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Chapter eleven

Jump

R ai stood in the darkened room with the screens, thinking.

He'd shut the first door behind him, and he should keep going, go out the screen door into the fading rain, because Poppy had told him to please go , but for all that he had resolved himself to be good and human and, as Ofelia had put it, not a selfish brat with rocks for brains , it also felt wrong to just fly away when he knew Poppy was upset.

After all his promises, all his proclamations of his genius at flattering and coddling mothers, he had broken Jen, the mother of Poppy, who had made him coffee and made him welcome and even made him laugh, and the guilt that he felt now, he deserved.

It's not you , Poppy had said, because she was kind, but was he not the one who had delighted in making her turn the shade of pink that had caused Jen such distress?

He had even spoken of it, proud of his accomplishment, swelling the flood with his selfishness.

He had thought himself such a success, thought following Ofelia's advice would make him worthy, but it was whole hours later, and he was still a fool. Simply a fool that had mastered a few human metaphors, the ones about love .

Perhaps he should not have also learned the ones about breaking things. No matter how much fun they had seemed.

His shoes were there, sitting in the middle of the floor; Poppy had excused herself at one point to stuff them with newspaper, and he hadn’t been able to convey to her that he preferred them damp.

The same was true of his socks, which were still wherever Poppy had taken them.

He did not need them, but he had liked them, their subtle blue pattern that made him think of raindrops in a puddle.

He’d done a lot of desperate phone research that day on dating, metaphors, and every unknown word Poppy had said, but none of it had told him what a man should do if his socks were stolen by his woman.

Please go , she'd said, but she'd also said later , which could mean anything from a few minutes to years, and as he tried to puzzle out which she’d meant, his mind swirled with reasons he should not leave until he had at least seen that she was well.

The socks were nothing, but Poppy had offered him an umbrella and been distressed that he had walked in the rain.

He had not walked, of course—had in fact spent the late afternoon in the storm clouds, his magnificent shirt tucked away in faerie so his wings could be free while he rejuvenated himself—but he knew by now that Poppy would feel guilt if she thought he had been made miserable by lack of covering.

And while coming to Poppy was worth any misery, would she not feel rejected if he endured discomfort to leave her?

It did not matter that he would not in fact be uncomfortable—she would think it, and that did matter.

And there was the fact that he had not yet shown her his phone, nor acquired her number.

Ofelia had shown him how to add contacts and had even added her own number—though not, she had said forebodingly, for him to pester her for romantic advice.

I have already granted you more wisdom, she’d said, than most young men acquire in a lifetime.

You may contact me in an emergency, or in the infinitesimal chance you wish to speak of something that is not your misbegotten love life.

At the time, Rai had been certain that he would not need any further guidance.

But what was he to do if he could not even use his phone for its intended purpose?

And all of that was moot, because the one thing that kept him from flying off into the clouds and leaving was simply the look in Poppy's eyes. She had seemed terrified, and sad, and like her heart was breaking. Which Rai had not caused. He was sure of that, at least.

He would not leave that look behind.

And so he stayed, though he could not stand still, pacing around and around in the screened-in space. He did not care if staying made him a selfish brat.

He did not know how many times he had circled the room when he heard the inside door open. He turned from the corner he had just reached and watched Poppy step out onto the tile. The room beyond the door was dark now.

She took two steps and paused. “Rai?” She didn’t turn her head.

“I am here.” He walked toward her, slowly. She did not seem angry. Her hair gleamed in the faint twinkling lights that ringed the space, like a circlet of stars.

“I figured,” she said in a voice both wry and weary. “Either that or you walked home barefoot. Which I have to tell you is a terrible idea in Arizona. Even when the sidewalk isn’t lava.”

He paused a few steps away, uncertain. He understood now how her mother was fragile. Poppy looked fragile now, too, like she was made of colored glass. “Is it…welcome that I stayed?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I didn’t expect you to, but I’m glad.” She glanced at him, her face calm and sad, and then she smiled very slightly. “Sorry about that.”

“Is your mother well?”

“She’s asleep.” Poppy looked away and scrubbed her hands over her face and through her hair. “God, I am so sorry.”

Rai looked at her, the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes, the way her shoulders had curled in on her like an autumn leaf about to fall, and he did not know what to do.

Since the day he had ridden a cloud away from the lake his parents called home, he had delighted in the tempest, the flood, destruction rained upon those below.

It was not that he did not understand comfort or wish to give it.

He simply did not know how.

Finally, though, he reached out his hand and carefully patted her back, the way she had patted his head that morning.

She let out a small sound that might have been a laugh or a sob, and then she stepped toward him and laid her head on his shoulder.

He gathered her close, rubbing his cheek into her soft hair, and closed his eyes.

It was new, this feeling in his chest. He didn’t understand it, but it didn’t matter.

His head was full of rocks anyhow, and this wasn’t the time for hard things.

Rai could be soft, like a still, quiet lake. He could be peace. And the way Poppy was burrowing her face into his shoulder meant he could be comfort, as well.

He gave it to her, all of it, and stopped trying to think just what it was.

“I guess I owe you an explanation,” she mumbled into his chest after a bit.

“There is no debt,” Rai said. “But I will listen. ”

“It’s gonna be long.”

“I am patient,” Rai lied. He would be patient, for her.

“Can we sit? I’m a little worn out.”

Reluctantly, he loosened his embrace and let Poppy lead him to sit upon a loveseat with geometric cushions set at precise angles.

She melted into his shoulder again when they were both seated, and this time he knew to open to her, let her arrange herself the way she wanted against him, let his arm fall into place.

It felt right, having her there, still and quiet beside him as the rainstorm intensified outside.

“She’s a good mom,” Poppy finally said.

“Yes,” Rai said. The rain was misting through the screens now, just enough to add a sheen of dew to Poppy’s hair.

She sighed and reached out for his hand, winding her fingers in his.

“I used to think she was perfect. Almost a fairy princess, too good to be true. She was a stay-at-home mom, and Dad was an artist who worked from home, and I felt so lucky compared to all the kids who didn’t have their parents all the time.

Maybe she was a little fussier than most moms, a little more careful, but I thought it was just because she loved me so much.

And she did. She really did.” She stopped and took a deep breath.

Rai pressed his lips to her hair, not wanting to interrupt. He had only a fool’s words anyway.

“I got over it, of course,” she continued.

“The usual things—trying to grow up too fast, teen rebellion, all of it. And it started to make me mad, the way she’d make me check in when I was at a friend’s house, the way she’d stress out about Dad’s health when it was obvious nothing was wrong with him.

But when I complained to Dad about it, he just told me it was her way of loving us.

And he was… I wanted to be him. I wanted to grow up to be just like him.

So when he told me that, I believed him. ”

“You were a good daughter.”

She snorted faintly. “I was a teenager. I’m skipping over all the parts where I sucked, all the times we argued or fought. You’re getting the misty-watercolor-memories version of the way we were.”

“Very well,” Rai said as gently as he could. “You were a terrible daughter. Shame be upon you.”

That earned him a bit of a laugh, but it faded quickly.

“You know how when you’re a child, or even a teen, you see things, but you don’t always know what you’re seeing?

So I knew my mom took medications. I knew she’d have appointments even when she wasn’t sick, times when Dad took care of us for the day.

I even knew the signs of a bad day, knew when to go get Dad out of his studio, knew just what he would say to smooth the bad day over and make things all right again.

And when I left for college, it was just business as usual.

I was used to checking in with her every night, so I kept doing that, even when… ”

“When what?” Rai prompted, sensing something off.

“When she and Dad moved out here,” Poppy said.

“They were both so happy. Dad had always wanted to paint the Southwest, and Mom felt at home in Tucson. When we talked on the phone, all she’d say was how much she loved it here, even the things people don’t usually love, like black widows and javelinas.

Or the fact that every plant out here is sharp. ”

He did not know what javelinas were, but he knew black widow spiders. He’d been fascinated by them as a child. “She seems to love many things.”