Page 79 of Sunshine
The cut in my chest opens a little wider at the way Poppy uses my nickname for Izzy. I don’t remember telling her, but somehow Poppy knows the story behind it—that I called Izzy my busy little bee because since she was born, she’s buzzed from one colorful thought to another, collecting answers and talents and laughs and memories—and it puts a lump in my throat.
“I love you,” Izzy confesses with a sigh, and the lump damn near strangles me.
I stay long enough to see Poppy drop her forehead onto Izzy’s and murmur back, “I love you too, kiddo.”
As Poppy gives Izzy one last hug before she moves into the kitchen, I retreat into the shadows of the hallway, needing a minute to steady my racing heart. And I stay there until I know I can join everyone else without looking like I’ve been hit by a runaway train.
Not hit. Picked up and whisked away so far and fast that my head is spinning, and I can’t catch my breath, and I don’t know my way back.
I was supposed to shield Izzy from more pain, not let her get so close to Poppy that she’d fall apart when she lost her. And here Izzy is telling Poppy that she loves her. It was my job to protect her and guard her heart. Guard both our hearts. And I’ve failed on both counts.
By the time I wander into the kitchen, I’m more in control. I help myself to a mug of the hot cocoa simmering on the stove, skip the marshmallows, and take a seat at the table where everyone’s already nursing their own drinks with cold hands wrapped around warm mugs. I do the same, sipping the milk to soothe myself, and weirdly enough, it helps. A little.
It’s been a long time since so many chairs around our dining table were occupied like this. Poppy sits between Finn and Daisy, cocoa in her hand and an ease in her energy, and it’s obvious that she belongs here. At this table. In the family. With us. With me.
The conversation is upbeat but hushed, everyone knowing without my having to say it that Izzy is asleep close by. It’s little things like this that remind me Izzy has more than me in her life, and for a moment, I try to convince myself that her loving Poppy is no different from her loving Charlie or Finn. But it’s impossible to believe with this sense of vulnerability heavy in my chest.
“Hey, Vi.” Daisy sets her elbows on the table, hands wrapped around her mug, and leans toward our brother’s girlfriend. There’s an excited curve to Daisy’s lips and her eyes sparkle with the gleam of gossip. “Is it true?”
Daisy’s question is followed by a lull in the conversation, and Violet flushes pink at the attention. “Is what true?”
“That you’re designing Rosalie Thorne’s wedding dress?”
Finn launches into a coughing fit, fist thumping his chest as he sets down his mug.
Poppy hands him a napkin. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. Thanks.” Finn wipes his mouth and clears his throat one more time. “Cocoa was a little hot.”
“Rosalie Thorne?” I ask. “TheRosalie Thorne?”
“Yes,” Daisy confirms. “TheRosalie Thorne. There’s a rumor on social media that our very own Violet here has been hired to design Rosalie’s dress for her wedding in the fall.”
“So…” Poppy mirrors Daisy’s eager posture and leans into the table. “What’s she like?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” Violet says quietly.
“Oh, come on.” Daisy wiggles her eyebrows. “We won’t tell anyone. Is she as pretty in real life as she looks in her photos? When’s her new album coming out?”
“Daisy.” Violet drops her chin with an apologetic smile. “I’ve signed an NDA.”
“Ha!” Daisy nods with triumph. “So, she did hire you.”
Violet says nothing as she picks up her cocoa, but she does throw Daisy a little wink.
“So, I’ve got a game in San Francisco next weekend,” Chord says in a tone that tells us it’s time to change the subject. “And the Fury is hosting a fundraiser event for community youth hockey—our annual alumni hockey game Saturday afternoon followed by a silent auction that night. I’ve got tickets for everyone.”
Charlie’s the first one to protest. Of course. “Chord—”
“Nope.” Chord holds up his palm to shut her up. “This is a big weekend for the Fury, which means it’s a big weekend for Silver Leaf Ranch. You need to be there, Charlie, for the networking opportunities alone.”
Last summer, Charlie single-handedly negotiated a lucrative sponsorship deal with the San Francisco Fury that put our winesin their home arena and on the beverage list at all corporate events. That deal saved the ranch and Chord’s right. A weekend like this could mean bigger and better deals for the business.
“Fine.” Charlie doesn’t pout, but there’s a huffiness to her breath. “I’ll be there.”
“Good,” Chord grunts.
Charlie crosses her arms, and I can see the cogs moving in her clever head. My older brother and sister have only recently called a truce after years of butting heads over who will run Silver Leaf Ranch when Chord retires from hockey. Things are good between them now, but sometimes, that old rivalry rears its ugly head.
