Page 42 of For The Record

“Played the saxophone in a jazz band,” I say. “Okay, okay. Why are you listing all my ex-boyfriends, Poppy?”

“To prove a point,” she says, waving a hand at the waitress for more mimosas. She brings us two more glasses of orange juice, champagne, and chablis with a smile that suggests she’s either certain of or vying for a hefty tip. Her blonde hair and willowy frame suggest that, like every other woman in this city, she’s trying to be an actress or a swimsuit model. “You do have a type. Musicians, rockers, artsy guys. Leo Perez isn’t really any of those things. He’s more… music industryadjacent.”

I shrug. “I mean, how well have musicians worked out for me in the past? Maybe I need to change my type.”

Although Leo Perez, even if he isn’t my type, isn’t really doing himself any favours when I recall our most recent conversations. I chug my mimosa.

Poppy’s mouth drops open as though I’ve committed the worst of blasphemies. “You can’t justchangeyour type.”

“Why not?” I finish my pancakes, dabbing at my mouth with a napkin. “I can do whatever I want.”

“People don’t change so easily,” she says with a shrug that makes me think she’s talking about more than men.

“Then let’s talk about your type, which seems to be nonexistent,” I say, taking a sip of my mimosa. “You dated a football player in college-“

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” she says, rolling her eyes. “He always smelled like Axe and he never showered.”

“Then, there was the literalhoarderwho wanted a lock of your hair for his collection,” I say.

“And I dated him for four months after that,” she says. “Why?”

“I will never know. But after him was the med student.”

“Josh wascute,” she says, throwing her hands in the air.

“He was also eighteen and a child genius, and you were twenty-two at the time. He was headed to Harvard of all places… it was never going to work,” I say as gently as possible. “What I’m trying to say is, if you have a type, it has changed alotsince we first met.”

Poppy sighs. “Maybe I just attract crappy men. Have you considered that?”

“And I only attract artistic men?” I say with a smile that probably looks more cheerful than I feel. “I think we need more mimosas.”

Still, I can’t help but envy Poppy in a way. At least she can say that she didn’t chase after musicians for the majority of her love life because she was seeking to have some kind of talent and hoping it might rub off on her. At least she wasn’t trying to fit in with the cool, artsy, hipster types who say things like ‘I can really see Nietzsche’s influence in that sculpture’ or ‘this poem is really Kafkaesque’. She was just being herself.

Something I’ll never quite manage to accomplish.

“So you still haven’t talked to Leo, huh?” Poppy says, catching sight of my expression. “I mean, you look like someone just kicked your puppy.”

“I’m allergic to dogs.” It was something Ryder and I had in common. For five seconds, I told myself it meant we were meant to be.

“You know what I mean,” she says, huffing a sigh as she crosses her legs under the table, the toe of her Keds accidentally hitting my shin. I wince. At least it wasn’t a Louboutin. “Are you trying to kick some sense into me?”

“Is it working?” She stares down at the mushrooms on her plate, lip curling in disgust. Poppy always forgets to tell the waitress to leave them out.

“No, because I already have plenty of sense,” I say.

“I think you should give the guy a chance,” she says, completely ignoring what I just said. This is how at least fifty percent of our conversations go, so I’m neither offended nor surprised. “I mean, I know it sounds like you had a really nasty argument, and I’m totally on your side. I don’t believe for one second that you would sabotage my brother’s career. But I also understand how it looks, you know? I mean, barely one month after hiring you, Ryder’s ex-girlfriend, stuff starts going wrong?”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about this, Pops.”

“Then just listen. Hear me out.” Her brown eyes narrow at my use of her most-hated nickname. “I know it really hurts and you feel like people are attacking you on all sides and accusing you of these things that you didn’t do. But do you think that Leo was doing that because he hates you? Or maybe because he’s stressed and has a lot riding on this album?”

“I have a lot riding on this album,” I say, but it rings hollow. “And why do you always have to be soreasonable, Poppy?”

“Sorry, it rubbed off on me from my best friend,” she deadpans.

I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”

And I mean it. Sometimes, I don’t know where I’d be without my best friend.

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