Page 10 of Badd Daddy
“It’s awful. And she’ll deserve it.” Poppy sighed. “Anyway, it was me and Reed and Lucille and Tony. We stayed at Tony’s grandparents’ beach cottage and we studied.”
“Studied what? Vodka tonic ratios?”
“Mom. Eew, no. Vodka is gross.” She laughed nervously. “Not that I’d know anything about it.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “I’m not stupid, sweetheart. You’ve been at university on your own since you were seventeen. You think I don’t know you’ve spent a significant portion of your time drinking?”
She gave me a long, searching look. “Actually, less than you’d think. I don’t really like it.” Her eyes flicked away. “Not anymore at least. I got over that really fast.”
“Anything I should know?”
She shrugged. “I’ll tell you, someday. Not now. Nothing to worry about, though. Just a few bad experiences that made me realize it’s not as fun as everyone seems to think.” She twisted and glanced at someone over her shoulder, listening. “I have to go, Mom.”
“Me too. I have a client meeting in twenty minutes.”
She frowned at me. “So…this thing where you’re living in Alaska now. You’re seriously staying there? Like, forever?”
I laughed. “Honey, yes. I own a condo here. I have clients here, friends, a life. I live in Ketchikan, now, sweetheart. For real.”
“I guess I was thinking it was a phase or something. Like you’d live there for a couple months and come back to the coast.”
“I mean, technically, I am on the coast. Just…the other one. Sort of. It’s not really on the coast itself, though. More, channelsnearthe coast.”
“Mom. Don’t be obtuse.”
I laughed. “Don’t use my own phrases against me.”
“Why, though?”
“Why what?”
She shrugged. “Why Ketchikan?”
“I love it here. It’s quaint. Peaceful. Cute. Fun. There’s lots to do, but it’s not hectic. People are nice.” I sighed. “Look, babe, this is a different conversation. You said you have to go, and so do I. If you want to talk about why I finally chose something for myself, call me when you have an hour or two to spare.” I smiled at her. “I mean that, despite the sarcasm.”
“You know, I just may do that.” She blew me a kiss. “Love you. I’ll call you later.”
“Love you too, Pops. Bye.” I closed the case on the iPad and leaned back against the chair.
Of all my kids, I worried the most about her. Headstrong, independent, willful, talented, absurdly intelligent, and more than a little naive, Poppy was a tornado and a firestorm and a wild mustang all rolled into a tiny but explosive package. Her teachers had wanted her to skip grades as early as kindergarten, but I’d refused, wanting her to stay with her classmates and friends. Year after year, she’d tested out of grades, and I’d refused to skip her ahead. Finally, by the time she got to her junior year of high school she was sick of being bored stiff at school and had gone behind my back, forging my signature to get herself sent to the local community college for advanced courses and college credit. I hadn’t caught on until she was three semesters in, and realized I couldn’t hold her back anymore. She’d graduated high school three weeks before her seventeenth birthday and had been accepted to not one, not two, but three Ivy League schools with partial rides. Now at eighteen, she was a sophomore at Columbia…and already over it, it seemed.
I had a feeling I’d have company here in Ketchikan before long.
I had to laugh at how indignant she’d been about Cassie telling me about the Hamptons trip. Fact was, I hadn’t needed Cassie’s information—Poppy had used her credit card, and I’d gotten alerts about it. She didn’t think about things like that. When I’d given her the card for sundry expenses and emergencies, I got notifications every time she used it. She had the mind of an artist—big picture, head in the clouds, full of passion and zeal and always onto the next thing, but never thinking about things like detail or logic or sense. Or, sometimes, basic responsibility.
Despite all that, Poppy could take care of herself, despite last-minute scrambling, sudden realizations, and a lot of reminders from me and her sisters.
Letting her live alone in New York was the scariest thing I’d ever done, and I still wasn’t sure it had been the right thing to do. It was what she wanted, though, and I knew if I’d refused to let her go, she’d have run away or done something silly like that. I thought it was better to send her in a way I could keep tabs on her rather than have her go off on her own with no checks and balances.
I sighed. I had a feeling I’d be getting an angry call from Cassie soon—when Poppy threatened to send a glitter bomb, she wasn’t kidding; that was the kind of thing she’d actually do. Crazy child.
Setting the iPad aside, I tugged my clipboard in front of me and perused my notes about what to do with Lucas’s apartment. I’d decided on something just a few shades lighter than pine green for the walls, and we’d go to a resale shop—different than a thrift store, in terms of the quality of items—for an easy chair, a love seat, a coffee table, and some end tables. I’d find some macho, masculine artwork for the walls—sailboats or pirate ships, animals, landscapes, things like that. I assumed he had little to nothing in the way of dishes or kitchen utensils, so we would need to get that organized, as well.
Sigh. Men. Totally helpless without a woman around. Darren had been the same way—if I left him alone for a weekend, laundry would pile up to the ceilings, dishes would go crusty and moldy, and he’d eat nothing but pizza, frozen chicken nuggets, and carryout.
I set those thoughts aside—specifically Darren and his dietary choices, and the results thereof.
Lucas, though—I knew I needed to stay away from him beyond friendship, simply because he bore the hallmarks of everything that had led to me being a widow in the first place… and then some. He was clearly carrying a few extra pounds, and he knew it. And there were signs of other issues in his life.