Penelope in Retrograde: A Novel(76)
“I don’t know,” I manage to say.
“Meet me in the middle.” She doesn’t say it like a request or a command. It doesn’t even come across as a question. “I want to give you something.”
My feet start moving before my head has a chance to talk them out of it. It’s five steps from my sidewalk to the middle of the street. I’m thankful it’s not more. I don’t think I could take another step without falling apart.
“New moons are lucky,” Fiona says. “They symbolize new beginnings.”
A lump forms in my throat. “No offense to the moon, but I don’t think beginnings are all that lucky. They’re pretty painful, if you ask me.”
“It’s not the beginning that’s painful in my opinion. It’s the ending that came before it. New moons represent that too. The end of one phase and the beginning of a new.” She takes my hand, the one that used to have my engagement ring—her old engagement ring—on it, and places the slip of blank paper inside. “We don’t always get to choose when one phase ends and another begins, but we can choose how we face it.”
“I fucked it all up, Fiona.” Hot tears cascade down my face. “I let him down, just like I’ve been letting everyone down my whole life.”
“Disappointment is a part of life.” She lifts my chin gently with the back of her hand. “Show me someone who’s never disappointed their family or their lover, and I’ll show you someone who’s miserable inside.”
“I was miserable.” I gasp. “I was miserable at home. I was miserable at college, and I was miserable on the road with Smith. The only place I wasn’t miserable was when I was with you guys in Dubai. I felt so alive and happy there. I never wanted to leave, and now I can never go back.”
“You don’t need to.” She dries my tears with the sleeve of her sweater. “Happiness isn’t a place you go back to. Happiness is a place you build and rebuild and then tear down and remodel a thousand times over inside you.”
“I don’t know how to start.”
“You already have.” Fiona presses the tea light into my palm. “Write down your dreams, hopes, and desires on a slip of paper, and burn them. My mother used to call it writing love letters to the universe. Set your intentions and trust yourself to follow through.”
She pulls me into a hug, and I allow myself to sink into her arms like a child. Somehow, I know that this is my last Fiona hug for a long time, maybe forever, and I want to make a memory of it. When we finally let go, I notice that her eyes are glistening with tears. She’s going to miss me too. We’re going to miss each other, and I take a tiny bit of comfort in knowing that it won’t just be me.
“One more thing. Smoky quartz for good travels and protection.” She unclasps the necklace hanging from her neck and drapes it around mine. “Go write a love letter to the universe and yourself.”
“I will,” I say. “I promise.”
And deep down I know that this is a promise I will not break.
Chapter 25
My mother and Nana Rosie take the morning shift with my father. They offer it to me, but the truth is, I’m not ready to be alone with my dad. I’ve built it up in my head that the next time we see each other will be the start of what I want our relationship to look like from here on out, and I’m not sure I’ve figured out exactly how to do that just yet. How do you reintroduce yourself to someone who’s known you your whole life?
Thankfully, there are plenty of things that need attention at home, and lucky for me, some of those things include Martin, like stopping by my father’s office. As my father’s attorney, Falon needs some documents. While he hasn’t officially made any decisions about his continued role in his company, we want to make it as easy as possible for him to delegate extra responsibilities to other partners in order to get the rest he needs.
“And if you happen to stop and get some ice cream”—Phoebe hands me her keys in the garage—“I wouldn’t be mad about it.”
“What happened to watching everyone’s diet?” I ask. “You tried to deprive me of mayonnaise.”
“I don’t have to watch mine. I’m going to Australia, where I will likely be eaten by a spider the size of my thigh in my sleep.” She lowers her voice and fixes her gaze on the back door. “Between you and me, I’m not sure I’m built for Australia. This was really more Falon’s dream than mine.”
“Between you and me,” I say, “you should go wherever that woman wants to take you. She’s pretty exceptional. Don’t fuck it up.”
“You want to take my bike?” Martin emerges from the other side of the garage, holding two helmets. “It’s a little chilly this morning, but you can wear my jacket.”
“Between you and me,” Phoebe whispers, “he might be the only straight man I’m ever going to want to spend a holiday with.” She pats my shoulder. “Don’t fuck it up.”
I put on the helmet and hang on as Martin drives us the scenic way through the city. I’ve written plenty of motorcycle montages in my books, but none of them come close to capturing what it actually feels like. Your heart feels like it’s flying and falling at the same time. Like you can’t catch your breath, but you’re not scared. It’s my second favorite thing I’ve ever done with a man.