Spring Showers Grow Sweet Poppies

Like the poisonous berries I used to pluck from bushes

"How did it go, Poppy?"
"It went okay, they seem to be doing fine but... their son, Oliver... I don't think he cares for me very much."
I say as I carefully shut the door behind me and slide off my sandals.
"Oh! But why not? Why would anyone not like you?"
"I don't know. I think I might've put him in a tough spot. He clearly didn't feel like seeing anyone, and I felt bad when his mom mentioned him struggling to adjust..."
"Well, maybe a dinner is just what he needs. Some socialization will do them some good."
I smile softly, maybe he'll be more... kind to me when he's in a more comfortable setting. People are mean when they're stressed and overwhelmed, and I can only imagine what it must feel like to move so far away. I may not know where he was from previously, or why he moved, but I still can't help but feel sympathy. What if he was bullied at school? What if it was a matter of financial burden? Or what if it was a family issue? I don't know, and I won't ask. Not until one of them says it themself.

I snip at the lilac bush we have planted in our garden. Taking two bunches back inside. I rummage through the drawers, eventually pulling out a beautiful stained glass pitchier, colored a light shade of blue. I fill it up with room temperature water and place it in the center of the table. Or not? I move it a little to the right, a little to the left, but it still doesn't look centered to me. So I spend at least five minutes moving it around until it looks perfect to me. Beautiful. But now I have to set up the rest of the table. I scurry back to the kitchen, grabbing what I need and carrying them back, careful not to drop the sensitive stuff. I place down everything I brought, some floral napkins left over from last spring, cups, plates and utensils. I carefully place them at each seat, purposefully making it look like a table at a fine dining restaurant.

"So, what brings you two to the neighborhood?"
My mom asks, staring up from her mashed potatoes. We're all around the dinner table, me, my mom, my dad, Oliver and Sophia, his mom.
"Oh, my... me and his father had been fighting for a while, we had to get a divorce, for Oliver's sake, of course... but it's just been so hard on him. Me and him moved to get a fresh start, and I'm so happy that we're being accepted here."
Oliver stares down at his own food, playing with it using his fork. His eyebrows are furrowed and eyes narrowed, he seems upset... my face softens, and I lean to my left to tap his shoulder, "Hey... are you okay?" I whisper. He stays quiet for 1... 2... 3 seconds.
"No. Why would I be okay? My parents had a shitty relationship completed with a divorce on top, we had to move all the way to a new city, and now strangers are acting like they know us."
"Huh...?" I blink, "but we don't know you. We're trying to know you."
"But we don't want you to know us! I don't want you to know me!" He suddenly shouts, standing from the table and stuffing his hands in his pockets as he strides out the front door.
"Oliver!" His mom yells, "get back here this instant, and apologize to Poppy!"
"It's okay, Sophia. I'm the one who needs to apologize."
I say, standing up and following after him.