Page 87 of Penelope in Retrograde

“Thanks, Dad.” I blush.

“The descriptions are very detailed. A little graphic for my taste in some parts. I had no idea there were so many ways to describe genitalia—”

“OK, Dad. Save the rest of your review for Goodreads.”

“I will.” He closes the book. “And while we’re on the subject of you and books, I’d like to hear a little more about this bookstore you plan on opening.”

“We don’t have to talk about that.”

“I want to.” My father reaches for a yellow legal pad on his bedside table. “Now, I’ve looked over the reports that your friend Jackie sent over, and they’re incredibly well done.”

“How did you get the reports? And how did Jackie get your email?”

“I found her name in the acknowledgments of your book and I looked her up.” He slides his glasses down his nose. “Why are you always so surprised that your mother and I know how to use the internet? Honestly, it’s a little ageist.”

If I thought I was having an out-of-body experience a few days ago at dinner, then this must be an otherworldly experience altogether. Carter Banks—my father—is talking about romance books and the Smut Coven. He’s got a legal pad on his lap, and he’s read Jackie’s research and projections. How is this possible? How is this my life right now?

I’m not ready for all of this. I mean, I am. I’ve waited my whole life for my father and me to be on the same page about my career and my life. The fact that he’s excited is an added bonus. But it feels like we’re jumping too far ahead. In all this excitement, we’re sweeping stuff under the rug. Stuff that will surely rear its ugly head the moment I have to tell Dad about the no-doughnuts rule.

“Dad, I’m sorry about Thanksgiving,” I say. “And drinks before that. And the last ten years. And—”

“Penelope.” He reaches for my hands. “I don’t need you to apologize for anything.”

“But I do, Dad. I wasn’t fair to you and Mom. I haven’t been for years, and I need to own it. I need to own it so I can do better moving forward.”

“I think it’s safe to say that neither of us were very fair to the other.”

I nod.

“But as a parent, I am the one who failed here, Penelope. Not you.” A single tear runs down his face. “All I have ever wanted for either of my daughters is a good life. I was just too stubborn to realize that my idea of a good life isn’t the only good life out there. When I found out you were coming home for Thanksgiving, I was so scared that I’d do something wrong to make you want to leave again. I think that’s why I worked so hard to make Smith feel included. I thought that if I could get him to like me, you’d do the same.”

“I was worried you wouldn’t like me.” I wipe the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand. “I know you love me, but I didn’t know if I was the kind of person you and Mom could like.”

“It’s impossible not to like you, Penelope, and I’m so sorry you ever doubted that.”

We sit in silence for a moment. The white noise of the hospital fills the room. It doesn’t feel awkward sitting in my dad’s room with him. For the first time in a long time, nothing feels uncomfortable between us at all.

A nurse drops in with breakfast and to check his vitals. I make a few notes in my phone about his progress, which the nurse assures me is coming along nicely.

“Bankses are naturally resilient,” he says to the nurse. “Just ask my daughter. She’s the most resilient of us all. She’s an author, you know. Penelope, show the nurse one of your books.”

He’s embarrassing me, and I’ve never been more happy to feel embarrassed. “Seriously, Dad?”

“Of course I’m being serious. Take my copy.” He holds out the book for the nurse. “Penelope, I’m going to need you to pick up some additional copies for some of the other nurses and doctors on my team. I’ll be sure to reimburse you.”

“OK, Dad.”

“Or maybe I can get some shipped to the room while I’m in here.”

“Eat your food, Dad.” I shake my head. “You’ll be able to cover more ground as my publicist once you’re back on your feet.”

“Good point.”

I freshen his water pitcher and organize the toiletries my mother sent with me, while he reads me some of the highlighted sections from Jackie’s business plan.

“Now, Penelope,” my father says in between bites of his heart-healthy breakfast, “I gather that you’re going to need a little capital to help get this bookstore up and running.”

“Well, yes, but I’ll figure it out,” I say. “I was looking into crowdsourcing.”

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