But not enough to matter. Not enough to interfere with work.
I’m in the middle of reviewing case precedent when my phone buzzes.
Text message.
Unknown number.
My stomach does something weird.
I open it.
POPPY:George update: FINALLY picked up. Your lawn is safe. Also, Muffin misses you. She’s been sitting by the front door for an hour.
A picture follows. Muffin, pressed against the glass door, looking tragically abandoned. I stare at the photo longer than I should.
Then I type back:Good. About George, not Muffin.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
POPPY:She’s really committed to this heartbreak thing. Very dramatic.
DEAN:She’s dramatic about everything.
POPPY:Wonder where she gets that from.
I almost smile. Almost.
DEAN:How did you get this number?
POPPY:Mason. Hope that’s okay.
It’s not okay. It’s the opposite of okay. Because now she can text me whenever she wants, and I’ll probably answer, and that’s exactly the kind of personal shit Feldstein was talking about.
DEAN:Fine.
POPPY:Such enthusiasm. I’m swooning.
I put the phone down. Face down. Like that’ll help.
It buzzes again.
I ignore it.
It buzzes again.
I flip it over.
POPPY:Also, quick question about tomorrow’s delivery schedule…
Work. It’s about work. I can answer work questions.
DEAN:What about it?
POPPY:The florist needs access to the kitchen for water. Is that okay?
DEAN:Yes.
POPPY:And the caterer wants to do a walk-through at 8 a.m.
