Page 54 of Penelope in Retrograde

“I guess they had a change of heart. Families are funny like that sometimes.” I hold Phoebe’s gaze. “One minute you think you know how they feel about you, the next you don’t.”

I give Phoebe a brisk hug and collect my bags. She doesn’t try to stop me.

Chapter 16

I am going to take up space.

I deserve to be here for this Thanksgiving just as much as my sister does, and my news is just as worthy to be shared over Thanksgiving dinner. Unless of course they’re announcing that they’re having a baby, in which case, fine, I’ll move my news to the port course of tonight’s menu. But I don’t think Phoebe’s news is a baby. Phoebe is afraid of babies, and babies are afraid of her.

If I had to bet money, Phoebe’s news is academic driven. Maybe she’s getting another degree. Or the big news could be that they’ve finally set a wedding date. That would be exciting news, but it’s not giving me main-course energy. That news feels decidedly dessert-course energy. That is, of course, if there’s even going to be a dessert course.

Nana Rosie left me with her famous lemon meringue pie recipe card and a pat on the back before she retired for her traditional pre-Thanksgiving nap. Shockingly, I have never made a pie. The closest I’ve ever come to baking a pie is ordering one from the McDonald’s drive-through. But I am nothing if not resourceful.

I set up my laptop in the kitchen, along with all the piemaking essentials, and videoconference in the Smut Coven.

“I thought this was supposed to be a business call.” Jackie glares at me through my computer screen. “We are in the book business. Not the Betty Crocker business.”

“I thought we were catching up to talk about Smith,” Chelsey says in between sit-ups. The woman is a human workout Barbie. “Or Knot Guy. I forget who we’re rooting for you to bang at this point.”

“First, this is a business call.” I pour myself another mimosa, which seems like the perfect first step when it comes to starting a business call or baking a pie. “This pie is vitally important to our business in ways that I will soon explain. And second, we are not rooting for me to bang anyone.”

“Explain to me how this pie is going to help us secure a loan,” Jackie says.

“Maybe she’s going to poison someone with it?” Chelsey adjusts her blond ponytail before starting another round of crunches. “Because that actually sounds a little on brand for you. Or at least for your food.”

I choose to ignore that last comment because it’s not entirely wrong. I’ve subjected my roommates to an array of poorly cooked meals. Jackie even bought me an apron for my birthday a few years back that says If you see me wearing this, say you already ate. I catch the girls up on what’s transpired over the last twenty-four hours, including the part where my father invited my ex-husband over for dinner with his new girlfriend.

“And you’re sure that was your ring you saw?” Chelsey has switched from sit-ups to spiked sparkling water, as one does when there’s hot tea being spilled. “Maybe he just had something made to look like your old ring?”

“How would that be any less creepy?” Jackie throws her hands in the air. “I mean, what kind of juice box would pull that ducking spit?”

Jackie’s six-year-old niece Aubree has joined the chat, so our swearing is extra creative.

“It was definitely my ring. It’s an art deco solitaire. The stone isn’t even a diamond. It’s a moonstone, which will probably mean nothing to Sarah, but it meant everything to me. It was his mother’s ring, which is why I gave it back in the first place.” I take a heavy breath. “I guess it never occurred to me that he’d someday give that ring to someone else.”

“Maybe you can ask him to give you your ring back,” Aubree suggests in between bites of pumpkin bread.

Jackie mouths Sorry, but I don’t mind. There’s something kind of sweet about having a kindergartner help troubleshoot my problems. Maybe if I’m lucky, she’ll be able to tell me how to bake a pie.

“I can’t, sweetie.” I smile. “It doesn’t belong to me anymore.”

“Maybe you can ask his mom to give you another ring.”

“Oh.” A wave of emotion catches me off guard. Maybe it’s muscle memory, but without thinking, my head turns toward the dining room window and I allow myself to look at Smith’s house. “I wish I could, but she passed away.”

“That happened to my hamster,” Aubree commiserates. “I accidentally fed her too much chocolate and she died.”

“That’s how I’d like to go,” Chelsey says. “Or in bed with a guy built like a—”

“Shut up, Chelsey,” Jackie mutters.

The front door creaks open. Ozzie gives a half-hearted bark from his spot under the breakfast table. My father’s voice carries through the house, and I can make out the tail end of a conversation about Madagascar.

“Fudgesicle. I’ve got company,” I say. “Looks like I’m going to need to cut this meeting short.”

“You’re going to be fine,” Chelsey says. “Even if the pie sucks, I know you’re going to be able to get your dad on board. I can feel it.”

“But to be clear, on board does not mean your dad is going to be the unofficial fourth member of the Smut Coven.” Jackie points her finger at the screen. “Foursomes never work. Look at Destiny’s Child.”

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