Penelope in Retrograde: A Novel(74)

“Smith and I agreed that we’d each keep one of the dogs.” I push my plate of uneaten pie to the side. “They’re puppies, and it’s too much work for either of us to take care of both of them. Plus, a lot of apartments in the city only allow one pet.”

“Why would you need to look at apartments, Penelope?” my mother asks. “We have everything you could possibly need here.”

“You know how to perform an exorcism, Mom?”

“You don’t need an exorcism.” She scowls.

I will if I stay here long enough. Already my mother has become obsessed with planning our calendars for next year. She thinks if I stay busy, then I won’t have time to be upset about the fact that my marriage fell apart. Little does she know that I’m usually too exhausted during the day to be sad, because my insomnia makes sure that I don’t miss a single midnight thinking about how I lost Smith.

“Fine. One dog each.” Dad scratches his beard, examining one of the hundreds of documents my divorce has amassed. At this point, I’m fairly certain that the number one threat to the rainforest is divorce paperwork. “Now, your attorney noticed that you’re also entitled to shares from that magazine you were writing for with Smith. What’s it called again?”

“Digital Slap.”

“That’s a terrible name for a publication.” My mother shakes her head. “Sounds like some sort of online bullying group. You know that’s on the rise right now. I saw it on Live with Kelly. Do you watch her show, Penelope?”

“I don’t, Mom.” I sip my now-cold coffee. “And Dad, I know about the shares.”

“So you know you can cash them out? I’m not sure what the value is, but I could look into it. Seeing how fast these online start-ups crash and burn, I’d suggest cashing out now.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“When?” my father presses.

“When what?”

“When will you think about it? You only have two more weeks to file a response with the judge, and there’s still so much we have to cover. This is the problem with elopements. Two kids get so caught up in the idea of being in love that they let Siegfried and Roy walk them down the aisle before they’ve had a chance to think about a prenup.”

“It was actually Elvis and Madonna,” I mutter under my breath.

“Carter, give the girl a break.” Nana Rosie rests her hand on top of mine. “We’ve already sat through an entire dissertation of her divorce in between courses, and I, for one, would like to put the kibosh on divorce talk for the rest of the evening. Thanksgiving is a time to appreciate family.”

Hearing her say the word family stings. I know she means us here at the table, but I can’t think family without thinking about the Mackenzies. I haven’t spoken a word to them since the split, even though they’re right across the street. Smith’s house used to be my refuge when the walls in this house started to cave in. Now I can barely look at his house without feeling sick to my stomach.

The worst part is that I’ve never wanted to talk to Fiona more than I do right now. I want to cry on her sofa and tell her how hard I tried to be happy on the road with Smith. He tried too. I know he did. The fighting was both of our faults. I want to tell her that she was right, and that I should’ve listened to her. She told me that compromising my happiness for Smith’s would only lead to resentment on my part and distrust on his end.

If you knew you didn’t want this kind of life, why didn’t you tell me, Pen? I can’t walk away from the magazine now. I can’t let Marcus and Donovan down because you’ve finally decided to be honest with me.

I relive that final argument with Smith nightly, and I’d give just about anything to talk about it with Fiona.

“Shall we talk money, then?” My father clears his throat. “I assume that you and Smith didn’t have much of a chance to put money away while you were caravanning around the country like a pair of vigilantes.”

“No.” I take another sip of coffee. “Well, unless you can put a price tag on crystal figurines from gas stations.”

“Excuse me?” My father groans.

“You said yourself that we were vigilantes.” I shrug. “The only places we visited besides concert venues were gas stations, and crystal figurines were the easiest things to hide in my bra when we shoplifted.”

“I’m switching you to decaf.” My mother grabs the coffee cup from my hand.

“Do you have any money to live off of or not, Penelope?” my father asks. “It’s a simple question.”

“Of course she has money,” Nana Rosie interrupts. “She’s past twenty-five now. She has access to the trust I set up for her.”

“I thought I had to finish college to have access to that,” I say. “That’s what Phoebe had to do.”

“The trust was set up so that you could access it upon graduation from college or after you turned twenty-five,” Nana Rosie says. “I thought your parents told you that.”

“I guess it slipped our minds,” my father says, none too convincingly. “Anyway, back to my original question. Penelope, what kind of savings do you have?”

I can’t go back to my father’s original question. At least, not without yelling and some choice words. The trust funds that Nana Rosie set up for my sister and me are sizable to say the least. I mean, they’re chump change to the Hilton sisters, but they’re still sizable. Phoebe was able to afford to go to Oxford with hers and not have to work for her first year in London.