Chapter 7

* * *

MICHAEL

Almost two weeks later…

"Soooo big date tonight, huh?"Michael jeered, standing at the doorway to the bathroom where his sister was curling her hair – and Madison promptly shut it in his gloating face.

"Hey! That was rude…"

"You know I'm going out with Emmett tonight, so why stand there smirking like some smarmy twerp?"

"Smarmy? Really? C'mon Maddie…"

"Madison," she corrected, interrupting him, the duo talking to each other through the door. "And I'm busy."

"I'm not," he retorted – and it was true.

Michael was scheduled off four days in a row, which surprised him, but that was just how the classes fell. Here, he was less than a day into this unexpected break, and he had no clue what to do with himself. His parents were talking about working in the garden together, making starry eyes at each other. Madison was going out with the guy she'd had a crush on for forever-and-a-day, which was an odd twist considering she'd scalded him less than two weeks ago.

He was alone… again.

"So go call Poppy – or better yet? Why don't you take her out somewhere nice and quit pouting all the time…"

"You're mean sometimes, I swear."

"No, I just know you – and I know that you need to be stopped before your mouth runs away from you. It's a Madison Family trait from Mom's side."

"Which is why you got her last name for your first one, dork."

"Me? Pshaw… I'm cool as a cucumber."

"Yeah, right."

"And Miss Poppy Walters? Are you ‘cool' around her… or maybe that was a one-time event - hmm, dear brother?"

Madison was the only person who knew how much he loved Poppy still – and how deeply it cut him years ago when she said she didn't return his feelings. Seeing her at the opening of Madison's coffee shop had resulted in several sleepless nights, remembering that first kiss they'd shared, and the near-kiss that day by the hangar before he left for the Academy.

Just hearing his sister taunt him about a love he would never have, never experience, was more painful than everything he'd been through recently. Michael cursed under his breath at the fresh burst of emotional scarring within him – only to have the bathroom door jerked open. He glared at her, unsure what to say, before putting his finger in his sister's surprised face.

"You… h-have no… no t-tact and no empathy," he snarled, stammering hotly as his temper got the better of him.

"Aww, poor widdle Michael getting mad at his sissy?" Madison pouted dramatically, taunting him – and he saw red.

"Like a p-pit v-viper or a… a shrew! I don't know w-what Emmett sees in you, I swear!" – and threw his hands in the air, walking off. He was so flustered, so tired from lack of sleep, and so emotionally charged that he was afraid to say something that would leave a mark, not unlike the one he was currently trying to keep from tearing asunder in his own soul.

He raced down the stairs, grabbed his keys, and jerked open the front door… only to see Poppy standing there about to walk away. At the sound of the front door opening, she turned toward him, her dark glistening eyes meeting his.

"You didn't text me," she whispered.

"I lied," he began, trying to lash out… and couldn't.

"I did too, you know," she began as a tear cascaded down her cheek. Her eyes were raw with emotion, full of hope and yearning, and he just didn't have it in him to fight this anymore. "I can't tell you how many times I've driven past hoping to see you here."

"Well, you should have stopped."

"Everyone told me to give you space…"

… And Michael sagged.

People always seemed to volunteer information they thought would help along the way, and he could believe her words. Hadn't he been the recipient of a massive amount of advice lately himself?

"I think I've clicked on your website a thousand times," he admitted, feeling himself fall apart as he stared at her, falling into those beloved dark eyes once again. "Watched your travels and read your posts…"

"You did?"

"Yeah. I can't help myself."

"I can't either," Poppy smiled tearfully, taking a step toward him – and Michael was already moving in her direction. The drowning and adrift sensation that he'd felt for so long was fading. Just seeing her there was like spotting a life raft in the middle of the ocean. He grasped her, pulling her close. At the same time, she was threading her arms around his neck, moving to kiss him like both of their lives depended on it.

Like two magnets drawn together, two orbits finally in sync, the feeling of perfection was staggering. The two of them stood together in the doorway, lost in each other's arms. He heard Poppy's soft sob and captured it with his mouth, tasting her like a man dying of thirst.

He felt someone tap him bluntly on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry – and you were right," Madison said as she squeezed past him at the doorway, breaking that fragile spell between him and Poppy.

"Huh?" Michael uttered in a daze, wondering if he was dreaming. He kept expecting her to disappear, to wake up, or have Poppy lash out at him for taking so long to talk to her, but all he could do was stare at her lips, picturing them, memorizing them, like an unbalanced person focusing on something to keep them from tipping over.

Firefly had told him once on a Friday that if he got drunk, to put one foot on the floor to keep himself steady and prevent the ‘hurls.' Poppy's pink smeared lipstick was his ‘foot on the floor' because he could have sworn his whole world was spinning out of control right now.

"I said it's like watching a big mouth bass open and close its mouth," Madison said, and he heard another person laugh but didn't care. He only had eyes for the woman that was there before him in this magical dream.

"I just love fish…" Poppy whispered before kissing him again.

Ya' know what? I freakin' love fish too,he mused, deciding that he was going to get some bumper stickers, magnets, and a shirt that proudly proclaimed it. Maybe he'd even get one of those big hooks to put on his baseball cap. Yep, if fantasizing about Poppy made them both think of fish, he was about to become the world"s most avid fisherman in the world.

Where's my waders, yo…?

He was lost in the moment, kissing her with everything he had, only to hear a voice a few moments later.

"Eh-hem," his father interrupted. "Earth-to-space cadet…?"

Cadet?

Poppy?

Oh gosh…

Michael dragged his lips from hers – and staggered backward fearfully, only to see a flash of pain in her eyes as she took a step toward him.

"Don't," Poppy begged, holding out her hands. His parents were having a conversation about them in front of them, and they were just standing there looking at each other, both in different states of alarm.

"Whatever you are thinking, frightened of, whatever it is… please don't shut me out again, Michael," Poppy pleaded tearfully. "Let's talk."

"Um, yeah, I can honestly say this wasn't on my Bingo board for today, Pumpernickel."

"Wasn't on mine either, Pookie – but I'm not upset about it either."

"I got this," his father said bluntly. "I'm tired of the whole pouting, wishy-washy thing… and it worked for us."

"You are seriously scary and brilliant at the same time. Have I mentioned that trip was worth the broken arm all those years ago?"

"You didn't say that at the time."

"I wasn't as smart as I am now."

"Now we have each other."

His parents shared a long look, a sly smile, and then winked at each other. His father held out his fist before him, and his mother bumped it with her own before both giggled like a couple of mischievous kids… and turned toward him. Michael took a step back but wasn't fast enough. His father grabbed him by the upper arm, only to see his mother corralling Poppy before her, shoving the younger woman gently forward.

"Poppy, which do you think would take it better? Your mama? I'm thinking about your mother because your father can get scary-mad, although he's been pretty sweet these last few months…"

"Have you eaten lunch, Michael? Gotta go to the bathroom, son?"

"Wh-What's g-going on?" he stammered as his parents' shoved him into the pantry where the tornado shelter had been installed about five years ago. It was a massive metal box that had shelves inside and there was a hatch that led under the house to a tiny root cellar. He remembered playing as a boy down there with his cars because of the brick paver floor. His parents rarely used this storage area, but it was a comfort in case of damaging storms in the area.

"There's crackers, bottled water, cans of nuts, and well… have fun," his mother said happily, pushing Poppy into the pantry with him – and shut the door. His parents put him in the tornado shelter with Poppy and heard an ominous click – from outside.

"Dad? Mom?" he began, releasing Poppy and banging on the door, trying the handle. "Hello? The latch is stuck again, and this isn't funny…"

"It's not stuck either," his father said candidly. "You two need to figure out things and talk without an audience. We'll call Poppy's parents, y'all get comfy, and you are welcome."

"Wait… what?"

"Remember, it worked for us," his mother called out in a sing-song voice that was already fading in the distance, causing Micheal to pound on the door frantically.

"You crashed in the desert!" he hollered, banging once more… and then paused. "Mom? Dad?"

"Did your parents lock us in the pantry? Are they insane?"

"I'm starting to wonder," Michael muttered, putting his head against the cool metal and feeling a flare of panic blossom within him. "Look," he began, almost as if he was needing to talk himself down off the ledge so he didn't start stuttering again. "We're perfectly safe. We have food. It's air-conditioned, and we can just wait them out."

"I hate dark places," Poppy admitted quietly. "It's the pitch dark that gets to me. Is there a light or something…"

"Yeah. Hang on," he said quietly, feeling in front of him for the string that would be hanging from the light fixture on the high ceiling of the pantry located under the stairwell. Grasping the string, he pulled on it and saw a flash as the lightbulb burned out. "Are you kidding me?"

"Are there bulbs in the pantry?"

"The ceilings are ten feet high – and the stepladder is in the garage."

"Oh."

"Yep. ‘Oh' is right."

"How long will they leave us here?"

"I have no clue because they have never done this to me before, but I can tell you as sure as I'm standing here… their nursing home is getting more and more shabby in the future," he muttered grimly – only to hear Poppy's soft giggle in the darkness.

"You love your parents and would never put them in a nursing home when they are older… and we both know it."

"It's tempting right now…"

"Because you are feeling cornered and angry with me."

Michael sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the world slip from his shoulders. He wasn't sure what to say right now because he was hurt. There had been so much time wasted, so many things that each had gone through, and to just wipe that slate made it feel like all those moments were insignificant. Things could not become ‘All-better-now' simply because they'd finally given into lust and kissed each other… could they?

"You know, I was angry at you too," Poppy whispered in the darkness, and he heard a shuffling sound.

"That's fine," he scoffed. "I can deal with you being angry… and you can get over it too. That's not on me if you don't like something. That's your problem."

"I thought maybe we could try starting over or…"

"Why?" he snapped. "So you can get cold feet in front of ‘Daddy' and blow me off again? No, thank you."

"I never blew you off."

"You implied that you loved me and then changed your mind like you were changing your underwear. That's not love, that is distinctly ‘blowing me off' in front of your father."

"Yeah, well, I was also seventeen, scared, and you were leaving for the Academy for several years – but you know what else isn't ‘love'? Treating someone badly, avoiding them, hiding from them, or acting like a child when you return."

"So now I'm a child?"

"You're acting like one."

"You are, too."

"Fine."

"Whatever."

"Exactly."

Michael sat down on the floor of the pantry, wishing he could have made it smooth or easy, but instead, the small grunt and pop from his knee reverberated in the silence.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"I heard you grunt, and something made a popping sound."

"I'm wearing snug jeans, and my knee popped, okay? Wanna know anything else?"

"You don't have to be a jerk about it."

"People grunt, make noises, joints pop, and things happen," he snapped as his stomach growled loudly. "Like that, okay?"

"Maybe you should eat something, so you aren't quite so crabby?" Poppy muttered and just as Michael was about to say something, he heard cellophane rustling as something hit him square in the head.

"Owww? That was my head."

"Well, I can't see… and good!"

"Good? Thanks a lot. What was that, anyhow?"

"I think it was a snack pack of crackers. I'm not sure. I grabbed the first thing and ‘yeeted' it in the direction of your voice."

"Glad it wasn't canned tomatoes or something. I wonder if you would regret knocking me out or if you'd flip-flop again and pretend to act all worried," he muttered, opening the pack of crackers and eating one. "Peanut butter. You want one?"

"Are they stale or something?"

"Can't I try to be nice?"

"Why start now?"

"Oh my gosh, what is with you?"

"What is with you?!"

"Never mind," he muttered hotly. "I'm done talking."

"Me too."

"I thought this was some dream. Turns out I was right… it's a nightmare."

"All of that you just said… that was talking."

"I know that."

"Then what's your problem?"

"Y-You!" he hissed angrily, feeling tears threatening as he stammered out the emotionally charged word that seemed to hang in the air. "M-My p-problem is you, Poppy! It's al-always b-been you!"

Michael finally truly lost his edge and admitted it between them. He heard her draw in her breath in the darkness and almost apologized, but instead sat there stubbornly, waiting. His sister used to tell him, ‘whoever spoke first in an argument – lost,'… and he wasn't about to lose.

He was in for the fight of his life.