through others. The speed feels good, giving me back my control. Everything about this car feels good—even the way the leather seats cup your ass. Poppy just sits beside me and lets me enjoy having my baby back. She doesn’t even complain about the speed, although I can see her white-knuckling the door handle. She knows that I’m enjoying myself, and I think she’s even enjoying herself a little too.
We drive until it gets dark and both of us start to feel hungry. Neither of us feels up to a sit-down place, and frankly, I don’t feel like parking my newly restored car on the street. So we end up swinging by a Chinese restaurant and order just about everything on the menu to take back home. I hate to admit it, but eating dinner with her on the couch is something I’m really starting to like. This couldn’t be any further from how I was raised. All meals were to be consumed in the dining room. No exceptions. But now she’s showing me a whole new way to live, and it’s something I find myself craving more and more.
“Did you really have to order the whole menu? That’s wasteful,” she reminds me as she holds all the bags in her lap.
“Truth be told, the restaurant would’ve wasted it all at the end of the night anyway. This way, at least I’m paying an independently-owned restaurant and thus supporting a small business.” I offer up a smile and she can’t argue with that. She just laughs and rolls her eyes.
We get home and spread everything out on the coffee table and dig in, eating straight from the cartons rather than using plates. “So, are you looking forward to high tea with my grandmother tomorrow?”
She snorts. “I’m not really a high tea person, but I guess it would be cool to get to know her. And honestly, I have no idea what high tea even is. Is the queen gonna be there?”
“Want a tip?”
Her eyes widen. “Yes, please!”
“Don’t bring up the fact that she’s dying. Don’t bring up her health at all, actually. She really hates it when she feels like she’s being pitied.”
Her mouth drops open. “Of course I wouldn’t bring that up! What kind of person do you think I am?”
I laugh. “I’m not saying you would. I just wanted to warn you in case something comes up.” I shrug and dive back into my food.
My phone rings and I slide it out of my pocket to see my father calling. “Hello?” I answer.
“Matthew, a courier should be there any minute to deliver some important information. I just wanted to make sure you were there to accept the package.”
“What package? What are you sending me?” I ask, still annoyed from the last time we talked.
“You’ll see. Just look it over and call me back. Alone, if you would.”
“All right, Dad. Fine,” I agree, hanging up the phone.
“Everything okay?” Poppy asks, tearing her eyes away from the TV.
“Yes, just more games from my father.” Moments later, the doorbell is ringing and I excuse myself to go answer it. I’m given a thick envelope, at which point I go directly to my office with it. I sit behind my desk and open the envelope. I pull out a big file that probably weighs five pounds.
Rolling my eyes, I open it to see a picture of Poppy on top. I flip through the pages, seeing report cards, past debts, current debts, her bank account information, and a ton of shit about her parents as well: banking information, insurance documents, and debts upon debts upon debts.
I grab my phone and call my dad immediately.
“Hello?” he answers.
“What the fuck is this shit?” I ask, pissed off and annoyed that he’s going to such lengths to ensure I don’t marry Poppy.
“You know exactly what it is. Look at that file and tell me that’s a woman who’s good enough to marry.”
I shake my head and close the file. “This is none of your business.”
“None of my business? You’re my only son. Damn straight, it’s my business.”
“Why? How? I’m not working for you. I’m not living off of you. Hell, I don’t even see you. How is my relationship your business?”
“You think I’m going to leave everything I’ve got to a son who’s marrying a gold digger? That’s all she is, son. With her debt and her parents’ debt, you’ll lose everything. And all my hard work isn’t getting stolen once I’m on my deathbed.”
“Then leave