“Mum, please tell me you didn’t forget!” shrieked Poppy as she barged into the hallway, tossing her designer handbag onto the floor. “Mum, I reminded you a month ago!”
Margaret turned slowly from the mirror where she’d been adjusting her silver curls. Her hands trembled slightly, but her gaze stayed calm.
“What’s this about, love?” she asked softly.
“Seriously?” Poppy flung her bag onto the sofa. “It’s Liam’s birthday tomorrow! Fifteen! And you’re just daydreaming as usual?”
“I do remember,” Margaret sighed, sinking into her armchair. “I just thought maybe we shouldn’t make a huge fuss about it…”
“Shouldn’t?” Poppy froze, glaring at her. “This is my son. Your grandson! Fifteen is massive, and you’re saying we shouldn’t bother?”
Margaret closed her eyes briefly. Here we go again. Every weekend Poppy visited with Liam, it was the same—her temper, her demands. And since the divorce, it had only gotten worse.
“Poppy, calm down. I remember. I got a gift, ordered a cake from the bakery,” she said wearily. “But maybe he doesn’t want a big party? He’s been so quiet lately.”
“Quiet?” Poppy scoffed. “He’s a teenager! They’re all quiet around adults. That doesn’t mean we ignore his birthday! If anything, we should show him we care!”
A floorboard creaked in the hallway. Liam shuffled in—lanky, tousle-haired, with his dad’s serious brown eyes.
“Hey, Nan,” he muttered, barely glancing at his mum. “Why’s everyone shouting?”
“We’re not shouting,” Poppy’s voice instantly turned sugary. “We’re talking about your birthday tomorrow, sweetheart! Nan’s got a cake, I’ve brought presents…”
“Don’t need anything,” Liam mumbled, perching on the sofa arm. “Just leave it.”
“You can’t just ‘leave it’!” Poppy huffed. “Fifteen is a big deal!”
Liam shrugged and buried himself in his phone. Margaret studied him with worry. Something wasn’t right. For months, he’d grown more withdrawn, barely speaking to her, barely saying more than a word to his mum.
“Liam, love, what would you like for your birthday?” she asked gently.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Poppy sat beside him. “New phone? Upgrade your laptop?”
“Mum, drop it,” he muttered, standing. “I’m going to my room.”
“You just got here!” Poppy jumped up. “Let’s at least plan who to invite—”
“Don’t invite anyone!” Liam spun around. “Got it? No one. Just want to be alone.”
“But why?” Poppy looked lost. “You used to love birthdays…”
“Used to.” Liam gave a bitter laugh. “Used to be a lot of things. Now I don’t need you all pretending these things matter.”
He stormed off, slamming the door. Poppy stood stunned in the middle of the room.
“What’s wrong with him?” She turned to Margaret. “He was never like this before!”
Margaret sighed heavily. She’d watched her grandson change. Seen him suffer through the divorce, torn between his parents, exhausted by their sniping and bitterness.
“Poppy, sit,” she said softly. “We need to talk.”
“About what?” Poppy paced. “It’s obvious—Oliver’s turned him against me! I know how he manipulates things!”
“It’s not Oliver,” Margaret said carefully. “Liam’s just tired. Of your fights, the back-and-forth…”
“What fights?” Poppy bristled. “We divorced civilly!”
“Civilly?” Margaret shook her head. “Poppy, I hear you on the phone with his dad. The jabs, the custody arguments…”
“I’m fighting for my son!”
“And so is he. Liam knows that. He’s caught in the middle.” Margaret stood, touching her daughter’s arm. “Maybe think about him, not yourself?”
“I *am* thinking of him!” Poppy pulled away. “That’s why I want to celebrate him!”
“Or maybe let him have peace? A home without tension?”
Poppy scoffed and turned to the window. Outside, drizzle darkened the pavement, making the street grey and gloomy.
“You’re against me too, aren’t you?” she whispered. “Like everyone else.”
“I’m not against you, darling. I’m for Liam. And for you. But sometimes what we think is right… isn’t what’s needed.”
“What do you mean?”
Margaret sat back down, choosing her words.
“When you were little, I thought I knew best. Made you take piano when you wanted art. Ballet when you fancied football. I thought I was preparing you for life.”
“And?” Poppy frowned.
“And you grew up doing the opposite. To spite me, sometimes even yourself. Because I didn’t listen. Didn’t ask what *you* wanted.”
“What’s that got to do with Liam?”
“Everything. He doesn’t want a party. He’s told you. But you’re not listening.”
“He’s a child! They don’t always know what’s best!”
“Do adults?” Margaret smiled sadly. “Poppy, I’m seventy-two. I’ve learned kids usually *do* know. We just don’t hear them.”
Poppy sat on the arm of her chair.
“Mum, I’m terrified of losing him,” she whispered. “Since the divorce, he’s like a stranger. Like there’s a wall between us. I thought a big party would show him I love him.”
“He knows,” Margaret squeezed her hand. “But right now, he needs quiet. Stability. A chance to just *be* without faking a smile.”
“So we do nothing?”
“We ask him. Honestly. What he wants for his birthday. Then do *that*.”
Poppy bit her lip. Rain drummed harder against the window.
“Fine,” she finally said. “But what if he says nothing?”
“Then just be there. Sometimes that’s enough.”
Another creak in the hall. Liam hovered in the doorway, shifting awkwardly.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course, love,” Margaret smiled.
Liam sat opposite them, fiddling with a cushion.
“Sorry I shouted,” he muttered. “Just… everything’s too much.”
“What’s too much?” Poppy asked softly.
“You and Dad,” he gestured vaguely. “Always asking if I’m okay, if anyone’s bothering me. But you two can’t even talk properly.”
“We try—”
“Try?” Liam looked up. “Mum, I’m not stupid. You get furious when Dad calls. Tense when he picks me up. He does the same. D’you think that’s easy for me?”
Poppy stared. She hadn’t realised he noticed so much.
“Liam, we divorced respectfully—”
“Respectfully?” He laughed harshly. “You mutter about him being a prat after every call. He says you’re dramatic and can’t be trusted. That’s respectful?”
“Liam, I—” Poppy’s voice caught.
“And now you want to throw a party,” he went on. “All fake smiles and presents. While I know you can’t stand each other.”
“It’s not fake! We love you!”
“Then why can’t you just *talk*?” Liam stood, voice cracking. “Why do I have to *choose*?”
“No one’s asking—”
“You *are*! Dad asks if I miss him when I’m with you. You grill me about what he says. I’m *done*!”
He slumped back down, face in his hands.
“Know what I want?” he said hoarsely. “For you to stop fighting. To just *talk*. For me to see Dad without feeling guilty. See you without hurting him.”
Poppy knelt before him.
“Liam, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t realise—”
“Realise what? That I have feelings too? That it *hurts*?”
“I just thought I was protecting you.”
“From *Dad*?” Liam shook his head. “He’s my father. I love him. Like I love you. Why can’t I love you both?”
“You can,” Margaret said quietly. “And should. Poppy, do you hear him?”
Poppy nodded, eyes down.
“I hear. But I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Start small,” Liam said. “Tomorrow. If you really want a party… invite Dad.”
Poppy jerked her head up. “But we—”
“Are divorced, yeah. But you’re both my parents. If it’s *my* birthday, I want you both there.”
“But—how would—” Poppy floundered.
“Mum, try. For me. Call him. Say it’s important.”
Poppy looked at her mother. Margaret nodded silentlyPoppy took a deep breath, picked up her phone, and dialed Oliver’s number—this time, not with anger, but with the hope of giving Liam the one gift he truly wanted: a family that could still be kind to each other, even if they weren’t together anymore.
