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"Maybe we should just stay home," Poppy said even as I was pushing her out of the door."
"We can't stay home. The whole event is about you."
"Oh, what's so interesting about me anyway?" she asked, letting out a whining noise when her mother walked over to Theo to pick him up as he cried.
"Everything, Poppy," I said, grabbing her shoulders, and helpfully forcing her outside. "See. Out of the house. And nothing calamitous has happened."
"I don't understand why I couldn't just bring him."
"Because you need a little time that is just for you," I reminded her. Suddenly, my mind flashed back to the year before when she'd found out she was pregnant, and she had a week-long freakout about it, terrified she was too selfish to be a mom, that she was sure she would screw up our kid because she liked her alone time too much. And then he was born. And she was obsessed. Which was great. But it was important for her to be able to trust someone else with Theo. And to be able to enjoy her successes without being worried sick about him when he was in good hands.
"Fine. I will sign some books, but can't we just go right home after that?"
"We agreed to go out to dinner with everyone," I reminded her. "Food. You like food."
"Ugh, damnit, you make a good argument," she said, climbing into the car.
I don't think she was expecting the crowd she faced when we walked into that bookstore, despite the crowded lot.
She'd actually stepped back into me when everyone turned to face her.
"Just like your old videos. Hell, that was worse. There were millions of people watching."
"Yeah, but not in my face."
She took a couple minutes to greet everyone, finding a lot of her old true crime content creators had shown up to gush about her books.
Within twenty minutes, she was completely in her element, chatting about plot points, about what true crime cases had inspired some parts of her books.
Before we knew it, she was shutting down the store, riding the waves of the night as we made our way across the street to the restaurant.
The next thing we knew, we were both waking up.
"Oh, no," I grumbled at the throbbing in my temples.
"Fucking Bellamy," Poppy shot back, flipping onto her back, staring at the mirrored ceiling of the very fancy hotel room we were somehow in. "Where do you think we are?" she asked, looking over at me.
"It's impossible to tell with Bell. We could be in Hawaii, or a few blocks from our house," I said, reaching toward the nightstand for my phone.
"Theo," Poppy gasped, shooting upward, scrambling for her own phone.
"He's with your Mom," I reminded her. "He's okay."
"She's probably worried sick about why we didn't come home," she objected, swiping through her contact before putting the phone on speaker.
"Oh, hey, honey. How's the hotel room?" she asked, calm, happy.
"What? You knew about the hotel room?"
"Oh, honey, who do you think asked Bellamy to force you two to take a night to yourselves?"
"Mom!"
"You never let me spend any time with my grandson," her mom shot back. "But more than that, you needed a night away."
"Where are we?"
"Not too far. Theo and I will be by to pick you all up in a couple of hours. Isn't that right, buddy?"
"Mom, I don't want a couple hours. I want to be home with my baby right now."
"I hear you."
"But you're not listening."
"No, no I'm not. You will get used to that frustration. Theo is going to make you feel this way a lot in, oh, fourteen years. Consider this practice. Tell Mommy and Daddy you love them, buddy, so they can get back to their little vacation." To that, Theo made baby gurgling noises that made Poppy let out a whimper.
"Love you, buddy. See you in a little bit."
"He's okay, babe," I said, reaching out to pull her in at my side.
"I know I am being dramatic," she said, letting out a deep breath. "I will remind you, though, you knew this when you married me."
"I knew it when you told me about a cave cricket mafia who was plotting your demise," I told her, smiling when she let out a choked laugh.
"Harry and his creepy, chirpy family is someone else's problem now."
After Poppy had done some splashing of reds and oranges around, she'd moved into my house a few years before. A place she told me she'd once fantasized about watching Yogurt play in the yard in while we tried to maneuver sex on a hammock. The logistics of which didn't sound too favorable, so we hadn't given that a go yet.
"I can't decide if the mirrored ceiling is creepy or sexy," she said, looking up at us, still in our clothes from the night before. Though at least Bellamy had the good sense to take out shoes off before tossing us in bed.
