Poppy sucked in her breath and filled her lungs as she pulled up to her parents’ house. It was the last place she thought she’d go, but it was funny how when your world falls apart you seek out childhood comforts.

“Of course you can come home!” her mother had said over the phone.

“And Dad?” Poppy had asked.

“He doesn’t get home from the ba—he won’t be back until night,” her mom said. She caught herself, but it was no secret her dad spent all day at the local dive.

Poppy climbed the steps and tried to ignore the cobwebs. Even though she’d just been there recently, the house still seemed smaller and shabbier. The incredible shrinking house.

She didn’t knock, just walked right in. That was a first in nearly fifteen years. It felt like home again—but only for an instant.

In the living room, her mother was perched anxiously on the edge of the couch. She held what seemed to be a scarf in mid-crochet in her hands. The hook looked deadly. On the recliner was her dad.

Her mom offered a tight-lipped smile, but her father just glared at her. On the television, canned sitcom laughter broke out.

“What are you—what are you doing…”

She couldn’t choke the words out.

“Will called, honey,” her mom said.

“Will? Why? When did he—”

“To ask for your goddamned hand,” her father said gruffly.

“The start of last week…” her mom trailed off.

“Came down here. In person,” her dad said. Anger boiled right below the surface. “Called first. Like a gentleman should.”

“He was very nice,” her mother said softly. She looked, yearned, at her daughter. Poppy could see a bruise, faded to violet, that hugged her mother’s eye. She’d done a shoddy job with the concealer.

“Shut up,” her father snapped to her mother without looking at her. Poppy scanned her mother’s body, or what she could see of it, and saw what looked like strangulation marks that peeked out from the turtleneck.

Her mom’s mouth slammed shut.

“Your mother is right about that, though,” her dad said. “He was nice. Brought flowers and candy for her. Bourbon and cigars for me. From Cuba.”

Poppy nodded and took in the rules of the game. She couldn’t remember if she’d shut the front door completely, or if it could easily be pushed open if she had to run. Why did you wear heels? What were you thinking?

“That boy of yours promised us, promised us, you’d be taken care of. He’s got some crazy idea, for some strange reason, you deserve that. A kept woman.” Her dad shook his head, and his wiry gray eyebrows quivered with him. “Even offered your old man a job with a ‘real up-and-comer in the TV industry.’ That’s what he said. And you know what?”

He looked at her like he expected an answer. “What?”

“I believe him. I don’t know why, but he wants to take care of you. Of all of us.” So that was it. Will had cornered her in the way she least expected. He got the monster of her childhood in on it, and they came at her from both sides.

“Dad,” she started. “I—”

“You what?” he asked and stood up. She was taller than him now. When did that happen? However, those childhood scars ran deep. He tore terror through her with just his tone.

“I love that boy, you know that?” her father asked. The surprise on her mother’s face was almost comical. “Love him like my own flesh and blood.”

Poppy searched for words, but none came. She’d never heard her dad say that word before. Not to her mother, and certainly not to her.

“You do?” she asked her mom, incredulous. She’d always acted indifferent about Will.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that—”

Poppy was surprised at how much she could read into those five short words. For once, her mom’s voice was smooth and strong. She didn’t like Will.

“Don’t act like a bitch,” her father said sharply. “Always rurnin’ everyone’s good time. Jealous is all,” he said to Poppy. She hated how he said that. Rurnin’.

“I just meant—”

“One more word,” her father warned her mom. Is that what happened? Did Mom try to help me, tell Dad she didn’t like Will? And he let her have it, because of me?

“Any time attention’s off her – well, you know how your mom is.” She couldn’t believe what he said.

Poppy couldn’t find the right words. Her mom? Jealous? Petty? Her dad was really reaching.

“And the job? It would be a real boon, I know it,” he continued.

“Dad, I—”

Stop stammering like a little girl. “And your mother’d be a whole lot happier. A lot safer. With me working.”

There was the rabbit punch. “I… I…”

“But only if y’all get married, of course,” her dad said. “You are getting married. Aren’t ya.” It wasn’t a question.

“I don’t… you know, it’s all really fast?” She could hear her voice lilt up, like a child’s. “Both of our careers are just starting. You know? Maybe, I mean… I think it might be better if we took some time? Just—”

“Don’t you bullshit me. You’re gonna marry that boy. If you got any goddamned sense in you.”

“I don’t… ”

“Where’s that ring?” her father asked suddenly. She glanced down at her bare hands. Thank God she’d slipped the box into her pocket. “Put it on. Show your mom,” he demanded.

She slid the ring onto her hand. It felt cold and foreign. Poppy held out her hand limply.

“Closer,” her father demanded. “Can’t nobody see it from here.”

She took a step toward him.

“Your mom, you goddamned idiot,” he said.

Poppy changed directions, but kept watch on her father from the corner of her eye.

“Now, ain’t that something,” her father said. Poppy and her mom both nodded.

“I said ain’t that something,” he repeated.

“Yes.” Their voices blended together. Fear made a beautiful medley.

“You keep that on, like you’re supposed to.”

“It’s loose,” Poppy said.

“What?”

“It needs to be resized.”

“Bullshit. It’s fine. ‘Cause you don’t eat enough is all.” Her father slouched back down into his chair.

“Do you want some supper?” her mom asked. Her voice was soft but her knuckles were white as they clenched the crochet hook.

“Um—”

“Well, would you look what time it is!” her father said as Shameless came on. “Bourbon time. It’s five o’clock here.”

Everyone acted like he hadn’t been drinking the whole day. He’d always counted down the hours, the minutes, until five. Not drinking “the good stuff” until then somehow made it okay in his head. Although now that she was grown, Poppy'd figured out he pounded down beers all day because they were affordable.

“Pour your old dad a glass?” he asked her.

Is this a trap? He’d never asked her to pour for him before—probably because she never filled the cup to the brim.

“No?” her father said. “Alright, then.” He shot up from his chair like a lightning bolt and it took her aback. She didn’t know he could still move like that.

The door was only a few feet away, but she was frozen in place. Her muscles tightened up, held her hostage, but also braced for the hit.

He moved straight toward her, a dare scrawled across his face. Don’t move. Don’t move. She didn’t know why, but it was a mantra being drilled into her head.

He came close, uncomfortably close, but veered away at the last second toward the old buffet where he kept an assortment of glasses and Wild Turkey. It was a game of chicken, and she’d won. “You want one?” he asked her as he raised the glass that threatened to spill toward her.

She shook her head. He’d never asked her before, and she certainly wasn’t going to drink with him now. Surely it would be some kind of macabre toast to her impending marriage.

“C’mon. Have a drink with your dad,” he said.

“You just got here.” He took a long swallow of the amber liquid. “Haven’t even sat down yet.”

“I know, but… I can’t drink. If I got pulled over, even if I was under the limit, my medical license would be taken away.”

“Fuckin’ pigs,” her father said. He shook his head sadly. “Get you any way they can. Won’t even let a doctor enjoy a drink after a long day. Fuck ‘em all.”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Well, I won’t keep you then. Go’n home. Walk her out,” he instructed her mom as he fell back into the chair.

“Mom,” she whispered at the door. The bruises were easier to see in the natural light. “What—come with me.”

Her words shocked them both.

“Poppy! What are you talking about?”

“Just come with me. Please.” She begged her with her eyes.

Her mother glanced behind her into the darkness of the house. “Stop being silly,” she whispered finally.

“Mom! Come on. I don’t—”

“You need to go,” her mom said. “You’re busy. Drive safe.” She shut the door in Poppy’s face. She was stunned, and stared at the paint-chipped door for a full minute before she retreated to her car.

What do you think you’re doing? You can’t even save yourself.

The drive home was blurred with tears. She knew she’d do a better job behind the wheel if she had a bourbon in her. The thought made her laugh, even through the tears, and a stream of snot bubbled at her nose. It was all settled in her dad’s mind. Marry Will, or he’d make her mom’s life more of a living hell than he already did.

He might even kill her.