Page 38 of Penelope in Retrograde

Martin brushes a curl away from my face. “Do you kiss all of your fake boyfriends on the first date?”

“I do,” I say. “You should see what I do on the second fake date. Full-on praying mantis.”

“You are an alien.” He shivers. “Do you think we could be done with the wallowing portion of the evening?”

I suddenly realize that I’m not nearly as annoyed as I was before kissing Martin. Had I known sucking face with a gorgeous man was all it took to snap me out of a bad mood, I could’ve saved so much money on therapy.

“Sure,” I say. “But fair warning, when we go back inside that house, we’re going to have to watch The Bachelorette with Nana Rosie. There’s no escaping it.”

“Is that so?”

“Look, I can get you out of golf, but Nana’s watch parties are like jury duty. She talks through most of the episode, and my mother asks a million questions because she can’t ever seem to remember anything about the show. Phoebe always has a thousand opinions, and that means you’re going to have to have at least half as many opinions, otherwise they’ll think you’re weak. You’ll probably have a terrible time.”

“Are you trying to scare me? I have four sisters. I’m an OG Bachelorette viewer. I’m talking Trista and Ryan.”

“Those names mean virtually nothing to me.”

“Then prepare to be impressed, Banks. Prepare to be impressed.”

We make it back home in time for my family to forget that anything unpleasant happened over drinks. Marie’s left out sandwiches, but it looks like everybody’s already eaten. I’m not all that hungry anyway. Martin and I change into our pajamas—in our own separate rooms—and I send a quick update to the Smut Coven about the night’s turn of events.

Chelsey: You kissed Knot Guy? My Thanksgiving is the worst compared to yours.

Jackie: Speak for yourself. I just had to watch my mother fist a turkey.

Penny: I mean it’s not all kisses and sunshine. My dad and I had a small flare up during drinks.

Chelsey: Over the bookstore?

Penny: No. I’ll fill you guys in tomorrow.

Jackie: When are you planning on talking to your dad about it?

A wave of guilt washes over me. The focus of this trip is supposed to be the bookstore. I can’t let Smith or Martin distract me, and I definitely can’t keep picking petty fights with my father the whole weekend.

Penny: Soon. I promise.

The episode has just started when I finally make it into the living room, and to my relief Martin isn’t here yet. He must still be changing, or he’s chickened out entirely. Either way, I take my usual seat in the leather recliner in the corner, which means that if and when Martin does join the viewing party, he’ll be stuck sitting with Phoebe and Falon on the couch.

“Explain how this works again.” My mother reaches into the bowl of freshly popped popcorn. “How does one woman date all those men in an hour? Less with commercials, if you think about it.”

“She doesn’t date all of them, Silvia,” Nana Rosie groans. “The goal of the first episode is for her to mingle with the guys to see who she connects with and then trim the fat. It’s an incredibly efficient process.”

“I can’t believe I’m watching this again.” Phoebe sighs from the end of the leather sectional. “Correction. I can’t believe I’m watching this without a drink in my hand. Nana, why can’t we watch something normal?”

“Oh, you mean like those crime documentaries you’re so obsessed with?” Nana Rosie motions for my mother to pass her the popcorn. “What’s normal about wanting to watch a woman poison her husband with oleander? Sounds awfully depressing if you ask me.”

“Technically, they all have happy endings because they always catch the killer,” Phoebe says.

“The Bachelorette is not so bad.” Falon holds out an open bag of barbecue potato chips to Phoebe, which she snatches out of her hand like a hangry raccoon. “On second thought, Penny, now might be a good time for a bottle of wine.”

“I’m on it,” I say. “Anybody else have any requests?”

“A lobotomy,” Phoebe grumbles, mouth full of chips.

“I’d love a beer,” Nana Rosie says. “It goes better with popcorn in my opinion. In the can is fine.”

My mother makes a face indicating that beer in the can is anything but fine, but she holds her tongue.

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