Page 249 of On a Fault Line

Then I fold the paper into an airplane, recalling how at Penny’s birthday one of the family games was landing the plane. I can only hope to have a lifetime of making memories with Penny during family game time.

She just needs to see reason.

When Ivan gets up to use the restroom, I carefully fly my paper airplane and manage to land it right on Penny’s plate.

Damn, I’m good.

Well, that got her attention.

“Calm down,” I mouth, just making her fidget even more in her seat.

I can tell she doesn’t want to open it, but I know she’s too curious not to allow herself.

“Open it,” I whisper-yell, using my hands to mime out what she should do.

“Quit being stupid.”

“Quit being cute,” I counter.

Then I watch with bated breath as she unfolds the panels and discovers my short-term goal list. Masking her feelings behind a cold expression, Penny crumbles the paper into a ball and then hovers the side of it over the scented candle that is serving as a centerpiece. And it catches the flame. Quickly, she tosses the semi-charred ball into her glass of ice water.

Then she looks over at me and smiles her wicked grin, and I can’t help but burst into laughter.

Except now I can’t stop.

Ivan returns and busies himself by showing Penny photos of his dog, probably hoping a pet sparks some romance between them, because he’s clearly not doing it on his own.

The kid’s probably thinking—women love puppies and babies, right?

Meanwhile, my princess would much rather look at popcorn flavor options and homemade prank videos. I know her love languages.

Probably bored out of her mind, Penny excuses herself from the table to use the restroom or hide from the man with the personality of a ten-year-old. I wait outside the ladies’ room door for her. But growing impatient, I decide just to nonchalantly walk inside.

What could go wrong?

I find Penny in front of the row of sinks, staring blankly at her reflection. And in this lighting, where I expect peace on her face from knowing she’s alone, I find only sadness.

“My apartment feels hollow without you.”

Her body whips around to find me. “Collins…”

“I’m done with you pretending.”

“Pretending what?”

“That we don’t exist. I’m done with it. If it means getting my face bashed in by your brothers again until they feel less angry about the whole situation, then so be it.”

“You can’t waltz in here and start throwing statements at me and hope one is enough for me to change my mind.”

“Seamlessly, you filled the cracks in my life that I told myself I didn’t need filled. I miss you there. I miss your hair ties on all my doorknobs. I miss you completely ignoring my cabinets’ organizational methods and improvising. I miss the fun you’ve brought to my life.”

“We both know I stress you out. You pretty much described me asuncooperativeon the daily when we were sharing space.”

“Well, I miss that too.”

A knot rises in my throat, restricting the air flow, as I watch tears threaten to pour out of her eyes. Why is she depriving herself of happiness now that I’ve paved a path for us to be together?

“It’s over. I can’t put myself through this again. The last breakup put me back in the”—she chokes on her words—“you know.”

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