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“That’s why she’ll notice. And worry. Besides, you can’t compare your situation to Mom’s.”
I wiggled the large diamond and matching band from my left hand and handed them to Poppy, who unclipped one of the chains around her neck and slid on the rings. “Good. I’d hate for you to move back in with all that dog poop.”
I chuckled, despite how awful I felt. “Dog poop is a tamer nickname than I expected from you.”
“Brad’s a dick. I’m talking about the real dog poop.”
My stomach sank. “What dog poop?”
Poppy smiled, a rare and terrifying thing in the best circumstances. “While you were saying goodbye to your super, I might have left a few parting gifts around the apartment.”
I rubbed my forehead, which suddenly hurt more than my back. “Where?”
“No way. I’m not telling. You’ll text dickhead a warning or call your super to clean it up. Plus, I can’t remember where I put itall. Two pounds is a lot of crap to locate. I weighed it. A pound for every year you were married.”
As usual, Poppy’s prank was oddly poetic and over the top. “Where did you get that much poop?”
“Chris.”
“Mom finally let him get a dog?”
“Nah, he walks the neighbor’s. He started collecting right after the accident. It was all his idea.” Poppy smiled again, a softer smile that gave a peek at the sweet person she was under all the makeup, black clothes, and heavy boots.
I get it. I do. Poppy, Chris, and I stick up for each other. We always have. My baby brother might be ten years younger than me, but that hadn’t stopped him from covering Avery Peterson’s convertible with tampons soaked in Hawaiian Punch after she “accidentally” spilled a carton of milk on my head senior year and told everyone I should thank her for making my hair less glaring. Poppy took the fall, of course, and high-fived Chris when she got home from yet another detention.
“Remember what happened after the tampon incident?”
Poppy’s eyes widened. “Shit. You think we made things worse for you?”
“Probably.” I rested my head on her shoulder. “But thank you.” My back gave another twinge, and I stiffened.
Poppy sighed and wrapped her arm around my waist. “What can we do to make your back feel better? Some yoga? A couple shots of Jameson?”
I lifted my head and narrowed my eyes at her. “Please tell me you don’t have an open container of liquor in your vehicle?”
Poppy stepped back and held up her hands. “Hey, I didn’t know what kind of mood you’d be in. I wanted to be prepared. Plus, I’m twenty-three. I don’t think there’s an issue, not that I’d be drinking it. The law is a little gray. I just figured it was good to have on hand, in case you needed it. Honestly, I didn’t knowwhat you’d need. Lauren wasn’t helpful. She said to ‘listen with love’ and suggested I grab some pastries, which I totally planned to do, but then I overslept after working on a piece too late. I didn’t want you there one minute longer than you had to be, so I grabbed the whiskey and dog poop and left. Times like these, I wish Tallulah had a second passenger seat. Lauren wouldn’t have forgotten the pastries or assumed you were going to hurl and almost kill us, but another set of seats would defeat the whole purpose of driving a hearse.”
The corners of my lips twitched with a smile. “If we get pulled over, I’ll say I’m mourning my husband.”
Poppy stood taller. “Dickface isn’t worth mourning, Rowan. But the Jameson’s in the glove box. I even packed Dixie cups, so you could measure, or drink like a lady, or not smash your teeth on the bottle if we hit a bump.”
I placed a hand on her shoulder and shook my head. “I’m not showing up at Mom’s reeking of whiskey before dinner. Like you said, she’s worried enough. Let me walk the length of the overlook a couple times to loosen up, and I’ll be fine.”
“You are, Rowan,” she said, firmly, “better, without him.”
My eyes burned at her confidence and lack of pity. It was the reason I’d asked Poppy, and only Poppy, to help me move. Mom would have cried right along with me, just like she had on every phone call since I left the hospital. Chris would have gotten upset the way only a sixteen-year-old boy can and done something stupider than collecting dog poop to rain on my ex. My best friend Lauren would have tried to console me with positive affirmations and 100% would have waved a burning sage stick over everything I owned before we left DC. It’s the reason I begged them all not to come a week ago when everything happened. I couldn’t handle their pity or their sadness. I knew Poppy would take whatever she was feeling about the situation and pour it into her art, but even she looked near her breakingpoint. I haven’t seen her this agitated since our dad’s funeral when she realized she’d outgrown her black ballet flats and refused to wear a pair of my hand-me-downs with gold sequins. Even then, she didn’t cry or rage. Instead, she rambled about proper funeral etiquette with a specificity no nine-year-old should know and ended up staying at the house with a neighbor to set up the repast, missing the service. I swiped at my eyes and took a steadying breath. “I hope you got his brown Ferragamo loafers. He loves those.”
Poppy smirked. “I cannot confirm or deny.”
I linked my arm in hers, and we set off across the parking lot toward the hearse and the next chapter of my life.
Chapter two
Rowan
When we pulled intothe driveway, Chris shot off the porch steps, shouting to our mother as his long legs ate up the distance to the hearse. Mom burst through the front door moments later in a flour-dusted apron, wooden spoon in hand.
Poppy rolled her eyes as Chris yanked open my door. “Ann,” he said, contorting his lanky frame into the hearse to hug me. Chris had struggled with my name as a little boy and shortened it. The nickname stuck, but whenever I heard it, I remembered the toddler with the lisp who followed me everywhere and climbed into my lap whenever I sat down. He’d grown at least three inches since I saw him at Easter. He squeezed me so hard I winced.
