Penelope in Retrograde: A Novel(63)

“Mom, you haven’t failed,” I say. “Phoebe, tell her she hasn’t failed.”

“I knew this was going to happen.” Phoebe shoots a murderous look in my direction. “I told you that my news might be upsetting. That’s why I had this planned down to the last detail, but then you showed up and so did all your drama. This is all your fault.”

“My fault? I didn’t say a word.” I nod toward Martin. “And he wouldn’t have, either, if you didn’t insist on going all Cheech and Chong in the bathroom.”

“What does that mean?” Sarah asks. “What’s a Cheech and Chong?”

Of course she doesn’t know who Cheech and Chong are. She’s one of Forbes’s 30 Under 30, which means she’s basically an infant, albeit a successful infant.

“It means they got high, Sarah,” I snap. “Keep up.”

“Hey, you don’t need to be rude to her,” Smith says defensively. “She’s not the person you’re upset with.”

He’s right. She’s not the person I’m upset with. He is.

“You don’t get to tell me how to act in my own house, buster.” I toss my napkin on the table. “You are on my list.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Smith throws his hands in the air. “I’m not the one making an ass out of myself in front of everyone like your idiot boyfriend.”

“Is that me?” Martin asks.

“Who brought drugs into this house?” My father smacks the table with the palm of his hand like a judge with a gavel. “If there is one thing I will not tolerate, it’s drug use under my roof. Whoever it is might as well go find a hotel room for the night.”

The table falls silent. It’s as if someone has sucked all the oxygen from the room, and we’re all just waiting to pass out and escape this hellscape.

“It was me.” Martin raises his hand. “I was nervous about how this weekend might go and—”

“It wasn’t you.” I shove Martin’s hand back down. There’s no need for him to make an even bigger ass out of himself in front of my father than he already has. “I’ll take the blame.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Nana Rosie stands up. “Carter, the kids all got it from me, and if you think that I’m going to go find a hotel room for a plant that is less of a threat than the oleanders out back, then you’ve got another thing coming. I’ve been growing it in the greenhouse since spring.”

“Mother?” My father gasps. “What in god’s name are you doing growing marijuana plants in our backyard?”

“I needed a hobby.” She shrugs.

“But why not cross-stitch or crochet? Something more appropriate for a woman your age.” He lowers his voice as if the entire table isn’t watching this telenovela unfold in real time. “Do you smoke it too?”

“Good lord, Carter, it’s a medicinal herb, not crack. But if you must know, no. And before you ask, I don’t sell it either. I share it with friends, and occasionally the household staff.”

“Household staff?” My father furrows his brow. “Do you mean Marie?”

You can practically hear the collective movement of everyone turning to face the kitchen, where Marie is standing with a tray of pie slices in hand.

“Are we ready for dessert?” she squeaks.

“Just a moment, Marie.” Nana Rosie waves. She turns to my father and lowers her voice to a growl. “Carter, so help me, if you embarrass that woman, I will make it my personal mission to spend whatever time I have left on this earth making your life miserable, and then when that’s done, I’ll haunt you.”

“Maybe we should take a brief recess before dessert,” my mother says. “I need to collect myself. I’ll ask Marie to clear the table before she serves the pie. We’ll eat dessert at eight thirty. Everyone be on time.”

It’ll be a miracle if anyone shows back up at this table.





Chapter 21


Everyone clears out of the dining room like a classroom full of kids on the last day of school. I put Ozzie on his leash and head out front. I need fresh air. Honestly, after that dinner, I think I could also benefit from a lobotomy or at the very least an emergency call to my therapist. The lobotomy is probably all I can afford, especially now that my chances of getting my father on board with a loan are slim to none.

I’m about to turn down the street when I realize that I’ve got the wrong elderly Pomeranian on the other end of my leash. Mine is a leg lifter, while this one is decidedly a squatter. Great. I can add dog larceny to my list of screwups.

I turn back toward my house and see Smith and Ozzie half a block behind us.

“I swear I didn’t mean to steal Harriet,” I groan. “I also didn’t mean to snap at your girlfriend, but I’m less sorry about that than I am about the dog.”

“We need to talk.”

There’s a serious edge in his voice, and I don’t like it. Suddenly, it feels like I’m sitting in the principal’s office for ditching school. Smith doesn’t have any authority in my life. I don’t need to listen to anything that he has to say. It’s his turn to listen to me.

“No. I need to talk, and you need to listen.” I press my finger to his chest. “Why are you carrying around my engagement ring?”