Page 77 of Make The Cut

I don’t know if it’s a promise or a threat.

But I get the feeling that no matter how I feel right now, Poppy and I will never be over.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Poppy Black

I walk out of Naoya’s house and let Gustav close the door behind me. I suck in a massive inhale to keep the tears from falling as I march toward my car, but saltwater blurs my vision anyway as I sit in the driver’s seat.

A month ago, he drove me to my house and told me I was perfect.

Now, it feels like his past is tearing us to pieces.

I have known him for so long that I forgot he had a past, forgot there could be someone in his life I didn’t know about because they came before me. I always thought it’d be an ex-girlfriend or a past hookup. Instead, it’s his father.

I know I can’t fix this, can’t be there for him in the ways he needs. But I want to be the girl he turns to when he has a problem. I want to be there for him. Swiping tears off my face angrily, I consider going back into the house. But just as I do, another car pulls into Naoya’s driveway.

I’d recognize Ryder’s black Mustang anywhere, the flashy sports car he loves and the one that was his dream car since we were in high school. The gleam off the little horse statuette on the bumper makes me pause.

I’m not about to go back into the house and explain to Ryder that I’m there not as Naoya’s stylist but because Naoya and I are secretly dating.

He’s keeping his secrets from me.

I’m keeping ours from my brother.

Sooner or later, one of these dams will burst.

Instead of getting out of the car, I pull out my phone and call Skye. It’s nine pm. I wonder what she’s doing; maybe having a glass of wine with Leo, or hanging out with his little sister, Raina, before she goes off to UCLA for the winter semester.

My best friend has her own family now. And me?

I have a guy who can’t decide if he loves me or if he’ll let his father get between us.

Skye picks up on the third ring. “Hey, Poppy! I didn’t expect to hear from you. I thought you had a date tonight?”

I told Skye about my date with Naoya. She may have been mildly disapproving of our relationship, but there’s also no way she’d tell my brother about us. Thank God for small mercies. “Yeah. It ended in metaphorical and almost literal flames.”

“Oh, Poppy.” Her voice is honeyed, her tone comforting, sounding like the cup of tea she’d pour me when we were roommates and I stumbled home after a bad date. Our friendship is comfortable, easy, like sinking into a familiar pair of bunny slippers that are worn in just the right way.

But I don’t feel like my life has been comfortable or easy lately. It feels like it’s tugging at my edges, warping me into a new and unfamiliar shape. “Can we meet at Scoops?”

I immediately regret suggesting the ice cream place, since it holds so many memories. But Skye agrees, asking me if I want her to stay on the phone with me until we meet.

I say no, hanging up. I need to compose my thoughts. All I need is to understand why I have such bad taste in men that I only choose the ones who hurt me. I thought Naoya was different, but maybe I saw past all his red flags with rose-coloured glasses on.

He said this isn’t over.

But I don’t know if he meant our relationship or the conversation, and I’m scared to ask.

When I pull into the parking lot of Scoop, Scoop, and Scoop Some More, Skye’s sturdy green VW is parked outside, the same car that’s carried us through college road trips, to hikes in Joshua Tree (well, that was one time and we decided hiking in California was definitely not for us), and to the beach on countless times. Now, as she hops out, not seeing me until I pull in next to her, she seems different from the immature college girls we were so long ago, or even the roommates we were two years ago.

She has an anchor. Not just in Leo, but in a job and a life she loves.

I’m nil for two on both counts. But Skye doesn’t make me feel inadequate for it as she pulls me into a hug. “Poppy, tell me everything.”

I sniff, trying to restrain the floodgates. “I don’t know how much there is to tell.”

She loops her arm through mine and we walk into the store. We both order and Skye insists on paying as we slide into the vinyl booth that we usually sit at. The one I sat at with Naoya is on the opposite side of the store, and I’m glad for it as I dig into my Earl Grey ice cream.

Skye picks at her sundae, eating the maraschino cherry slowly and letting her fudge and vanilla melt into a sticky mess in the cup. “I’m not going to say I told you so.”

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