We Are Us

“It’s done. Her public defender said her best bet was to plead guilty in return for less time. The arraignment is tomorrow.”

“That’s it? You’re telling me all this now, and there’s nothing we can do?”

“I only found out yesterday,” Sadie says. “And she didn’t want me to tell you until everything was settled.”

“Settled?” I slap my hand over my eyes and fall back against the mattress. “There has to be some way we can help her, Sadie.”

“I’m all ears, sis.”

The knock on my door startles me. I tell Sadie to hang on, wiping my wet cheeks as I cross the room. Seeing Tucker, I only vaguely note the darkly furious expression on his face before I collapse into the same puddle of tears and anguish Sadie was drowning in when she called.

Extracting my phone from my hand, he leads me back to my bed as he talks to Sadie. Asking for details like the name of my mom’s arresting officer and her lawyer. The date of her arrest and exactly where she’s being held. He sits down at my desk, taking notes on a sheet of loose leaf paper.

“She hasn’t entered her plea yet, right?” Tucker asks. Then, “Okay, let me make a call. My uncle was the DA for a few years, but now he’s a partner at a big law firm. Maybe he can help.”

Gratitude rushes through me. Of course, Tucker has powerful relatives. That’s the way his world works. If Tucker’s mother got in trouble, she wouldn’t throw herself on the mercy of the court. She would make a few calls. Or her husband would. Or her brother or sister or any of her friends in high places.

Tucker gets his uncle on the phone. “My girlfriend’s mom is in trouble. I need your help.”

I’m a little taken aback by the girlfriend comment, but I chalk it up to standard shorthand. What else would he say—the mom of a girl I’m kinda-sorta seeing?

He relays the details he got from Sadie and hangs up. “He said he knows the prosecutor on your mom’s case. He’ll call me back as soon as they talk.”

I exhale a huge sigh. “Thank you, Tucker. I really… I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

He joins me on my bed. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

But he will. Just like when I lost my scholarship. People like Tucker have a way of making things work out.

“So, while we wait to hear back, why don’t you tell me about the guy I saw you with today.”

I give him a blank look, my mind still focused on my mom.

“The guy you were hugging as if your life depended on it.”

The furious expression on Tucker’s face when I first opened the door—it was because he saw me with Gavin. “He’s—He’s just an old friend.” The edge to Tucker’s voice makes me downplay my feelings.

“That’s all? Because it looked like more.”

I decide against outright lying. I’ve done nothing wrong. “His name is Gavin. He is—” I correct myself, “was my boyfriend before coming here.”

“He’s the one who gave you that necklace.”

I nod, keeping my expression neutral.

But Tucker is scowling. “You said he would come back one day. Is that what you’re telling me—that he’s back?”

I ignore the instinctive lurch of hope, of happiness, that pulses through me at the thought. “What? No. I mean… Gavin lives in Michigan now. He—”

Tucker tosses his phone up with one hand and catches it with the other, drawing my attention to it. Reminding me of the call he’s just made and the one we’re waiting for. “I’m doing this because you’re important to me, Poppy. But I guess I should probably ask… am I important to you?”

That’s when I see it, the inherent quid pro quo in this conversation, in this relationship—whatever its label—between Tucker and me. “Of course, you are,” I say. Which is true. Tucker is important to me.

Important for now.

Until this moment, I’ve never considered the possibility of a future with Tucker. We come from completely separate worlds. Even if I move to Manhattan after school, Tucker and I still won’t travel in the same circles. He is oysters and caviar and penthouse parties with DJs flown in from London. I am…

Frankly, I don’t have a clue what my life will be like in Manhattan. Just that it won’t be anything like Tucker’s.

I’m saved from answering when Tucker’s uncle calls back. He says that my mom’s deal will be amended. She can either go to prison… or rehab.

For a second, I allow myself to celebrate, until I realize that rehab isn’t free. And if my mom couldn’t make bail, there’s no way she can pay for rehab. “We can’t afford—”

Tucker silences me with a gentle kiss. “Don’t worry, Poppy. I’ll handle it.”

“But—”

He runs his fingers through my hair in long, soothing strokes. “Sh. I’m not letting you visit anyone in jail, even your mother. Let me take care of you.”

The feminist in me wants to protest his not letting me comment. But the part of me that was denied a childhood because no one ever looked out for me is just too damn tired. If Tucker wants to take care of me, of my mom—what’s the harm in letting him?