Her phone vibrated, and she pulled it out of her pocket. It was a message from her mom, just ‘checking in.’
Mom:Hey sweetie pie. Just checking in. Miss you just wanted to see if we can talk and have dinner soon. There’s someone I want you to meet.
Poppy knew what that meant, she had a new boyfriend.
As much as she loved her mom, and she did love her, she did not have the emotional reserve to draw on to deal with meeting one of her mom’s new men. It was just too much at the moment.
She also had a voicemail from Miss Carol, who was basically a surrogate grandmother to her. She pressed play.
“Hey Pop-tart, I haven’t heard your beautiful voice in a while or seen your face pop up on Instagram. I’m sure one of those Hemsworth brothers came and swept you off your feet, and took you to a private island that has no service, but could you please ask them to take you someplace so you can make a quick phone call to brighten an old lady’s day and give me a ring back so I can tell Roger to stop worrying about you? He hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. Love you.”
Roger was Miss Carol’s Corgi. He was named after Roger Moore, who she thought was the best James Bond. Poppy knew she needed to call Miss Carol because she was worried about her, and she understood why. Usually, Poppy was very active on social media, but she hadn’t posted in a week. The problem was if she called, Miss Carol would know something was wrong and not let it go until she knew why. Poppy just wasn’t ready to talk about why yet.
Poppy headed to her desk and buried herself in admin. There was a time she would have found solace in it—the click of her mouse, the whir of the printer, and the low hum of the ancient desktop, all a monotonous lullaby that soothed her anxieties and gave her purpose. Today, none of it worked. She’d barely sat down before she felt the prickle of a low-grade panic attack starting up behind her ribs, like static electricity gathering force for a zap.
She chewed absentmindedly on the insides of her cheeks, flipping through tasks in the EMR system, trying to focus on the flood of acronyms and red asterisks. Instead, her mind fixated on the 3.5 x 2 inch business card in her scrub pocket, a little rectangle of possibility, burning a hole through polyester. She was going to ignore it, pretend the exchange with Tabitha’s dad had never happened, but the neurons wouldn’t let go.
Nannying. She’d done it for years. Nannying was her best self. Poppy, who made lunches with crustless bread and packed up soccer snacks and got to wear shorts all summer. Poppy, who did all the voices for the fairytales at bedtime. Poppy, who dried tears and bandaged wounds after knees got scraped from bike falls. Poppy, who made chore charts with star systems and had parents thanking her for their kids being excited to clean out their closets.
She tried to conjure the feeling of those years, the warmth of a dozing toddler slumped across her chest, and the satisfactionof a well-executed bedtime routine, but the memory sparkled only for a second before the darkness crept in, a voice reminding her that she’d never have one of her own.
Not allowing herself to sink into that hole of self-pity, she reached for her Hydro Flask and took a furious pull. The chill of the water startled her back to the present.
The door opened, and Carmen, her work BFF, coasted into the room carrying a box of donuts and two coffees. She’d started in radiology a couple of years after Poppy, and over time, the two had become each other’s emotional support humans, trading war stories about patients, managers, and the endless bureaucratic gauntlet that was Pine Ridge General.
“Hey, Popsicola.” Carmen flopped into the adjacent ergonomic chair with a sigh deeply at odds with her actual work output. “How ya doin’?”
“Great,” Poppy lied, forcing a smile. She’d developed an extensive collection of rubber smiles since her diagnosis, tight-lipped, toothy, crooked, and wide. This one was the let’s-pretend-everything-is-fine smile, which she’d been working on all week. She had a hunch that, if she kept practicing, she’d eventually start to believe it herself.
Carmen eyed her. “You are such a bad liar.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Poppy did her best to keep her voice light, but it cracked like old paint. She grabbed the yogurt she’d stored in the mini fridge, popped the top, and took a large scoop, as if it might serve as a shield.
“You do realize that, just because you keep showing up to work and eating a yogurt at your desk every day, that doesn’t mean you’re okay.”
“It’s a good yogurt. Greek, extra protein.”
“Gross,” Carmen gagged, but her eyes were gentle.
“Do you ever think about quitting?” Poppy asked aloud, surprising herself. “Just, like, quitting life as you know it and starting fresh somewhere else?”
Carmen didn’t miss a beat. “Every day. But then I remember my cat needs me, and also I have zero marketable skills. Unless sarcasm is suddenly in demand.” She sighed. “I can’t believe it’s Liam’s last day. You guys are Liam and Poppy, Poppy and Liam. You’re like Pine Ridge’s Bert and Ernie.”
Right. She thought Poppy was bringing it up because it was her brother’s last day at the hospital.
“I’m Ernie, obviously.” Poppy teased, hoping to cover the fact that the question had been one of self-reflection, not sibling related.
“Obviously,” Carmen grinned. “I keep thinking he’ll change his mind. That he’ll realize he can’t live without the hospital drama and the breakroom donuts and the, you know.” She made a vague, all-encompassing gesture.
Carmen was joking, Liam hated drama and gossip of any kind. He also wasn’t a fan of donuts. Maybehewas AI.
Sometimes it took another person doing something drastic in their lives to put yours in perspective. Poppy was doing her level best not to let the fact that her big brother was leaving the hospital depress her. One of the main reasons she enjoyed working at Pine Ridge was because Liam also worked there.
Growing up, she didn’t have siblings, which was something she always wanted. Getting to work with her brother, whom she’d only met eight years ago, was an opportunity she hadn’t wanted to pass up. But now that he was no longer working there, her job had totally lost its appeal.
Thinking of her brother reminded her that she was supposed to go with him as a plus one tomorrow to his dad’s wedding. Or the man who hethoughtwas his dad his entire life. But she wasn’t sure she was actually going to go through with it or ifshe was going to bail. Still, if she was going, she needed to know some details.
Instead of bothering Liam, Poppy pulled up social media for the bride’s daughter, Frankie. She’d met her the week before and thought she might have some info about the wedding. She scrolled down her page, and although there was no info, there was one post that caught her attention. Frankie was bookended by two identical giants holding axes. In fairness, Frankie might as well be a fairy. At five feet tall, she was mini-sized. These men were Paul Bunyan-sized and had to be the twin brothers she’d talked about. One in particular had Poppy’s bells and whistles singing, her entire body tingled from head to toe. He had dreamy brown eyes, thick tousled hair, broad shoulders, and a smile that could melt butter in a snowstorm… who knew it was possible to ooze sexiness from a two-dimensional photo? Maybe her hormones were not on vacation after all. She tapped on the photo, hoping to find out who the man was, unfortunately, neither bookend was tagged.
