Page 65 of Broken Rivalry

My introspection is interrupted by the playful bickering of Billy and James over the attic.

“Why should Poppy get it? I have a lot of Legos!” Billy argues, his voice rising in indignation.

“So? If she doesn’t, I will get it. I’m the oldest boy and the man of the house! I’m fourteen,” James retorts, puffing out his chest in a show of mock maturity.

“You’re not a man! You cried during that movie last week. Men don’t cry!” Billy shoots back, his face reddening.

“The dog died at the end!” James exclaims defensively.

Billy’s eyes widen, filling with tears. “He died?!”

Mom quickly intervenes, pulling Billy into a comforting embrace. “No, he didn’t. He went to live on a farm with his siblings. James, tell your brother the truth.”

I nudge James, encouraging him to make amends. “Come on, bro. If you’re the man of the house, be the bigger person.”

James huffs, a sound of reluctant admission. “I lied, Billy. The dog didn’t die.”

Billy pulls away from Mom, his tear-streaked face searching James’s for confirmation. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. I only wanted to be mean,” James admits, looking genuinely remorseful.

Billy sniffles, wiping away his tears with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “That was really mean.”

I try to lighten the mood. “How about we turn the attic into a shared space? One side for Legos, the other for video games. We can even add a pull-out sofa for my visits.”

Mom gives me a knowing look, understanding the underlying message: I won’t be moving back. But for now, there are more pressing matters. “Let’s finish unpacking. Jared will be here soon to collect the truck.”

“I still can’t believe how fast everything is happening.”

Mom nods with a small smile. “Life has a way of surprising us when we least expect it.”

As the boys race downstairs, their earlier disagreement forgotten, Mom lingers, giving me a long, contemplative look filled with a mother’s intuition and concern. I brace myself, sensing that a difficult conversation is on the horizon.

We move to the kitchen, unpacking boxes and arranging dishes. The rhythm of the task provides a temporary distraction, but the tension remains. Finally, she breaks the silence. “Poppy, now that we’re settling in, why don’t you invite your boyfriend over for dinner? I’d love to meet him.”

I nearly drop the glass I’m holding. “What?”

“Jeremy, isn’t it? I was half expecting him to show up today to help with the move.”

My heart sinks. The lie I’ve been giving feels like a stone in my stomach. “He did offer, Mom. But I told him we could manage. We’ve been self-sufficient for a while, haven’t we?”

She pauses, her hands stilling on a box. “Is it us, Poppy? Are you ashamed of me?”

The hurt in her voice is noticeable, and I rush to her, my eyes stinging with tears. “Never, Mom. I could never be ashamed of you. You’re my rock, my hero.”

She turns to face me, her eyes searching mine. “Then what is it? Why the secrecy? You’re clearly involved quite deeply with that young man. I—” She shakes her head.

I swallow hard, struggling to find the words. “It’s not you who I’m worried about. It’s… him. What if you don’t approve?”

Her eyebrows dip as she cocks her head to the side in bewilderment. “I know I’ve not been the most accepting before, and honestly, most of my opinions at the time were to fit in. I don’t care what he looks like, sweetheart.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s not that.”

She takes a deep breath. “Is he committed to someone else?”

I grimace. “No, no, it’s only us.”

She nods, resting her hand on her chest with a relieved sigh. “Does he treat you well?”

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