by Vivian Wood
He didn't know what to do, but when he wrapped an arm around her she fell into his chest naturally. Ryan pulled a bandanna out of his pocket and started wiping at the blood on her face. It was everywhere. It caked her neck and drenched her shirt. “Poppy,” he started, “is this…”
She nodded. “It’s—it’s usually not this bad,” she said. “Really.”
“But, how long…”
“Um, I don’t know. As long as I can remember? I guess?” She was halting in her words, and he could tell she was holding back. But he didn’t want to push her.
“Why didn’t you ever—I mean, how could I not notice?”
Quietly, she pulled her shirt out of her skirt and stood before him. Poppy looked around to see if anyone was coming. When she was sure it was clear, she lifted up her shirt and exposed her stomach. It was covered in bruises all shades of purple and blue. Some bruises were recent, and others were nearly faded away. She turned like a ballerina in a music box, and he saw rows of welts on her back. Before he could stop himself, he traced one of the healed scars with his fingertip.
“This is serious,” he said, but Poppy just pulled her shirt back down and shook her head.
“It looks worse than it is,” she said. “Seriously. I mean… he drinks. You know? And sometimes it gets out of control. He can’t—he can’t help when he gets mad at us. I mean, my mom and I, we have a lot of flaws, you know? It makes him mad—”
Ryan’s fists automatically balled up, but he hugged Poppy tight. As he held her close, her hair flew across his face. “Your dad’s a monster, and it not your fault. Or your mom’s,” he said.
“Ryan,” she said. “It’s okay, really—”
He held her tighter, afraid that if he looked at her face right then, he’d start crying, too. “No. There’s no level of badness that could come close to excusing what your dad’s done.”
Poppy sighed into his arms. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” she said. “I think… I feel like I made it sound worse than it is.”
“Stop it,” he said. “I can’t—I can’t undo what your father’s done. But I can promise that I’ll never let anything bad happen to you. Not ever again.”
He didn't know how long they stayed like that, intertwined on the park bench where they’d spend the past four years talking, laughing, and he'd thought sharing secrets. How could she have kept something like this secret? How could I have been so blind?
Ryan clutched her tighter, and started to rewind their years together. Little pieces of an otherwise enigma of a puzzle began to come together. The turtleneck and long sleeves on a sweltering day. The long skirts. The pained looks on her face so often when they were in PE and a dodgeball hit her just right.
He couldn’t believe how blind he’d been, how stupid. His best friend was hurting, and he hadn’t even noticed.
She felt both incredibly alive and powerful, yet so fragile in his arms. He’d hugged Poppy hundreds of times over the years, but it was always quick and in fun. Not like this. He felt like he was cradling the whole world in his arms, an enormous responsibility. He thought it would be overwhelming and terrifying to be in that kind of position, but it wasn’t.
It felt wholly natural, like this was right where he belonged.
13
Poppy
Poppy knocked on the peeling wooden door. The doorbell had never worked. As she looked around the small patio, peppered with bags of newspapers and a ratty old welcome mat, a wave of embarrassment washed over her. She didn’t want Ryan to remember where she’d come from.
Her mother answered, and Poppy’s throat was instantly thick with emotion. Her mom looked much, much older. Poppy could still see the pretty young woman her mom had once been, the woman she remembered from her youngest days, but now the hair was solid gray at the roots and deep rivulets of wrinkles covered her face.
“Poppy,” her mom said. Her face lit up—until she noticed Ryan. “And Ryan. I—I’m sorry. We weren’t expecting anyone else for dinner—”
“Mom!” Poppy snapped at her. It happened every time. She was instantly turned back into a teenager whenever she came ”home.” She took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice. “You begged me to come out here,” she said coolly. “If you want to see me, you’ll make room for Ryan.”
Her mom’s milky blue eyes shifted back and forth between Poppy and Ryan. With a swallow, she whispered, “Wait one second.” She disappeared into the dark house, leaving the door cracked just a sliver.
Poppy looked up at Ryan, and apologized with her eyes. He smiled slightly. She couldn’t get a read on him.
When her mom returned, she was wearing a strained smile, but opened the door to usher them in. “Let me have your coats,” she said. Poppy slipped out of hers awkwardly. Her mom was acting like a butler, a maid. “Come, we’ll be eating in the kitchen.”
The same round, wooden dining room table from her youth was squeezed into a corner of the 1970s-orange kitchen. Her dad was already hunched over the table, halfway through his plate.
“Hi, Dad.” He barely looked up at them, but nodded his acknowledgment to her and ignored Ryan. He seemed smaller, yet fatter, than she remembered. The monster of her youth lurked below the surface. Poppy could still sense that. But it was almost sad how much he’d shrunk. Almost.
“How was the drive?” her mom asked as she scrambled to set another place for Ryan. He had to shove himself into the farthest corner. A hook of old grocery bags hung over his head, but he didn’t move to brush them away.
“Okay,” Poppy said. Her mom placed three plates of piping hot food on the table.
“That’s good,” her mom said. She picked up a battered fork, from the same set Poppy recalled as a child.
From the corner of her eye, Poppy saw that Ryan barely touched his food. She took a few bites, but tasted nothing. The red potatoes were flavorless. The catfish didn’t seem to have any seasoning. She pushed the food around her plate and made intricate designs.
“The neighbors,” her mom said as she lifted a forkful of cornbread to her mouth, “they’re at it again. It’s the fourth weekend in a row they’ve had a ‘yard sale.’ I don’t know what they’re doing, probably buying junk from other sales and trying to make a profit.”
“Hmm,” Poppy said, eyes glued to her plate.
“And the Hubbards? Three doors down? They got some kind of beast dog that sounds like it’s absolutely dying all hours of the—”
“You come to tell us you’re getting married?” It was the first thing her father had said to her, and his voice shot her back to being five years old. He might have looked different, but that voice was the same. Deep, dark and always dangerous.
“What?” She was mortified. “I’m not… I’m not…”
The words wouldn’t come out. “Dad, he’s—Ryan and I aren’t even dating…”
“Well, thank God for that,” her dad said. He stood up and slapped his napkin down on the table. He loomed over her, and he was ten feet tall all over again.
As her dad turned and left the room, she looked at Ryan. She could feel the blood boiling below the surface, and knew her face was bright red. However, Ryan just smiled at her in a funny way she’d never seen before and looked down.
“Your father…” Her mother just shook her head. “You know how he can be. So tell me how work’s going.”
“I, uh.” Poppy struggled to find words, and some sense of normalcy. “It’s okay, I guess.”
“Working a lot of hours? Like on TV?” her mom asked. The closest thing her mom knew about what Poppy did was Grey’s Anatomy, and she was convinced Poppy’s life was just as dramatic and sex-filled as the characters.
“Yeah, something like that,” Poppy said. “It’s not too bad, though.”
“Well, that’s good,” her mom said. “I never understood that. Why the people who need the most rest, doctors and pilots, they’re the ones with the crazy work schedule. Sleep-deprived, drinking caffeine nonstop. It’s not good. You’d think
doctors and pilots would be the people we’d all want to be well-rested!”
“Yeah,” Poppy said.
“Well. As long as you’re taking care of yourself,” her mom said.
That’s a funny thought. Take care of myself? Like you were supposed to take care of me for all those years?
She watched her mom finish the plate. She was frailer than the last time, though it wasn’t noticeable at first. Dressed in a button-up shirt and jeans, Poppy focused on her mother's hands. They looked like how she remembered her grandmother’s hands, with blue veins visible and small knots at the knuckles. They were old woman hands.
Poppy looked down at her own hands and tried to see what they’d turn into, but there was nothing of her mom in her. Her own hands showcased a sloppy at-home manicure. At least she’d tried. One of the attending physicians had told her, told all the women, that manicures made the patients trust you more.
Nobody wanted a doctor who looked like they worked at a mechanic shop on the side.
“And that fluorescent light you must deal with all day—”
Her mom started to pick up all their plates. She didn’t say a word about Ryan and Poppy not eating. “I’ll get that,” Poppy said, and grabbed the plates.
“Oh! Well, thank you dear,” her mom said and sat back down.
Poppy scraped the two full plates into the bin and rinsed the chipped plates in the sink. Her back was to her mom and Ryan at the table, and the room was silent save for the spray of water. “We should probably get going,” she said to the wall. She couldn’t bear to look her mom in the face.
“So soon.” It wasn’t a question. Was that defeat she heard in her mom’s voice?
“I have an early shift tomorrow,” she said. “And a bunch of stuff to do at home first.”
“I just hope you’re not so busy that you don’t have time for yourself,” her mom said.
Poppy didn’t reply. Time for myself? To do what? Get married?
She dried her hands on the rough tea towel that featured chickens and other farm animals. Funny. “Sorry,” she whispered to the chickens, so quietly that nobody heard her.
“Thank you for coming,” her mom said as she walked them to the door. It sounded so strange, so formal. Like she’d just made an obligatory social call to a long-lost relative.
“It was good seeing you,” Poppy said. Her mom grabbed her and hugged her tight. She felt Ryan’s presence beside her. When she tried to let go, her mom held tighter for just a moment. Finally, Poppy relaxed a bit into her.
“Thanks for bringing her,” her mom said to Ryan, though she barely looked at him.
“Oh, I didn’t—I mean, thank you for lunch. It was great,” he said. Great? Since when do you not eat?
“You have a safe drive back,” her mom told her. She reached up as if she was going to smooth Poppy’s hair, but stopped and pulled her hand back.
“We will,” Poppy said.
“You take care of my baby,” her mom said as she turned to Ryan. Poppy shifted from side to side. Her mom had never been so overtly protective before, and especially not like this. She had to admit, a part of her was comforted by it.
“I will,” Ryan said without hesitation. Poppy looked at him curiously. You will?
“Okay. Bye, you two,” her mom said, and closed the door behind them. The click of the lock bid them farewell.
As Poppy descended the gray steps, Ryan took her elbow and guided her along the short gravel driveway. “You okay?” he asked.
She could only nod, and kept her head turned away from him. He couldn’t see her like this. Although she willed the tears away, a single drop fell as she reached the car. Poppy let her hair fall over her face as Ryan walked to the passenger side.
Why did her parents still have this much power over her? She never expected the visits to be easy, but when they were this hard that couldn’t be normal. Could it? Didn’t other people her age visit their parents, have a good time, and leave happy?
As Poppy slid into the driver seat and turned the ignition, she took one final look at the falling-apart house her mother spent day after day in. What kind of life was that? The lawn was crying out for help, the weeds out of control, and blackberry bushes crept across the property lines.
Soon, the entire place would be overtaken. Given back to the wild. Perhaps that’s just how it was supposed to be.
14
Ryan
He’d watched her hold it together for the past few hours. The tension in the car had been bottled up so tight by the time they’d arrived at her parents’ house it was palpable. He’d thought the lunch would be awkward, and it certainly was. There was even a part of him that had felt tricked into going. But once he saw how bad it was, and how much Poppy needed someone, all his wariness had faded away.
He wasn’t surprised at all when she pulled over a few blocks from the house and started bawling. In fact, he didn’t know how she’d managed to hold it together as long as she had.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he said as he unbuckled both their seat belts and pulled her toward him. She was silent, but shook vigorously. He felt her warm tears as they spilled onto his neck.
She was limp as a ragdoll, and he easily boosted her closer. Poppy was awkwardly half on his lap. He squeezed and released her shoulder, uncertain of what to say or do. He’d seen her family “situation” before firsthand of course, but that was different. Back then, he’d had adrenaline to tell him what to do. But now? It was just the two of them, and all he wanted was to take her pain away.
As her tremors stilled, she lifted herself from his chest and wiped the tears away. “Sorry,” she whispered. Their eyes met, and even through the glassy tearstained gaze, he saw that same look she’d had the other day by the pool. It was a considering look. And this time he couldn’t resist.
It was like a stranger was directing him. He leaned forward and closed the distance between them. When his lips met hers, a jolt shot through him like he’d never felt before. She responded hungrily. As if she’d been starving so many years.
She tasted unbelievably sweet, in a way he would never have imagined. Yet the saltiness of her tears also coated her lips and had snuck into her mouth. The taste, her taste, blended into an intricate medley that was addictive.
Ryan flicked his tongue across her teeth, and she parted her lips wider, receptive. When their tongues met, he tasted another layer of her flavors and couldn’t get enough. She was the sweetest thing his lips, his tongue, had ever known.
Poppy let out a gentle moan, her chest pushed firmly against his, and he was instantly hard. It felt good, way too right. Fuck.
Suddenly, Poppy pulled away. Embarrassed, she backed away to the driver side. “Ow,” she said as the stick shift dug into her thigh.
Ryan opened his mouth to say something, he wasn’t sure what. But Poppy beat him to it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was… that wasn’t right.”
Sorry? Wasn’t right? Didn’t she feel the same thing he did?
“Poppy, I—”
“No,” she said as she held up a hand. “That was… wow. Okay. A moment of weakness? I guess? That sounds really lame, but I don’t know what else to call it.”
“You think I took advantage of you?” he asked. Maybe he had. Maybe he’d misread the whole thing. The last few days, the pool, everything.
“No, I don’t mean that,” she said. Her face softened with the slightest of smiles. “I mean, it was both of us. We both… what about Will?”
“Will?” Hell, he’d forgotten all about him.
“Yeah, my boyfriend?” The defensiveness crept steadily into her voice.
“What about him?” He could never resist a challenge.
“Ryan! I’m not the… I can’t… you know.”
“Do you know?” he asked.
She was quiet and clutched the steering wheel so tight her knuckles were going white. “I don’t know what I don’t know,” she said finally.
“Deep, Poppy.”
/> It felt like she sat there, death grip on the steering wheel, for an hour—though it was probably just one minute, maximum. Finally, without a word, she turned on the ignition and drove onto the main road.
Ryan couldn’t believe it. Poppy had pulled the silent treatment on him a few times before, but it was never like this. Usually it was over a stupid argument they both knew would blow over soon.
This was different. He stole looks at her the entire drive back into the city, but it seemed like she never noticed.
He couldn’t bring himself to speak first. You’re a fucking idiot, he told himself. But he didn’t regret it. The way she felt and tasted—she was like a drug.
An hour in a car can feel like days with that kind of tension between two people. And the heat? The passion that tied them together? He wasn’t possibly imagining that, was he?
Ryan came up with a thousand different things to say, but none of them made it out of his mouth. I’m sorry. Didn’t you think it felt right? Who gives a damn about Will? I love you.
Of course he loved her, that wasn’t a secret. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever actually told her, but it was an unspoken truth between them. But he’d loved her like a friend all those years. Right? He couldn’t—he didn’t really love her like that, did he?
This is too much. It was a kiss. One kiss! It’s shocking it hasn’t happened before. How are you this messed up over one kiss?
Still, he couldn’t help it. In between thinking of words to break the dual silent treatment, he just kept replaying that kiss over and over in his head.
The single glance he’d taken when his mouth was on hers, he’d seen how beautiful and vulnerable she’d been with her eyes closed millimeters from him. How she tipped her face up and they moved in perfect synchronization, as if this were a dance they’d done their whole lives.
And their lips. How their lips fit together perfectly, the way her bottom lip naturally eased between his lips and his teeth. It was like her mouth had come home.