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Chapter 2
There was no interfering with Poppy when she was on a mission. Annabel was completely right. A drill sergeant with a stern demeanor couldn’t deter her, and I was mostly grateful for it. Being alone tonight would’ve been hard.
After cleaning up the shop a little, we Ubered to my apartment in Capitol Hill. I lived in a plain, unimaginative, five-story, concrete building built sometime in the seventies, updated once in the nineties. The apartment was cheap, and that was all I cared about.
Overall, it was fine. Dingy, but fine.
I opened the door and switched on the lights, setting my purse on the small table by the door. “I took your advice and got some of those adhesive mirrors.” I indicated my living room. “You were right. They made a huge difference. The space definitely feels bigger.”
Poppy was a talented interior designer. I was happy she was getting back into it. She’d never really elaborated on why she’d left the big, swanky company she’d worked for a few years ago, other than being generally dissatisfied. Summer’s new boyfriend, Xander, and Leo and Chris, his business partners, had recently hired her to design the interior of their craft brewery. She was insanely excited, sharing ideas with us constantly. It was fun to see her thriving. Not to mention seeing her interest in Leo and their budding romance.
“The mirrors look great,” she said, moving into the room. “I see you got some multicolored throw pillows, too. They look fantastic against all this beige.” Poppy walked around, inspecting.
I chuckled as I hung my coat on a peg next to the door. “I like beige. It’s comforting.”
“That may be true, but if you don’t add a pop of color here and there, it’s too drab.”
“So you’ve mentioned.”
“Only trying to help,” she chirped. “Just like when you help me with my taxes. Your accountant brain is big and vast.” Poppy plopped down on my couch. “My designer brain is equally vast, so we share. This thing is incredibly comfy, though”—she caressed the top of the couch—“despite its color.”
I’d made a safe choice. No regrets.
My sofa had been my biggest expenditure thus far. That and my mahogany bedframe. I’d allowed myself to splurge on only a few things over the years, and I was glad, because look where I was. A small-business owner! The scrimping had been worth it.
“Do you want a drink?” I asked as I walked into my kitchen. It was galley-style—a counter and a sink on one side, a long rectangular cutout to the living room you had to duck your head to use on the other. It was in no way an open floor plan. Someday.
“Water’s fine. You had some rockin’ champagne at the party, and I had two glasses, which is my limit tonight. I’m meeting Leo tomorrow morning at the pub.” Excitement peppered her voice. “I need to be on point.”
“That’s fantastic. Do you think he’ll finally get up the courage to ask you out?” I opened my fridge, which was a dismal cream color, and took out a bottle of white wine, pouring myself a glass. Then I pulled out a jug of cold water.
“I have no idea. The man is an enigma. A beautiful, fastidious, gorgeous-eyed enigma who has excellent taste in blazers.”
Taking my Pinot Grigio and her glass of water, I joined her in the living room, handing her drink to her. I perched on the other end of my large couch, grabbing my phone out of my pocket and setting it on a cushion between us. Poppy was right that my sofa was incredibly comfortable. I spent a lot of downtime here. My living room flowed into an L space that could’ve been used as a dining room, but I’d set up my office there instead. I had a teensy second bedroom, but it was too claustrophobic to work in there all day. The full-sized bed I’d put in there for guests took up most of the space.
I was a freelance accountant slash bookkeeper with a decent client list. I’d done well for myself and was proud of my achievements thus far. With my new business taking shape, I’d given my clients three months’ notice that I’d be decreasing my hours. Most of my clients had taken it well. One of the small companies decided to stay on with me, and one went in a different direction, which was actually perfect.
Poppy glanced up from her phone. “Annabel just texted. She has the pizza and is stopping for ice cream. She should be here in ten.” She set her device on my square, walnut-stained coffee table, a valued Craigslist purchase.
I loved Craigslist. It’d been my savior.
“Is there anything you want to talk about before she gets here?”
I took a sip of my wine. “Like what? I just bared my soul to you. I have nothing left to tell. That was my one and only secret. I swear.” I flashed her the same three-finger salute she’d given me back at the store and smiled.
“Oh, come on. I’m sure there’re still a few lingering tidbits hiding in there.” She grinned. “What I mean is, we don’t have to discuss your love life in front of my sister if you’re not comfortable sharing.”
I swished a hand. “I’m fine with Annabel knowing. It’s out in the ether, and there’s nothing I can do to pull it back in. Summer and Jenny are going to hear about it soon.” I didn’t want to think about that. They were both going to feel bad thinking they could’ve helped me all these years. I took another drink of my nice, chilled wine. I’d splurged on a more expensive bottle than usual, in the ten-dollar range, and it was good. Not the best I’d had, but decent. “What I really wish is that I’d figured out how to forget that man long before now.” I closed my eyes briefly. “Marco’s been living in my brain rent-free since the day I first laid eyes on him, but I’ve never made a move to actively forget him. He’s my sexy pacifier. Anytime I need a hit, I just pop it in and take a suck.” I shook my head. “But I can’t continue to foster the ideal of what a man should be with an imaginary love affair. It’s come between all of my real relationships. My brain needs to be rewired to be Marco-free.” I blew out a breath. “Do they still do shock therapy?”
“You don’t need to be rewired,” Poppy said. “We all have sexy pacifiers we like to, um, suck on.” She giggled. “I just rotate guys in. If I’m feeling like it’s a Chris Hemsworth night, I go there. If I feel like it’s a Bradley Cooper night, he stops by. Lately, Chris Evans has been a crowd-pleaser. His paci tastes mighty fine. Celebrities are convenient, but only because I haven’t yet experienced that deep connection with someone like you have. If I had, I’m sure that guy would be front and center during all of my happy yum-yum time.” I snorted. “And if you want to talk about unhealthy relationships, let’s talk about Michael for a second.” Poppy’s last boyfriend had been controlling and hard to get rid of. “I was convinced things were fine because I basically rewrote our entire relationship in my mind from day one. I’d been dating this guy for two years, and it took all of you, over multiple interventions, to get me to see what was really going on. That he was isolating me away from the people I loved. That he was controlling our relationship. I was stubborn. I didn’t want to let him go. A lot of time, our hearts just want what they want. There’s no shame in that.”
“At least yours was a real guy,” I pointed out, drinking more wine. My stomach gurgled. I was actually hungry. I hadn’t eaten a single bite at the party. For Obvious reasons. “It makes it more pathetic that I kept feeding a fake relationship and then held real men to the impossible standard I created.”
“Not pathetic at all,” Poppy said. “I was dating a real guy while rewriting the relationship in my mind. I manufactured something happy in my brain, made it pleasant and agreeable. I knew Michael’s personality was flawed. On our very first date, he ordered my meal for me! No one does that. I don’t even like baked fish! I just thought I could mold him into the exact kind of partner I wanted. He was sexy and fun. He had a lot of good qualities.” She shrugged, taking a sip of her water. “Then, when reality finally conflicted with my fantasy, I still didn’t ditch him. I tried to fix him. I felt like if I was successful, then we’d finally fall into this manic, moony love, and everything would be fine. I just needed to apply a little elbow grease.” She mocked running her hands up and down an old-timey washboard while sticking her tongue out one side of her mouth and crinkling her brows.
I giggled.
“So, how’s that for fantasizing?” she asked. “I’m a walking, talking relationship trope. The heroine who heroically fixes the broken hero so they can live happily ever after.” She shrugged. “But I’m pretty certain that guy doesn’t exist. When your partner shows you who he is, believe him the first time. Broken usually stays broken.” She sat back on the couch, crossing her ankles. “But I try not to feel too bad about it. We’re fed relationship perfection day in and day out from the time we’re born. Every Disney princess finds her perfect match. It makes sense that we’d cleave to these fantasies in our minds. But that’s all they are, fantasies. Being hyperfocused on Marco and how he made you feel aided your notion of what a perfect relationship means to you. You weren’t ready to hear this before, but there are other guys out there who will fill that role. Not perfection, because nobody has that.” Poppy gave me a knowing look. “I’m not going to harp on it, but when the time is right, you’ll open yourself up to it, and it will happen.”
