“Do I need a restraining order?” She laughs through her words.
“No, you need a coat. Get some shoes on, too. There’s some place I need to take you.”
It takes less than five minutes for Pops to show up at the door and shuffle her way out to me in what looks like her PJs underneath a bright pink snow jacket that comes down past her knees. She’s wearing snow boots with rainbows printed on either side of each shoe, something they sell at the supermarket for tourists this time of year. But just seeing Poppy, that smile begging to let loose on her face, makes my heart soar to the next galaxy.
“You look beautiful.”
She growls in lieu of a response, and I hold up my hands. “Easy, girl. How about this? You come with me and let me show you what I have planned, and we don’t need to say a word to one another until we get there.”
She shakes her head, the venom in her eyes only slightly subduing. “Try again, Gordo.”
“Fine. If you’re going to be like that, then we don’t have to say a word to each other at all.”
“Better.” Her mouth contorts as if she’s carefully choosing her words. “And drop the attitude.”
“My attitude?” She’s got to be kidding. “Deal.” This isn’t about me trying to control her or God forbid piss her off. I just want to show her something. Maybe glean a few answers for myself in the process.
Poppy hops into my car, and I drive us down to my mother’s estate. We pass my future home, which looks like nothing more than a skeleton of what it will be. The contractor put off construction for six weeks until the weather clears a bit, and I offer a mean look to the project as if it were the contractor himself.
Instead of pulling in close to the house, I curve around toward that old ancient oak set in front of the circular driveway and kill the engine.
“Remember this?” I glance up at the mega structure my father built for me, the tree house in which Poppy and I spent hours doing everything and nothing. It’s solid as far as construction goes. It has four walls and a roof, and there’s a window in the ceiling that rolls open so you can star gaze without obstruction.
We get out, and she follows me to the other side of the enormous trunk where I give the trunk a good kick and snow tumbles down in chunks.
“Ladies first,” I offer while presenting the tree house as if it were a prize. It is. Or at least it used to be.
Poppy grunts as she starts up the old wooden steps nailed into the tree. I follow close behind until she makes her way inside, and I head in right after her.
“It’s freezing in here!” She falls to her knees out of habit. It’s tall enough for both of us to stand, but the first thing we used to do when we made our way up was get on the floor and start in on the serious business of childhood.
“I’ve got a solution.” I roll out a couple of old sleeping bags that have been stored in here for years and sprawl them out over the clapboard flooring. The window in the ceiling is covered with a small film of snow, so I give it a few quick thumps until it slides right off and roll down the glass, exposing us to a navy night filled with a million diamond stars.
Wordlessly, Poppy and I assume the position shoulder to shoulder as we lie on our backs staring up at the dark starry night.
“Don’t hate me, Pops,” I whisper.
“I came under the pretense that there wouldn’t be any conversing,” she whispers right back.
“I’m breaking the rules.”
A silent laugh bucks through her chest. “You always do. Your world, your rules.” She snuggles her shoulder up against mine. “You know, I never once thought that the Stade millions—excuse me,billionsever got into your head or your ego—but I guess I was wrong.”
“Geez, Eight Ball, relax. I just thought we should have a conversation. Tomorrow is it.” Not that I want it to be. “I wanted one more night, just you and me.”
“Just one,” she says the words so low I might have imagined them.
“I’m going to miss you.” There. I grew a pair and said it.
“That’s nice.” And she slices my balls right off.
“Can I ask you a question?”
A heavy sigh expels from her. “I don’t see how I can stop you.”
“Okay—what was so special about Miles Frampton?”
“Ha!” she squawks it out so loud an owl darts right past the window. “Wouldn’t you like to know? What was so special about the two million skanks you’ve slept with?”
