Penelope in Retrograde: A Novel(62)

“I’m not opening a diner, Mom.”

“She’s in a coven,” Martin says. “There’s three of them, and they all have special talents.”

“A coven?” My mother’s voice is shrill. “Isn’t that a cult?”

“A coven is for witches, I think,” Sarah says. “I don’t think cults deal in witchcraft. I think they’re more for religious zealots. So are you a witch or a zealot?”

“My daughter is just a witch or a religious fanatic.” My mother covers her face with her hands. “How lovely.”

“Mom, calm down,” I groan.

“The coven is for smut,” Martin says, as if that will somehow calm my mother down. “You know, the stuff she writes.”

“Martin, I think you’ve possibly had a little more than too much to drink.” My father dabs at his temples with his napkin. “Penelope, a little help here would be nice.”

My father glares at me from across the table as if I’m the one who’s somehow responsible for Martin’s present state of mind. I mean, technically, I was responsible for that bong hit in the greenhouse, but Phoebe is the one who invited Mary Jane to dinner in the first place.

“I’m not drunk, Carter.” Martin pats my dad on the top of his head. “Penny’s idea is brilliant, but she’s too scared to pitch it to you.”

“Why would she need to pitch it to me? Penelope’s never once felt the need to include me in her career endeavors.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Martin, please,” I beg. “This isn’t the right time.”

Never mind the fact that it’s not even the right pitch.

“She needs money,” Martin says. “Actually, she really needs a sound business partner, which is something you’d be great at. She just doesn’t want to let you into the coven because—”

“Martin, stop.” I stand and motion for him to come sit down. “Please. Dad, I’m sorry.”

“Wait a minute.” Phoebe stares wide-eyed at me across the table. “That’s your big news? Your big news is that you need money? You wanted my big news to share the main course with your big news, and your big news is money?”

“Girls, let’s calm down now,” Nana Rosie says.

“What’s with all this talk about big news?” my mother asks.

“Can we go back to talking about Dubai?” I pinch the bridge of my nose to stave off the headache that is most definitely on the way. “Or what about The Bachelorette? Remember when we were all happy watching other people behaving badly? That was fun.”

“That’s the reason you wanted to come here for Thanksgiving, isn’t it?” Phoebe scoffs. “I mean, why else would you choose to spend time with us if it wasn’t going to benefit you in some way? And to think, for half a second, I thought I could count on you to help out down here once we move.”

“Move?” my mother asks. “What do you mean, move? Where are you two going?”

“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Phoebe says.

“Australia,” Falon says with a thousand-yard stare. “We’re moving to Australia, where they don’t even celebrate this crappy holiday.”

Australia. She might as well have said the moon or Mars.

I thought Phoebe loved it here in Coronado. It crossed my mind that her big news might be moving related, but I just assumed that she and Falon bought a place of their own. What does she want in Australia? Her job is here. Falon’s job is here. Both of their jobs are connected to our father’s business.

I look down to the other end of the table for his reaction. Surely, she would’ve told my dad before announcing this to everyone. She wouldn’t just blindside him like this in front of all of us. There’s a fair amount of perspiration on my dad’s face, and his skin tone is a little ashy, but his expression isn’t one of shock.

“Is this some kind of joke, Phoebe?” My mother’s voice shakes. “I thought you were going to tell us that you finally settled on a wedding date, or maybe that you guys had already eloped. Australia? Are you serious? When?”

“It’s not a joke, Mom,” Phoebe says, suddenly appearing much more sober. “We leave at the end of spring.”

“How is your father supposed to find people to fill your positions in a few months? That’s impossible.”

“We already talked to Carter,” Falon says softly. “A few months ago—”

“A few months?” My mother slaps the table with her napkin and glares at my father. “You’ve known for a few months that they were planning on leaving, and you didn’t think to mention it to me? Is that why you’ve been talking so much about traveling? Were you trying to get me on board so that when my daughter told me she was moving across the globe, I would somehow be OK with it?”

My mother begins to sob. It’s quiet at first. My father and Nana Rosie do their best to calm her down, but it quickly escalates to being dangerously close to a full-out ugly cry. Martin quietly slips back into the chair next to me. I don’t know that he seems any more sober, but he does appear to be drastically more somber.

“All my children have left me.” My mother sobs. “I’ve failed as a mother.”