Page 83 of Penelope in Retrograde

“We never hoped for that, Penelope,” my father says softly. “But we had to protect you in case it did. Smith’s family has made it very clear that they don’t believe in helping their children succeed, and we couldn’t bear the thought that your trust—the money your grandmother worked to ensure your future with—would end up funding his schemes.”

“You don’t know Smith at all, Dad. And the both of you don’t know Jasper and Fiona either.” I push out my chair. “Because if you did, you’d know that they’d give Smith the moon if he wanted it. Smith doesn’t ask for anything from his parents. He wants to achieve his own success based on his own name and merits. And his future isn’t a scheme. It’s brilliant. You’re both just too big of snobs to see it.”

“We did what was best for you. If that makes us snobs, so be it.” He crosses his arms over his chest in defiance. “That boy may not be OK with taking money from his parents, but if he’s willing to abandon his wife after a year of marriage, I have no doubt he’d be fine with taking her money too.”

“I need some air.”

“I can’t believe this.” My father tosses his napkin on the table. “Your mother and I moved heaven and earth to get you home the moment you told us you were in trouble. Mind you, we hadn’t heard from you in months because god forbid you remember to call us when everything in your life is going fine. And now, while we’re in the middle of helping you sort through your mess, you have the audacity to insult us in our own home, on Thanksgiving no less. This is unacceptable, Penelope. I won’t tolerate it. If you’re going to stay under this roof for any length of time, you will treat your mother and me with respect, and trust that we have your best interests at heart.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Dad.” I grab my cardigan from the coat rack. “Don’t worry. I’ll be in by curfew.”

I punctuate my outburst by slamming the front door behind me. The thwack is magnified by the marble floors on the inside and the ceramic tiles on the patio. It was a satisfying sound when I was a kid. The final word between my parents and me, and it was all mine. But now as I lean against the mahogany door and look up at the evening sky, I don’t find any satisfaction in what just happened. The feeling is the exact opposite. Disgust.

I’ve been home only a few days, and already I’ve reverted back to being the worst version of myself. If this is me now, what am I going to look like in a month? The thought sends a shiver down my spine. I bundle myself up in my cardigan and walk down the driveway, careful not to let my gaze cross the street.

I will not look at Smith’s house.

I will not add crying in the middle of the street to my embarrassing list of Thanksgiving accomplishments. I will make a left the minute my feet hit the sidewalk, and I will shield my eyes like a horse on a track if need be. My feet are already almost there. I can do this. If there is one screwup I will not make tonight, it’s looking at Smith’s house. I will—

“Penny?”

I look up, and there she is. Fiona’s lounging in one of her pool chairs, surrounded by an assortment of votive candles. I wave like a fool, frozen in place, unsure of what to do or say.

“It’s a new moon. You know what a new moon means, don’t you?” Fiona unravels herself from the cocoon of knitted blankets piled on top of her. She grabs a tea light and a small slip of paper from the table next to her chair. “Come here.”

I hesitate. As much as I want to talk to Fiona and listen to whatever nuggets of universe wisdom she has to share, I don’t think I can stand on Smith’s lawn and keep it together.

“I don’t know,” I manage to say.

“Meet me in the middle.” She doesn’t say it like a request or a command. It doesn’t even come across as a question. “I want to give you something.”

My feet start moving before my head has a chance to talk them out of it. It’s five steps from my sidewalk to the middle of the street. I’m thankful it’s not more. I don’t think I could take another step without falling apart.

“New moons are lucky,” Fiona says. “They symbolize new beginnings.”

A lump forms in my throat. “No offense to the moon, but I don’t think beginnings are all that lucky. They’re pretty painful, if you ask me.”

“It’s not the beginning that’s painful in my opinion. It’s the ending that came before it. New moons represent that too. The end of one phase and the beginning of a new.” She takes my hand, the one that used to have my engagement ring—her old engagement ring—on it, and places the slip of blank paper inside. “We don’t always get to choose when one phase ends and another begins, but we can choose how we face it.”

“I fucked it all up, Fiona.” Hot tears cascade down my face. “I let him down, just like I’ve been letting everyone down my whole life.”

“Disappointment is a part of life.” She lifts my chin gently with the back of her hand. “Show me someone who’s never disappointed their family or their lover, and I’ll show you someone who’s miserable inside.”

“I was miserable.” I gasp. “I was miserable at home. I was miserable at college, and I was miserable on the road with Smith. The only place I wasn’t miserable was when I was with you guys in Dubai. I felt so alive and happy there. I never wanted to leave, and now I can never go back.”

“You don’t need to.” She dries my tears with the sleeve of her sweater. “Happiness isn’t a place you go back to. Happiness is a place you build and rebuild and then tear down and remodel a thousand times over inside you.”

“I don’t know how to start.”

“You already have.” Fiona presses the tea light into my palm. “Write down your dreams, hopes, and desires on a slip of paper, and burn them. My mother used to call it writing love letters to the universe. Set your intentions and trust yourself to follow through.”

She pulls me into a hug, and I allow myself to sink into her arms like a child. Somehow, I know that this is my last Fiona hug for a long time, maybe forever, and I want to make a memory of it. When we finally let go, I notice that her eyes are glistening with tears. She’s going to miss me too. We’re going to miss each other, and I take a tiny bit of comfort in knowing that it won’t just be me.

“One more thing. Smoky quartz for good travels and protection.” She unclasps the necklace hanging from her neck and drapes it around mine. “Go write a love letter to the universe and yourself.”

“I will,” I say. “I promise.”

And deep down I know that this is a promise I will not break.

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