung the door open. “This is the fabric I was talking about. There’s a lot of it here. Only the top layer on the highest shelf got damaged by the raccoon.”
Something that had been tightly locked unlatched in my chest, releasing decades of loss.
“This was all hers,” I said with a husky tone in my voice. “I remember these patterns.”
Stepping forward, I ran my hand across the variety of fabrics. There were old prints I remembered from my childhood. A Star Wars fabric that she’d used to make curtains for my bedroom as a kid. Plus fancier fabrics, a creamy silk I remember she’d ordered straight from Japan. And scraps of white she’d used for her wedding alterations.
“I can’t believe it’s all still here,” I told Poppy.
“Do you want it? You can have it all, if you want.”
I stared at this woman, wondering where she’d come from. Poppy was healing something inside me that had been broken for years.
