Page 133 of Every Beautiful Mile

“I think you should go get that man in Maine.”

I drop the glass I’m holding into the soapy sink with a loud crash at the unexpected statement.

“Mom…”

She shakes her head, holding her hand up to silence me.

“You listen to me, Penelope. You left this island with one kind of heartache, and you came back with another. Unnecessarily. Maybe it will go nowhere, maybe it will be difficult, but this will be a regret you will never recover from if you don’t try.”

A chain of fear tightens around me. “What if it’s too late? Mom, the man is…” I flip through every word that fails to accurately describe the breadth of Ethan. “Incredible. And thoughtful. Women notice him. And I’m—”

“Incredible,” she interrupts. “You are too hard on yourself and see something different from everyone else. And you won’t know if it’s too late if you don’t try.” She arches an eyebrow.

I shake my head as I scrub the next plate.

“What about the kids? And the distance? And what if I’m not ready?”

“Excuses,” she scoffs, drying a plate. “You don’t have to be a martyr to be a mother, Penelope. They are growing up—are you going to make them choose between a relationship with you and someone else?”

I don’t answer.

“And the distance?” She shrugs. “You’ll figure it out. You are ready. You weren’t a year ago, but you are today.”

I chew my lip.

“So, tell me.” She pauses, looking at me like she’s the devil. “How was the sex?”

I snort and shake my head. “You’re worse than Marin.”

She eyes me, her silent and?

I relent, saying, “and it was amazing.”

She smiles smugly. “I thought so.”

***

When I get home, there’s a text from Ethan.

Just a picture of the article in the magazine without anything else.

Me: Hi.

Ethan: Hi.

I think about what my mom said as I decide what to write next.

Me: Brussels sprouts are in season this month—I’m wondering what your thoughts are on that.

Ethan: The magazine is going to retract the article if you keep talking like that, Penelope.

Goosebumps cover my skin as I imagine his voice saying my name like warm honey.

I hate how much I miss him. Hate how he has stained my insides so deeply I can’t scrub him away, even with all the miles between us.

I thought that leaving him behind would make it easier for me to focus on the other wobbly pieces of my life. All it does is create a weird constant ache every time I notice he isn’t here.

Which is always.

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