“My baby,” she whimpered, brushing the tears from off my cheeks. “My darling Pippa.”
The name hit me like an arrow, realizing whatever acceptance and love that hug was supposed to bring, was meant for her.
“Mom, I’m Poppy.”
She frowned. Her hold on me lessening. “I knew that,” she said coldly, straightening her dress. “How are you doing, dear?”
Before I could answer her, my father marches over, his eyes filled with tears I’d never seen him shed before. “Come on, dear. The minister is waiting for us.”
“Daddy!” I called out, reaching for him, hoping he’d greet me with something at least somewhat comforting. He didn’t. He was still pissed that I missed my first week of Stanford. Even though it was the same week of Pippa’s funeral. Maybe he just didn’t want me here.
I followed behind them, stopping when I realized they didn’t leave me any room on the pew next to them. Their closest friends have taken my spot, all of them too focused on my parents to scoot over.
“Mom, is there somewhere for me to sit?”
She briefly looked up, then quickly hung her head. “I’m sure there’s a seat somewhere.”
The words stung. Like even my mother who gave me birth didn’t give a fuck about me anymore. Not when their precious daughter Pippa was gone.
“You heard your mother. Go find somewhere to sit. Somewhere not near us.”
The coldness in his voice sent shivers down my spine.
I was seconds away from fleeing the ceremony, when a protective arm wound around my shoulder, centering me.
For a second, I thought it was Wesley, but I looked up into that familiar mask, finding Rich staring down at me with pity in his eyes.
“Wesley wouldn’t let you do this alone.”
“Wesley?”
He nodded. “He had a feeling your parents would do something like this, so he sent me in his place. Come on, I saved you a seat over here.”
He guided me over to an empty pew, and sat down next to me, allowing me to soak his shoulder with my tears.
Wesley sent him.
The words shook up something inside me, but I kept it down, refusing to give in.
You don’t love him… I reminded myself.
You don’t.
But maybe there was more to Wesley than I thought. He did send Rich to be there for me, and I didn’t know how much I needed a friend until that very moment, even if the olive branch only lasted until the end of the funeral.
At least I didn’t have to go through it alone.
“Hey, sweetheart, either fucking talk or kick rocks.”
“S—Sorry,” I stutter out, unable to control my nerves. “A f—friend told me you might have something to help me forget my existence for a while.”
His smile pulls evilly. “Seeking something for recreation, pain, or do you just want to get lost?”
“I guess the second two.”
He nods, motioning for me to follow him into an alley. Everything in me tells me to turn around and run, but the fucked-up part of me keeps moving forward, refusing to give in.
“What’s your poison?” he questions when he has me out of the view of others.
