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“She would actually lose her mind. I’m here to verify,” Annabel confirmed. “Like, it would be gone. Zippo. Only mush left. I’ve seen it happen a few times. It’s not pretty. She turns into an actual Muppet.” Annabel held up her hand and mimicked a talking sock puppet. “No sound comes out. She stands there googly-eyed and glazed over.”
“Way to paint the picture, Bell,” Poppy said, making a silly face at her sister in the rearview mirror. “I’ve only done that, like, twice. Once when I ran into Pierce Brosnan on the beach. I mean, have you seen those crystal-blue eyes up close and personal? To die for. It was an out-of-body experience. A superb chef’s kiss. And the other was”—she snapped her fingers twice—“what’s her name? She was one of the original judges on American Idol.”
“Paula Abdul?” I suggested.
“No.” Poppy was still snapping. “This woman was only on for a couple of seasons. Kind of in the beginning? Maybe season seven or eight? Hard to remember.”
“Are you sure she’s not fictitious?” Annabel snarked. “You could’ve made her up, like an imaginary friend. That’s happened before.”
“Hardy, har, har. You know who I’m talking about. You watched it with me. She had long, dark hair. She was there with Randy and Simon. I think she replaced Paula. I kind of remember an uproar about it. She was a super-talented songwriter who wrote hundreds of songs. She cowrote ‘Walk Away’ by Kelly Clarkson. I was obsessed with that song and her.”
“I think her name was Kara something,” Yasmine offered. “American Idol was a staple in our house. I never missed an episode.”
“That’s it!” Poppy cried. “Kara DioGuardi. She was my absolute favorite. I never missed an episode either. I idolized that show. Pun intended.”
“She can’t be your absolute favorite when you can’t even remember her name,” Annabel quipped.
“I was, like, twelve when I met her,” Poppy said. “The second season she was on, Mom took me to a local mall where the show was scouting talent, because as previously stated, I was obsessed. And she was there. She came up to us and said hi. It was the first time my mouth didn’t work properly. I couldn’t say a word. Zero sound came out. I felt like I was in the middle of a fever dream. And I’d brought something to give her, too. A sweaty piece of paper was tucked in my pocket. I’d written a song, but I was too frozen in place to grab it. One of my top-ten regrets in life. But that’s it, I swear.” She put one palm across her heart. “No other celebrity zombie instances.”
“I’m so curious. What was the song?” I asked. “And, by the way, that’s completely adorable. I can totally picture you waiting for your big opportunity and then being totally starstruck.”
“I can only remember the first part.” Poppy tapped her fingers against the steering wheel for a beat. Her head began to bob back and forth as she sang, “I went downtown to see the people, the people were gathered around. I looked for my baby in every store, but my baby just wasn’t round.” She began to laugh. “It was such a corny country vibe, but I thought I was the shit for coming up with it. I was convinced it would hit the top of the charts if anyone decided to record it. No music, mind you. Just the lyrics. And I couldn’t even get it out of my pocket to give it to my favorite idol, because there was nothing floating around in my brain but air.”
Annabel chuckled. “If Kara DioGuardi can render you speechless, you might be in danger of spontaneously combusting if Prince Harry were to actually look you dead in the eye.”
“I mean, probably not, because self-combustion is rare,” Poppy argued. “But if that did happen, and the ginger prince sent his hauntingly beautiful gaze my way, I’d likely be in need of resuscitation. So I hope everyone is up to date on their CPR certification. By the way, I like my lifesaving breaths of air with a little tongue. It makes things more interesting.”
We giggled.
“I’m sorry to burst your bubble,” I said, still chortling, “but it’s very unlikely that we’re actually going to see royalty. In its essence, this is a stealth mission. All we need to do is make our way to the perimeter of their house and flag down one of the bodyguards.” At least that’s how I understood it.
“Is that the actual plan?” Annabel asked. “Because getting to the perimeter could be tricky. Meghan and Harry likely live in a gated community, or at the very least, their property is gated. I’m not sure how we’re going to get through the gate, much less get close enough to deliver the intended offerings.”
Poppy made a gurgling noise. “If you’re such a Negative Nellie, why did you come with us? We’re totally fulfilling this mission! We’re breaching that perimeter if it’s the last thing we do.”
“No negativity here, I swear,” Annabel said. “Just being real. And did you actually think I’d stay home and miss witnessing you try to breach any perimeter—much less the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s? I know the depth of your determination. You’re not above covering yourself in honey and leaves to blend in, buzz-cutting your hair, snapping off a lock with your teeth, or enlisting nearby schoolchildren to get the job done, uncaring of any consequences.”
“Damn straight,” Poppy said. “We are getting the special message to…”
“Matt Gallagher,” Yasmine helpfully supplied, seeming amused.
“…Matt Gallagher if it kills us,” Poppy concluded. “That man is getting served.”
I chuckled. “Hmmm. Nobody here is willing to risk bodily harm, so maybe let’s not do anything related to dying. Just, like, we will get him the letter over our moderately steadfast bodies.”
“No one is hurting themselves.” Yasmine backed me up. “And just so you all feel better, we’re staying in the house right next door. My friend didn’t know for sure, but she thinks only hedges separate the properties. So it should be fairly easy to flag someone down on the other side.”
“We’re what?” Poppy croaked from the driver seat, her head whipping around, mouth gaping.
My hand hovered near the steering wheel in case I needed to intervene.
“Next door? Really?” Annabel sounded equally as shocked.
“Really,” Yasmine confirmed.
I braced myself, knowing that Poppy would likely have some sort of frantic hyper anxiety attack at the next bit, which was why I hadn’t told her all the specifics yet.
“You know,” I said before Yasmine could explain further, “I think it’d be better if we pull over and get our coffee for the road before you tell them the rest. I’d love for this to happen when Poppy is not behind the wheel.”
“That sounds like a plan.” Yasmine laughed. “I had no idea you loved the royal family so much, Poppy. I should’ve come to you a few weeks ago.”
“You should have!” Poppy said as she merged onto an off-ramp. “Are you kidding? The greatest regret of my entire life was not being born in time to see Princess Diana get married. I’ve watched that footage so many times, but it’s not the same. I cried for ten hours straight when Kate and William tied the knot. Meghan and Harry about did me in. I used to ask Santa to make me British every year until I was about nine years old. I’d wake up on Christmas morning hoping he’d blessed me with a cockney accent. True story.”
Annabel giggled. “And even though Santa didn’t grant that particular wish, you woke up with an accent anyway. You’d come down with a cheerful ‘cheerio’ and proceed to speak in a mangled British accent for the next few hours. It was annoying, but if I’m being honest, it was also completely adorable.”
“Of course it was adorable! And I’m never annoying. Take it back.” Poppy took a right and then pulled into the parking lot of a coffee shop that was part of a Seattle chain. “The accent always wore off much too soon. Once I began opening all my exciting toys, I became distracted. But there was always next year.” She smiled at Yasmine in the rearview mirror. “Once I take this key out of this ignition, you’re going to need to spill all the juicy details, because I’m about to pee my pants in anticipation.”
