Rosaline stared at her.
“Oh.” Her stomach twisted unpleasantly. “You mean, like, going no contact?”
Rosaline shrugged. “I don’t know your parents, but everything you’ve described to me sounds... dysfunctional. At best.”
Poppy shifted uneasily. “At worst?”
Rosaline looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Neglectful? Emotionally abusive? Parents aren’t supposed to leave a six-year-old home alone to fend for herself.”
Hearing Rosaline put it so plainly made Poppy’s breath catch. “That was—that was almost twenty years ago.”
“There’s not a statute of limitations on pain, Poppy. Especially when someone doesn’t even apologize for the harm they caused, the harm theycontinueto cause. When they continue to exhibit a lack of care. A lack of basic respect.”
Her sinuses stung. “I don’t know. It feels like—like, I don’t know. Giving up. Quitting.”
She’d be lying if she said the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. If even today, when she’d parked in her parents’ driveway, she hadn’t sat in her car for a second, stomach in knots, and thought about how nice it would be to just turn around and go back home and gorge herself on a take-out bucket of KFC. How she could probably do it, and no one would miss her.
But there was something about cutting contact that felt like—failing. As if she couldn’t even hack it as a daughter, as if she was so bad at something most people didn’t have to work at that she gave it up. Threw in the towel.
Every time the thought crossed her mind, she pushed it aside, flinching away from it, refusing to look at it dead-on. She always concluded she just needed to try harder. After all, Poppy Peterson was no quitter.
Rosaline lifted their joined hands and brushed a whisper of a kiss against Poppy’s knuckles. “It’s not giving up if you were never given a chance. If you’ve given it your all. If walking away is going to save you your sanity.”
Poppy scrunched her eyes shut. “I just feel like—like no matter how hard I try, nothing I do is ever enough. Never good enough.”
Thatshewasn’t good enough and never would be.
“That feeling’s the worst,” Rosaline murmured. “Turns you into your own worst enemy after a while.”
Poppy opened her eyes. “You feel like that?”
Rosaline scoffed softly. “Only almost every day of my life.”
Not that she didn’t believe her, but it was hard for Poppy to wrap her head around someone as successful as Rosaline feeling like she wasn’t good enough.
She must’ve read the confusion on Poppy’s face because hermouth curved up in a semblance of a smile that didn’t come close to reaching her eyes. “My parents love me. I’ve never doubted that, but... they pity me too, and that’s... it’s a hard pill to swallow.”
“Pity you?” Poppy frowned. “For what?”
Rosaline seesawed her head from side to side. “You asked me once what theirthingwas. I said exceptionality, which I’m sure sounds strange, but it’s true. My parents are both amazing artists, top of their respective fields, and it was really important to them that my sisters and I find our niche, the thing that we’re best at. My sisters turned out to be wunderkinds. I mean, Helen picked up a cello when she was three and her teacher declared her a musical prodigy. She could read sheet music before she could read letters. Bianca had her first solo art exhibition in the city when she waseight.Whereas I was still drawing stick figures and butchering ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ on the piano when I was ten.”
“I think your sisters are the exception, not the rule,” Poppy said gently.
Rosaline’s laughter had an edge to it that made her chest ache. “Not in my family. If at first you don’t succeed, move on, and find what you do excel at. It didn’t matter if I enjoyed something, if I wasn’t the best at it, it was time to throw in the towel. I got a bronze medal in gymnastics and the next week my mom pulled me out and enrolled me in a competitive swim program instead. I came in second place in the county spelling bee and on the drive home my dad suggested I look into joining mathletes. I spent my entire childhood and adolescence bouncing from one sport and club and instrument to the next at my parents’ behest, trying and failing to find the thing I was exceptional at.” Rosaline shrugged. “I never found it.”
“You did,” Poppy argued. “People don’t usually know the names of their favorite celebrities’ publicists, but you’re Lyric Adair’spublicity manager andeveryoneknows it. You’re the best in the business. You’re Rosaline freaking Sinclair. You’re a legend.”
“But there’s not really a tangible way of measuring success in this industry that isn’t predicated on your client’s success. In my parents’ eyes, Lyric is exceptional. She’s the talent. I’m support staff. And there’s nothing exceptional about being a glorified personal assistant.”
She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. “They seriously called you that?”
There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with being a personal assistant. But that’s not what Rosaline was.
“Not in so many words. But... it’s their tone, you know? The way they gush over Helen and Bianca’s achievements, the way they always have. But how, when I share some bit of good news, I get placating smiles and aThat’s nice, honeyorGood for Lyric.” Rosaline stared down at their joined hands. “Like I said, they love me. I’ve never doubted that. But I’ve always known that they wanted me to be... more. And I just don’t havemorein me. I’m not special. I’m not talented. But if supporting Lyric and helping her take back control of her life and making sure she’s happy is my life’s greatest achievement, I’ll have no regrets. It would just be nice if my parents realized I don’t need my own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame to be happy.”
“You’re wrong.”
Rosaline looked up and frowned.
