Page 79 of Goode Vibrations

13

Poppy

Turned out there wasn’t time for nerves. It was a whirlwind of doing, going, meeting. We met a good dozen people in the first few hours. Errol kept cool at all times, and seemed to be trying to find a balance between affectionate with me and not making a big deal of what we were or weren’t. There were plenty of questions, of course.

The first person I saw was Torie, who was clearly hiding some kind of hurt, but set it aside out of joy to see me. And god, I had missed her.

She was changed. Physically, emotionally, she was…more there. Torie always seemed to just sort of float through life, aloof, disinterested. And it always seemed to me like she’d never finished growing up, physically. Like Dad’s death had stunted her move through adolescence, both physically and emotionally.

Now, something had shifted. She’d filled out, for one thing, her butt and boobs fuller, rounder, her face more angular and adult. But her presence, her mentalhere-ness, that was the most changed. And something told me it was all due to this guy Rhys with whom she’d made her own cross-country trip.

God knows I knew a little something about that.

Then there was a monster hulk brute with killer eyes named Zane, who referred to my buttoned-up, East Coast old money, “don’t swear, elbows off the table, yes ma'am no ma'am” mother as “Mama Livvie.”

Then were was a tornado of humanity—massive, muscle-bound men all with the same brown eyes, each hotter and more chiseled and more impossibly macho alpha bro than the last…and all of them kind and welcoming and funny.

Annoying.

More annoying were their girlfriends and wives and fiancés. Listen, I’m not stuck on myself, okay? But I’m just not used to feeling like the ugly duckling. Any room I walk into, there’s a greater than average likelihood that I’ll be the objectively most beautiful woman in it.

In this crowd?

I didn’t even feel like I was in the top ten. Each woman was voluptuous, with perfect hair, flawless skin, makeup on point, great clothes…and not a one was stuck-up, annoying, or arrogant.

Ugh.

Mom, you had to land here? In this?

The moment I started to get my bearings, I was yanked away from Errol and hauled off on a girls' trip to LA—on a private charter jet courtesy of Myles North, who was exactly as effortlessly rock star cool as you’d expect, and then some. There was champagne and five-star restaurants and shopping on Rodeo Drive with an unlimited credit card—and let me tell you, I was keeping track, and we racked up tens of thousands of dollars on that thing. Spa days with manicures and pedicures and massages and…

And Mom flipping out about my nipple piercings, predictably. Unpredictably, she cooled off and let it gowayfaster than expected.

On the plane ride back, I found myself sitting with Mom in the back of the jet, as alone as you could get.

She had earbuds in and dark sunglasses on, and was dozing. Or so I thought—I was texting with Errol, with whom I’d finally exchanged phone numbers.

“Tell me about him,” she said, out of the blue.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“No, just old lady dozing.”

“That was a joke, Mom, you’re not old.”

She smirked. “Old enough that keeping up with you girls is exhausting.” She slid her sunglasses up onto her head. “Anyway. This guy, Errol. He’s from Australia?”

“New Zealand.”

“Tell me about him.”

I sighed. “He’s a photographer forNational Geographic, and he’s just…insanely talented.”

She frowned. “Isn’t he kind of…young?”

I nodded. “I guess his mom was friends with an editor, and strings were pulled. He deserves it, though. He’s that good.”

“High praise coming from you. You’ve always been hard to impress, artistically.”