Penelope in Retrograde: A Novel(26)

“Pen.” His voice is muffled in our embrace. “God, I missed you.”

I breathe in the smell of his cologne mixed with the aged leather of his jacket. “Not as much as I missed you.”

“Ahem.” Phoebe clears her throat.

“Phoebe. Good to see you too.” Smith gives her a hug. “I like the haircut. The blond suits you.”

A hint of a smile tugs at Phoebe’s lips, which is a grand gesture when it comes to how she feels about Smith. It’s not that they didn’t get along or that they didn’t like each other growing up. Smith changed the dynamic of our relationship. We went from being a duo to a trio, turning Phoebe into a third wheel.

“That’s our car.” Phoebe points at a driver holding a sign with our names written on it. “We should get going. Mom probably wants a break from Nana Rosie.”

“Good old Nana Rosie.” Smith chuckles. “I still remember that Thanksgiving a few years ago when she made all of those pies.”

“Oh, yes.” I nod. “The great pie fiasco of 2002.”

“Why did she make so many pies?”

“Because the year before, she’d just had a hip replacement and couldn’t bake. Our mom promised that she would bake Nana’s famous lemon meringue and grasshopper pies, and she swore she’d follow Nana’s recipes exactly.”

“But she didn’t.” Phoebe chuckles softly. “She ruined every pie crust she touched and somehow managed to screw up canned pie filling.”

“Mom ended up buying pies from the grocery store the morning of Thanksgiving, thinking Nana Rosie wouldn’t be able to tell,” I say. “Of course, she could and was immediately offended.”

“That’s putting it nicely,” Phoebe says. “Nana Rosie had a complete meltdown. She said if she would’ve known that pies were going to be store bought, she would’ve baked them from her bed.”

“The next year, she baked every pie she could think of. Hence, the great pie fiasco of 2002.” I shake my head. “Mom got so pissed by the stunt. I’m surprised nobody ended up with a pie to the face that day. It wasn’t until last year that Nana Rosie finally agreed to visit again for Thanksgiving.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear she’s back,” Smith says.

“I doubt our mother is.” Phoebe taps her watch. “We better get going.”

“Do you have a ride, Smith?” I ask. “Because if you don’t, you’re welcome to ride with us. We’re basically going to the same place.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I told my folks I’d give them a call when I got to the airport, but I’d rather not spend the next half hour waiting for one of them to come get me.”

“Totally,” I say with a little more enthusiasm than planned. “Tell your parents you’re on your way.”

The car ride is mostly uneventful. Smith tells us about Berkeley and an art installation project he’s working on for a local bar and music venue. Phoebe gives him the rundown of what life is like at Princeton—or at least what life is like for the people who do more than spend every waking hour in a classroom or being tutored. It kind of feels like old times. Maybe even better. I used to be the one with all the stories to share while Phoebe sat quietly. Now our roles are reversed, and to be honest, I don’t mind it right now. In fact, having someone else do all the talking about Princeton is a huge relief. Phoebe looks happy. Smith looks happy. And I, for once, am happy to be in the same zip code as Smith Mackenzie again.

When our car turns onto Clementine Street, Smith’s mother is sunning herself in a crocheted bathing suit and sarong on the front lawn. In her defense, it is an unseasonably warm fall. I smile just thinking about my mother losing her mind over the fact that our dining room has a clear view of the Mackenzies’ front lawn. This is almost as good as the Easter that Fiona invited the entire Lilith Fair tour to sunrise yoga. Nobody was naked or anything, but according to my mother, she’d never seen so many unrestrained breasts and ungroomed armpits in all her life.

Fiona Mackenzie is a goddamn legend.

“Looks like your mom’s taking advantage of global warming,” I say.

“God, I want to look like her when I’m that age,” Phoebe whispers.

“I’ll get you her doctor’s number, and you won’t have to wait,” Smith deadpans.

We pull to a stop in front of my childhood home, and immediately Fiona rushes over to greet us. She gives each of us one of her signature choke-hold hugs before looking us over as if we’ve just returned from war.

“Phoebe, you’ve never looked better. College suits you,” Fiona says.

“It does.” Phoebe blushes, tucking her blond bob behind her ear. “You look amazing too. It takes a lot of dedication to work on a tan in November.”

“Oh, I’m not working on my tan, honey.” Fiona adjusts her aviators and motions toward her yard. “I’m doing a twenty-four-hour charge on my crystals. It’s a full moon in Gemini tonight.”

Phoebe’s eyes start to glaze over. “Oh. Right. Of course.”

Phoebe’s not exactly a fan of crystals and astrology. She’s way too practical and logical for any of that, despite the fact that she’s a triple Pisces like me. Smith’s never been a fan of it either. I, on the other hand, can’t get enough of it. I could listen to Fiona go on for hours about crystals, the moon, and birth charts.