I chuckle. “No, not exactly. I mean, it’s one of his hobbies. He has multiple hobbies, but his main job is, well, more complicated than that.” Pulling out my phone, I swipe through Instagram and see posts from Harvey’s house. He throws parties every single time his parents are out of town, and since his mom travels a lot for her book tours, we’re there often.

“He has Lenny doing something. Should I be worried?” When she looks directly at me with her wide, doe eyes, I want to say no. I want to say that whatever he is doing, you won’t lose him. But I don’t want to lie to her.

“Knock, knock, bitches!” Betty shoves my door open, carrying a box filled with what I’m guessing is alcohol. “The party is here.” Poppy blinks up at the door, and just when I think she’s going to get scared and crawl into a hole, away from my extremely extroverted bestie, her face beams with a smile and she stands to her feet.

“I’m Poppy.”

Betty pauses, slowly lowering the carton of alcohol onto the desk while side-eyeing Poppy. “You are cute… damaged, but cute.”

Poppy seems unfazed by Betty’s judgment. “The damage is here to stay.” I’m hoping one of these days she will open up and tell me what happened, but I’m not counting on it.

Betty tosses a bottle at her. “Drink, and then we leave.” I take one out of her hands.

“We’ve got Oscar on our ass.”

Betty whines, flopping down onto the chair and crossing her legs. “Papa doesn’t want to let up?”

“Nope.” I scoop up what I’m wearing tonight. A simple tight black dress that hugs my pinched waist and splayed-out hips. The thin spaghetti straps over ample cleavage spill out the top, and the bottom comes just over my knee. Not too short, but tight and revealing where it counts. It’s also easy to cover up with a big jacket to get out of the house. After scrubbing up in the shower while sipping on my mixer, I squeeze the dress on and head back out to my room, smiling when I see Betty making more effort with Poppy. Poppy hides her pain in a way that is obvious. If Papa raised her, she’d be better at it.

“You wearing the boots?” Betty calls out from my bedroom as I shuffle through my walk-in closet.

I skip past all the designer shit and pull out my vintage boots I scored on Etsy. They’re black leather military style but have a thick platform on the soles. They tie up to mid-calf, and bonus points because they’re worn into comfort.

I walk out, brushing my hair to the side when both Poppy and Betty stare back at me.