Page 73 of Penelope in Retrograde

He opens the box, and there it is. My old ring. Fiona’s ring. Our ring. It’s somehow even more brilliant than I remember it being in the van. The light catches the moonstone perfectly, and for a moment, this place doesn’t feel so cold. Not with a little piece of Fiona shining inside it.

“Why do you have it, then?” I ask.

“Because she wanted you to have it.” He closes the box and sets it next to me. “It was in her will that if I hadn’t remarried at the time of her death, the ring would go to you, as long as it had my blessing. And it does. It always would have. I couldn’t give that ring to someone else. It’s in that box because the ring was appraised and cleaned. There’s a little paper tucked inside with how much it’s worth, if you ever want to—”

“It’s priceless,” I say. “Thank you, Smith. This is probably the best gift anyone has ever given me.”

“You might not want to share that bit with your boyfriend.” Smith leans against the cabinet next to me. “I have a feeling that stoned or not, he wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“Martin’s not my boyfriend.” I rest my head on his shoulder. “I lied.”

“Go on.” He chuckles. “Let’s get it all out in the open.”

“I saw the ring in your bag, and I thought you were going to propose to a woman you’ve known for less time than I’ve known my air fryer, so I panicked and lied. Martin went along with it, as long as I agreed to get him out of playing golf with my father tomorrow.”

“There’s a lot to unpack there, but I’m going to bet that Carter is not going to want to play golf with Martin tomorrow.”

“At least I held up my end of the bargain, then.” I close my eyes and sigh. “I don’t like who I am when I come here. It’s like I become the worst version of myself, which only ends up pushing my family away instead of bringing us closer together. I know they love me, because they’re good and decent people, and I love them. I just wish when we all got together it didn’t feel like we were just tolerating one another. I want them to like me for me.”

“How can they like someone they’ve never met?” He kisses the top of my head. It’s not romantic so much as comforting. “Maybe you need to start by telling them your pen name.”

“Maybe.” I yawn. “I might need to work up to that.”

“Maybe you can start by telling me.”

“Fiona Nelson.” I scratch the top of Harriet’s head. “Nelson was Ozzie and Harriet’s last name on The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet. And Fiona, well, you know where that comes from.”

“She would’ve appreciated the nod.”

“I think so.”

“You know, I’ve never understood why you named the dogs after that old TV show.”

“My parents used to watch reruns of it all the time. Nana Rosie too.” I smile at the memory. “Ozzie and Harriet was the first television portrayal of the American family. They were this perfect real-life family of four, with the kinds of problems that could be solved in under thirty minutes. They laughed together and at one another, but they always worked everything out. I think my parents wanted us to be like the Nelsons. I think, to some degree, I wanted that for you and me too.”

I’ve never said anything like that about my marriage out loud. Not to Chelsey or Jackie. Not even to my therapist. What’s even more surprising than making the admission is how relatively calm I feel about having said it. No instant wave of regret. No anxiety gripping my throat. Just me. Me and Smith in his parents’ house, back where we started.

“I’m sorry we weren’t like the Nelsons,” he says softly.

“That’s OK. The Nelsons weren’t even like the TV version of their family.” I sigh. “I watched a documentary in middle school where the family talked about how hard it was to keep up the perfect family image that everyone expected from them. So in a way, it’s a good thing we didn’t end up like them.”

My phone buzzes in the pocket of my cardigan. I want to ignore it. I want to stay in this little muddy bubble for as long as humanly possible because I know I’ll never get it back. Smith and I will never be alone in his parents’ house again. Next week, this place will continue to morph into a vacation rental, and eventually, it will be sold to a new family. A small piece of my childhood will be lost again forever, and I’m just not ready to let it go.

“You going to get that?” Smith asks.

I’m about to tell him no when the front door swings open. Heels click against the marble floor, and instantly I know exactly who it is and exactly how not well this is going to go.

“Sarah.” Smith starts to get up.

Her face is red, like she’s been crying. God, I hate making people cry, unless they deserve it. She, unfortunately, doesn’t deserve it. She gawks at me, which could possibly be because I’m covered in manure and not just that I’m sitting on the kitchen floor next to her boyfriend with an engagement ring.

“Your dad just collapsed.” Sarah gasps for air. “He’s on his way to the hospital.”

“Oh my god. What happened?” I jump to my feet.

“We were waiting for you both to come back for dessert, and everyone was arguing again. You guys fight a lot. Like, way more than what’s probably normal. Nobody could decide whether to eat or wait, and then he just sort of collapsed.”

“Oh my god.” My heart freezes in my chest.

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