Failed the Assessment

Listen, it’s a bit awkward to admit, James said, apologetic, tapping his fingers on the table, I left my wallet at home, all the cards are in there. Could you cover the bill? I’m really sorry

Poppy held back a surprised breath, reached for her handbag. Sixty pounds for a dinner for two wasnt the most pleasant expense, but it wasnt disastrous. Shed been earning enough for years to not flinch at sums like that.

Of course, no problem.

The waiter brought a card terminal and Poppy slid her card in. The screen flashed green, confirming the payment. James nodded gratefully and helped her to her feet, steadying her by the elbow.

A chill wind cut through the night, rattling the leaves. Poppy shivered and adjusted the scarf around her neck. James walked beside her in silence, as if weighing his thoughts. He stopped beneath a streetlamp and turned to face her.

You know, theres something I need to tell you, he began, his voice taking on an odd tone. The wallet and the cards were actually with me.

Poppy froze. A cold feeling slithered up her legs like a bad omen.

What do you mean?

It was a test, James said, pulling a black leather wallet from his jacket pocket and twirling it. I wanted to be sure you werent with me for the money. You understand? Now I know youre not mercenary, that youre independent.

Poppy exhaled slowly. Inside her chest tightened into a hard knot. A laugh got stuck somewhere between her throat and ribs, but she forced a smile and softened her expression.

Glad I passed your little test, she said as gently as she could.

James let out a relieved chuckle and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Poppy pressed herself into him, hiding her face so he wouldnt see the tension in her cheekbones. Inside, everything turned upsidedown. It felt humiliating, petty. She was a grown woman, yet he was treating her like a schoolgirl.

The following weeks fell into their usual rhythm. Then James got down on one knee and proposed. It was all romantic, and Poppy said yes.

Planning the wedding began almost immediately. Poppy bought a creamcoloured dress with lace sleeves from a boutique. They booked a restaurant for forty guests and mailed out the invitations.

Jamess mother, Margaret, dropped by every weekend, praising her son as if she were hawking a prized stall at a market.

My James is such a responsible lad, she chirped, pouring tea into delicate, almost translucent cups. He always helps, never forgets his mother. Poppy, you should be thrilled he chose you.

Poppy nodded and smiled, though Margarets chatter slid past her without sinking in. She learned to tune out the future motherinlaws monologues.

Two weeks before the ceremony, James suggested Poppy move into his new flat on the fifteenth floor of a development overlooking the Thames. She agreed, though a quiet part of her resisted. Boxes began to fill her modest onebedroom flat.

On moving day, Poppy carried the first box of decorative cushions and photo frames. James met her at the entrance, helped haul the load to the lift.

The flat smelled of fresh paint and new furniture. Poppy set the box down in the hallway, straightened up, rubbing her sore lower back.

James took her hand, pulling her toward the balcony.

Come on, Ill show you the view.

They stepped onto the narrow balcony. A gust tossed Poppys hair, and she squinted against the bright sun. The river glittered below, mirroring the sky. The city stretched out to the horizon.

James suddenly asked,

Hand me your phone. I want a picture of you with this backdrop.

Poppy fished a black smartphone from her jeans pocket and handed it over. James looked at the screen, then abruptly spun and flung the phone over the rail.

Poppy stood frozen. Time seemed to pause. She stared down as the tiny object vanished into the shrubbery near the entrance. A cold calm washed over her.

What shall we do, love? James grinned, crossing his arms.

Poppy shifted her gaze from the ground back to him. No panic rose inside, only a detached, icy steadiness.

You need to go down and fetch my SIM card, she said flatly, almost indifferent.

James burst out laughing, retrieving the phone from his pocket and waving it like a magician brandishing a rabbit.

Surprise, he said, savoring the moment. See, you didnt mind. Here you go. I just wanted to see your reaction; my old phone took a flight.

Poppy took her phone, noted a scratch on the protective glass, swiped the screen. Irritation rose like a dark, heavy tide inside her. She looked up at James.

Im not a household appliance for your experiments, she whispered.

Jamess laughter ceased. His face stretched, eyebrows lifting.

Come off it, he said conciliatory. It was only a joke. Dont be angry. I love you.

Poppy slipped a gold ring with a small diamond from her finger and placed it on his palm.

What are you doing? James recoiled as if shed handed him a snake.

Returning it, Poppy said, laying the ring gently on his hand. Such tests bruise my selfrespect and dignity. I wont marry someone so childish and petty.

Poppy, are you serious? Over a joke? Jamess voice wavered with protest.

She turned and walked back into the flat. The boxes stood untouched in the hallway. Poppy felt a strange relief that she hadnt unpacked anything yet. She grabbed her car keys, grabbed the single remaining box, and headed for the door.

Poppy! Wait! James chased after her down the corridor. Lets talk!

Nothing to discuss, she called over her shoulder. But I can explain it in your language: James, you failed the test.

Poppy loaded the box into the car, slipped into the drivers seat, and turned the engine on. James stood at the entrance, watching her disappear down the street. She drove away.

Home smelled familiar coffee, old books, lavender freshener. Poppy kicked off her shoes, padded to the kitchen and set the kettle on. Her phone buzzed. It was James. She declined the call. A minute later a text arrived: Sorry, I hurt you. Lets meet and talk. She deleted it, then another, then another, finally blocking the number and silencing all notifications.

James kept calling from new numbers, messaging through social media, begging mutual friends to tell her he was sorry and had learned his lesson.

Poppy ignored everything. She cared little about the money spent on the wedding, the booked restaurant, the invitations mailed out. The only thing that mattered was not to be humiliated for anyones ego.

The cream dress hung in her wardrobe, tucked in a protective cover. She took it out, smoothed the lace sleeves. Her niece, Katie, had recently asked for help picking a dress for her graduation. This would be perfect for her. The gown would look better on the niece than on a bride who never got to walk down the aisle.

Poppy curled up on the sofa, hugging her knees, watching the sky darken as the last rays of sunset faded. The city buzzed below, alive and indifferent to personal dramas. Somewhere, James probably sat in his new flat, puzzling over why shed cut everything off so abruptly, not grasping how his tests had demeaned her. Love and trust, he seemed to think, could be measured by experiments.

The phone buzzed again from an unknown number. Poppy didnt answer. She turned on some music, slipped under a blanket, and closed her eyes. Inside, there was a quiet calm, an emptiness that felt like a heavy backpack finally set down after a long trek.

Two days later Katie burst into the flat, shrieking with delight at the sight of the dress.

Aunt Poppy, is this really for me? she clutched the lace to her chest, twirling before the mirror.

It is, Poppy replied, watching the excitement light up her nieces eyes.

Wont you need it yourself?

No. I have other plans.

Katie hugged her, breathing in the scent of floral shampoo and youthful exuberance. Poppy returned the hug, running a hand along her back. It was good the dress hadnt been wasted. Good shed stopped in time. Good that inside there was no lingering regretjust a light melancholy for time lost and hopes spent.

But that chapter was over. She was free, and that mattered far more than any test anyone could devise.