Page 2 of Sunshine
“Rude,” Poppy replies flatly, interrupting my thoughts as she slurps up the last spoon of milky cereal. “I’m waiting for Daisy, and then we’re watchingThe Notebook.”
“The Notebook?”
She doesn’t register my teasing tone and instead sighs as her smile turns wistful. That little gap between her teeth is still there all these years later, and I fixate on it as she replies, “Yes. It’s so romantic.”
“But a movie?” I won’t be happy until I’ve properly annoyed her, so I bait her with a disdainful eyebrow. “On a Friday night?”
Poppy’s expression goes from glazed and dreamy to sharp in an instant, and she narrows her eyes in a pretty glare. Bullseye.
“Yes,” she says. “We’re old like you now.”
“Be serious.” I shake my head to hide a satisfied smirk, take a swig of beer, and tap at my computer, expanding one of my spreadsheets to full screen and then navigating to the browser with a billion open tabs. “I’ve only got two years on you.”
“Oh, but you’ve always been so much more mature.”
Poppy bats her thick lashes as she reaches around to the back of her chair to dig around for something in the comically oversized tote hanging there. She pulls out a pot of lip balm, screws off the lid to press a finger into the gloss, then dabs the pink cherry-scented substance over her mouth.
It’s the most compelling thing I’ve seen all week.
When I realize I’m staring, I blink a couple of times before refocusing on the computer screen, ignoring the need to put on my glasses as I squint at the blurry letters.
“So?” Poppy asks again. “What’s all this stuff?”
She holds up an information pack for Izzy’s new private school, and I take a breath to cover a surge of overwhelm. My daughter is transferring the week after next, and it’s kicked off a cascade of changes in her schedule, which is why the table is littered with lists and forms for her extracurricular activities. Then there are the wrinkled napkins scrawled with my early drafts of spring menus for The Hill—our family restaurant at Silver Leaf Ranch. Under those is a stack of inventory reports as well as lists of our winter crops. Then there are the requests from our farm manager for extra workers when the warmer weather comes our way.
It’s a fucking mess, is what it is. Kind of like the inside of my head right now. Kind of like my life.
“It’s Dylan trying to control the world,” Daisy declares as she stomps into the room and heads straight for the pantry. She’s ina pair of navy plaid pajamas, gray wool-lined boots, and a black headband holding her long blonde waves back from her face, which is hidden behind a sticky paper mask. Neither Poppy nor I bat an eyelid.
“I’m not trying to control the world,” I argue. “Justmyworld.”
Daisy drops a bag of corn chips, another of popcorn, a packet of marshmallows, and a slab of white chocolate on the table, then takes a seat. “And how’s that working out for you, big brother?”
“Yeah, good.” I snatch up the corn chips, yanking them past Daisy’s outstretched hand, and ignore her whiny protest as I toss them out of her reach. “Thanks for asking.”
“You’re doing too much.” Daisy gets to her feet and circles the table to retrieve her snack. She pokes my side as she passes, right between the ribs where it hurts as much as it tickles, and I grunt. “You’re going to burn yourself out.”
“Thanks for the tip,” I reply. “Meanwhile, this crap will rot your insides.”
Daisy nods solemnly as she stuffs a corn chip in her mouth and then licks the powdered cheese from her fingers. “Noted.”
“Everything you see here, Daze?” I circle my palm over the papers covering more than half the tabletop. “These are myresponsibilities. Things other people count on me to manage, and there’s nobody else around to do it.”
Growing up, my little sister never understood the concept of consequences, never had to worry about letting anyone down, and never had to bear the weight of caring for an entire family. That’s the way I wanted it, even if her cluelessness annoys the shit out of me sometimes.
I lift my beer to my mouth as Daisy cocks her head and narrows her eyes. “You know what you need?”
“A good dicking?” Poppy replies, and when I choke on my drink, she cackles. “Sorry. I thought she was talking to me.”
Jesus Christ. I wipe my mouth, set down the bottle, and try hard not to shift in my seat.Do not think about Poppy naked. Donotthink about Poppy naked.
“What youneed,” Daisy continues, briefly rounding her eyes at Poppy to shut her up before turning to me, “is help.”
I shake my head before the final word leaves her lips because we’ve had this conversation a dozen times and my answer is always the same. There’s nothing on this table that I can outsource. Not a single thing.
Daisy lifts a bunch of napkins covered with my messy scrawl and shoves them in my face. “I refuse to believe there isn’t anyone else at the restaurant who can design next season’s menu.”
I get to my feet and lean across the table, making a grab for the napkins as Daisy waves them over her head. She passes them to Poppy, who grins like the devil as she tucks them between her thighs. I stare as the squares of paper disappear between the soft fabric of her sweatpants and Poppy clenches her muscles as if daring me to pry her knees apart.
