Page 70 of Sunshine
“What’s this?” I ask, holding up the box between us.
Poppy’s eyes flit to the side, then back to the road as she fights a smile. “My Galentine’s Day present.”
“The seal is still intact,” I observe.
“Yeah. I haven’t had a chance to try it out yet.”
“We might have to do something about that.”
I peel back the plastic seal and open the box, pulling out a small pink silicone toy and switching it on. It hums to life, and I examine it with exaggerated interest.
Poppy fidgets in her seat as she narrows her eyes at the road. “I’d say keep talking, but we’ve still got fifteen minutes of driving, and I’m not sure my underwear can take it.”
I drop my head back on the headrest and groan.
“Focus,” she reminds me with a laugh. “You were looking for something to write on.”
My mind spins with thoughts of me bringing Poppy to orgasm with the toy between her thighs. I slip the mini vibrator into my pocket and the empty box back in her bag before I poke around for the almost-clean napkin I spotted earlier. I’ve lost it, and the best I can find now is a folded brochure. As I open it to look for some blank space, the name at the top catches my eye.
“This is the college where Izzy has her music lesson,” I say.
Poppy glances once at the pamphlet, then back at the road. “Uh-huh.”
I turn the paper over. “And this is information about their business administration program.”
Poppy hits her indicator and checks her blind spot before making a left turn. “Yep.”
Don’t jump to conclusions, I remind myself.Don’t let yourself hope. But it’s hard to keep my voice even when I ask, “Is this something you want to do? Go to Aster Springs Community College and study business?”
“Dylan,” she says in a tone that breaks my heart as much as it pisses me off. “Be serious.”
She doesn’t see herself the way I do. Bright and determined and capable of anything.
“I am being serious. Are you thinking about going back to school?”
Her hands tighten and release around the steering wheel, and she stares at the road with hyper-focus. “You and I both know I don’t have what it takes to study again.”
“I don’t know that,” I disagree. “Not at all. I think you’re incredible, and you can do anything you set your mind to.”
Poppy squints at the horizon, and hesitation shadows her brow. I know her well enough to recognize there’s something she wants to say, so I stay quiet and wait for her to talk.
“Do you know why Izzy is so lucky to have you as her dad?”
It’s not what I’m expecting, and although it’s a clumsy change in subject, I go with it for now. “I make a mean ratatouille?”
Poppy grimaces and sticks out her tongue with disgust. “Gross. No. She’s lucky because you were present enough to notice that she needed help in school, and you cared enough to investigate why and get the support she needs. And before you say you’re just doing what any parent in your situation would do, let me tell you—not all parents pay that much attention.”
Poppy and I are close enough in age that we went to school together for more years than not, and she never made a secret of the fact that she wasn’t interested in studying or grades. There were plenty of kids like that—fuck, I was one of them—so it never occurred to me to wonder why.
“Are you talking about Mona?” I ask.
“A few years after I left Aster Springs,” she says instead of answering my question, “I was nannying for a family in Connecticut. They had a twelve-year-old boy, and he wasn’t doing well in school. Some things that were hard for him used to be hard for me, too, and it made me think. Lucky for him, his parents listened to my concerns and did all the right things.He was assessed and diagnosed with dyslexia, the school was supportive, and things turned around. His mom still sends me updates every other month, and he’s graduating next year—with honors.”
I frown out the window, choosing my words carefully in case I’ve misunderstood the point Poppy is trying to make, but I don’t think I have. “Do you think you have dyslexia?”
Poppy nibbles her lip as she checks her side mirrors. “My self-diagnosis might not stand up in court, and maybe it’s not dyslexia exactly, but I’ve done enough research and worked with enough kids to know my brain isn’t typical. Reading is hard for me. Spelling is worse. I can remember things fine, but I hate writing them down. These aren’t the qualities of a good student.”
“Poppy—”
