"Yeah, nope." Mackenzie frowned. "We're going to need the chardonnay."
"Did I hear my cue?"
Poppy turned. It was Aunt June, with an armful of groceries. "Ooh," she said, lighting up. "Are we throwing pots again?"
Mackenzie grinned. "June happened to be in the store when a date cancelled at the last minute," she explained to Poppy. "So we had ourselves some fun back here."
"Let me do one." June set down the bag and limbered up, stretching. Mackenzie passed her a mug with a massive chip in it, and June hurled it at the ground. It smashed into a dozen pieces, and she clapped her hands together in glee. "It reminds me of the time my second husband was cheating," she said with a nostalgic smile. "I took everything he owned and hurled it out the second-floor window."
"You didn't!" Poppy exclaimed.
"Oh, yes I did," June replied. "When he came back from that hussy's place, it was all right there on the sidewalk in ruins."
"Atta girl," Mackenzie said. "Come on, Poppy. You can't tell me you're not a little angry right now?"
Poppy gulped. The sad haze was wearing off a little, and she had to admit, there was a burning seam of anger running through that broken heart of hers.
How could he just change his mind?
Poppy grabbed a plate from the table and narrowed her eyes. This time, when she threw it, it hit the wall with a satisfying SMASH and ricocheted into tiny pieces.
"You're right," she said, surprised. "It does feel good."
"You grab the pots, I'll go get the wine." Mackenzie grinned. "And we'll have ourselves a party."
Four bowls, two mugs, and a misshapen lump of something Mackenzie couldn't even identify later, and Poppy was in touch with her anger, alright. "He just LEFT," she cried, throwing another mug at the ground in a shatter of satisfying pieces. "He didn't try to talk, or explain, or anything. He just decided it was over, and that was it. Who does that?"
"Men," June snorted, and took a sip of her wine. "That's who. Always acting like their word is law."
"But you don't understand, Cooper isn't like that. At least, he wasn't." Poppy's shoulders sagged, remembering. "He was so sweet to me, nothing like how he seemed in the beginning. He helped me with my book, and fixed up that cabin . . ."
Just as swiftly as it came, her anger left her. Poppy sat down at the table in a slump, the pain flooding through her all over again.
Mackenzie refilled her wine glass, and nudged it towards Poppy. "I'm sorry I pushed you guys together," she said, looking stricken. "I never thought it would all fall apart like this."
"It's not your fault," Poppy reassured her. "I wanted this. And he said he did too. But just not enough, I guess."
There was silence. Poppy swallowed. "Anyway, thanks for the distraction," she offered, giving Mackenzie a smile. "What will you do with the wreckage now?"
Mackenzie surveyed the shattered pottery. "A mosaic, maybe. Or I could glue some of the pieces together into something new. Either way, I'll make it something beautiful."
Poppy felt a pang. "Got any glue for pieces of a broken heart?" she asked ruefully.
Mackenzie gave her a quiet smile. "I'm still working on that one."
"At least you'll be able to put it in a book one day," June spoke up. "Use all of this for something creative. It's not life," she added with an encouraging smile. "It's material!"
Poppy knew she was trying to help, but she flinched at the thought of it. Channeling her hopes and dreams into her work was one thing, but the idea of sharing all the intimate details of her relationship with Cooper would be a betrayal, no matter how it had ended. "Being blissfully in love is material, too," she said instead. "Never mind starving in a garret somewhere, I do my best work when I'm happy and well fed."
Mackenzie laughed. "My kind of artist," she grinned. "Here's to comfortable, happy creation." She toasted her glass to Poppy's, but she was still a long way from happy. The afternoon with her aunt and Mackenzie may have been a welcome distraction from the empty ache inside, but it was still there: sounding like an echo only she could hear.
"I tried calling him," she admitted quietly. "He didn't pick up, and I couldn't leave a message. I didn't know what to say. I just wanted to talk to him, maybe try to understand . . ." Tears welled up in her eyes, and she wiped at them, feeling foolish. "I don't even know why I'm taking it so hard. I mean, I've barely known the man for a month. It's not like we made any promises. He never even said he loved me-"