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I shook my head. “I’m on some pretty strong pain killers. It’s best I don’t drive.”
Mom nodded. “Hopefully Cal can get you sorted, so you can get off that stuff. I hear it can be addictive.”
I choked on the piece of waffle in my mouth and coughed hard enough to send my back into a painful spasm. Poppy shoved my water at me. I pushed it away, coughing until I could breathe again.
I only knew of one Cal who lived in Peace Falls, but maybe someone else with the name had moved to town while I was in DC. “Cal as in Caleb Cardoso?” I sputtered.
“Dr. Cardoso now,” Mom said. “He’s usually booked solid, but the receptionist fit you in at eight. I bet he’s opening early as a favor.”
“Why would Caleb Cardoso do us a favor?” I asked.
Mom looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “Why wouldn’t he?”
“He doesn’t know us,” I said.
“He doesn’t know you,” Chris said, around a mouth full of salad. “Cal bought the Hilberts’s house when they moved to Florida last fall. I walk his dog every afternoon during the week, and sometimes Cal and I run together.” Chris’s eyes widened, and he put down his fork. “Maybe I should ask him to help me train before tryouts. He played wide receiver, same as me.”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Mom said, dumping a mound of mashed potatoes onto her plate.
“You collected Caleb Cardoso’s dog’s poop?” I shrieked.
“Why do you keep saying his full name?” Poppy asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Of course, Chris cleans up after the dog,” Mom snapped. “I haven’t raised degenerates.”
Chris laughed so hard he snorted, which sent Poppy into an uncharacteristic fit of giggles.
“Have you been drinking?” Mom asked her.
“No, but I think we should start,” Poppy said, rising from the table. “Poop collector, help,” she added, smacking Chris on the back of the head.
“Eat,” Mom ordered.
I attempted another bite of waffle. Mom seemed content to sit in silence as long as I kept eating, which gave me way too much freedom to think about Cal.
Infatuated. There is no other word to describe how teenage me felt about Caleb Cardoso. Though in my defense, every girl at Peace Falls High was obsessed with him. It’s true, he probably had no idea who I was. We never had a class together since he was two grades ahead of me, and our extracurriculars and friend groups didn’t overlap. He was a star on the varsity football team and dated Avery Peterson. Yes, the Avery of milk and tampon fame. She was in Cal’s grade, captain of the cheerleading team, homecoming queen, and a total bitch to anyone who didn’t fit in, aka me and my best friend Lauren. It would have been easy tolump Cal in with Avery and hate him on principle, but he wasn’t a bully like her. Whenever Cal and Avery were together, I knew she wouldn’t mess with me or anyone else. She was too busy touching him or kissing him to give the rest of us any attention. Can’t say I blame her. I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands or tongue to myself if he were my boyfriend. Thick brown hair, a jaw line that could cut glass, and a pair of lips so full they’d look feminine on anyone else. On Cal, they were just the cherry on top of an irresistible sundae. My stomach fluttered every time our paths crossed, and I’d go mute. No lie, I could be in the middle of a conversation with Lauren, and the words would dry up in my mouth. Just thinking about him made me ache in the only places my body hadn’t over the past week.
“I’m glad to see you eating,” Mom said with a small smile, interrupting my inappropriate highlight reel of Cal Cardoso sightings.
I had made a serious dent in my plate while I fantasized.
“Who’s ready to get shitfaced?” Chris asked, returning with an open bottle of champagne and four flutes. “Half a glass,” Mom said, pointing at him. “Same for Rowan, assuming she can drink at all while she’s on drugs.”
Poppy followed, carrying the most detailed cake I’d ever seen. Three stacked tiers of black fondant with gold-painted details. Each tier was edged with an abundance of red flowers: poppies, chrysanthemums, and roses so realistic I thought for a moment they were real. On top, a fondant sculpture of me, in a red dress with a wreath of Rowan berries woven in my hair, shoved a sculpture of Brad off the side of the cake. Poppy had somehow captured the moment before the fall. Brad’s arms flailed above his head, and his feet hovered at a forty-five-degree angle off the cake.
“My name is not Chrysanthemum,” Chris huffed.
“Only because you aren’t a girl,” Poppy said. “But I wouldn’t have put it past Mom if you weren’t born a brunet.”
“It’s symbolic, Chris,” Mom said. “How else was Poppy supposed to represent you?”
“You made this?” I asked my sister, my eyes misting again. “You baked a cake for me?”
“Calm your tits,” she said, flicking a napkin at my face. I grabbed it and dabbed at my eyes. Guess I had rehydrated enough for tears.
“You hate baking,” I blubbered.
“I bought the cake. The decorations are mine, though.”
