Page 6 of Penelope in Retrograde

“Sorry about that,” Aidan says over his shoulder. “You know what they say, nobody knows how to drive in the rain. Self included. So how long have you two been divorced?”

My entire body tenses at the word. I glare at him in the rearview mirror. “Aidan, your rating goes down half a star every time the word divorce is mentioned in here.”

It’s not that I’m embarrassed about being divorced. It’s something that happened to me, like chicken pox when I was five and overplucked eyebrows when I was fifteen. It was unpleasant, but it didn’t kill me, and most of the time, I don’t even think about it happening at all. Divorce and my marriage are neatly tucked away in little boxes of emotion in the Old Penny filing system of my brain. I like keeping them there under lock and key. Smith bringing up our divorce screws up the whole system, which is the last thing I need before going home for the first time in a decade.

“What about marriage? I, myself, am recently engaged to my longtime girlfriend, Viktoria. We’re meeting for the first time this Christmas. She lives in the Czech Republic, or at least I think that’s where she’s at. Her English isn’t exactly great.”

There’s an entire 90 Day Fiancé episode’s worth of material I’d like to unpack with Aidan, and under normal circumstances, I would. But right now, I don’t have the mental bandwidth to juggle his mail-order bride and my ex-husband.

“You take this one, or I’m going to make him stop at Target so I can buy a pool noodle and whack him with it,” I say to Smith and open up my group chat again.

Chelsey: Shit. What are the odds?

Penny: Not in my favor.

Jackie: What does he look like? Is he still all dreamboaty?

I glance at Smith from the corner of my eye, as if I somehow need a reminder of the fact that he’s aged quite well.

Penny: He looks fine.

Jackie: Fine?

Jackie: You’re a USA Today bestselling romance author, and all you’re going to give us is fine?

Chelsey: Never mind what he looks like. How do you feel about seeing him?

Jackie: Right. Feelings.

Jackie: Also, take his picture.

Penny: I don’t know how I feel.

Penny: And I can’t take his picture.

Jackie: Sure you can. Pretend you’re taking a selfie.

Chelsey: Or take a minute to process your emotions.

Penny: That’s weird.

Penny: The selfie fake out. Not the processing.

Penny: I’m not in the headspace to process feelings.

Jackie: Maybe taking his picture will help.

Chelsey: Jackie!

Jackie: What? You’re not curious what he looks like now?

Chelsey: A little.

Penny: Fine. I’ll take the damn picture.

Jackie: Thank you.

I turn on my camera, which is unfortunately on selfie mode. Nothing quite prepares you for seeing what you’d look like if Jabba the Hutt was your father. I flip the camera and steal a glance at Smith. Suddenly, my palms are all sweaty, and it feels like there might as well be a neon sign flashing above my head that reads Peeping Tom. The things I do for my friends. I lift my phone eye level and try to angle it so that it looks like I’m taking a selfie.

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