“You feeling OK?” He closes the door behind him. “We can go over your pitch before we go downstairs. Marie is putting out appetizers and drinks, and Smith and his girlfriend have just arrived. They probably won’t even notice we’re gone if—”
“I don’t think I can do the pitch tonight, Martin,” I say.
“Why? You were so good earlier.”
I see the disappointment in his face. I hear it in his voice. The combination results in a familiar sinking feeling in my stomach, only this time instead of feeling guilty or ashamed, I’m agitated. Why does he care whether I pitch the store to my father? He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t have any investment in me or the store.
“I’m going to do it tomorrow,” I say firmly. I grab my smoky quartz necklace and drape it around my neck. “It’s a new moon tomorrow, and that’s important to me.”
“The moon is important to you?” He lifts his brow and smirks. “I’ve never heard that one before.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I struggle with the clasp of my necklace. “The phases of the moon are important to me. I’m not making an excuse.”
“OK.” The tone in his voice irks me. The man ties knots to calm down and posts videos of it on TikTok, but I’m the crazy one for caring about the moon. “Let me help you with your necklace.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
“It’s OK to have cold feet, you know.”
“I don’t have cold feet, and even if I did, it’s not any of your concern.”
“Whoa. Did I do something to offend you? None of this is making any sense to me.”
“I’m not offended, and I’m not obligated to make sense to you.” I pull on my cardigan and stuff my necklace into my pocket. “Let’s just drop the subject.”
“Come here.” He pulls me in close to hold me, but I step back. He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “I just want to give you a hug and tell you that everything’s going to be all right. Penny, I like you. I think you’re brilliant, and I hate to see you self-destruct.”
I don’t want him to “hate to see me self-destruct.” It’s too much pressure, because inevitably I will self-destruct, just as I always do when I’m home, and when that happens, I’ll have let him down too. Then he’ll look at me the way my parents and Phoebe do. He’ll look at me and think, What a shame. She had so much potential. If only she could’ve followed through. I can’t have Martin look at me that way. I won’t allow it.
“You’re a nice guy, Martin,” I force myself to say. “But I’m not looking for someone to comfort me or hug me or kiss me. I’m not self-destructing, and if I do at some point, it’s not your problem. I don’t need you to worry or even care about me. I just need you to be my fake boyfriend for one more night.”
I leave before I can take it all back.
I pour myself a glass of red wine in my father’s den before anyone notices me. My goal isn’t to get drunk. I just need to take the edge off. I need to blend in. Maybe I’ll have a glass and then ask Nana Rosie to take me on a tour of her greenhouse.
I pop my head into the foyer to see if I can spot Nana without blowing my cover, but the minute I do, Smith eyes me. Stupid Smith Mackenzie with his mud-wrestling air fryer of a girlfriend. I duck back into the den, but it’s too late. He’s standing in the doorframe within seconds, and to add insult to injury, slung over his shoulder is his leather travel bag. The same bag that had my engagement ring in it yesterday. Why the hell would he bring it here?
“I hope this isn’t too weird,” he says. “Sarah and me coming over, that is.”
As if I needed the clarification.
I open my mouth with the intent of saying It’s fine because that’s really the only appropriate response to a question like that. Anything else would make things awkward and uncomfortable, and my whole life, I’ve been trained to not make people feel uncomfortable when in my home. I’ve been taught that if anyone is to feel awkward or uncomfortable, it should be me.
I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to tell Smith exactly how much undue stress his invasion of our Thanksgiving has caused my family. I don’t need to be rude about it or uncivil. I just need to communicate the facts.
“You’re an asshole, Smith.”
Not exactly a fact and not necessarily civil, but it’s a vast improvement over some of the choice phrases running through my head.